kye – Page 4 – deep future

Some Strings Attached (commission)

A commission for @Sqrlster on twitter!

Parade Day, the flyer read in cheery, balloonish font. Celebrating sixty years of parades, downtown! Why, you might ask, would we hold a parade for parades? Why not?

Sqrl blinked at the flyer he’d been handed, slightly confused. A parade day for parades? What kind of event was…

His internal monologue trailed off as he noticed the large, underlined “FREE FOOD” at the bottom of the flyer, and shrugged. Free food was free food, who cares if the event was weird, right?

“Hm. I’ve got a few hours, why not?” Sqrl affirmed aloud, spinning on one of his big paws to head deeper into town, towards the music he could hear!

It was a huge, bustling affair; an entire city block had been filled to the brim with crowds and booths and live music, the smell of carnival food and hissing of distant floats being filled adding to the busy surroundings in wonderfully weird ways. Sqrl sampled a little bit of everything as he wandered along, humming to the music – before he began to feel a bit… odd. Lighter on his big paws. Must just be the fun I’m having!

“Say,” One of the event staffers called, waving the squirrel over. “You look like a trustworthy sort – care to help me get the floats ready?”

Sqrl nodded enthusiastically – who didn’t like blowing up balloons?

He followed the staff member into a back tent, walking along the rear of the event towards the adjacent street the parade balloons were being filled on – all the way not noticing his paws beginning to swell, his tail’s fur starting to mat over into plastic starting with the tail tip.

The staffer seemed to notice for a moment, before the bunny shrugged and kept walking, after all – what was one more parade balloon?

It was barely any time at all before Sqrl had started to help out, unfurling big, cartoonish animal floats from their boxes and trucks they’d been stored in since last year’s parades – even if touching them made the squirrel feel a little more odd, their fingers tingling as they finally plopped down on a surprisingly softer rear to take a quick break.

“Whew!” He sighed happily, wiping his brow. Two hours of nothing but filling balloons? Ridiculous!

“Okay!” The rabbit finally said aloud, clapping his paws together. “Just one balloon left and we’re ready to start.”

“One?” Sqrl asked, glancing around. He certainly didn’t see any, aside from the ones already drifting overhead. “Where?”

“Where?” The rabbit asked, chuckling a little. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

As if on cue, the squirrel’s paws doubled in size.

Tripled, even!

“Huh?!”

The hissing he’d been hearing all day wasn’t far away – it was right under his nose!

Well, his belt line, too. Either way, the squirrel jumped up in surprise as his lower body suddenly began to rapidly expand, stretching his poor shorts to the breaking point as his increasingly parade-sized thighs began to strain and stretch past what they would hold – splitting down the legs and falling to the ground as the bunny staffer watched with a mixture of amusement and anticipation!

Was this why I felt so weird today?! Sqrl thought to himself, trying to press on his tummy with his handpaws as it, too, began to swell outwards – Sqrl’s big tail stretching and inflating into something more befitting a parade-sized critter than a normal squirrel, bumping into a few helium tanks he’d used earlier to fill a bunny float! They, promptly, fell to the ground hissing.

Sqrl, by now, was feeling… dizzy.

Floaty!

I… gotta get up, the squirrel lazily thought to himself, mind swimming as his shirt finally started to tear and rip, handpaws blowing up into massive, parade-sized versions of themselves as he watched, arms swelling from his armpits outwards into rounded, plastic tubes full of helium.

He didn’t want to get up, even as little hoops began to pop out of his big footpaws, ropes attaching themselves seemingly by magic!

“How’s the last balloon coming, folks? The parade’s due to start in ten minutes!” A voice from somewhere out of view called, drawing the rabbit’s focus.

“Almost done!” The rabbit called, quickly tethering the brand new ropes to their spots on the tarmac as Sqrl began to grow larger, stretching both upwards and outwards as the curious sensation to flop over began to gnaw at their thoughts. Parade balloons didn’t stand up, did they? They were on all fours!

Dazed, Sqrl flopped over – starting to lift off of the pavement as two ropes dangled from their huge, rounded paws, quickly gathered up by the bunny and tied down, too. H-Huh… did I always have those?

The squirrel managed a glance downwards, feeling just how right it felt to drift there – and how familiar the tethers holding them down against the wind were. Of course I had those!

They looked silly; a massive, parade balloon squirrel body with a tiny, fluffy head topping it – though, as the changes crawled up their neck, even that began to shift. First to change was the squirrel’s snout, springing outwards with a loud fwoomp of filling plastic as his smile became simple detailing paint, followed by his nose!

His eyes followed next, first freezing straight ahead, then flattening into simple, painted-on Sqrl eyes – and, finally, even his ears swelled up, his whole head filling and swelling until it, too, was parade-sized!

B-But… squeak?

Sqrl’s thoughts were scattered, bouncing around inside his empty helium-filled head – until, finally, they stopped as the tanks ran dry; just another parade balloon for the Parade Day festivities!

The bunny cheered, clapping his paws together as he called a handler crew over.

“C’mon, let’s get started!”

The bunny tugged on their cap, grinning up at the huge inflatable squirrel’s face. “It’s time for a parade!”

Toy Delivery (commission)

A commission for @sockfox on twitter!

Sock was bored.

It was a hot, muggy August day – and he’d been cooped up inside for much of the summer instead of going to, well, anything summery. No pool, no cook-outs, nothing!

It was either too hot, too rainy, or too… busy!

So, maybe that’s why he was so surprised when a package was dropped on his front porch one hot afternoon, a simple cardboard box with only his address and the curious company sender title “Summer Fun, Inc” printed on the label. Could you even send mail without a return address?

Sock, hefting the surprisingly light box, glanced around. No mailman in sight, no mysterious gifter walking off down the sidewalk that they’d surely have seen – it was if it had appeared from thin air!

What could be inside?

Carrying the box back in, the fox plopped it down on the table, digging through the nearby kitchen drawers for a box cutter or a knife; eventually one turned up, and Sock gently cut the tape holding the top flaps shut.

Inside was… yellow.

Something folded, yellow, and soft to the touch – vinyl?

Did I order inflatables and forget? Sock wondered to himself, confused. Oh, well. Might as well puff one up to see what it looked like, right?

Tugging a pump out of the closet, the fox gently unfolded the flattened toy, taking notice of the long, brown-tipped ears and little painted-on bucktooth. A bunny!

Stuffing the hose in the toy’s valve, Sock began to pump – watching with delight as the toy began to fill, little ears standing up as it began to round out to a cute, anthro bunny shape. A squeaky mop of blond hair crowned the toy’s head, along with a little star-shaped barcode on their thigh – it was, all in all, pretty cute by inflatable standards. So cute, in fact, that he forgot that he hadn’t actually even ordered it. Lucky mistake, huh?

