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"Look, I don't care how much it's going to cost, Detective Whitmore, but I've been told you're the best for these kinds of disappearances! Besides, the police are doing absolutely nothing!"

John Whitmore frowned at the modestly dressed woman in front of his desk, before flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette and removing his legs from the table to allow him to sit forwards, "Mrs Barr, look," he replied in a low, gravelly voice, "Sometimes people just disappear, move on to start a new life away from everything that knew 'em. It's not as uncommon as you'd think."

It was Mrs Barr's turn to frown, and when combined with her quivering lip, made her look on the verge of tears, "Y-you don't understand!" she whimpered, clutching her purse to her chest, "He was a happy young man in a successful job, there was no reason for him vanish!"

Whitmore sighed and stabbed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, "Fine, fine, I'll look for your kid, but if I do and he doesn't want to be found, I'm not going to rat him out. I'll tell you his condition, but that's it."

Mrs Barr looked incredibly nervous at that statement, but hesitantly nodded and sat down on the chair opposite him. He leaned back as he grinned, exposing yellowing, tobacco-stained teeth, "Alright, now, where was he seen last?"

The detective frowned as he glanced down at his notepad, before looking up and checking the address against what Mrs Barr had told him. With an annoyed grunt, he stuffed the pad back into a pocket of his coat and limped up the stairs, bracing himself against the cold railing as he winced with every footfall of his right leg; winter was just starting to set in, evidenced by the small piles of white dotted around the street swept up by the eddies and turbulence of the wind, and especially by the pain in his right knee. Reconstructive surgery managed to give him back mobility after being shot, but he wasn't able to keep up with work on the force any more. Thankfully, though, he still had connections.

He fingered the key in his pocket, given to him by an old friend in his former squad, as he limped into the lobby of the apartment complex. His thoughts, however, were fixed on his quarry: Alex Barr, a young man in his mid-twenties, sporting a mop of ginger hair like a match. He was a computer engineer, but had grown reclusive in the months leading up to his disappearance. He apparently used to enjoy hiking, biking, and other such outdoor activities before his abrupt personality shift. And as he thought about it, that was the strangest part. It seemed like overnight his interests and hobbies had completely flipped. According to some of the officers on the case that he had managed to talk to, he would go for days without leaving his apartment. Apparently the officers had found something interesting in his abode, but they didn't want to 'ruin the surprise', whatever that meant.

As the he stepped into the rickety elevator and punched in Alex's floor number, Whitmore's thoughts were whirring through a range of possibilities. Evidently it wasn't a crime scene, 'cause he'd never be allowed in if that were the case, so maybe he'd turned to an unusual hobby? His thoughts drifted from that to his next destination, a club that Alex had apparently started frequenting the few times that he went out. He had heard a lot of strange things about this 'Singularity' club, and he wasn't exactly eager to go, but a job was a job, and money was money as they say.

His thoughts carried him to the door of Alex's apartment, and the key was in the lock before his inner monologue had caught up to him. With a swift twist, the analogue lock clicked open and the door swung inwards, the lights in the corridor casting a sliver of visibility into the otherwise pitch-black apartment.

He took a tentative step inside and hit the light switch beside the door, bathing the entryway and living area in a warm yellow glow and illuminating exactly what it was his former colleagues were eager for him to see. Every surface of the living room, minus the floors and walls, were covered in shiny black latex. An impressive collection of gear was arrayed out on the coffee table, from gas masks to a pair of hoods. A full-body latex catsuit was draped over the back of the couch, which, surprise, surprise, was also upholstered in latex.

Whitmore frowned as he took a few uncertain steps forwards, pulling out his pad and jotting down a few notes. He tentatively approached the latex coated couch to inspect the array of fetish gear before his phone buzzed in his pocket. Making a mental note to get back at his buddies for sending him in here unprepared, he drew the phone from his pocket and answered it.

"This is Whitmore, what's up?"

