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Fame, makes a man take things over

Fame, lets him loose, hard to swallow

Fame, puts you where things are hollow

(David Bowie)

---

Gabe managed to tear his gaze away from the devastated cityscape to glance down the bus clutched in his hand. On a mid-rampage whim, he'd picked up the hapless vehicle, taking it and all of its passengers on something of a tour of destruction as he tore his way through the miniature city.

"Bet you guys thought I'd forgotten about you," the stallion rumbled, the hungry smile never leaving his lips. "Bet you guys thought you'd gotten lucky. Well, I've got some bad news for you. Depending on your definition of 'lucky', I suppose,"

Gabe brushed a lock of jet-black mane out of his eyes, licking his lips as he did so. Bringing the bus up to his face, the chestnut stallion tore the rear of the vehicle away with his teeth and spat it over his shoulder, sending the twisted metal pinging off the side of a nearby building. The giant rumbled eagerly as he extended his tongue, running it around the circumference of the exposed interior.

Lowering the bus to waist level, the gigantic stallion eased himself into it with a grunt. His cock had been clamoring for attention for some time, and Gabe had every intent of paying it its due.

Gabe gasped, leaning back against a skyscraper. A cascade of shattered glass rained down towards the pavement below. The stallion felt a tension building until he could barely stand it anymore. His hooves bit into the ground, digging great furrows into the concrete. Throwing back his head, he bellowed out his orgasm for the world to hear.

"Cut!"

Gabe straightened up, brushing off his back as he glanced over his shoulder.

"You get anything useful? I was completely flying by the seat of my pants for the last ten minutes or so," he said, picking his way among rows of model structures.

"You _have_no pants, Gabe," the director, a scrappy koala with a greying complexion, replied.

The horse rolled his eyes, striding over to his folding chair and shrugging on his bathrobe. He didn't bother tying the belt, resting his hands on his hips as he looked at the koala.

"Sorry about that one tower, by the way. I didn't think I'd actually be able to actually swing my cock clear through it like that," he said with a wry smirk. "Props to the prop department--this wasn't any mere collection of painted cardboard boxes. Impressive work for sure,"

"We'll just take it out of your paycheck," the koala snorted. "We're doing the lab accident scene tomorrow. Try not to break anything then,"

"No guarantees, Chuck," Gabe chuckled as he made his way towards his dressing room, clapping the koala on the shoulder.

The stallion pursed his lips as his director followed after him. He'd been nursing a headache pounding dully at the back of his brain for the better part of the afternoon. It made playing the angry rampaging titan that much easier, he would concede that much. But what it did not do was make dealing with Chuck any easier. The koala's wheedling voice was aggravating on a good day, downright excruciating with a headache. But did that stop him? Hell no.

"We're going to start adding all of the post-production tonight. Get all those tiny little cars and people and whatnot in the picture. And lemme tell you. You sure cut our work out for us. Guess a big guy likes to have fun with his toys, eh?"

Gabe didn't respond.

"I've got storyboards to show you," the koala continued, oblivious of the stallion's audible groan. "You fight an entire army. Stomping tanks, swatting fighter jets, the works. But they're just playthings to you.

"You've clearly got the upper hand, so they pull out their last-resort measure and nuke you. Except it totally backfires: the radiation grows you to like ten miles tall and--"

Gabe shut the door of his dressing room before the koala had a chance to finish his sentence. His bathrobe slipped to the floor as he crossed to a folding chair in front of the vanity. Sitting down, the stallion stared at his reflection in the grungy mirror set over the boudoir.

"I'm not even going to bother with the whole internal monologue bullshit," Gabe grumbled under his breath.

He'd rehashed it a billion times over and it was getting a little old. But what had he done to land in this situation? He'd gone to a good drama school and what did he land? A gig as a fucking porn star. It paid the bills all right, but he didn't care to think about half the things he did to earn that paycheck. The day's shooting had been case in point.

Add onto that the fact that he was suddenly feeling a little odd. Make that_really_ odd. Something was seriously off. Gabe's head was splitting and his vision was suddenly blurry.

Moments later, a very large and very startled Gabe was sitting in the flattened wreckage of the studio.

"...the fuck?" Gabe blinked.

*****

Saaduuts was always grey. But it wasn't until the winter rolled around that it revealed its full potential. Grey was in fact a spectrum of colors, subtle variations on the same drab, melancholy hue.

I walked along the shore, the pebbles and grit that passed for sand crunching underfoot. The wind cut in from the ocean, tousling my hair and whipping the hem of my long coat about wildly. Drawing in my breath, I pulled my scarf more tightly around my throat and folded my arms across my chest, hunching forward against the stiff breeze and drizzle.

A driftwood log lay further along the beach, dug halfway into the sand. Its gnarled, knotted roots were still intact, sticking up into the sky. It must have been torn away from the shore of one of the coastal islands during a recent storm and floated over to make landfall on the mainland.

Close to the waterline, someone had built a small rectangular fort out of pieces of driftwood. Memories stirred in the back of my mind. Childhood visits to the beach. Once at this very beach, I'd once stripped down to my underwear because I'd forgotten my bathing suit and waded out neck deep in the frigid water, shivering and shaking as I insisted it wasn't that cold.

I clambered on top of the log and sat down midway along its length, staring out at the ocean. Leaden waves capped in white foam crashed into the shore, swirling and eddying between the larger rocks. Farther out from the shore, a ferry sounded its foghorn, little more than a vague outline in the mist.

Everything appeared grey. Grey sky, grey waves, grey rain. Grey, grey, grey. Winter in Saaduuts didn't have the decency to give us snow or anything else of that sort. All the short days melded together into one grey, frigid stream. It was all one long, cold dark.

A loud crunching sound jerked me out of my somber reverie. Jumping to my feet, I staggered back, almost falling over the driftwood log. My ears perked up and my head snapped around as I heard another, greater, crashing sound. It seemed to come from somewhere over the low grassy bluff to my left.