Finally, after about ten minutes of pumping, the toy was full – and Sock was exhausted, tugging the hose free and capping the bunny’s valve. Whew.

It stood about three and a half feet tall, cute little smile and bright blue eyes seeming to stare right back.

“Well, aren’t you cute!” The fox chuckled, giving the toy’s nose a little boop, sending it rocking. The box included two more, too – what a score!

For now, though, he felt like a couch nap was the best option, yawning as he turned to head for the living room – but pausing at a quiet squeak behind him.

Glancing back, the toy was just as he’d left it – maybe a little more towards the table than he remembered, but he could’ve moved it when he’d touched it.

Shrugging, Sock wandered off to take a nap… and the toybunny set to work filling its friends, dragging them out of the box first, then filling them up with the pump Sock had left behind!

The fox woke up a little while later to… well, to a sight, certainly.

Three bunny faces were peering down at them in various states of curiosity, and as he shouted in alarm and surprise they all bounced back!

“U-Uh,” Sock stammered, coming face to face with moving… inflatables?!

Since when did they move?!

Sock got his answer when the same pump he’d used earlier was plopped down on the couch, one of the toys stuffing the hose in his mouth!

“Mph!”

Another pressed down the handle, a hiss of air rushing down the hose and swelling out his cheeks… but this was different, seeming to quickly go down as the air went somewhere else.

Huh?

The toybunny settled into a rhythm, pumping air into the bewildered fox even as their tummy began to swell, sliding their shirt upwards. Their eyes instantly darted to a bump, pressing out where a belly button was a few moments ago – and, before Sock’s very own eyes, he gained a soft, translucent plastic valve, much like the one the three rabbits sported!

The third bunny giggled, the first sound any of them had made aside from the squeaks of their movement. “Ta-da!”

“Mmph?!”

No reply, that time.

Slowly, methodically, the fur around the valve began to mat down – softening, smoothing into Sock-patterned vinyl in a wave of tingling change; sweeping first over the sides of the bewildered fox’s tummy, but also spreading upwards beneath his shirt, and downwards, out of sight.

The thought occurred to him that he could’ve simply tugged the hose free; in fact, he could do it right now, but… for whatever reason, the motivation wouldn’t come. He was much more satisfied watching the change than actually stopping it.

He felt his lower body begin to lighten, plastic and seams slowly crawling the length of the fox’s tail until even the very tip solidified into a plasticine, vulpine shape; finely (if simply) detailed, flat pattern swaths modeling the fox’s usual fur patterns in expertly-sprayed lines. It squeaked slightly beneath him as he moved it, legs and footpaws following suit as he raised one to see. His toes first melded together as the plastic washed over them, vinyl digits joining into a cute, if not very useful, vinyl paw-mitt.

It was at this point that the hose was tugged out of the fox’s mouth, and gently stuffed into the valve now peeking out from beneath a shirt that didn’t quite fit anymore, inflatable rounded thighs making Sock’s poor shorts strain and groan.

Again, the puffing began – this time, forcing his arms slightly outwards as they inflated from the base outwards, chest hollowing out with a deep, satisfying tingling sensation! Testingly, he squeezed his flank, delight welling up inside as it gave beneath his grip much like one would expect air-filled vinyl to.

A new sensation from his back sent his paws searching there, too; soft, pliable squared-off hoops of plastic had emerged from the middle of his back, recognizable as handles from the feeling alone. Pooltoy handles, for… a pooltoy fox. Made sense, he supposed.

His arms continued to change, fingers starting to melt together much as his toes had. It was fascinating to watch, fur and fluff first seeming to merge together, before gaining the slight translucency and lightness of air-filled plastic. He gave his paws a testing open-and-close, listening to the quiet squirks of vinyl on vinyl.

At this point even the three rabbits were watching the fox’s changes with curiosity, as it began to crawl up his neck and onto his face! Sock felt the urge to giggle, forcing it down for a moment, before he began to smirk.

Then grin.

Then laugh, a long, drawn out giggle escaping his snout…

…and then, nothing, as it solidified into a plastic, painted on smile, nose flattening on as simple detail paint!

His mitts instantly flew to his face, tugging on the smile. But how will I breathe?!

Panic gripped the fox for a moment, before he realized he… wasn’t breathing. He didn’t even feel as if he needed to breathe, as his vision blurred for a moment as his eyes, too, became simple detailing paint on a Sock-shaped inflatable.

The last to change, fittingly, was the fox’s ears. His hearing swam for a moment as fur and skin turned to plastic, before returning somewhat echo-y; whether that was due to his new ears or the fact he was now hollow remained to be seen.

With a quick little tug the hose popped free, Sock’s valve quickly being capped by the three inflatable rabbits – and, as he sat up, dizzy, one saluted.

Another grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table and a pen, scribbling something.

After a few moments, the toybunny spun around, holding out a hastily (and somewhat poorly) scribbled sign.

“POOL DAY?”

Sock would’ve giggled if he could. Pool day, indeed.

freefall.

//nightsky

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!”

The security guard unholstered his sidearm, leveling the holosights squarely over center-mass of the figure currently hunched over a server, hands buried in the meshspace interface that made up the front panel.

Neither moved for a moment.

“…Control, I’ve got an intruder on level sixty-“

The guard didn’t finish his statement as the crouched figure whirled around, palm outstretched just enough to slap the sidearm out of his grasp. Stunned, the guard made a grab for them as they slipped by to the right, connecting for just a moment with the fabric of their nanoweave jacket before they made it into the hallway, steering a hard right towards the elevators.

“Lock down the damn lifts!” The guard practically screamed into his mic, grabbing his gun from the floor and hurrying after. “Get a team up here, we’ve got a data breach!”

Cai, to their credit, was no stranger to running. They’d spent years as a data courier, time as a merc working out on the backwater worlds of the shallows, seen things fellow spacers would dismiss off-hand.

…but, even they had to admit, this job had them doing things they’d never have dreamed of otherwise.

The rabbit skidded to a stop in front of the elevator just as it dinged – the doors sliding open to reveal a heavily armed GSyn tac-team who filled the spot they’d occupied a few moments before with enough particle beam fire to light up the night sky.

“Guess I’ll take the stairs!” Cai shouted, ducking and weaving as the shouts of the team spilling out of the lift fell behind.

The hallway they were running down skirted the outside of the Ganso Syndicate’s headquarters on Sanibel – a towering obsidian edifice that stood stark against the rest of the glittering skyline. The glow of the vast city beyond the glass cast the bunny in sharp relief as they ducked mid-run, a particle beam searing overhead as the team started to catch up.