"Hey, John, buddy! I did a little digging around some of the security cams around your guys place and I found something you might be interested in."

Whitmore immediately spun around and made for the kitchen, before dropping his notepad on the bench to take notes.

"Interesting how? The guys at the squad house said the same thing, and now I'm surrounded by latex... Stuff!"

The voice on the other end of the call, youthful and bright, just chuckled at him, "Don't tell me you're getting bashful in your old age!" they teased, earning them an annoyed grunt from the wizened detective, "The last glimpse I got of your kid was about two blocks away, and they weren't alone. They were talking with someone, a shark anthro, long black coat, purple-ish skin. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but when they parted ways, I followed her to her next destination. It's that odd club down near the nightlife district, Singularity."

Whitmore was diligently noting down what was said, before pausing and frowning, "By odd, do you mean?"

"Fetish, yes. Latex, mainly, though apparently there are other services they offer. I've heard they make absolutely outstanding drinks, but the place has always had a bit of a weird reputation. There are rumours going around that this place is the HQ of a hedonist group in the city..."

Whitmore cursed softly under his breath; this was starting to get outside his comfort zone... He sighed and noted it down, before asking, "Do you have anything on this shark he was with?"

This time, the reply took a little longer to come, as if his friend was unsure about what he had found, "Her name, as far as I can tell, is Amby, no last name given. Sometimes there's a Mistress prefix too, so I'm fairly sure she's one of the people in charge of this club if what I'm reading is accurate. She also likes calling her underlings 'drones', so I think it's fairly safe to say she's got a bit of a 'Queen Bee' complex."

"Anything else? A background on them? History? Surely there's something?" Whitmore inquired, frowning at how spartan his notes were looking for hard details.

"I tried, John, I really did. The most I could get was the name of this group: DIGOS. Everything else is under a level of lockdown that I've never seen before. I'm talking military grade security here. Whoever they are, someone high up is concerned about them."

The detective sighed and underlined what he had just written, "Alright, thanks, Davies. Did you find anything about Alex's activities leading up to his disappearance?"

"That I did find. His bank account records and Amazon statements show that, from about six months ago, he started making a heap of purchases for all manner of latex-themed kink gear. It started small, ball-gags, butt-plugs, a binder or two. But it seemed to pick up from there, the purchases getting bigger. Soon it was stuff like hoods, bodysuits, even a vac-bed. Some of these things I actually had to look up to make sure I was getting them right. This all coincided with his first visit to that club, and I don't think that's a coincidence..."

Whitmore frowned at his notes, "Goddamn, this case just keeps getting weirder. Alright, thanks. You find anything else, let me know, okay?"

"Will do, John. Stay safe,"

The line went dead as Whitmore returned the phone to his pocket, rubbing his head in frustration; something more was going on, something that might be a little above his pay grade, but he needed to at least try.

Ten minutes later saw Whitmore trudging towards the club Davies had mentioned; he knew that the next piece of the puzzle could be found there, but he also knew he was not about to enjoy what was coming next. The club wasn't too far away from Alex's apartment, only another ten minutes away from where he was, so it didn't take long for him to wind up in front of it.

From the outside, it was a fairly unremarkable building. There was a neon sign above the door, flashing dimly in the afternoon light, while the windows were blacked out. But despite it being a weekday and still closer to the middle of the day than the evening, there still seemed to be music emanating from inside. He took a long drag from his cigarette and tossed it into a snowdrift, before pushing at the door lightly.

It opened easily on well-oiled hinges, revealing a small, almost airlock-esque room beyond, with another set of doors on the far wall. These ones, however, had the club's circular logo embossed on the glass.

Beside the doors was a podium, behind which was standing a female figure bound head to toe in shiny black latex. She was vaguely shark-like in appearance, but her head was the oddest of all; she were wearing what could only be described as a helmet or full-head visor, her features completely obscured by whatever material it was made of. From the outside, Whitmore was completely unable to see through it to the person underneath, but a pair of digitally-projected eyes were staring at him inquisitively.