Gathering my coat more tightly around myself, I hurried towards the bluff and the source of the commotion. I scrambled unevenly up the steep slope of the bluff, pulling myself up using clumps of coarse dune grass. I cursed softly as the sharp edge of a sheaf of grass (they called them blades for a reason) bit into my palm. Worse than paper cuts if you ask me.

I reached crested the bluff, sucking on my palm. Thing hurt like a bitch. This commotion had better be fucking worth it, for how much I was suffering.

"Oh," my hand dropped away from my mouth as I stared slack-jawed. "Oh shit,"

Looking down over the other side of the bluff, the beach started to curve out into a cape. This part of the beach was usually more secluded, one of Saaduuts' best-kept secrets. Whenever I needed to think, I could always go for a stroll along the narrow cape. Just me and the water.

Well, apparently one of Saaduuts' best-kept secrets had been discovered. The rocky beach was a flurry of activity. A row of those rentable canopies you always saw at family reunions had been set up along the low dunes that formed the de facto back end of the beach. Dozens of people were scurrying every which way, some carrying equipment--large boom microphones, cameras, other assorted strange things I couldn't recognize--and others apparently deep in conversation with one another. And sprawled on his back in the middle of it was a gigantic horse.

The stallion lay spread-eagled on the rocky beach. His entire body was secured to the ground by numerous lengths of rope and cable that crisscrossed his arms, legs, chest, and stomach. Even his mane was tethered down by a fairly generous number of stakes. All he wore was a rather bored and impatient expression on his face.

I half-scrambled, half-slid down the bluff, running across the cobbled beach towards the scene. A greasy-looking koala giving orders to a group of lackies looked to be fairly important, so I made a beeline for him.

"What exactly in the motherfucking_fuck_ is going on here?" I demanded as the koala handed a plastic clipboard over to someone.

The koala looked over the tops of his (completely unnecessary in this overcast weather) sunglasses at me, arching his brow.

"You're late," he snapped before glancing over his shoulder at the prone giant behind him. "Look. We need some coverage on the left pec. Just grab onto his nipple when he sits up. We don't want anyone to go and take a nasty tumble, do we?

"Oh, and take off that ridiculous coat. I keep telling folks, we've already cast the Sherlock parody," the greasy koala scoffed. "Though you look a damn sight more like Mr. Cummerbund than the fox I have currently cast. Hey, tell you what. Do a good job and maybe you'll have a new job,"

I blinked, and then blinked again. Sometimes a single blink simply isn't enough to convey the sheer amount of confusion experienced.

"What exactly are you talking about?" I asked, completely and utterly confused. "What _exactly_is going on here? I'm Roger Smith-White with MACRO,"

The koala glanced disinterestedly at the badge I produced with a flourish.

"So you aren't an extra,"

"It would appear not," I replied, my confusion being replaced by irritation. "You haven't answered my question yet, Mister...?"

"Name's Chuck," the koala said. "This is a film shoot,"

"Pretty weird fucking film, if you ask me," I snorted.

"Well, fortunately I wasn't looking for the opinion of 'Roger Smith-White from MACRO'. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a busy shoot to coordinate,"

Turning away from me, Chuck pulled out a megaphone, flicking it on.

"Alright people, let's get this show on the road! I need everyone in position. Gabe. Big guy. You're doing great,"

"I haven't done squat shit," muttered the massive stallion. His voice was gravelly and resonant.

"Well, you're almost on, so all systems go. When we call action, you wake up. Noticing the ropes and all those little people crawling around, you sit up. As you get your bearings back, you start to enjoy things a bit more. Time for a party, right?"

Gabe cleared his throat. "So. I wash up buck-ass naked on this beach, find myself surrounded by tiny people, and my motive is... 'It's party time'? Fucking brilliant,"

"We aren't paying you to rewrite the script, Gabe," Chuck reprimanded. "Oh. Think you can snap the ropes securing your schlong first, and then sit up?"

"One magical erection coming right up," Gabe grumbled.

"Oh, and make sure the sitting-up bit is good. We don't want to have to go back and re-secure everything if we miss the first take,"

"Gotcha,"

I stalked over to the koala as he pulled over his director's chair.

"This needs to stop. I have a job to do. Gabe here falls under my jurisdiction, as he well is in excess of ten feet tall," I snapped. "Besides. This film shoot isn't even legal," I added almost gleefully.

"What in the fuck are you talking about?" the director shot back impatiently. "I really don't have time for this shit right now,"

"Well, for one thing, I seriously doubt you applied for any permits to put together this... thing," I waved my hand in the general directions of the absolute circus unfolding on the beach as everyone prepared for this doubtlessly soon-to-be-Oscar-winning shot. "Those things don't exactly come cheap. And I bet that even if the folks who processed those permits even allowed it, this, ah, endeavor would be sure to cost extra,"

"And why is that?" Chuck asked petulantly.

"Er, I dunno, because you're making a fucking porno?" I pointed out. "I mean, assuming I'm reading all these signals correctly,"

"This is not a 'porno', as you put it," the koala spat back spitefully. "This is an adult film,"

"High fucking cinema," I laughed. "Most of the plot points and character development thus far seem to involve Gabe's cock, if your direction is any indication,"

Chuck shot me a look over his shoulder, but didn't offer much in the way of a response. Returning his attention to the shoot, he held up his bullhorn.

"Alright, quiet on set!"

The Master Auteur Director called action and everything got started.

The "sleeping" Gabe blinked awake and looked around, making some stupid statements about his minuscule surroundings. He started to sit up. The ropes securing his body offered minimal resistance, snapping like floss across his broad chest and toned arms. The people who had been set up on his torso tumbled down towards his lap, a few clinging onto tufts of horsehair.