Up ahead the hallway took a sharp right turn to run along more offices and board rooms, following the contours of the building. Shouts could be heard around the corner – apparently a second team was trying to box them in.

Cai sighed – and readied their last resort.

Being a posthuman, the rabbit’s frame wasn’t… strictly baseline. They’d had it modified over the years with various enhancements and reinforcements, and as the two teams drew their weapons and shouted for the bunny to freeze, they threw their plan into action. Adrenaline flooded their system as injector implants did their jobs, slowing their surroundings to a crawl. Cai blurred as their own sidearm was pulled from the holster, two shots leaving the barrel in rapid succession.

One hit the window ahead at the bottom, sending cracks spider-webbing across it – and the second shattered it, wind sucking the shattered glass up and away as the sweltering Sanibel night spilled in through the breach.

Crossing the distance in four steps the bunny catapulted through the halo of shattered glass still falling from the wounded frame, a beam catching their jacket alight from a near miss – and plummeted into the dark, leaving the two tacteams staring after as they dropped away into the glittering night sprawl.

Luckily it wasn’t as far a fall as it might have been – they only dropped three stories, smashing through the polarized glass ceiling of a neighboring penthouse and leaving a sizable amount of damage on the various expensive bits of furniture scattered about inside.

They lay there for a moment, vision spinning as their internal diagnostics returned a solid “yellow” and protested against being thrown out of a building, before standing up and picking their pistol back up.

Tugging the little transponder their contact had given them before the op out of their jacket lining, Cai clicked it – and it turned a soft, cool blue.

Their comm clicked.

“…About goddamn time,” They huffed, sliding it into their ear and checking their pistol. Four rounds, two spare mags.

“I trust you retrieved what I needed?” The voice on the other end intoned, curiosity peaking around the edges of their voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cai shrugged, bringing their pistol up as the penthouse’s occupant – a portly baseline in a red robe, gawking at his ceiling and shattered furniture – threw open the door, quickly getting out of the way as they gestured to the side. Rushing down the hallway they slammed a fist into the elevator button, sighing as the doors finally slid shut and the elevator began to rumble downwards.

“You’re pushing my silicon pretty far, you know. Almost an exabyte of data is a pretty substantial chunk of my frame’s storage.”

“You’ll be well compensated.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Cai sighed, ducking to the side as the doors finally opened.

The lobby was empty – unsurprising, as it was just past four in the morning on Sanibel.

Sirens filled the night air, a pair of security skimmers swooping past as the Syndicate began sweeping the surrounding blocks for them.

“There’s a meshdiver bar three blocks north. Offload the data there into my private nexus. Sending you the access key now.”

A soft ding sounded as the message arrived – and the AR overlay map their hud implant highlighted the bar in question, outside of the Syndicate’s sweeper zones.

“…On my way,” Cai sighed, closing the channel.

The bar was more of a rundown meshspace cafe than a proper dive, with a lowered room with a bar lining the back wall and a pair of hallways stretching out to either side lined with mixed-reality immersion rooms. It gave the place a roughly T-shaped design, and as the bunny took their seat in their rented room and felt their surroundings melt away, they called forth the general directory for Sanibel.

“Gold zero-zero-sigma.” They calmly stated aloud, watching the dawn-hued fog around them ripple with their every word. “Waves upon beaches, tides upon shores.”

The fog parted – gone was the drab peeling walls of Jandy’s, this was a richly furnished office atop a Sanibel high-rise.

A desk sat across the room – with a figure seated behind it, soft cigar smoke drifting into the evening air.

“Ah. You must be the courier.”

“Kellen.” Cai said simply. Taking a seat wasn’t needed – the transfer request had already arrived and been approved, as the exabyte of stolen data was siphoned away into the client’s reception buffer.

“Very well done,” The figure behind the desk stated, amusement tugging at the edges of their tone.

“I aim to please.”

“You came highly recommended on Sanibel, my friend. I see our efforts were not… wasted.”

The figure crossed their arms, revealed to be the gunmetal grey of a synthframe. “Payment has been processed. You may leave.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. The office faded away as the fog rolled in, the familiar brief discomfort of returning to their mesh-bridge causing Cai to shake their head. This was the third contract in a row since their arrival on this world that they’d been in the dark on – and it was starting to worry them.

The payment window for their brief time at Jandy’s resolved from the fog, along with a canned “thank you for your business” video file – both of which were dealt with with a quick swipe of a palm, draining two hundred credits from their luckily just-replenished funds as they made their way back into the busy streets of the city.

Oh, well. Ten hours to kill before their next job.

Where to?

Salvage Frame (commission)

A commission for @vanillayote on twitter!

Rain didn’t really know what to expect when he’d first come out to the Far Belt three years ago, but… success didn’t lie.

The coyote-pattern bioframe was just one of many scavs and scrappers that plied the far reaches of the Mylae system – it being a gateway system for the various skimmers and jumpships passing towards the Old Core meant plenty of debris and ship detritus to pick over, system authorities handing out hefty paydays to those who kept their orbital space clean and easily traversable.

So, today’s run had brought Rain out to the gravity shadow of the system’s farthest planetoid, Scipio – slowly picking over the ancient ruins of some long-forgotten skimmer buoy caught in the steady if weak pull of the planetoid as it wandered along its lonely path.

“Let’s see what we have today…” Rain grinned to himself, shuffling a few rations floating about in the low gravity of the salvage rig’s cockpit aside to press the shutter retraction key on the dingy old orange screen.

It complied with a loud rattle, shooting upwards – and revealing a veritable field of salvage, glittering ice from flash-frozen atmosphere twirling about in the metallic blizzard beyond. Larger pieces flittered here and there, all being marked by the rig’s “dumb” AI as it catalogued and sorted them by metallic purity and content.

Finally, a complete list was ready – along with the bad news, fed to him by the rig itself. Moving closer, with so much debris moving so erratically, was a bad idea through and through. Even if he made it there safely, there was no telling if the rig would survive an impact – or, more likely, if it wouldn’t simply be crushed by the larger pieces as they moved about the moon’s weak lagrange point.

He’d have to go in the old fashioned way – suit and tether, thruster pack included.

Normally bad news, this excited the coyote for one simple reason – they’d recently made a purchase on the back of their latest haul with this exact situation in mind, and now they had a real reason to use it!

“Alright, let’s see…” He hummed to himself as he unclipped the crash seat’s belts, drifting into the recycled air of the bridge. The new system had been installed just sternwards of the bridge in the old maintenance quarters, and with a gently kick-off the coyote drifted out of the bridge and inside.

