FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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• z e r o - s t a n d a r d - h o u r s -

One-hundred and fifty.

This was the number Gordon Reed had just finished jotting onto his notepad. The journalist frowned as he looked back up at the column of digits above his solution.

Each wall of the room was sectioned into twenty-five rectangular panels. Their seams were almost completely hidden to the naked eye. Gordon could no doubt imagine the panic individuals must have felt upon awakening in such a room. There were no windows or doors to be seen. The pristine brilliance of these white walls were no doubt the prison to many a victim following the events of the Yerivienne Incident.

1. Reed adjusted his glasses as he circled the number. One-hundred and fifty panels in total. The journalist pondered if every panel that made up this room had the same functionality as the ones that had sealed behind him. Gordon had little doubt in his mind that they did. After all, he was sitting in one of the most prestigious research stations owned by the Pan-Galactic government.

When Gordon had first heard that he would be setting foot on the fabled A.R. Wallace he had been elated. Even moreso after he learned that he would be sitting down with the Patient Zero. The news was Reed's dream come true: to help chronicle some of the most influential chapters of galactic history. However, the burning passion that welled within him was quickly snuffed out upon receiving his directive.

Indeed, Gordon did not feel 'honored' or 'excited' to be sitting where he was right now. In truth, he was terrified. The journalist would not simply be recording history. Today he'd be making history.

Gordon's frown thinned as he tapped the number with his pen once more. To the outside observer the grim expression painted on this man's face was a sign of the pressure he was currently under. This was not the case. Gordon Reed had pushed all of his nerves and reservation aside long before stepping foot in this room. No, the reason Reed was frowning at this exact moment was simple:

He felt awfully stupid for having to solve 'twenty-five times six' by hand.

It was at this moment that four of the wall's panels folded outward, the low hissing sound of pneumatic mechanisms signaling Gordon to look up from his notepad. The reporter moved to his feet quickly, watching in awe as his interviewee strolled casually towards him.

The reporter recognized the marine's face instantly. The same fifty-or-so images of the rugged male had been circulated repeatedly throughout news outlets for the past ten standard years. What Gordon had not been prepared for was the size of the marine. He stood at nine feet tall, his massive frame towering over the reporter. Gordon resisted the urge to step backwards as 'Patient Zero' came to a stop in front of him.

The large male sniffed at the air hesitantly. It had been a long time since he'd been allowed permission into the west wing chamber. The marine stared down at the journalist and frowned. So this was his reporter? How long had it been since he'd seen someone wear something other than a sterile lab coat or a hazmat suit in his vicinity? He couldn't remember.

“Its an honor to meet you, Captain." The journalist began, hesitantly stretching his hand out towards the large marine. “My name is Gordon Reed. I work for the-"

“The Pan-Galactic Inquiry. I know." The large male grunted, turning his attention away from the journalist in front of him to reach for the other chair behind him. The male's voice had a strange warble to it, almost sounding like two voices intermixed in a wave of erratic vibrations. “And it's Marshal. First names from here on out, understand?"

Reed watched in awe as the massive male carefully positioned himself atop the chair, its metal frame creaking innocuously as he relaxed his weight atop it. The marine was wearing a skintight mesh-suit, leaving no part of the man's anatomy to the reporter's imagination.

“That's fine with me, Marshal." The reporter began, letting his hand drop into his pocket as he returned to his own chair. As he crossed his legs, the smaller male fished out a thin black device from his pocket. “You don't mind if I record this conversation, do you?"

“I haven't had an undocumented conversation in ten years, Gordon. No doubt the Docs are already recording. I don't mind. Just… Don't make me sound like some freak, alright?" Marshal warbled, hunching down to Reed's eye level as he spoke. The man slowly clasped his hands together, letting his thick fingers entwine with one another.

Reed's analytic eye focused on the man's hands, noting how the suit ended in a bulging band of blue light around the wrist. This luminosity emitted around the marine's wrists, ankles, and neck; only helping to accentuate the man's light blue skin tone. Marshal's lips had adopted a similar muted blue, giving Gordon the impression that he looked starved of oxygen.

“I promise I'll do my best to help you explain your story." Reed explained, setting the recording device on the ground between them before settling back into his seat. He held his pen and paper in hand and brought his eyes back up to the deformed marine. “Why don't we start at the beginning? Yerivienne?"