"See? He's good," Chuck hissed at me.

"He sat up," I pointed out.

"But he made sitting up sexy,"

I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, you gotta at least admit this is good stuff," the koala insisted under his breath as Gabe got to his hooves slowly, looking down imperiously at the people around him with hands on hips.

"Not doing anything for me," I sniffed. "I spend day in and day out with oversized people. Total godsdamned never-ending slog. Definitely not where I look to get my jollies. The only thing I think when I see this is 'well shit, here's another field report just waiting to happen', if I'm honest,"

I decided to give in for the time being, opting to sit on a hump of sand and glower at the proceedings on the beach. Occasionally, I'd wrinkle my nose in disgust as various crewmembers (I think they called themselves "creative staff"--hah) discussed assorted options for distasteful activities to shoehorn into the events of the plot (if they could call it that).

As the day wore on, it became increasingly apparent that this wasn't going to be wrapping up any time soon. So. Bored. Must. Not. Die. Of. Sheer. Boredom.

My phone went off. Chuck shot me a dirty look.

"What? You can edit it out in post or whatever, can't you?" I smirked. "I'm sure your clientele won't mind a ringtone interrupting their smut,"

Walking a short distance away as the gigantic stallion got up to more antics, I took the call.

"Smith-White,"

"Hi, Rodge. It's Morgan. Do you have a sec?"

"Er, not really,"

"Well, something's... come up. We could really use a hand here. Violet's out and all, so we're a little short on field agents at the moment,"

"I've... well, I've got a lot on my hands at the moment," I explained, scratching the back of my head sheepishly. "I'd really appreciate it if you could deal with whatever it is yourself for awhile. Sorry,"

"Is that stuff you have on your hands at the moment a handle of booze?" the marten snapped.

"I'm doing work now, thank you," I snarled. "Unless you'd like me to do your job for you, too. But I couldn't imagine you'd want that,"

Morgan grumbled, but made a sound that I took to mean agreement or at least understanding, and hung up. I stuffed my mobile back into my pocket.

I perked up as Chuck eventually got off his gigantic ass (though not quite as gigantic as the stallion's, or nearly as shapely, I'll concede that much) and put the megaphone to his lips.

"Alright, good work, guys," Chuck announced, dusting his hands off on his pants. "Now it's just a matter of getting the entry scene and then we can wrap things up here on the beach,"

Gabe's and my reactions were simultaneous and equally explosive. Well, Gabe probably had a little bit of an advantage on me in terms of sheer lungpower. Just a little bit, mind you.

"What!?" the giant stallion shouted thunderously.

"No way in hell are you guys going anywhere else after this," I insisted shrilly.

"Well, our Gulliver has to get ashore somehow, doesn't he?" Chuck pointed out, ignoring me.

"Oh, so this is a Gulliver's Travels parody?" I interjected, unwilling to let Chuck brush me off. If I was going to get stuck there, I might as well derive some snarky enjoyment from it. I whacked myself on the forehead. "I should have known those brilliant satirical bits you threw in here and there. Very Swiftian. Applause,"

"Because your pornos are always so tight with the plot and continuity," Gabe snorted, running his fingers through his mane.

"This is going to be the greatest adult film of all time," Chuck corrected. "You want to be a part of history, don't you?"

"Whatever,"

"Of course you do. Now. You gotta end up here somehow, right? So you come wading in out of the ocean and fall asleep on the beach,"

"No. Fucking. Way,"

"Yes. Fucking. Way,"

"That water's an ice bath in the middle of the summer," Gabe insisted. "No way in hell am I going to go out there now,"

"You're still under contract, Gabe," Chuck insisted. "And you're getting paid triple overtime. Now come on. We're burning daylight. There's still stuff we need to get shot before the night scenes,"

Gabe shook his head, but shifted, getting slowly to his hooves. We stepped hastily back as the giant brushed a cascade of rocks and smaller boulders off his rump and the backs of his legs like sand. He looked down at the assembled crew, nostrils flaring.

"What's the plan, 'big man'?" he asked flatly.

"Just head straight out thataway," Chuck threw out an arm towards the ocean, craning his neck up at his gigantic employee. "We'll frame the shot up while you get into position,"

"This is fucking cold!" Gabe shouted over his shoulder as he started into the water.

As the crew assembled cameras and other assorted shit, Gabe waded out into the ocean. Certainly couldn't say as I envied him. He turned around as he got about ankle-deep in the water.

"This good enough?" he called back grumpily.

Chuck wasn't satisfied until his irritable and chilly Gulliver stood armpit-deep in the surf. The koala gave the go-ahead through a megaphone and started the cameras rolling.

I had to hand it to the big guy, he could certainly put aside discomfort for the job. He cut through the water in long, purposeful strides, a cool, almost indifferent expression on his face. He slowly neared the shore, his dripping torso rose higher and higher from the water.

Glancing over at the director, I noticed him conferencing with a couple of his lackeys over what appeared to be a map of some sort.

"Can we have a moment?" I asked, tapping the koala on the shoulder. "Of course we can. Thanks,"

"What the fuck do you want now, Captain Tight-Ass?" Chuck asked in exasperation. "Why don't you take yourself and that rod you have up your ass somewhere else?"

"I really don't mean to come across as a complete hard-ass," I apologized. "But if you're planning to take this show on the road, I'm really going to have to advise against that.

"See, we need to keep this all contained. We don't want to disrupt everyone else's day by having an oversized horse waltzing around town, trying to be... I dunno, sexy or whatever,"

My attempts at assertiveness were somewhat undermined when Gabe dropped to his knees on the shore, sending me toppling forward into Chuck's ample gut.

Steadying myself, I noticed that the director looked none too pleased with my advice.

"Alright, how about this?" I suggested, my lips drawing tight. "How about you guys keep up this shoot, but just stick around this immediate vicinity? Nobody ever comes around here this time of year. Too gross out. So you won't be disrupting anything. Sound like a good deal to you?"