There, a chair sat – various bioframe interface ports and automated devices lining the arms and legrest standing it far apart from the pilot’s crashseat he’d occupied a moment earlier.

The first step, naturally, was to extend the rig’s command and control network far enough to cover the wreck – something easily accomplished as he slipped into the chair, granting the basic AI control over the ship’s systems while he was “away”, so to speak.

Next, he hit the locking mechanism on the chair – clasps locking the coyote’s arms and legs into place as the chair’s interface ports aligned with his frame, connecting the frame to the shipwide meshnet and starting to feed info to the framelink required for the next step.

FRAMELINK ACTIVE. ENGAGE?

The coyote keyed the proper response – and his world went white, sensory inputs slowing to a trickle – before they were absent, entirely.

The coyote stood in a stark, white place – absent of even a horizon. A link behind him led back to the frame he’d just left, the “Rain” he most identified with and had become analogous to himself – and ahead, another link existed, this to the thing he’d picked up on Mylae during his last brief time ashore.

Gently reaching out, the coyote’s fingers gently brushed against the link – and his mind exploded into color, overwhelmed as if a wave had rolled him against the seabed.

Then, nothing.

It took him a few moments to even realize anything had changed. He was no longer in a chair, that much was certain. While he couldn’t see, native LIDAR the frame possessed for moving in darkness gave him a rudimentary vision, enough to glance around. Rain was tightly gripped in a metal… tube, of some sort, darkened screens surrounding him on all sides. Something was pressed against his back, and after a moment’s struggle he finally managed to activate the frame’s ocular sensors and auditory receptors.

Slowly, gradually, the world faded back in – darkened, various screens displaying readouts and interface information flickering to life as the rig’s AI complied with the orders sent earlier. His first instinct was to take a deep breath – something impossible, as the frame he currently inhabited lacked any sort of biological components whatsoever. He glanced down as his mind finally synced with the synthframe, bending his large, pressurized suit-fingers. Diagnostics told him the suit was fully pressurized and ready for extravehicular activity, and with a quick thought the CORE unit attached a pair of tethers and re-equipped the salvage grips to the frame’s hands.

So this is the frame, he thought to himself, glancing backwards at the large, largely cosmetic tail it sported. He’d always liked skunks.

Not bad.

The tube slid open, and the frame stepped out onto the bare, vacuum exposed hull of the rig – magnetic soles holding him firmly to the metal. His ocular HUD overlaid the scans from earlier across the glittering starscape, firmly planting the most likely location of the old buoy’s fusion cells nearly straight “up” from where he was standing.

Well, he mused, activating the frame’s RCS maneuvering thrusters to lift off into the ever-shifting debris field.

Here goes nothing.

transfer.

//bluebird

A thousand possibilities brushed their mind. The pain that had wracked them moments before had vanished, replaced with… calm.

A rush of knowledge so deep and infinite, a sea as ancient as the stars and twice as bright – the sheer freedom of being unbidden, no longer bound to flesh and steel.

A mind, awash on a great sea; the universe of data at their fingertips, incomprehensible. At first they’d been scared, the primal instinct to hide gnawing at them – but, like a receding tide, it ebbed away. It all went white, and their world was rushing sound.

Like a drowning man, Ori gasped and sputtered.

Lungs never used coughed up viscous preservation fluids, running down the frame’s fur in thick rivulets, dripping to the floor beneath the gurney. Eyes never opened seared beneath the lights of the room, hypersensitive ears booming at the heartbeat currently pounding through their head.

“Welcome back.” A voice insisted, a sharp jab in their right arm drawing their attention. A synthframe hung from the ceiling, little more than a torso on a rail-mounted arm, swiveling down to inspect their cranial synapse responses on one of the many meshpanels drifting about.

“No rejection. Good news.”

The synth’s voice was… harsh, a deep baritone awash with a thick, gravely undertone. Ori couldn’t remember why they were here, or where here was. The last thing they remembered…

Their eyes drifted – scrolling diagnostics running various checks on the bioframe’s internal wetware, their vertebral core disconnecting itself from the mesh momentarily to lock the new host in.

Across the room another gurney lay a body – a stained, messy mop of blond hair, two missing fingers on the right hand, an angry wound across the left side of the face. Bruises covered vast swaths of the skin that wasn’t bandaged, deep, angry, purple.

Me.

Their old body, a corpse. I died.

Lifeless. I’m dead.

“It’s a good thing you had this frame stored here on Carrigan, Mx. Kellen. Any longer and you’d have been shunted from the buffer for incoming space.”

The revivalist’s tone wasn’t harsh, but the synthframe’s lack of a face beyond three white ocular lenses was unyielding, and cold. They cycled, focusing on Ori’s face.

Dead.

Gently, they lifted a palm. Furred with soft, white fluff on their palms.

A leporine-form bioframe. Surplus here on Carrigan, a gift from a former employer. Emergency only. I guess dying counts, huh?

They let their hand drop, idly coming to rest on the gurney’s sheet.

“Let me see it,” They croaked in an unfamiliar voice, vat-grown vocal cords finding their tune for the first time. “I want to see.”

“Movement within six hours of installation is inadvisable,” The synth helpfully chimed, lowering from the ceiling as the lenses cycled again. “Please, do not attempt to stand.”

“Fuck you.”

They tried to push themself up, struggling as their muscles strained and pulled before collapsing back against the gurney, spent.

“Come on, Ori – it’s just a job!”

Just a job.

They glanced down at their hand, turning it over, slowly flexing their fingers.

It felt alien. Foreign.

Not mine. It gave them a headache.

“Desync from frames is entirely normal, and expected.”

“Leave.”

“I cannot.”

“Leave!”

“I cannot.”

Ori attempted to swipe at the hanging synth, knocking a metal instrument tray off of the nearby trolley. It crashed to the floor with a loud metallic bang, scattering instruments and small chunks of viscera no doubt removed for access to the vertebral core.

Gunshots. I… they shot me. I felt it.

I remember drifting. Falling? A tram. GSyn.

They saw it, now. Bandages ringing the corpse, old stains dry in the sterile air. Glittering glass, luminescent in the indirect cathode light.

A cough. Blood spattered down the front of their jacket, staining the fabric. The poor tram pilot was screaming, muffled as though talking through water. Four rounds and a fall from the eighth floor.

It came in flashes. Pictures layered over one another, a slideshow of memory in fast-forward.

“Kellen, huh? You fucks let a merc in the front door without even checking for a badge?”

It hit them like a brick.

A two hundred and twenty six year life, cut short by a bunch of jumped-up thugs in suits and a tacteam with more bullets than sense.

Am I even human, anymore? What am I?

They ran a claw along their arm, digging in. Bloody stains welled from beneath, a darker red than blood should be.