The man opposite Gordon mimicked the reporter's mannerisms, carefully pressing his lower back against the chair whilst staring down at him. “We weren't supposed to be there. Our shuttle off the planet had been delayed due to a possible fuel leakage."

Yerivienne. One of the fifty colonized pleasure planets. It had been the end of his crew's shore leave, and at the time an extra day off had felt like a godsend. Marshal couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut as he replayed the events of that fateful day over in his head. The chaos. The pandemonium. It used to make him feel ill; the events playing through in his head in an endless and unforgiving loop. Marshal had long since learned how to quell such thoughts, but even his lack of emotion upon recalling such memories still unnerved the afflicted man deeply.

“I see. It's a common misconception that you are the 'Patient Zero' of the Yerivienne Syndrome. Many believe you and your men were the first to make contact-" The reporter began, slowing down before stopping altogether. The marine was shaking his head adamantly back and forth, his nostrils flaring.

“Nope." The large man stated, folding his burly arms together. “We were the first to respond to the incident. By the time we arrived at the crash site all of hell had already broke loose."

Gordon quickly brought a hand up to adjust his glasses before continuing to scrawl in his notepad. “Interesting. I've seen footage of Deltos after the meteor struck. I can only imagine what it was like to be down there."

“Me too." Marshal adds, spreading his legs wide. “I don't really remember much after first contact. People running towards us. Civilians, you know? You don't train your gun on a civilian without a damn good reason, and by the time they had given us a reason…"

Marshal's voice trailed off after that, his shoulders drooping slightly. “By that time it was already over. As soon as that gunk was on me… Well… It's hard to remember anything after that."

“The camera on your uniform caught some of it. You've seen the footage, correct?" Reed's hand stopped writing as he waited patiently for Marshal to respond. After a small pause, the large male's head bobbed slowly up and down.

“Yeah… Yeah, they've shown me." He says, his eyes trained on the floor. “I'm not proud of what I've done. Took me a long time to move past all of… That. I'm just lucky to be 'The Guy', you know?"

Reed, his hand still paused above the notepad, shakes his head. “No, I… Don't think I do. Can you elaborate?" The journalist clearly knew what Marshal meant, but he needed something more concrete than that.

“I'm one of the few they caught. They stopped me before I could do any more harm. People probably won't agree with me when I say this but…" He sighs, turning to look up at Reed. “That person out there? It… Wasn't me. Or at least I don't feel like it was. When you look at a recording of yourself doing something you would never do and have no memory of it, it's like looking at a stranger in your own body."

As soon as Marshal had begun speaking, Gordon's hand was jotting down notes once more. The journalist stared back at the marine, nodding his head as the male's explanation came to an end. “What is it like? The change... What can you relate the experience to?"

Marshal frowns at that, bringing his hands to rest atop his knees. “It's like a big rush of energy, like someone just cranked up everything to max. Feelings. Adrenaline. Senses. You get lost in it. It swallows you up, and… You let it."

“You let it?" Reed asks, frowning. “From what you just told me, the you that went rampaging through Deltos wasn't you."

Marshal's nostrils flare as he leans forwards, shaking his head. “It's… I let myself become something I'm not. I'm not trying to put the blame off of my actions to some other third party. I was compromised. I was overwhelmed. I let it take over. I helped spread it. I was captured. Thats. It."

Marshal's entire posture had changed within a matter of seconds. He was glowering at the reporter across from him, his fingers clenching around his powerful thighs. Gordon froze, doing his best not to display any emotion in response to the aggressive mannerisms.

“But that's not 'it', now is it?" Reed said at last, bringing a shaky hand up to adjust his glasses. “If that was all there was to the story, I wouldn't be talking to you now."

The journalist watched carefully as the marine's body slumped back against his chair. Marshal's wide neck bulged slightly for a moment, and an upset-sounding growl emerged from the changed man's throat. “You've been on the A.R. Wallace for almost ten years now."

“Only four cognitive years." Marshal adds, his warbling voice directed towards the ground. “Two if you think 'cognitive' means being able to string more than a few words together."

“And now you're here. Speaking to me. You are the first and only person to reach this level of rehabilitation. Do you understand what this means?" Reed asked, leaning forward in his chair.

The ex-marine turned to look at the journalist opposite him and frowned. “I'm a sex monster with feelings?"