"That really doesn't work with us. We need variety. Can't just be a giant stallion stomping around some stupid beach for the entirety of the film,"

"Isn't this all a bit... I dunno, much?" I asked, a hint of desperation entering my voice. I really needed to steer this ship in a new direction. "I mean, this looks like a pretty major undertaking. For, you know, a... porn, at least,"

"See, it's folks like you who are to blame for why we get no respect. It's called production value. Pro-duck-shun val-yoo. Consumers expect quality. Quality is all of this," he gestured at the bustling beach. "Quality is using more than one shooting location for a film. And an opportunity like this one ain't just gonna come around any old time,"

"Well, the only thing he's going to be terrorizing today is craft services," I replied sourly, pointing at Gabe, who was now lying prone on the beach. "Either stay here on the beach, out of everyone's fur, or strike the set. You can take it or leave it,"

Chuck suddenly developed the need to go and check on something (point Roger). Glancing around, I saw that Gabe was now sitting cross-legged on the shore, resting his hands on his thighs as he stared out at the ocean.

"I don't think folks appreciate the ocean enough. Just because it isn't a glistening tropical blue gem doesn't mean it isn't nice,"

"You aren't the one who had to go wading in it. I'd take a glistening tropical blue gem any day," Gabe replied bitterly.

"Well, I'm not the one who signed on to parade around in various states of undress in the name of sexy times or whatever,"

"Oh my gods, how did you know my exact job description?" the stallion replied shortly. "That's _verbatim_what it says on my contract,"

Gabe's fingers gathered me up, depositing me on his muzzle. I had to admit, it was far less intimidating to be handled by a giant who was basically cross-eyed.

"So, how exactly did you get into the, ah, pornographic arts?" I asked, fumbling for a conversation topic.

Gabe snorted. "Well, let's just say my time at drama school didn't exactly turn into a career on the stage or silver screen,"

"Wait. You went to an acting school?" I asked, unable to stop myself from giggling a little.

The stallion shot me a dirty look, ruined slightly by the whole cross-eyed thing.

"Yes, I did,"

"I guess you didn't find much at the career fair. Or whatever it is they have at a school for theatre geeks," I replied.

"It was supposed to be a one-shot job," Gabe snapped. "Everyone struggles to find gigs when they're starting out. And I sure as hell wasn't going to be a barista. All I intended was a one and done,"

"Guess they saw something about you and just had to keep you on," I smirked.

"I just want to be judged not by the quality of my cock but by the content of my character," Gabe sighed.

"Yeah, pretty sure that's not how that quote goes at all," I shook my head.

"Whatever,"

A series of loud snapping and crunching sounds distracted me from the staring contest I was presently engaged in with Gabe's left eye. Well, it wasn't the stallion, so...

Confused, I turned my back away from the shore and towards the interior.

Towering over the shin-high trees that lined the back end of the beach was a raccoon easily as large as Gabe. He was rakishly handsome. He was a total fucking beefcake. He was--

"Cliff MacKay," I gasped, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Cliff MacKay: action film superstar extraoirdinaire, entrepreneur, philanthropist, playboy millionaire... Gods, he really was the whole package (And he seemed to have a pretty nice package, at that. Not that I was looking. Nope. Not me.). I'd watched every movie he'd ever made, many of them more than once. Reynard had always ridiculed me about that; he was a film snob and sneered at anything with more than three explosions in it.

I noticed the 'coon was carrying something in his palm. Squinting, I cursed softly to myself. Morgan. That lucky bitch. Really taking one for the team. Why didn't I ever get lucky with that stuff? I never got the giant celebrities on my assignments!

I just about lost my balance as Gabe's head whipped around. He froze, staring over at the gigantic raccoon. His lip curled.

"You,"

Cliff smirked, sitting down on a sloping dune and setting that godsdamned lucky pine marten on his knee.

"Oh, don't mind me," he grinned at the film crew. "I just want to watch you guys work. Sure to be Gabe's, ah, pièce de résistance,"

*****

They'd taken my shift away from me again. I didn't know why. It wasn't like they exactly handed me a schedule every day and explained to me with charts and graphs that would finally make it clear why they were torturing me.

Maybe they'd taken it to be laundered. Maybe they would give me a nice warm blanket to wrap around myself and stave off the persistent chill. Maybe they would bring back my real clothes.

Or maybe they'd taken them away from me because I didn't deserve them. I wasn't a person. People weren't ninety feet tall, and they weren't capable of causing extensive structural and personal damage when they were even mildly irritated. No, I wasn't a person anymore. I was a feral. No, I was some sort of wretched, terrible creature. A monster.

I didn't have the energy to react as the door clicked open. The stocky wolf I'd come to recognize as my primary handler entered briskly, flanked by two individuals in white lab coats. They were going to hurt me. I probably deserved it.

The wolf motioned to one of the lab coats, who walked towards me. Here it was. I let out a grunt as I felt a sharp pain in my thigh. Everything went black.

When I came to, I was sprawled out flat on my stomach. Gods, it felt good to stretch out. It was as if all my muscles were being made anew. I could feel the thin material of my shift hugging my torso once again. What had I done to deserve these luxuries?

I opened my eyes, taking in my new surroundings. They had taken me to a larger room, what looked to be a converted airplane hangar. The space was spare and stark, with concrete floor and arched walls of corrugated steel. Pale shafts of sunlight cutting in through unseen skylights cast even lighting across the space. The area wasn't large enough for me to stand, but I was able to sit comfortably enough. Tugging my shift down across my thighs, I situated myself in a kneeling position, feet folded under myself and hands resting on my knees.