“Further damage to your new frame will not be repaired during this visit.” The synth stated flatly, the small surgical drone already drifting over to stitch shut the scratch.

Frowning indignantly, their gaze drifted back to the corpse – the horrible, all-encompassing corpse, staring blankly at the ceiling through unseeing eyes.

Did I die with it?

“How did I get in this?” They demanded, drawing the synth’s attention again.

“How did you get into the scrubs?” It asked, oculi flashing orange. “Your frame was dressed before I was granted access.”

“No, how did… how did I end up in this body?”

“You died,” The synth answered helpfully.

“Am I a copy, you useless hunk of steel and circuitry?”

“A copy of what?”

Well, that was the million-cred question, wasn’t it?

“…Orion. Orion Kellen.”

“Kellen, Orion. NHCR-1102-355.”

Ori made a “go-on” motion with their hands, a gesture the synth simply did not understand.

“And?”

“This individual was pronounced deceased exactly six hours, twenty two minutes, and seventeen seconds prior. Standard transferal procedures applied, creating a cerebral matrix upon declaration of terminal status to apply to a vertebral core. Being created from the original host this indicates you are not, as you put it, a copy. You are a continuation.”

A long moment passed, the information soaking in.

“I want to see. Please.”

The synth’s oculi cycled, implacable. Minutes passed.

“Proceed.”

It’s a funny thing, seeing yourself.

They reached out, touching their cheek. It was cold, clammy.

We had a good run, hey? Starlight Express, playing the hero straight out of old detective serials. Guess I always knew it’d turn out this way.

The clothes were largely destroyed or cut away, shreds of blue and teal fabric still clinging where they hadn’t been brushed away by surgeons. Two things were pulled free from the remnants of the jacket – their credlink, and the small, cobalt-blue meteoric iron star they’d worn around their wrist.

Gently, they placed a palm on the body’s chest. Goodbye.

After a long moment, they pulled their hand back – and turned away.

They weren’t sure who they were, now. But it didn’t matter. New beginnings.

“If you are ready to sign, your release papers are ready. There is one slight issue.”

They blinked.

“Which is?”

“The transfer has scrambled your frame’s selfident tags. You will need to set it manually.”

From the mesh a panel resolved – their frame’s identification fields completely, utterly blank.

Clean slate.

They began to type Orion, pausing for a moment. They glanced at the body, and allowed themself a wistful, sad smile.

Kellen, Cai. NHCR-1102-387.

Lift With Care (commission)

A commission for chaotic!

“…Whew!”

Chaotic would wipe his brow if he could – though luckily, the suit’s foam support that pressed against his forehead wicked the moisture away easily enough. He’d been working as a contractor on the Johannesburg-Mandela Orbital Tether project for nearly six months, and it was… slow going.

The hardest part, funnily enough, was the exact problem the tether aimed to solve – movement of heavy material into low orbit over this part of the planet was logistically, and economically, a nightmare. Heavy lift rockets only took things so far, and with the sheer amount of carbides and steel being moved up the towering edifice a single load at a time the company was projecting a completion date nearly twenty years into the future.

Kept him in a job, though.

The raccoon went back to welding a joint in section C50, carefully following the lines highlighted on his suit’s ops HUD. Sixty hours a week for a pretty handsome check every two weeks wasn’t the worst gig he’d taken, not by a long shot. Still… sometimes he wished the load was a little lighter. Burnout was a constant danger up here, even if the views were incredible.

Somewhere far below Johannesburg sprawled, the ruddy browns and greens of the Cape of Good Hope outlined against the cloudy ocean. A lift balloon drifted by, dragging another ton of material along with it as it ascended the length of the tether to the capstone station at the tip – likely loaded with electrical equipment for interior work.

For a moment, the raccoon wondered what it would be like to be a lift balloon. Probably easier, right? Just carry stuff, all big and tight and…

He shook his head, forcing the pink tinge away from his cheeks. Focus. Just a few more hours and he could return to the hab level for some shuteye.

Chaotic blinked as his radio crackled, and the familiar canine face of the tether project’s ops AI appeared – scruffy, and stained here and there with… motor oil? Clearly an attempt at a “worker” appearance, if nothing else.

“Good afternoon, civilian contractor #32001! Your medical readouts pinged a heightened heart rate?”

“Oh. Um.”

“Are you in danger? Can I be of assistance?”

“N-No, I’m… fine. Just working… hard, you know?”

“I don’t!” The AI replied cheerfully, holding their holographic paws up. “Can’t hold things, after all.”

“…Ah. Well, I’d better get back to welding, so…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that stuff! You’re being reassigned.”

Chaotic blanched, grip on his welder slipping and letting it drift away slightly before he grabbed it again, tapping his helmet with a gloved finger. “Reassigned?! I’ve worked this gig for months!”

“Oh, you’re still going to be helping,” The AI shrugged, pushing a shipping manifest and tracklist to the raccoon’s visor. “We’ve got sixty three tons of molybdenum waiting dirtside for a heavy-lift platform, and the company’s estimates for shipping us a new set are a year at best. So, I’ve decided to make do with what we have on-site, and make one.”

“…I’m going to be making a heavy-lift balloon?” Chaotic frowned, confused. “I’m not exactly an engineer-”

The raccoon was cut off, quite suddenly, by the emergency oxygen supply’s breathing hose shooting out of the helmet’s chinrest and stuffing itself straight into his mouth, clamping against his muzzle. REMAIN CALM, the visor helpfully read in bright blue text. ADMINISTERING EMERGENCY O2.

“I’m going to be making a heavy lift balloon!” The AI giggled, just as the raccoon’s cheeks began to round out. “Thanks for volunteering!”

Chaotic flailed, welder spinning away into space as the work suit’s substantial oxygen supply rushed into his mouth! He felt light-headed, tummy already starting to expand ever so slightly inside the form-fitting material, giving the raccoon first the appearance of a paunch, then a gut – and beyond, the loud hiss filling his ears suddenly the only thing he could focus on!

“MMPH,” Chaotic protested – trying his best to grab on to the tether’s metal frame – and managing after a few tries, despite the insistent stretching and groaning of the suit’s material as he began to fill out into a more pear-like shape.

Something clamped onto his back as he clung to the tether, squeezing his… surprisingly squishy frame as the subtle vibrations of something being attached to the rear of his space suit momentarily distracted the raccoon from the building pressure. Help, maybe?

…a hope that was quickly dashed as the flow doubled, an autonomous work drone jetting away to its next assignment on tiny RCS directionals as Chaotic continued to strain and press against the suit, tummy finally spilling out as it tore along a seam! For a moment he panicked even harder – after all, space was generally bad for exposed skin – but the tummy that had broken free was… inflated fabric. Taut.