Whitmore cleared his throat quickly, "I-erm, I was wondering if I'd be able to speak with, err, Amby?" he stammered, clearly not comfortable. If this is what the greeter was like, then he REALLY wasn't sure how he'd deal with the woman running the place.

The figure behind the podium nodded with a soft chirp as her digital eyes blinked, before gesturing to the doors next to them.

As Whitmore pushed through the doors he was greeted by a blast of loud music; trance, he thought this particular genre was called. There were a number of tables and booths scattered around his immediate vicinity, while further to his right was a surprisingly populated dancefloor, with patrons in all manner of gear-up or undress. Further behind them, a white-furred fox in a black suit with a pair of large headphones slung around his neck was up by the turntables, the blue glow of his headphones matching his cuff pins and buttons as he masterfully switched and mixed the tracks.

He took a few tentative steps towards the bar, before the soft sound of something large and heavy being adjusted to his left startled him; he couldn't see very well through the gloom, but a pair of glowing amethyst eyes were fixed firmly on him. As they stepped forward, the large, heavy-set shark was revealed in all her glory; a good half-foot taller than him and covered in armour, she was an imposing figure as she glowered down at the human.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she asked gruffly, though Whitmore could spot the barest hint of mirth behind her demeanour; evidently his surprise and fear had shown enough to amuse her.

He scowled softly, "Yes, I was hoping to speak to Amby, I have some questions I need to ask her."

She was about to offer a haughty reply before she cocked her head to one side, as if listening to someone whispering in her ear. She sighed loudly and leaned back against the wall, "Mistress Amby is just finishing up with a client and has already been made aware of your presence. If you'd like to wait over by the bar," she said, pointing to said bar on the other side of the tables, "She will be with you momentarily."

Whitmore examined the female shark for a moment; apparently she was looking visibly disappointed with the order she had just been given. He dropped it and quickly moved over to bar, where another latexed and helmeted individual was standing, dressed this time in a white dress shirt and black vest over whatever kind of latex suit they wore. This one looked like a feline of some description; at least, that's what he could gather with their helmet still on.

They chirruped happily and looked at Whitmore, who was now scanning the impressive array of spirits behind the bar, before he grunted and reached into his pocket for his credit chit, "Just a straight whiskey, thanks," he muttered, pulling out his notepad beside it.

The feline nodded and grabbed it for him in the span of ten seconds, before stepping away to serve another customer before Whitmore had a chance to pay. He frowned at them, "Hey, what do I owe ya for this?" he called out.

"Consider it on the house," a soft, sultry voice from behind him replied.

Whitmore flinched in surprise and looked back to see the anthro described to him, Amby. She was a lot more imposing in person than he had expected, given that she was almost a foot taller than the shark by the door, but was relatively thin and lithe. She wore an open black coat over her somewhat gleaming purple skin, and there were a number of white armour plates on her coat's shoulders and hips, but nothing like the behemoth by the door. Underneath, she wore a skin-tight suit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and it was all he could do to keep his gaze focussed on her face.

She smirked coyly and slipped onto the stool next to him as the person behind the counter immediately grabbed her a drink, "So, Detective John Whitmore, what can I do for an esteemed former police detective turned PI?" she asked sultrily, stirring the olive in her martini absentmindedly.

"How... How do you know about me?" he replied, surprised at her knowledge.

"I don't suppose you've made much progress looking for young Alex, have you?" she countered, avoiding his question as her lips stretched into a predatory grin, "I do hope he's alright, I've missed him in recent days."

Whitmore frowned, "Do you know anything? You were the last person to see him, did he seem worried or anything?"

Amby chuckled softly, in a way that made Whitmore's blood turn to ice, "Well, he did seem agitated, but he didn't really tell me why," she replied, her eyes fixed on his, "He said he had been having some trouble with something, and that he hoped I could help, but he never said what it was before he left for home."