Looking around, it became readily apparent I wasn't alone. Standing in files on either side of me were a dozen or so people. Some were dressed in the charcoal grey tactical outfits that seemed to be the uniform in this crazy hellhole while the others wore starched white lab coats.

At the end of the row to my right stood the koala who had brought me food from time to time. I hadn't seen him in several weeks (as best I could gauge in my pitch-black limbo of a cell). Maybe I'd scared him off by commenting on how I could have him for lunch during our last encounter. More likely, he'd finally realized that his little crusade to remind me "who I am" was a waste of time. Monsters aren't people, no matter how often you tell them that they are.

The lynx (I never had gotten around to asking him his name) was shifting nervously from foot to foot, looking apprehensively around the space.

I felt a slight pressure on my ankle. The wolf was resting his hand on me.

"Bring them in," he barked.

A hound strode over to a set of double doors, opening them. Another pair of black-clad people entered, dragging four captives along with them. They shoved them to the ground in front of me, within arm's reach.

The prisoners wore off-white shirts and trousers, their ankles and wrists bound together.

"Terminate them," the wolf snapped.

It took me a moment to realize that he was talking to me. I tried to make eye contact with the lynx, but he had gone rigid, staring directly ahead. I thought his hands were trembling a little.

My gaze returned to the captives in front of me. All four of them were male: a beaver, a raccoon, a badger, and a ferret. What had they done to end up here? Were they criminals--thieves, murderers? Or were they just four random people who had been hauled in off the street?

I found myself reaching down towards them. They were pretty close to me; I didn't need to lean all that far forward. I gathered them up, holding two in each hand. My fists pressed them closer together, ensuring they couldn't wriggle free, much less move that much at all.

Holding the captives--my captives--at chest level, I squinted, regarding them. The badger and beaver seemed to have accepted whatever fate was coming for them. The other two didn't seem to be taking it as well; the ferret had started to cry and the raccoon was shouting something. I couldn't make out any of the words. The world had taken on a sort of hazy quality.

I realized that I was salivating. They hadn't fed me (or whatever they injected into me that counted as alimentation) in ages, and my stomach cried for anything to fill it.

It happened almost without my even thinking about it. My mouth opened and my arm moved the badger and beaver almost mechanically towards my face. I opened my fist and my tongue extended to meet them.

All of a sudden, I was confronted with a quandary. Did I chew or swallow whole? What was I supposed to do? I opted with the former. They tasted so... good. Savory with a subtly sweet after-taste. I just wanted to eat solid food, and now I was finally being given the chance.

I chewed thoughtfully, staring at the captives in my other hand. Their reactions were almost instantaneous. The raccoon bellowed a furious tirade at me, trying to struggle free of my grip, while the ferret started sobbing hysterically. He was pleading desperately. Maybe he thought that since I was a ferret, too, maybe I would have mercy on him. But that was where he was wrong. I wasn't a normal ferretess. I was a giantess and a monster. And monsters don't have the capacity for mercy.

The second mouthful tasted even better than the first. Gods, I was so hungry. It was almost cruel to give me only four. It was like serving an appetizer but no dinner afterwards.

I glanced around, wondering how many more I could devour before they tranquilized me. No, not worth it. They had been... good to me, in a way.

My eyes fell once again on the lynx. He had turned a rather violent shade of green and stood leaning against the sloping wall for support. Sorry. Looks like you were wrong.

All that time in the cold and dark of my cramped cell had only shown me my true nature. Why had I spent so long pretending to be something I wasn't? I couldn't be normal, have an ordinary life. All I could do was destroy.

Maybe they would let me sleep there tonight. As a reward for doing my job.

*****

The appearance of Cliff had done nothing for the general atmosphere of the beach. Don't get me wrong, I was over the moon. But I seemed to be pretty much alone in that matter. Chuck was locked in a terse conversation with one or two of his producers. Much of the rest of the crew busied themselves striking the set while Gabe sat on the beach, drying off and glowering out at the sea. I had been exiled from his muzzle.

Looking over at the bluff where the gigantic raccoon sat, I saw that he was deep in conversation with Morgan, who was perched on his knee. Cliff chuckled deeply and I pursed my lips. Lucky fucking marten. I bet my conversation would blow that raccoon's fucking mind.

I cast one final glance over my shoulder at Gabe before trudging up the sloping beach towards Cliff and Morgan. Coming to a stop half dozen or so feet from the raccoon's hip, I cleared my throat.

"Hey there," Cliff said, craning his neck to look at me, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Hi, Morgan," I addressed the marten on Cliff's knee, grinning cartoonishly. "How... how about you go and check and make sure Gabe over there is doing alright? He's the stallion in excess of a dozen stories or so tall. Really hard to miss,"

"I've got my hands full here, as you so put it," Morgan protested.

"Who the fuck is this guy, even?" Cliff asked Morgan, prodding her with his knuckle.

"Oh, he's my lead agent," Morgan grumbled, looking up at him. "Guess I gotta go, because Captain Tight-Ass here wants to try and get into your pants,"

Was that my new title? Had I missed the memo?

"Not wearing any," Cliff smirked.

"I noticed," Morgan grinned.

"Well, your lead, Captain Tight-Ass, wants you to go and check in on the horse. It'll be good practice for a rookie like you,"

Morgan grumbled loudly, but slid down the length of Cliff's shin. Casting me one last dirty look, she stalked off down the beach.

Now I had Cliff all to myself. I grinned up at the raccoon, who seemed a little bit less enthused about the situation than I.

"Morgan's a pretty good marten," Cliff commented. "Pretty nice. Explained this whole giant gig to me pretty well. Funny, too,"

"Well, I'm glad you think that," I said. "I'm Roger. Roger Smith-White,"

Cliff looked a little bit less than enthused. Damn. Well, I'd have to win him over. Wouldn't I? Charming is my middle name, after all. Well. Maybe not.