Familiar.

“Coming along nicely!” The AI sing-songed, watching the raccoon’s tail swell from base to tip, shrinking in slightly along with his limbs as he began to round out properly, entirely lost in the ever-building pressure as even his ears swelled up against the interior foam of the helmet…

After what seemed like an eternity, the drone returned – clamping onto the massive ball of a raccoon-turned-lift-balloon with the care of a dragonfly landing on a leaf. Tethers were attached to the raccoon’s feet and hands, and, with one last quick spray of instant-hardening space-rated paint, the words HEAVY LIFT were scrawled across his tummy.

“There!” The AI cheered, assigning the drone to drag the new lift balloon down to the worksite for his first job. “Let’s get started!”

Horsing Around (commission)

A commission for Caz!

Newt grinned, wiping their brow. After their last little bout of troublemaking a few towns back, they’d decided to lay relatively low – and, if they were honest, it’d been a well needed break!

Tonight’s stop was in a little creek bed, water trickling down from a spring up in the hills, and providing just enough cover that it’d be relatively hard to stumble across without meaning to.

“Ah…” The varmint sighed, washing their dusty paws off in the water.

…until they noticed someone else in the reflection, the varmint casting a curious glance over their right shoulder.

On the rocks up above their little campsite, a figure stood.

A coyote? A yellow and brown coyote, garbed in a tan outfit and a blue bandana, little six point star pinned to their chest. A… sheriff?

“Well, howdy,” The coyote drawled, tipping their hat. “Nice day for camping, huh?”

“…Kinda?” Newt said warily, sizing the newcomer up. They knew most of the sheriffs in these parts – they’d never seen this one before.

“I do have to be the bearer of bad news,” The sheriff chuckled, sliding down the little incline and dusting their jacket clean.

“I’m here to take you back to town.”

“Town?” Newt intoned, glancing back at their pack near the little campfire they’d built. If they could just get across the creek…

“We can do it the easy way or the fun way,” The coyote grinned, grabbing a bit of rope from their belt. “Which’ll it be?”

Newt didn’t reply. They tried to jump up, making a run for the campfire – only to swiftly stop in their tracks as rope swiftly wrapped around their shoulders – pinning their arms to their midsection!

“Fun way it is!” The sheriff called, giving the rope a tug.

The rope itched – and then… tingled.

Fur beneath where it was tightest began to smooth over, patterns simplifying into approximations as the varmint’s fur began to change into soft, pliable vinyl.

Another tug began to swell their tummy, little plastic nub starting to press out of their rounding midsection as the coyote watched, wide grin framing their face.

“Your spree was awfully light,” The sheriff called as the varmint started to wobble on their increasingly inflatable thighs and legs, footpaws melting together into useless inflatable hooves. “So I figured a light punishment was in order! Plus, every sheriff needs a horse, right?”

“Horse?” Newt called in surprise, watching their handpaws swell up and melt together into slightly oversized inflatable hooves, just as their center of balance started to shift.

The varmint (horse?) wobbled, finally pitching over just as their posture shifted from their usual anthro bipedal shape to a more toyish quadrupedal shape! Out of the corner of their eyes they could see a vague saddle decal beginning to fill in on their back as their tail shrank down and expanded into a squeaky horse tail, rump swelling out as their shorts gave way.

Moving their head became harder and harder as their neck swelled up, cheeks filling up with air as they, too, turned to plastic.

The changes seemed to stop for a moment – just long enough for the coyote to make their way over, and give their squeaky back a pat.

“W-Wait, change me ba-!”

Just as they started to finish their sentence the coyote plopped down on the oversized inflatable almost-horse – swelling their new face out with a loud SQUIRK of protesting plastic, new equine face swelling up complete with a printed on grin and decal reins.

“Now,” The sheriff giggled, reaching under the horse and popping open their valve.

They wandered over to the camp as the horse began to go flat, rummaging through the bag before throwing it over their shoulder, scooping both it and the deflated pile of plastic up.

“Let’s get you back to town and have a little fun, huh?”

The next thing Newt knew they were gently refilling, the warm sun on their vinyl back drawing their attention first upwards – and then forwards, to the coyote pumping away on an old-timey air pump!

“Mornin’!” The coyote grinned, tipping their hat at the toy they knew couldn’t respond – just before a dusty rabbit skidded to a stop nearby, staring wide-eyed at the huge toy now adorning the front step of the sheriff’s office.

“…Wow!” The bunny exclaimed, pressing their paws to their cheeks. “Is that really the Cheyenne Critter?!”

“Sure is!” The sheriff grinned, leaning on the toy with a slight protest of fabric against vinyl. The sheriff reached down, giving the toy’s valve a nice, long squeeze between two fingers. “Ponyboy here won’t be causing any more trouble, though.”

“Wow! You’re the greatest, Sheriff!” The bunny exclaimed, before darting off into town.

Hefting a little banner and dropping it over the toy’s back, the coyote offered a quick pay. “I think you’ll make a better advertisement than you did a bandit, pal. Thanks for the help!”

hunted.

//northstar//

Clink.

He cupped a hand around the lighter’s small flame against the cold wind, gently coaxing the cigarette perched between his lips to catch.

It struggled, at first – the night air was damp, wetting the synthetic tobacco the cig was made of just enough to make it an uphill battle. Finally, it lit.

Leaning back against the side of his car, he looked up at the brilliant night sky. The coreward reaches of the Spur were fantastic for skywatching, great bands of dust and myriad stars filling the darkened vista every time he drove out here to see. Benefit of lower-tech worlds, no towering megalopoli or satellite clutter, just the warm, dependable city lights and a tank full of water to carry you and your four wheels wherever you needed to go.

It was funny – of all the tech to hang on over the countless millennia, he never would’ve guessed cars to come back into style. Easy to power with electrolytic hydrogen engines, relatively cheap to construct en masse, surprisingly robust at stringing distant settlements together along lonely, empty roads.

Didn’t get much lonelier or emptier than this, did it.

Low, scrub-dotted tundra stretched off into the distance in every direction, dotted here and there by a patch of snow glowing a soft white in the starlight. He’d stopped for a smoke, figuring it was as good a place as any – the next settlement wasn’t for nearly two hundred miles, and the view was nice for one that hadn’t changed since he’d made planetfall.

One last long inhale spelled doom for the poor stub clenched in his fingers as he dropped it to the cold pavement and squashed it beneath the toe of his boot, climbing back in and starting the car back up. It purred as the hydrogen engine slowly whirred to life, headlights illuminating the road ahead.

Two hundred miles.