Whitmore hurriedly scribbled down a few more things in his notepad, before taking a sip from his drink; the spirit burned as it went down, but the familiarity of the sensation was enough to act as an anchor for him in this strange, strange place. He glanced down at his notes; his gut was screaming at him that something wasn't right here, that she wasn't telling him everything, but what unsettled him most of all was how much they seemed to already know, about both him and his investigation.

He lifted his gaze back to hers as he decided to try a different line of questioning. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the bartender, "So what's the deal with them? Aren't they allowed to talk or anything?"

Amby chuckled quietly, "Oh, you mean my loyal drones? Of course they can speak, and there's nothing stopping them either. They just enjoy being cute and adorable like that. I know that a lot of people, especially those not familiar with our little family, might find it odd at best, and disturbing at worst, but they're under no compulsion other than their own. Isn't that right, Irby?"

The drone behind the bar chirruped happily as he went back to work. Whitmore was about to launch into another set of questions when his phone buzzed in his pocket again. He quickly glanced at the screen, before looking back up at Amby, "I'm sorry, I've got to take this. Thank you for your time, Amby."

At her sly nod, he gulped the last of his whiskey down, then slipped off his stool and made for the entrance. As he moved away, he caught a snippet of conversation Amby had just embarked on, seemingly with no-one but the air around her, "No, Feo, it's alright, I've got it handled. Keep an eye on them though, okay?"

As Whitmore stepped back into the street, the temperature was plummeting fast. Snow had started to fall again as his phone continued buzzing in his pocket. He lit up another cigarette and took a deep drag, before exhaling a cloud of smoke and answering it, "Yes, Davies, what is it?" he inquired, setting his course for a nearby restaurant for a bite to eat.

"John, I'm glad I managed to get you!" came the reply, sounding a little more skittish than he normally was, "I've been doing some more digging about this DIGOS group and it's not looking good! While most of the information I know exists about them is restricted far above my pay grade, I've been able to pull together some rumours about them from trusted sources. Some of them say they're a DARPA project gone rogue, while others are swearing up and down they're alien. Most of the time, they seem pretty benign, but there are rumours that the whole Mimito/ExaCorp turf war was orchestrated and caused by one of them. ONE. These guys are scary customers. Apparently, even Jaegers were sent against one of them, only to return in pieces. I don't know what your guy was getting himself into, but things aren't looking good. People disappear around them. Whether they die or something else, I don't know, but you need to be careful around them!"

Whitmore's weathered skin paled under his brow; now he knew he was getting in way over his head. If these guys were apparently this dangerous, then it was in his best interest to just drop the case. Definitely tell the police though, maybe even the military, for whatever good that may do.

As he slumped into a seat at the kebab shop, he cursed to himself under his breath; no doubt this was the reason why the police had done nothing. He placed his order and started flicking through his phone in between taking drags off his cigarette, hoping that a full belly would help him planning his next move, before something purple and black glinted in the reflection of the screen. His heart jumped into his throat as he spun around, seeing nothing but the snowy street outside.

He dashed for the door and burst through, looking around desperately from side to side, but aside from the few passers-by bundled up against the cold hurrying to their destinations, the street was deserted. No sign of whatever it was that reflected in his phone...

Whitmore returned to his seat and gratefully took his kebab while trying to settle his nerves. He shook his head as he took a bite out of it, he did nothing wrong, he just asked a few questions is all, right? And... No, there was no doubt, they were definitely behind Alex's disappearance, but surely they didn't know he knew that.

The bell of the door rang, and Whitmore stiffened instinctively as he glanced back around, and for half a second, he felt his heart stop at the sight of the new person, before it settled again. A young, purple-haired woman bundled in a black fluffy coat had just made her way in and sat at one of the back tables, her attention focussed solely on the conversation she was having on her phone.