Reed opened his mouth to speak, desperate to drive his point home. He only had a limited amount of time with Marshal until the ship would be ready. “No Marshal, it means-"

“I've been paying attention, Gordon!" Marshal barked, sitting up straight atop his comedically small chair. “I know that all the afflicted planets have been quarantined. I know about the cut funding to this 'prison'. I'm the first and last. Okay?!"

Marshal's chest was rising and falling quickly as he stood up, the mesh-suit stretching tight around his massive frame. “I get it!" He shouts, pointing down at Reed.

The journalist nodded slowly, staring up at the towering male in silence. Gordon pursed his lips as he chose his next words very carefully. “Truth be told, no one has any idea what to do with you." The journalist shrugged as he spoke. “The Overpolitic are clueless, the public isn't ready, and to be honest: you aren't really doing yourself any service acting like this."

Marshal looked down at himself, his hulking form taking a step back from the journalist. Guilt washed over the marine immediately. “Damnit. I just…"

“So they're proposing a solution." Reed continued. “Send in a third party. Maybe a journalist. Offer this individual the chance to be the first to interview 'Patient Zero'. And in return the journalist will agree to…"

The journalist paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before continuing. “To be situated on a remote planet with the patient."

Marshal blinked in shock, opening his mouth before closing it once more. “I… For how long?"

“Until… The Overpolitic has made up their mind what to do with you. Essentially… Exile. Plus one. Checkups every six standard months to make sure I'm… You know." Reed blushed, glancing down at the ground.

“Not a sex monster, yeah." Marshal said, nodding. “Are… You sure about this?"

Gordon paused, surprised that the marine had shown some modicum of empathy for him. “Well, seeing as I'm here. And the fact that our shuttle is ready in-"

A loud hiss suddenly caught their attention, the two turning to look at the opening in unison.

“It's ready now, I guess." The journalist said, turning back to Marshal as he spoke.

“But… What about the doctors? The staff?" The marine frowned, shifting awkwardly where he stood. For ten years he had been cooped up in this facility. And now.... Would it really be that easy?

“We aren't going far." Gordon explained. “We're heading planetside from this Orbital Station. If you're feeling… Homesick. I'm sure we can come back up here or request visits down to the planet."

Marshal nodded, still dumbstruck by this information. “Will there be… Cameras?"

The marine watched as his newfound savior knelt onto the ground to snatch up his recorder. “Nope." Reed responded, pulling himself upright as he waggled his recording device towards Marshal. “Just this."

“Then…" The marine shook his head free of lingering thoughts. His muscles tensed impatiently, fingers clenching into fists. The marine's entire body screamed for release from captivity. “What're we waiting for!?"

---

Yerivienne Syndrome Research & Rehabilitation Unit

Keeper. Log 0037 | Year 0.2 | . A.R. Wallace.

Excerpt from 'Physical Yerivienne Symptoms'

Footage from Yerivienne cameras have revealed that this transition can last anywhere between a minute to an hour [archived feeds 045|075|742]. Our researches have postulated that this could be a correlation between the amount of infectious fluids the individual is exposed to and the overall duration of their transition into stage one. This hypothesis cannot be confirmed under the current quarantine guidelines, however we are eagerly awaiting news of our most recent shipment of afflicted subjects. There will be no way of studying stage one subjects, as our rehabilitation efforts will be focusing on those who have undergone all three stages of the symptom.

Among this complex are several distinct identifiers, the most notable being the change in skin color. By the time stage one is complete the afflicted individual's pigment is a muted blue before ultimately shifting hue into a more vibrant blue. Keratin begins to darken and grow at an alarming rate, often transitioning into fully fledged claws. Both size and muscle structure seem to be affected by this rapid period of growth, although the details of these changes remain a mystery to us at the moment. Additionally the cartilage of the ear seems to fuse back into the skull.

Unique to the second stage and onward are the growths which appear across the afflicted body. They appear as rough bumps along the skin that push outwards, becoming raised “quill-like" extensions. Initial hypothesis correlate these 'quills' to that of whiskers or other sensory devices. While their purpose is unknown, we speculate that the afflicted have little control over these appendages.

Other unique physiological changes past the first transitional stage include facial restructuring and accelerated tail growth. We have agreed to hold off on postulating on these subjects further until our subjects have been brought on board and cleared for the appropriate scans.

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• o n e - s t a n d a r d - w e e k -

Another tremor rolled throughout the bunker, causing the display of Gordon's monitor to flicker. The journalist sat as his desk, his fingers fluidly commanding the display to move from screen to screen.