I felt the all-too familiar plummeting in my stomach as Kurt's fingers encircled me, lifting me upwards. Even after having this job for a few years now, I still couldn't understand why people felt entitled to handle me like some sort of action figure whenever they got supersized. Fucking entitled-ass giants.

"So, what's the deal now?" Cliff asked, dropping me on his knee. I was about as tall as his pinkie finger was long. He seemed a little bit less enthused, seeing as I wasn't Morgan.

"Well, I think we should just stick tight here for the time being. No need to cause a commotion downtown. I mean, you were a big star before you became a... big star,"

Was that an eye-roll I saw? Shit, I think Cliff rolled his eyes. Fuck. I'm cool. Yeah, play it cool, Roger. Just play it cool.

"Yeah, I'd heard about this whole Saaduuts, er, anomaly," Cliff commented. "Didn't know I'd get to experience it first-hand,"

"Yeah, it's sort of a thing. But that's what folks like Morgan and I are here to help out with," I shrugged. "Though, if I'm honest, our job would be much better if people got gigantified that looked half as good as you naked,"

Okay, that was definitely an eye-roll and a pursing of the lips. Probably needed to stop running off my godsdamned mouth. Why couldn't I put a sock in it? I sounded like a bloody fool.

"So, how do you know Gabe?" I asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

Cliff snorted. "Oh, that stallion? Him and me go way back. Tangentially, I guess, but sure. I've known him awhile now. We went to the same drama school,"

"No way," I snorted.

I had been confused enough by the news that Gabe was some sort of trained thespian or whatever. But going to the same school as Cliff?

"I have a hard time believing it myself," Cliff chuckled. "I mean, look where he ended up.

"Never really bothered me much. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there and, well, I got pretty lucky. Gabe didn't quite get what he wanted. Too bad, but at least he's got a job, I suppose.

"Not that he's ever really gotten over it. And believe you me, he's never missed an opportunity to remind me of that. Not sure why he's decided I'm the root of all his problems, but there you go,"

I was hoping for some juicy gossip, but Cliff trailed off as he noticed Chuck parading around a small patch of sand with a megaphone.

"All right. Listen up folks!" the koala barked through the megaphone. "It's time for a change of scenery,"

"Oh no you don't," I muttered under my breath.

"However, because of Captain Tight-Ass over there," Chuck continued, pointing in my direction, "we won't be going downtown as planned earlier. Instead, we're off to Cap Island,"

"Cap Island?" Cliff muttered.

"One of the coastal islands. Dinky little thing, mostly just some sort of nature preserve," I gestured at a blurry outline on the horizon, slightly confused by the news itself. "It's really nice in the summer. Reynard and I like to go canoeing around the area in the summer. Really peaceful and--"

The rest of my sentence caught in my throat.

"But in the winter?" Cliff persisted, apparently unaware of my distress.

"Complete shithole, I'm sure," I shrugged. "Never been out there this time of year. I don't think it's even accessible to the public until it starts warming up again, to be totally honest,"

"Sounds great," Cliff grinned.

Gathering me up in his palm, Cliff got to his feet. He strode over to Gabe, who was locked in a terse conversation with Chuck.

"So, how we getting to Cap Island, Chuck?" Cliff asked.

"There's no 'we', Cliff," Gabe growled.

"Well, seeing as we have a pair of strapping gigantic fellows, I figured you pair could ferry us over," Chuck shrugged. "If you don't mind, of course. I'm sure you're a busy raccoon," he added hastily.

"Not like I'm doing anything at the moment," Cliff grinned. He clapped Gabe on the shoulder. "C'mon, big guy! Nothing like a brisk swim to clear the mind, right?"

"I just went in that water," the stallion replied icily. "Never again,"

As it turns out, the definition of 'never again' is pretty flexible when you're getting paid triple overtime.

Soon enough, we were on the water. Rather, Gabe and Cliff were in the water and the rest of us (restricted to a skeleton crew and bare-bones camera equipment due to the sudden spatial restriction) riding on the tops of their heads.

"I'm going to murder you, Chuck," Gabe muttered.

"Aw, c'mon, Gabe," Cliff grinned, his tone chipper as he breaststroked up to the stallion. "A nice, brisk swim never killed anyone,"

"Take yourself and that sycophantic fucking attitude somewhere else," Gabe growled.

"I'll take it to the beach right up there then," the raccoon replied.

He was right. The rocky beach of Cap Island couldn't be more than half a mile distant (how many knots was that? Beats the fuck out of me, I wasn't one for nautical measurements). Piece of cake when you're over a hundred feet tall.

Cliff put the pedal to the metal (or the arm to the water, I suppose), surging forward through the water. I clung even more tightly to the tuft of hair I had been using to steady myself.

"Might want to go steady there, big guy," I cautioned. "This camera guy here's looking pretty green,"

"Aw, what the fuck, man?" Cliff cursed. "I will crush anyone who ruins my 'do,"

We managed to make it ashore without any tossing of the cookies, sparing the raccoon the need to do any smashing and mashing. He sat on the beach, allowing his fur to dry in the gentle breeze as he waited for Gabe to catch up and come ashore.

Cap Island was a small rocky outcropping jutting out of the ocean. It was pretty enough, in a stark, desolate sort of way. A number of gnarled, weather-beaten pine trees grew stubbornly out of the stony soil. I was thankful for my warm coat and scarf; it was even colder on Cap Island than it had been on the mainland.

The only sign that people had ever visited the island was a narrow gravel pathway that wended its haphazard way up the steep slope leading away from the beach. Maybe it had been someone's Scouting project before they realized how fucking terrible of an idea it was.

Gabe surged ashore, seawater streaming off his body as he strode through the shallows. He looked none too pleased with the situation.

"I've got some suggestions for the director," Cliff muttered conspiratorially. "Bunch of crazy shit for Gabe to do. He'll hate it, every second of it,"

"Mm," I replied noncommittally.