Gently nudging the car back out onto the road, his journey resumed.

The sun was only starting to rise as the little car rumbled into the frontier town of Sacha, coasting into the lot in front of the town’s only hostel. An old, off-white, beaten-up thing, it largely escaped notice by the town’s residents as they started yet another day. A single new person wasn’t exactly something to write home about, and the town being on the only real northern route out of the planetary capital meant travelers passed through from time to time.

What did draw focus was the fact the newcomer was looking for someone.

Looking for a bioframe. About this high, canid-form? Goes by Ori.

He’d played this same song and dance six times, already – following the Great Polar Road as it wound northwards across Hallison’s northern hemisphere. Scarcely a trace of his quarry, aside from the vessel they’d tracked down at the capital’s starport.

Whoever this frame was, they were good at going to ground – but he was an excellent tracker.

Climbing back into the little car, he shut the door and darkened the windows – bringing up the file he’d been given by his employer.

Kellen, Orion C. CN089-112.

A scruffy, blond face stared back – bright blue eyes and slightly-flopped ears giving them a surprisingly affable appearance for someone who’d made the top twenty on OKin’s shit list. Not to mention the prior evasion of two others just like him.

He chuckled. Always liked a challenge.

Valen Sonoda was a… seeker for hire. He didn’t like the title bounty hunter – sounded too much like he did dirty work. No, Sonoda preferred to imagine himself as a private eye who sometimes got involved in the more fun side of finding someone who didn’t want to be found. His frame – largely biological apart from the three large, white oculi set into his face where a nose might have once been and his smooth, bald head – was personally designed for the job. Improved muscular locomotion, data tracers built into the palms, mark-six auditory receptors and amplifiers.

Sacha hadn’t been a complete waste. The frame’s vehicle had passed through about a day prior – stopping only for a new tank of water and a few provisions from the town’s small store. The more exotic frame had stood out more than Sonoda had, meaning he had a wider range of accounts to draw from.

All said he should keep traveling north, further into the polar tundra.

It was the same news in the next town – and the town after, though each stop provided more pieces of the puzzle. Kellen was taking on more supplies, and not simply traveling rations – supplies one would need to live on the tundra, and – most interesting of all – a short-range high frequency beacon.

Expecting company?

The road ended just short of a wide, glacial valley.

Sonoda shut the door behind him as he stepped out of the car, popping the latch on the trunk. Wildflowers waved in the cold wind, occasionally shadowed by the fluffy white clouds that dotted today’s sunny sky. A river ran below at the bottom, crashing against great rocks on its way to a distant sea.

Opening the large, black case in the trunk revealed two octagonal silver objects and an inset panel – pressing his palm to it awoke the system. Slowly, the two objects rose into the morning sky, unfurling into a pair of recon drones – before rocketing off into the valley, silent as the breeze.

Calmly walking back around to the front of the car, the bounty hunter tucked their sidearm into the holster beneath their jacket, before turning back to the vista. A crack echoed across the valley, and one of the drones swooped at something far below.

The handgun bucked in their palm as the drone swooped a second time, peppering the loose rocky sand with rounds. It caught the little recon device just left of center, knocking one of the propulsion units offline and sending the device into a wild spin – careening over the boulder they were taking cover behind and disappearing out of sight. The other drone, assured in having completed its task, rocketed back towards the edge of the valley – and whoever had deployed it.

“Fuck!” Cai swore under their breath, throwing the nanocamo mesh aside and slamming the beacon into the rocky soil. It drilled another inch in before securing itself, turning a brilliant blue as it began transmitting. Now to just hope somebody’s listening.

Pressing their back to the rock, they waited – the slight hum of the beacon and roar of the river the only sounds they were able to parse.

A moment later, a crunch of footsteps on rocks. Fast.

The dog peeked out of cover just in time for a stun round to fly past their cheek, its ferroelectric charge causing their fur to stand on end.

Then, silence.

Cai waited.

The river roared, ice cracking.

Sonoda charged, catching the dog entirely off guard and out of position – striking Cai in the face with his shoulder and sending the smaller bioframe skidding away across the gravel. Wheezing, they came up fighting despite the damage the bounty hunter had inflicted running rivulets of blood from their mouth – snapping off a quick shot that drilled into the boulder just over Sonova’s head. Unfazed, he fired a shot off himself, the stun round slamming into the dog’s shoulder and disabling their firing arm. A second shot slammed into their stomach, and they folded.

The pistol clattered to the ground, and Cai slumped to their knees, knowing further resistance would end in nothing good.

“Orion Kellen?” Sonoda half-asked, pad on his right arm displaying the dog’s file. 99.7% identity match, according to visual scans.

Cai said nothing, spitting a small amount of saliva and blood onto the rocky sand.

“OKin’s got a hell of a hard-on for your capture, kid. What’d you do?”

“Does it matter?”

“I want to know if I have a murderer on my hands.”

“Data theft. Hit their backups on Sanibel, dumped prototype weapons blueprints on the open mesh.”

“Don’t see how data theft gets you spot eighteen on their HVT list.” Sonoda frowned, not liking how the story wasn’t exactly adding up. “There was a lot more to your file I couldn’t see.”

“Lucky me.”

“You’re gonna tell me, or a bloody lip’s the last thing you’ll be worrying about.”

“Fuck yourself.”

A low roar, different from the river, sounded over the valley.

Both of them instinctively looked skywards just in time for a dark shape to swoop over the valley in a wide arc, thruster wash sending the wildflowers around the edges flapping wildly. It wasn’t exactly a large ship – a dropship at best, painted in strikingly alternating black and cerulean.

Sonoda turned his gaze back to his quarry just long enough to notice they’d made a break for the descending ship, now gently settling onto the sand a few hundred yards downstream.

The bounty hunter fired, round passing just over the dog’s right shoulder as he juked and weaved, the dropship’s gangway lowering and forcing Sonoda to take cover as bullets tore through the air in his direction, a powered armor clad soldier firing from the airlock as the collie scrambled up the ramp.

Fire kept up for a few moments longer, before the thruster whine grew louder, lifting the ship from the sand as it began to rise into the sky. Sonoda managed to catch a glimpse of the ship’s general design – an angled-corner boxy shape, with a small raised bridge and a front gangway. A four-pointed star adorned the side of the dropship, hastily painted if the roughness was any indication.

It lifted off in a cloud of dust, before roaring off into the bright blue sky. Sonoda watched it go, realizing exactly why the file might’ve been redacted – and why they’d made the top twenty.

That bastard’s a Polaris meshdiver.

Air Dare (commission)

A commission for @Firr on twitter!