News from the A.R. Wallace had just come in late last night. Another forecast. Winds that reached up to one-hundred and fifty miles per hour were expected for the next two days. Gordon had wondered how long it would take before their station was placed on lockdown. No doubt the two of them would lose connection with the orbital station above them until the weather passed.

The journalist dismissed the forecast, his fingers pausing as the display shifted to panels that he had left open from the previous night. Low resolution pictures of afflicted subjects, transcripts of audio logs that were sent out in the days that followed the meteor's impact… From both hunter and prey alike... Reed shuddered, quickly closing out of his late night research on the Yerivienne Syndrome.

Patient Zero had agreed to step out of his private quarters for an interview with the journalist. This would be their third attempt at communication since they landed on this terraforming planet. Neither of them were terrifically thrilled about the idea of stepping into the same room again. Reed frowned as his fingers idly moved about his display. The journalist recognized his error now. At the most, he had acted unprofessionally. Thus, he owed the Captain an apology for how he had gone about his investigation. He pushed these thoughts aside for now, choosing instead to focus on the flickering video feed he had just brought up.

The brilliant orange light of their station's hex-grid was just barely visible through the flurry.

The journalist postulated to himself why his morning routine always ended like this. Perhaps the barrier was a way of grounding himself within this tremor-ridden bunker; it's orange glow acting as a barrier between him and the severe blizzard that encompassed this planet. Perhaps it was simply because this feed acted as his only link to the terraforming rock he was stranded on.

With that he closed his display, turning to face the wall of his private quarters that connected to the shared station. If the journalist was being honest with himself, his reluctance to step through these doors went beyond an annoyance with the decontamination field. It wasn't the high pitched hum or the agonizingly slow rate of the descending beam that had the journalist worried. No, the hair on the nape of his neck was standing up straight because he knew his 'roommate' would be out there. Patient Zero had all but taken over the shared space. Whenever Reed stepped out of his room he would find the Captain lounging out there. It wasn't the 'risk' of contamination that had the journalist upset… It was the fact that he felt like an outsider in the common area.

Before the doors to the shared space were fully opened Gordon's recording device had been switched on. The gentle hiss of the decontamination door opening marked the beginning of all of the reporters logs. The changed male was already sitting in the lounge, his legs splayed out atop the small coffee table in the middle of the room.

The brutish male never really communicated with Reed unless spoken to first, and even then conversations would die quickly. By this point the Captain had made it abundantly clear that he was 'not one for small talk'. It had been an excuse the large male had used all too much.

The journalist took a deep breath as he took a seat across from his interviewee. He set the recording device on a corner of the table before leaning back into the slightly-stiff couch. Gordon glanced up at the quiet marine expectantly before turning his attention back to the space between them. The silence had only lasted a few seconds and it had already begun to gnaw at the reporter's sides.

“So… I think this is as good of a time as any to begin. This will be interview number four. It has been one standard-week since our time on the bunker. My name is Gordon Reed, and this is…" The journalist trailed off, taking his eyes off of the table in front of him to look up at the Captain.

“Marshal Jones." The large man huffed, his throat warbling slightly in irritation as he scratched at his forehead.

“First off, I'd just like to apologize for my actions the last time we tried this." Reed began, hoping that the sincerity of his gesture would not be lost to the man across from him. “It was unprofessional of me and I… I'd take the comment back if I could."

“Fair enough." Marshal said, his nostrils flaring slightly as he brought a blue hand up to scratch as his cheek. “You got every right to ask whatever questions you want, Mr. Journalist… as long as you respect my right to not answer them."

Gordon nodded, glad to see that the Captain wasn't holding a grudge against him. “Thank you. Now let me start by-"

“So if I say 'no comment', it means 'No Comment'." Marshal interrupted, talking over the journalist. “I don't need another person trying to goad more information outta me."

“Fair enough." Reed said, mimicking the large male's reply back at him. “So… Starting off… I'd like to discuss-"

“Is this how you always talk to people?" Marshal continued, letting his arms stretch out across the couch. “You come home to your mom and pop, set down the recorder, and start asking questions?"

Reed blushed hotly. “Thats… Of course not!"

“So then it's just me, huh? You treat everyone you interview like this? Huh?" The Captain frowned, his expression growing more irritated by the second. “Why the hell did they choose you of all people?!"

The interviewer folded his arms and stared accusingly back at Marshal. After a moment's pause he opened his mouth to speak, the tone of his voice bitter. “No comment."