By now, Whitmore's hands were trembling badly enough to make eating his kebab quite difficult, so he gave up and dropped it on the plate with an annoyed huff, before standing up and making for the door. The woman's deep indigo eyes watched with a pensive curiosity as he passed and walked out into the snowy street.

Whitmore looked down at his watch then up at the sky as heavy clouds started to descend on the late afternoon sun, plunging the world into an icy darkness. With no real desire to continue investigating the case, he started walking to the nearest stop.

Three busses and an hour later, the sun had fully set as Whitmore trudged up to his house near the outskirts of the city; he had bought it for cheap close to a decade ago, before the shooting and back when he could afford outlays like that. Now though, he was just glad when he could take an easy case. He let himself into the house as he tried calming himself down; he thought he had another two or three encounters on the way home, all of which must have been false alarms, but nevertheless left a pit of anxious nerves in his stomach.

As he flicked on the light, he aimed straight for his liquor cupboard, needing something a little stronger than a single shot of club whiskey an hour and a half ago to calm himself down. As his trembling hands fumbled the cap of his favourite bottle of 140 proof Bourbon, a soft tutting behind him chilled him to the core.

"Such a shame to waste a vintage like that on nerves, don't you think, John?" crooned a soft, seductive voice from the hallway leading to the bedroom.

Whitmore dropped the bottle onto the carpet with a dull thud as his heart sank almost as fast as the bottle. He fumbled around the cabinet below the alcohol desperately, "W-what do you want?" he stammered, trying to buy time.

"Why, only to congratulate you, of course." Amby replied, a grin returning to her features, "You have figured it out, haven't you? Well, at least, as much as you could have, given how much about us is classified..."

"What did you do to him..." Whitmore mumbled as his fingers closed around the hard wood finish of his old service pistol, concealed under his impressive collection of booze.

"Alex... Well, Alex is a part of the family now," she replied simply.

At that, Whitmore spun around, pistol raised, and emptied the clip into the shark now not more than five metres away.

A single shot rang out and fired true, hitting Amby square in the shoulder. But her sly smirk never left her face as she continued approaching; if anything, it seemed to grow wider. He gulped as he pulled out the mag, trying to figure out why only one shot fired, only to hear Amby chuckle softly, "Oh, are you looking for these?" she asked, letting the bullets tumble from her hand onto the ground with a soft noise as they fell against each other.

Whitmore started backing away, his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "What... What are you?"

Amby tutted, "All in good time, my dear," she teased, her grin growing wider now, "You said you wanted to find Alex, yeah? How about I introduce you?"

Before he had a chance to respond, he felt someone press up behind him and clamp something behind his neck. He yelped in surprise and spun around to see the drone standing behind him, a serene smile across her digital face as she watched the goings on.

"Well, John, now that I think about it, you've already met her! She was at the door when you came in, after all!" Amby teased as Whitmore felt the collar spring to life despite his desperate clawing.

A black, viscous fluid started spreading down from the collar, coating his neck in the stuff. He tried to pull it off but only succeeded in spreading whatever it was to his hands. He dropped to his knees and looked up at Amby with despair etched over his features, but she was paying more attention to the drone than to him.

"Alex, how about you help our newest sister get changed?" she asked, before glancing down at Whitmore still desperately trying to pull off this strange goop, "Surely she doesn't look comfortable in those trappings of her old life, don't you think?"

His head bolted up, eyes wide with fear, "Wait, what? What are you doing to me!?"

Amby just tutted as she took a few steps towards the hapless human, while he felt the fabric of his coat and shirt being torn through by a claw or whatever sharp implement the drone was using, "My dear, I only take the best as my drones. And while you're not quite there yet, I see your potential, and I'm committed to doing everything in my power to help you reach it."

As his torn clothes fell away, the black liquid seemed to surge down his chest, before starting to itch deeply. He gulped and reached up to his neck again, only to find that the stuff around his neck had solidified into a single smooth surface. The strange thing was, though, that he could feel every little sensation as if it was his own skin. Before he had time to ponder this thought, a sharp pain lanced through the back of his neck, bad enough to send him tumbling to the ground as his vision threatened to leave him.

