The Wolf Soul - Part Three
#3 of The Wolf Soul (TF/TG Themes)
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Andy was in the living room.
Brandon had went into Andy's studio and closed the sliding doors separating the two rooms, and he'd darkened the glass on them to have peace.
He had to drag over Andy's old chair to the computer desk and it felt strange to be sitting on the ergonomic seat that had been set up especially for Andy when he was working at home. At least he could get into the computer. It could interface with the home system as well and give him access.
Brandon was breathing rapidly when he browsed over to YouTube. He stared at the front page for quite some time before he willed himself to type the words.
LLOYD PACKER ADVERT
It sounded innocent enough, but in truth, it was everything he'd been able to think about ever since the doctor's appointment earlier that day.
He'd seen it before, on TV, many times, but right now, when he clicked on the thumbnail and let the video to load, it felt like he was really viewing it for the very first time.
"A true all-American athlete..."
Stock footage from a wavy mobile phone camera or something, low grade stuff showing a young boy fooling around with a football with his father on their backyards.
"...working hard to perfect his body and skills..."
Older now, with a determined look and a mop of black, sweaty hair falling over his eyes before he pushed it back, eyes burning with energy and youth.
"..destined for the very top..."
Various uniforms, smearing black under his eyes, running, tackling, finally holding up the Super Bowl trophy while hollering victoriously.
"...until it all changed..."
Another stock image...of Lloyd Packer, dark, handsome, pure muscle, running towards the camera, a piece of footage from a commercial he had filmed years ago.
You couldn't' really see where the real footage ended and the computer-generated rendition continued, it was seamless work. The man ran towards the camera and leaped, as if trying to catch a ball mid-air, and he became somewhat hazy...in slow motion...
Brandon squeezed the armrest of the chair. The sequence only lasted for three or four seconds, even in slo-mo in the ad, but still, it was too much.
...the man's lean form lengthening, his shoulders shifting, legs drawing to a new form, the stern expression on his face becoming even more fierce when his eyes changed color, his nose...his face...his face lengthening and darkening...
Brandon thought he was going to choke. The man's body elongated and his fingers became...paws...and a tail seemed to spring out of nowhere in this fantasy creation on the screen, and his flight seemed endless and...
...thump!
Where a man was in the air before, a dog stood now, a German Shepherd clad in compression shorts and a sleeveless shirt in his old football team's colors. His stern look had become a confident, even cocky smile upon the lips of the dog now looking at the camera.
This was a real, living, breathing Lloyd Packer, with tall, flicking ears and a tail snapping slowly behind him.
_"... for the better." _
His voice was extremely deep, masculine, almost a bark. He stared at the camera boldly and unapologetically, like he was in possession of not only the situation but the land he stood upon in he imaginary space he occupied in the advert, surely filmed in front of a green screen in a studio.
"Same man, different body, same ambition to be the one on top."
A shiny new football flew in front a corner of the image and he leaped up in the air two yards from where he stood to capture it mid-flight and then landed in a decisively canine pose on the ground, grinning and showing perfectly white teeth.
"You can be on top as well, if you wear Under Shield."
The logo of the clothing brand filled the image and the advert came to an end. It left Brandon sitting in front of the computer and staring at the "PLAY AGAIN?" symbol.
He didn't want to see it again.
He rotated himself in the chair, and stared at the architectural model of the "Bank Number 15" concept Andy had been working on just before becoming ill. It was a real model, made of balsa wood, cardboard, plywood, real, tangible materials instead of a 3D digital rendition on his design program. Andy always said he wanted to get a real feel of the geometry, of space, and for that, he had to run is hands through the scale model. Brandon had always thought that was just an eccentric thing the architect believed in. Maybe Andy's brain really worked like that.
He felt an urgent need to do the same. He wanted to pick the other man in his arms and run his fingers all over him, feel every shape and texture he could. He knew it so well...the body of the man he loved, and had done so for many years now. The disease had not been able to change that, either. The large man's heart was as big as that. He was determined to have Andy for himself for as long as he could.
His stomach ached. He wasn't used to crying, and had always done so while well hidden from Andy's sight, and the tears that'd come out of his eyes today at the doctor's office had been hard to bear for the proud man. He knew he had to be strong for both of them. He had to be the man...
He had to stop being so goddamn afraid.
He looked at the computer screen again. The videos on the suggested viewing box had a random selection of further Lloyd Packer footage, both before and after the accident that had necessitated him to travel to Korea to undergo...indeed...what the doctor had called regeneration, something...but what everyone really knew had given birth to 'fangers'.
Brandon knew the story. He'd been to Wikipedia earlier to catch up.