“Great." Marshal scoffed, sneering slightly. “Just great."

The two sat in silence, their gazes refusing to meet. Reed's cheeks were still bright red. Whether his interviewee had intended to call out his poor journalism skills or not was unimportant to the journalist. The Overpolitic had not come to Gordon for his reputation as a journalist. Reed worked for a small time company publishing articles on the outer net that could barely be called news. No, the reason they had given him that opportunity was because he was the prime candidate to test the limits of Patient Zero's rehabilitation.

As the journalist sank into his seat opposite Marshal, the changed man had been slowly stewing in his own mind. He had been ecstatic to get off of that orbital station. He had dreamed of the day they would relocate him. The changed man's throat warbled as he vented his frustration outwards, clenching his hands into fists atop the couch. He had tried so hard to get the journalist to have a real fucking conversation with him… But he always kept drilling him!

Marshal shook his head as he slowly adjusted his stance on the couch. The large male pulled himself upright before leaning over towards the quiet journalist. Reed turned his gaze even further away from the blue skinned male as he did so.

“Just… Talk to me. Okay?" The marine asked, trying to hold back the desperation in his voice. “You know how long it's been since I've had a conversation? Like, a real conversation? It's always 'do you remember how many times you orgasmed?' and 'how's your day going?'."

Gordon slowly turned to face the afflicted male once more, his lips pressed together tightly into a thin line.

“If we're going to spend the next… However-the-hell-long in this bunker, we've got to break the ice. I don't even know why I've got to be the one saying this!?" The blue male continued, trying his best to reach out to the reporter across from him.

“They… Keep a record of your browsing data." The reporter explained, his voice quiet. This was something he didn't want the recorder to pick up, but it was something that needed to be said.

“So what?" The afflicted man asked, shrugging his heavy shoulders slightly as he leaned backwards. “It was mostly porn and anonymous forums."

This was not new information for Marshal. Once he had proven to be cognizant and stable, they had given him terminal access to the outerweb. The privilege had been given to him under the condition that he remained anonymous. Thank god for the countless messaging sites that had kept him sane all these years. And the porn? It's not like he had anything to hide from the doctors who had watched him beat his meat and blindly rut the air for god-knows how many years.

“Y-Yes. I know, but…" Gordon bit his lip. Was he really going to tell him?

“I-I'm… 'Luckers'." The journalist admitted, practically whispering. “They chose me because…"

“Holy shit." Marshal whispered, his eyes widening. It had been two years since he had first stumbled upon that site. He had clicked on the stream titled 'Luckers' by accident, but he had been an avid fan ever since. The man handled silicone like a hand fit a glove. Hell, he was the sex monster, and even he was envious of Luckers' talents. “Y-You're…"

The journalist simply nodded, his face turning a beat red. “Turns out I had been entertaining the world's first and only rehabilitated Yerivienne victim. W-Who would've thought?"

Marshal blinked, dumbstruck. “So then. They chose you because…"

“I'm what you fap to most, yeah. It's one thing to see if you can live in the same house as an old lady. Its another to put you in a room with the man you've been… Apparently idolizing."

Shit. Marshal could only assume that he'd been shown the tapes. There was at least two hours' worth of footage of him rambling on about his 'favorite little human' after they had administered a wild blend of aphrodisiacs into his system. There was bound to be some pretty damning evidence of all the things he'd claimed he'd do to Luckers given the chance.

And now...

“Motherfuckers." Marshal whispered, his throat warbling. “They know I can control myself, right? The docs know I can! So what is this?! The Overpolitic doesn't trust me yet? If they want proof that I can control myself lets just-"

The blue-skinned male cut himself off before he finished his own sentence. That line of thinking was bound to lead somewhere neither of the males wanted to go. Marshal cursed silently as he looked back at the ashamed human. He hadn't known he was talking to the Luckers. This… Shouldn't have changed anything! And yet...

“Look, uh… Gordon." Marshal said, his throat warbling tightly as he paused. “Thanks for opening up. You're a… A real pro at what you do and… I'm sorry if I said anything that might have gotten you a bit flustered. Lets just agree that we've… Both fucked up and move on from here. I promise that I'm not gonna hurt you or nothin'. It's been a year since I've snapped and trust me. Since then? They've tried."