He seemed to lose track of everything happening to him for a moment, before he slowly turned his head to look up at the drone now crouched next to him, her comforting hand resting on his shoulder. As he looked up at her, he could tell just how much she cared and worried for him.

Wait, how? Her face was still covered?

But as he looked up at her, it was undeniable, that WAS how she was feeling towards him.

Evidently, this confusion was visible on his face because he heard Amby chuckle softly, "It's always adorable when they realise the link for the first time, wouldn't you agree, Alex?"

The drone nodded and smiled down at Whitmore as she continued rubbing his shoulder, while the goo continued surging down his body, seemingly unaffected by gravity. He looked up at Amby and was about to question her, when his thoughts involuntarily turned back to what she had said, about wanting to help improve him, about seeing his potential, and he began to realise that maybe she had meant what she said. Maybe she just wanted to help her?

Amby took another step forwards and kneeled down beside Whitmore to rest a hand on her head, before she chucked softly, "My, my, dear, you're taking to this far better than I expected you to. Your sisters are eagerly awaiting you, but we need to finish getting you ready, don't you think?" she crooned, helping the drone-in-progress onto her back.

As she looked down, a small pair of breasts were starting to bud on her chest, while her formerly broad shoulders and thick limbs had slimmed down quite significantly. Gone too, were her formerly stubby sausage fingers, now replaced with lithe pianist ones, eager to play the tune of her new family.

While the latex hadn't gotten below her waist at this point, a lot of physical changes were seeming to proceed ahead of the liquid, with her hips widening and her legs growing thinner and more feminine. And smack in the middle, the last remnant of her former gender was sporting a shrinking erection.

The other drone, Alex, started to caress it lightly, causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot through the new drone's head which was now starting to be coated in the same latex as below. As she threw her head back to cry out in ecstasy, the latex surged across her head, momentarily blotting her sight out from the world. The latex pushed into her mouth and nose, sliding down far enough to make sure that the new drone would always be able to breathe, before the mass started shaping itself into the sleek form of a shark, just like her new Mistress.

God, that word felt right to say, didn't it? She felt a tingle all throughout her body at the thought, and as her vision cleared to the sight of her, that tingle only intensified. It felt right in the most perfect way possible, to call Amby her Mistress, especially after everything she had done, and was doing, for her!

A loud, female moan left her lips suddenly as her fellow drone slipped their fingers down between her legs to rub at her new slit, its black lips gleaming with synthetic lubricant as her excitement grew. Her hands moved up to her chest, to caress her breasts which had slowed their growth, but not quite stopped, and lightly brushed her thumbs across her new nipples. A buzz of pleasure rocketed through her body as a long, powerful tail started pushing out of the base of her spine, and as the latex finally finished covering her legs, sealing her in her new skin, she felt a sense of rightness to her new form. She was beautiful now, in the best way possible, and she had her Mistress to thank for that!

Her toes curled, and she thrust her hips into the air as Alex's questing fingers pressed inside her drooling latex snatch, causing her mind to blank out completely from the pleasure. Her body continued moving, as if desperate to keep the pleasure coming, as her hips gyrated against the other drone's fingers.

Almost as if having perfect intimate knowledge of her new body, Alex's fingers stroked and rubbed against the new drone's g-spot with an almost mechanical accuracy. While the new drone may have thought her thoughts were blank as a result of the stimulation, it was her first orgasm that truly brought what that sensation should feel like home. She screamed to the heavens as her new fluids squirted around Alex's expert digits; she was lost in the pleasure now, unable to think, to move, to do anything but embrace the fire coursing through her veins.

As she slowly came down from the high, her thoughts fuzzy and distant, she heard her Mistress croon to her softly, "That's a good girl... I think you'll enjoy your new life,"

She couldn't agree more.