"Best part? Chuck there'll think it's all legit and fucking brilliant, coming from me. What with me being a professional ac-tor and all that,"

"Sounds great,"

No, it didn't. Really needed to get my tail out of there before shit went down. I'd had a long fucking day. Besides. Morgan could use the practice if things got to the point where a MACRO agent could come in handy. Yeah. Good practice.

I surfed down the length of Cliff's arm, landing on his thigh.

"Whoa there. Hang ten, little guy," Cliff chuckled, arching his brow.

"It's a talent of mine," I shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, look. I kinda want to take a walk. Clear my head and whatnot. Promise not to go on a rampage or anything?"

"Not a building on this island will remain standing if I have anything to say about it," Cliff chortled.

"Knock yourself out," I replied.

Hopping off the raccoon's leg, I trudged up the gravel path, hands stuffed into my pockets. I needed some alone time.

*****

"A black sedan. With a hood ornament," Guillam repeated, kneading his temples with his hands.

"Silver wing hood ornament," I corrected.

All Guillam did in response was lean back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he expelled air forcibly through his lips. "At least there's a fucking hood ornament,"

"I'm getting the feeling you aren't as excited as I about this lead," I sighed.

"This isn't a lead, Warren," Guillam groaned. "This is an incredibly generic description of a fairly generic car. Or, at least, a generic car with a hood ornament. Not all cars have hood ornaments. I'll give you that much,"

"We've been able to make progress on other cases with less than that," I pointed out. "We just need to figure out where we go from here,"

"Well, where do we go from here? What's our next move?"

"Well, I can go and ask a few of our other past interviews if they remember anything like that car. Maybe one of them will be able to give us more than an 'incredibly generic description of a fairly generic car', as you so eloquently put it. Why don't you go and give those security tapes a second look? It's no easy task to smuggle a 90-foot ferret-girl out of a major city. Surely we missed something,"

Guillam made a noise of protest, but nodded. I grinned, patting my partner on the shoulder. He knew I was right. And he hated interviews, so I was doing him a_huge_ fucking favor.

Ciaran was already waiting for me at the café when I arrived. He sat at a table in the corner, stirring his cappuccino idly with a spoon.

"You aren't supposed to do that, I don't think," I commented, plunking down my mug on the table (just drip; I'm a simple kind of guy in the coffee department). "Ruins the foam. Or whatever,"

"This is a nice place," the mink said.

"I like it," I nodded in agreement. "My favorite coffee shop in this neighborhood. Small, no-nonsense. Delicious croissants. Checks off all my boxes,"

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I have a few questions," I said. "But I mostly just wanted to chat. Catch up, see how you're doing,"

"Well, I think the sessions are going pretty well," Ciaran shrugged. "Dr. Attwood is good. Thanks for the recommendation,"

"He's a good guy. Glad he's doing you some good,"

"I just want Tabitha back,"

"That's all Peter and I are working on. Which is why I asked if you could meet me here. We have a lead. Well, it isn't much, but it's something. You know how one thing leads to another,"

"Yeah, one to another," Ciaran mumbled back.

"It's a car. Just a car. But we were hoping you might recognize it,"

"Uh huh,"

"Well, I don't have a picture. Just a description from another guy. Black sedan. Silver wing hood ornament. Frosted windows. Ring a bell?"

Ciaran's brow furrowed. "Well, it's been a while," he said.

"Just think. Anything is great, if you can think of it,"

The mink shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "There's... there's something I didn't tell you the first time you asked me questions," he said.

My ears twitched. "Why was that?"

"I was... I dunno, scared. Something terrible happened to Tab, and I didn't want the same thing to happen to me if they caught wind of me opening my mouth and telling someone,"

A frown flickered across my face. "Who's this 'they'?" I asked, before hastily shifting gears. "Nothing's going to happen to you. I can promise you that," I assured Ciaran, resting my hand on his. "Do you feel more comfortable talking now?"

Ciaran nodded, swallowing nervously. "I recognize that car. The description of it. See, for the last few weeks before Tab... before she disappeared, there were these guys. They kept showing up at our--her--place at all hours of day and night. Dark clothes, sunglasses, that sort of thing.

"But they drove a car like that, I'm pretty sure. Yeah. I think one of them was a bulldog. But there were three or four that visited us a few times. I think they were military or something,"

"Military?" I asked, confused. "No. Those fellows have their 'secret channels' or whatever. Well, I let 'em think that they're secret. But I have my sources. If those guys were trying to recruit Tabitha, I'd have heard of it,"

"Well, that's what they wanted us to think, at least. A lot of talk about 'patriotic duty' and whatnot,"

"Well, some people out there have some pretty fucked-up ideas about what is really patriotic," I muttered. "Thanks a bunch Ciaran. This is good. This means we're this much closer to finding Tab," I smiled. "Wish I could stick around longer, but I really have to get going. Deadlines. Say, why don't you drop by my place tomorrow evening? I'm making my award-winning fish and chips. Or at least, I think I should win an award for them,"

"Sure," Ciaran replied with a nod.

Pushing back from the table, I hurried towards the front door. As I stepped out into the freezing rain, collar turned up against the wind, I pulled out my phone. Something about Ciaran's story really bothered me. It was time to give my contact in the armed forces a ring. I needed to clear up a few things.

*****

I turned up my collar as the steady mist started to change over to a more insistent sprinkle. The wind only increased the further I made my way up the steep slope of Cap Island. With less protection from the elements afforded by increasingly sparse tree coverage, icy, cutting gusts whirled mercilessly around me. To think this was actually a pleasant place to visit in the summer.

"Chilly, eh?" came a voice.

I skidded to a halt, my foot sending gravel skittering down the slope. Sitting atop a boulder beside the path was a rather smug-looking Andy. He was bundled up warmly in a smart pea coat with some expensive-looking jeans and nice loafers.