Marshal shuddered as he remembered some of the more terrifying ordeals he had been put through. The drug cocktail was tame in comparison to the time they placed him in the room with another of his kind. Metal bars… That was all that blocked him from that bestial other male. God, how he begged. Marshal shuddered as he imagined himself tucked into the corner of the room; eyes shut, nose blocked, and ears clamped tight. Marshal still had dreams about that night… How badly his entire being ached to take up that male on his offer.

Marshal's nostrils flared, his fingers curling around the locks of his mesh-suit. Those cries of lust still haunted him. The smell of his kind; a pungent musk that stank of need. The man's thick blue tail curled against the cell… Pressing tight… Letting the bars spread his thick cheeks wide.

“Marshal?" The journalist asked for a second time. The blue male was breathing heavily, his large chest rising and falling rapidly within his mesh-suit. Suddenly, the Captain released his grip on the hems of his suit, as if tearing himself free from whatever held him captive.

“S-Sorry. It's… It's fine." Marshal stammered, trying to even out his breathing as he talked. “I need to go vent some steam. You know… Sex monster and all that."

Reed only nodded, opening his mouth to speak before quickly shutting it again. The journalist was at a loss for words, and far too scared to move from his seat.

The ex-marine cursed silently to himself as he sat upright. His tightly fitted exo-suit had been designed to keep messes in, but the fluids dripping from his slit had begun to collect. It wasn't long before he'd have a sizable bulge jutting out from the suit, and that wasn't something he wanted Luckers seeing.

…

Well…

No!

The afflicted male quickly walked towards his quarters, placing his blue hand atop the biometric scanner that sealed their decontamination halls.

“J-Just… Do we seriously gotta schedule appointments to come out here and talk?" Marshal asked, turning back to the dumbfounded human. The marine's groin was already starting to tent; the sensations of his collecting juices only fueling his arousal. “I don't come out here 'cuz I like wearing this suit."

“O-Okay." Gordon nodded quickly, watching as the giant marine stumbled into his decontamination hall. “I won't treat you like a sex monster I'm trying to interview as long as you don't treat me like Luckers. D-Deal?

“Deal." Marshal huffed back, leaning against the wall of the building as the doors began to close. Jitters were starting to run through his body. It wasn't long before he'd begin shifting, and he loathed the transition in his mesh-suit.

A sharp hiss announced the sealing of the decontamination room; the two immediately sighing in relief. This was proving harder than they thought, and it had only been week one.

“God." Reed muttered to himself, reaching for the recording device as he spoke. “I can't even imagine a month."

---

Yerivienne Syndrome Research & Rehabilitation Unit

Keeper. Psychiatric Assessment 0165 | Year 1 | . A.R. Wallace.

Excerpt from 'Transcript of Patient Zero's Psychology Assessment'

Keeper: Hello Captain. How are you feeling today?

Patient 0: [? ? ?] (edited: more gutteral warbling. perhaps communication?)

Keeper: Pardon?

Patient 0: [? ? ?] (edited: high pitched whining. possibly begging)

Keeper: Do you know what I'm saying? Can you understand me?

(edited: patient zero becomes highly agitated. decide to end prematurely due to risk of security breach)

Keeper: Open the panels and let me out before he thrashes his way out of that thing. No point in him breaking something when we can just disengage the locks for him. Yes. Thank you, Amanda.

Editors Notes: Patient Zero has shown no sign of cognitive advancement in his year aboard the A.R. Wallace.

---

• o n e - s t a n d a r d - m o n t h -

Several crates had been stacked high atop the shared room's table. A few of the lightweight containers had been opened, their heavy contents slowly unpacked and placed throughout the room.

The interviewer's recording device rested in its usual place; a lounge chair that the two men had never grown to like. To Reed the seat had felt stiff and uncomfortable.The reporter was not one to lie backwards for an extended period of time. Even when he slept he would do so face-down. And it hadn't been that the chair was poorly crafted, either... The two had simply agreed that the seat wasn't to either of their likings.

The phrase 'to their likings' had felt like an understatement to the marine. The blue-skinned male had been positive that if he hadn't malformed into a nine feet tall monster he could have enjoyed the recliner. After the entire thing had toppled backwards beneath him three times, the large male had given up entirely.

“We could request some type of adhesive." Reed continued, placing a container filled with dehydrated meals on the ground next to him as he spoke. “Or a better chair."

“There's nothing wrong with the chair." Marshal grumbled, his hands busily unsealing the container in front of him. “We're mainly restricted by weight on these supply drops. No reason for them to launch a chair at us from orbit."