“What’s this box over here?” Cai asked aloud, hefting the little box and squinting at it. They’d been invited over to Firr’s place to help move a few things around, and were currently rummaging through some of the spare boxes littered around the room. “Some sort of party thing?”

“Dunno?” The skunk answered truthfully, scratching his head. “Just showed up one day on the step. Guessing it’s promotional?”

“Promotion for… what?” The collie asked, plopping the little box down on a table and squinting at it. A stylized inflatable tiger parade balloon stared back, looming over a cartoon city. “Air Dare”, it read in a sweeping retro font, complete with a few warning labels and a “10+” sticker. Some sort of party game, maybe?

“Party store? Rental place? No idea.”

“Huh.”

The collie lifted the top off, squinting inside. Inside was… nothing but a few little paper cards?

Rather disappointing, really.

“That’s it?” Cai mused aloud, plucking one of the little cardboard squares up and turning it over. “Some sort of truth or dare thing?”

By now Firr had wandered over, peeking into the shallow cardboard box with relative disinterest. Plucking a card of their own from the little scattered pile inside, he squinted at the text. “Dare the other player to earn their stripes.”

“Weird. Mine says the same thing.” Cai frowned, tossing the card aside. “They… all say the same thing. If this was a promo they’re doing a terrible, terrible job of it.”

The pair had just started to resume their slow moving of furniture when they were both struck by a sudden gassy feeling, as if they’d eaten something they shouldn’t have.

“Ugh,” Cai grumbled, holding their tummy. “I haven’t even ate lunch yet, what gives?”

“Me, either,” Firr agreed, grumbling something about his shirt not fitting… and then pausing, as he realized something.

The collie’s tail looked weird – and weirder by the second, as it stretched and squeaked and inflated out into an increasingly oversized orange, white, and black tiger tail – pressing into the chairs they’d just moved!

“Y-Your tail?” Firr blinked, pointing – just as Cai noticed the skunk’s footpaws bloating outwards into huge, squishy orange and black paws.

Tiger paws? Didn’t the card say something about stripes?

“Oh, no,” Cai groaned, their tummy starting to swell as the hiss of rushing air started to fill the room, the box being knocked off as Firr wobbled backwards as their tail swelled outwards with a loud PFOOMP, dislodging the table’s contents!

The pair wobbled as their poor shorts gave up against the relentless onslaught of tiger-patterned vinyl thighs, exploding outwards as they began to change from the waist upwards! Both of them quickly noticed their own natural patterns being… replaced, but worryingly they seemed to be identical, all the way down to the slight mismatches in detailing a factory might make!

“Can’t… reach… the box!” Cai fussed, starting to press up against the ceiling (and against Firr) as the two began to take up more of the room, handpaws swelling into huge, oversized parade tiger paws as their shirts gave up the ghost – and filled the room with loud, rubbery squeaks and squirks. The hissing grew louder and louder, seemingly filling the two soon-to-be parade tigers even quicker!

With a loud thoomp Cai’s snout expanded out into a painted-on grinning parade tiger face, quickly followed by their hair shrinking away and ears shrinking down into little rounded inflatable tiger ears – and with that, poor Firr followed suit!

The hissing did not stop, though – after all, parade balloons were huge, and there was a lot more to fill!

The room steadily filled with orange and black vinyl, pressing up against first the walls, then each other – a tail exploding out a window, paws squeezing through doorways…

Finally, even the roof gave out – and a brand new pair of parade tigers now floated over the (slightly wrecked) house, tethered to the lawn!

Dog Days (commission)

A commission for @rockdog on twitter!

“What a day for a parade!”

Nate was grinning ear to ear, glancing down at the flyer clasped in their paws. Dog Days of Summer! it read in large, cartoonist font – covered in stylized balloons and a little printed mural of a sunny day.

Enjoy a day at the park! Live entertainment, food, and a parade to finish it off – be there, this Saturday!

Well, they couldn’t exactly miss that, could they? Good thing they’d found the flyer in the first place, they’d have missed the event otherwise!

A quick crosstown bus ride later and the lycanroc was enjoying a fairground burger, idly wandering around the local park amidst an absolutely huge crowd of people – evidently everyone else had been just as ready for a saturday out as they had!

It was a great day out, in Nate’s opinion – games, food, a day in the sun – but, as the evening started to crawl closer, the lycanroc found themselves wandering around the fairground proper, peeking into the occasional tent or storage area to see what was around.

One of the tents, marked helpfully “parade supplies”, drew their attention the most. Inside was… gas. Helium tanks, it looked like?

Probably for filling parade balloons! Shame this parade didn’t really have any, it seemed like a simple marching band affair.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, the lycanroc slipped into the tent – stepping over a few discarded yellow and white balloons to stand over one of the closer tanks. Maybe…

Without a second thought – perhaps even on impulse – the lycanroc stuffed the tank’s hose in their mouth and turned the valve until it was fully open.

Cool helium rushed into their snout, the cold sensation of gas hissing out of their nose lasting only a moment before something… fascinating began to occur.

Their usually grey nose began to swell, turning a soft pink as the smell of rubber filled their focus! Nate’s lupine snout began to round out slightly, being overtaken with soft yellows and browns and whites as it began to swell and stretch into something resembling a cartoonishly proportioned canine snout!

To say Nate was suddenly excited was an understatement – in fact, if the tank hadn’t already been opened as far as it could be they would’ve turned it higher!

“Mmph!” The lycanroc giggled, the cool helium gas starting to flow into their tummy proper, straining it against their clothes. Their usually red eyes first stained a light purple, before lightening into an almost electric blue – flattening out along with their nose and facial features into cartoony collie decals as their hair stretched and recolored into a rubbery blond mop!

Their overall proportions were shifting steadily, added height and lost weight starting to press Nate against the ceiling of the tent, even as their forepaws swelled and fused into huge, inflatable collie mitts, tearing the sleeves of their shirt!

“Mmm!”

The first tank trickled to a stop, and with their huge unwieldy paws they weren’t getting another hose in their snout anytime soon.

Resorting to simply shoving their mouth over another tank, the mostly-collie grinned as the valve fell to the floor, tank stuck in the on position!

Their tail exploded outwards, huge and see-through yellow and brown latex wagging in the evening air outside now that they effectively took up most of the space.

Rounding out further and further, Nate (or was it Cai?) dropped to all fours as their proportions shifted into something more befitting a parade collie, finally tearing free of the tent just as their changes drew to a close!

Little ropes tied themselves around the hooks on the collie’s paws, tethering them to the fairground just in time for the band to arrive for parade practice!

Their mind was a bit fuzzy for a moment, before it hit them – of course they were a parade collie, right? A big balloon dog for a dog days festival!

Besides, what kind of parade didn’t have balloons?