"What's the matter?" the jackal asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost,"

"What--how--" I stammered, shaking my head as if to clear my head. "Well, frankly, I don't know whether I'm more stunned that you're here or that you're actually wearing clothes, for once,"

"I can take them off, if that makes you feel more comfortable," Andy grinned. "Though that would probably be a little chilly for me. I don't even have any fur to keep me warm,"

"Keep them on," I assured Andy with a shake of the head. "How did you get here?"

"I'm something of an avid kayaker," the jackal-god replied. He patted a spot next to himself. "Come on up. The view's great,"

I grudgingly obliged, clambering atop the lichen- and moss-covered boulder next to Andy. The land fell away steeply on the other side of the rocky outcropping, plummeting a few hundred feet straight down to the foamy surf of the ocean.

"It's kind of beautiful, I suppose, in a desolate sort of way," I commented, staring out at the sea. "Most things are this time of year,"

I shivered in the wind.

"Cold?" Andy asked. "If you'd like, I can shrink you down and stick you in my pants. Plenty warm in there," he grinned sardonically.

"Hard pass on that," I wrinkled my nose. "I've had quite enough of being handled by you for one lifetime, thank you very much,"

"Your loss," Andy shrugged.

"Why are you here?" I asked, trying to shift the subject.

"To watch the show, of course,"

I blinked. "Wait. How did you know about... what's going on here?"

"Oh, you know, when a sexy raccoon with a bad-boy reputation grows to eighteen stories tall, word gets around," the jackal shrugged. "And I've always been a fan of that stallion's work,"

"You're disgusting,"

"Hey, even gods have their needs,"

"Oh, I'm quite aware of that, thanks. Bloody fucking exhibitionist, you are,"

Andy just grinned back at me.

"Wait," my eyes narrowed. "Cliff I get. He could've been traipsing around downtown or whatever before he came to the beach. But how did you know about Gabe? I only found out about it purely by accident, and this sort of thing is my fucking job,"

"Word gets around," Andy repeated blithely.

"Don't bullshit me," I snapped. "I know what you can do. You didn't... Oh, you didn't..."

"Oh, come on. It was too much fun to pass up," Andy grinned, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I mean, think about it for just a second. Those two have gigantic egos. Why not give 'em giant size to match?"

"That sounds like a terrible idea. Which is probably why you went with it," I retorted. "You seem to know quite a bit about our... oversized friends,"

"Those two are quite entertaining. Go way back. Been at each other's throats for longer than either of them can probably remember,"

"Well, that's just great. Now that you've had your fun, why don't you clean up your mess?"

"Come again?"

"I mean make them fucking normal again,"

Sensing resistance from Andy, I slid off the boulder, grabbing his wrist.

"Wh--where are you taking me?" Andy asked as I lead him down the winding gravel path.

"To go and witness your mess first-hand," I replied innocently.

And boy, when we got down to the beach, the mess couldn't have been better. Well, in terms of proving my point, at least. It was a complete and utter shit-show down there.

Gabe and Cliff were at each other's throats, quite literally. The raccoon was brandishing an uprooted pine sapling like a club as he grappled with his adversary.

"Say that one more time and I swear I'm going to fucking clean your clock," Gabe snarled.

"It's really hilarious that you think you can beat the daylights out of me," Cliff grunted back.

"Yeah, this is looking real fucking entertaining," I muttered, glancing sidelong at Andy.

"But I haven't had a chance to show Cliff my screenplay yet!" Andy said, aghast.

"Does everyone and his brother have a screenplay to shop to someone? Am I falling behind or something?"

"Gotta do something with my spare time," the jackal-god shrugged.

"Well, how about you do that when he's less than ten feet tall again?" I snapped, my temper growing short. "This is going to be a lot less 'fun' if one of those meatheads decides to actually do something stupid,"

Andy grumbled loudly, but waved his hand. In an instant the two grappling giants were just two grappling normal-sized guys. The tree originally clutched in Cliff's fist crashed to the beach with a thud, showering everyone around with pine needles.

I hurried towards the pair, who suddenly looked rather small and stupid standing there in their birthday suits on the cold, rocky beach on an island in the middle of the ocean. Chuck hurried up to Gabe, throwing a blanket around his shoulders.

"Hey, hey, whoa--break it up," the koala cautioned Cliff, pulling Gabe away from the still-angry raccoon. "Let's just calm down,"

I hurried up behind Cliff, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was only a little bit taller than me. Funny. I'd always thought he was really tall, for some reason. Guess not.

"Don't worry about that. Just let it drop," I cautioned, pulling off my scarf and passing it off to him.

"A scarf? Wow, thanks, man. You're a real saint," Cliff muttered, arching a brow at the strip of thick blue material in his hands.

"Hey, I need the coat for myself. Probably won't even fit you, anyway," I shrugged.

Morgan trudged up behind me as Cliff busied himself wrapping the scarf around his waist.

"Where did you disappear off to?" she asked. "You kinda left me hanging here with those two getting all rock-em sock-em giants on me,"

"Oh, I was off for a walk," I replied.

I cast a glance up towards the path, but Andy had vanished. Of course. Fucking typical.

"Now everyone's back to normal again. Mission accomplished, I suppose," Morgan shrugged.

"Cool. Well, let's go see Chuck and get out of here," I replied. "I'm sure he's got a support team of some sort on their way with a few boats right now,"

Well, he didn't. Apparently thinking ahead isn't a universal trait. I mean, I hadn't either. But I'd been occupied with other matters at the time.

"You didn't happen to bring a canoe or something with you, did you?" I asked Morgan in desperation.

Morgan shot me a quizzical look.

"I got here by stallion," she said. "Didn't really think about the return trip,"

So it would seem.

"Great," I groaned. "So how are we going to get off this godsforsaken island now?"