It had been a case of 'we can do it, but should we?' and much debated in the Congress, but eventually, the ban on trans-species gene transfer to the human genome was approved of if used to treat medical conditions otherwise incurable. The pioneers had been itching to pump their laboratory mice with all the genes they wanted to play with, and the progress had been immense in only the space of a few years.
The uproar that had been caused when the scientists announced that they could start replacing entire ailing bodies with new ones had been remarkable. The claims that they had taken one step too far in the path to playing God had been repeated so many times before that they had really lost some of their din, but with the creation of the first fangers...somehow, even the most jaded of technocrats had to stop in awe to stare at the results of experimentation. Hasty legislation had been drawn up to make sure that the newly created...beings would have the human rights that belonged to them, and that the very fact that their DNA had been altered would not cause them to cease to be the same legal entity as before. How to deal with a man who entered a hospital as a homo sapiens and came back as a transgenetic human-tiger hybrid, tail, whiskers, purr and all?
Brandon had read about the accidents, the failures, the hack jobs, the illegal experiments. Some subjects had turned out so awfully that they'd either died right away from massive cellular decay, instant body-wide cancer, or simply had been unable to deal with the psychological repercussions and had taken their own lives. Those who did manage to return to their old lives were treated with reactions varying from open terror to circus freak stares, everything on the spectrum of adoration to eschewing horror. Truly neutral dispositions seemed absent.
The man hung his head wearily and stroked his face slowly. He felt immensely tired. He hadn't even done anything physically demanding during the day. It'd been just another day in their life, expect that in the space of half an hour he'd been told not only that Andy had hopped onto the terminal train and that the only way to pull the emergency brake was to submit to a fanger transformation.
He felt cold chills. He couldn't imagine seeing Andy's face...like...something happening like on that video he'd just watched on YouTube.
Could that really happen? Could Andy his eyes...whatever color they would be, and he would still be there, the truest part of him that was what made him special to Brandon? Could the spirit and the character...his...soul survive such a transformation?
Could he still love him?
Would Andy still love him? Even the cover boy Packer had split up from his wife once she had cited 'incorrigible differences' as the reason for their divorce, taken the kids, 200 million dollars, a boob job, Botox to get rid of the divorce stress lines, and then married a TV producer. Had it been because the newly doggy Packer didn't like her anymore, or could she simply not _...transform_her attraction for him into this new body?
Or maybe she'd only been in it for the pay check, or the divorce settlement, possibly. It seemed like that girls like that squeezed the wallet before they grabbed a guy's junk.
"God..."
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!
He looked up. The noise came from the buzzer they'd gotten for Andy once his voice had become so weak that he no longer could yell for Brandon if he needed some assistance or just attention. The doorbell-like noise might not have been pleasant, but it could be heard all over the house which was the only thing that mattered.
Brandon sighed heavily and walked over to the doors, opened them and stepped into the living room.
"Yeah, what is it?"
Andy was sitting on the couch, snuggly wrapped in a blanket and supported by pillows. He preferred that to the chair with its special padding that could be adjusted and locked into place. It was much more natural on the couch, plus, there was room for Brandon there as well.
"You...you...p...p...pr....phh.....am...start.....ting..."
Brandon glanced absentmindedly at the television set. He found that it really was about to show a TV show they'd been following together for years.
"Oh..." he said.
"C...C..C..come..."Andy gestured with his shaking hand.
Brandon moved over to the couch and settled right next to his boyfriend. Andy seemed to be smiling. At least his eyes did.
"Is your neck any better?" Brandon asked.
"T...T..T...T...tor...tortoise..." Andy said. "No...hhheelp..."
"I know," Brandon said.
"Not...hurt...ing..." Andy commented.
Brandon put his arm about his boyfriend's shoulders and squeezed him close.
"Good," he said, "that's very good."
"Y...y....yo...o...kay...?"
"Got a lot on my mind," Brandon said.
"Mmmmm too..."
He seemed so fragile. He'd always been athletic, running and doing physical things that Brandon could barely keep up with.
"What do you...think about it?" Brandon asked. He put his fingers carefully against Andy's curled ones on his left hand and let Andy's tremor stroke them together.
"...did...nnn...now..." Andy said. "...ab...ab...ab...about...t...t...."
"About the treatment?"
"Ssssh."
"It must be really new."
"D...D...D...Dutch..."
"If it'd really work, I'd never say anything bad about the Dutch ever again."
"Wh...wh...when...did...say...?" Andy was definitely smiling now.
Brandon pecked his temple and squeezed the man close to him, and didn't let go.
*
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