The thought alone made the large male smirk, his face lighting up with excitement as he began sifting through the contents of his crate. “Ah! Here it is."

Marshal dumped the box out onto his couch and fell to his knees, eagerly sorting the bits of technology across the cushions. Reed knew very little about electrical engineering, but he had seen the inside of a computer before.

“You gonna do something with all that?" The journalist asked, arching his brow curiously.

The male's large hands handled each piece delicately, his dully pointed nails carefully picking up each piece and inspecting them. “Yeah. I thought it'd be nice if we had a monitor out in the main room."

“We could've easily ordered one from Wallace." Gordon said, stacking an empty box on the ground before reaching for another. “You don't have to build it yourself."

“It gives me something to do." The large marine paused as he struggled to get back onto his feet. “Working with my hands keeps my mind occupied. The docs tried all types of things, but stuff like this works best."

“Stuff like… Soldering?" Reed asked, sounding unconvinced.

“Not at first. Long after I stopped clawing at the containment panels and all that. When I could actually, you know, hold an actual conversation with the docs. I learned if I asked for things they'd give em to me. Small stuff at first. Rubix cubes. Things that jogged my mind, you know?"

“I… Think I do. Are you saying that you picked up electrical engineering because you were… what, bored?" Reed had finally managed to open up the crate in his hands as he spoke. A variety of additional parts for Marshal's assemblage lay inside; parts which the male had immediately offered to his roommate.

“I picked up electrical engineering after they had given me computer privileges." Marshal explained, taking the box and turning his back on Reed to continue laying out the pieces on his couch.

“And was that before or after you discovered me?" The journalist asked, his cheeks heating up at the mere notion of his online persona.

“It was… After." The afflicted male admitted. “Well after."

The two had only recently begun speaking openly about Gordon's questionable choice of recreation. Neither of them had expected the subject to be brought up, nor had they predicted the tension between them to dissipate upon its discussion. The journalist had never chosen to discuss his 'hobby' with anyone before Marshal, and the man still couldn't wrap his head around why he chose to be so open around the afflicted marine. Gordon suspected that it was Marshal himself that made it so easy. The fact that the large male looked like he was permanently stuck in the first stage of the Yerivienne syndrome was hard enough to look past. However after spending enough time with the 'sex-monster', Gordon had seen a different side of the man. The human side.

The amount of audio the journalist had gathered over the month had already surpassed his initial expectations. The casual nature of their conversations made it a nightmare to sort through, but Gordon had learned that the long nights clipping audio were far more fruitful than any 'interviews' he had tried setting up with his subject.

“I see." Reed said with a smile, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. “And… This might be too much of me to ask, but… Every stream?"

The blue-skinned male still had his back turned to Reed as he nodded, his hands busily moving about the couch. “Yeah. Every stream. The docs worked around my schedule, if you can believe that."

Marshal's hands paused as he withdrew a soldering tool from the crate and chuckled to himself, his throat warbling in delight. “How does it feel knowing a sex monster was beating his meat to you all those years?"

“Well… Truth be told I never thought much about who would be watching." The journalist admitted, his cheeks blushing hotly at the thought. “The numbers were more of a thrill than anything… Watching them tick up…"

The two were turned away from one another as they continued going about their duties, a heavy silence filling the air between them.

“You know, it wasn't just me that was watching you on that platform. Those scientists had to watch me watch you. That's some layered voyeurism right there." The marine explained with a smile, revealing his sharp teeth to the journalist as he turned around.

“That's actually… Kind of weird." Reed cringed as he spoke, electing to take a break from his work to rest on the cluttered couch behind him. “I mean, someone choosing to watch me is one thing, but when it's someone's job? That's…"

Marshal snorted, his throat making a jittering pitched growl as he stared back at Reed. “Welcome to my life. Ten years. Can't even remember the worst of it." The blue male snorted as he shook his head, pausing to let out a long sigh. “You've seen the footage, right? Of the early days?"

Reed had indeed seen the footage. He could hardly believe he was sitting across from the same man in those shocking tapes. Marshal was grimacing as he played the footage back in his head. That monster hadn't been him, and yet…

The afflicted male was gripping at the pant leg of his mesh-suit now, the durable material reminding him of where he was. Contained. Better now. Back.

“I might talk crap about that prison, and even those docs… But… They brought me back. I owe them my life." Marshal growled. His skin felt like it was crawling again, his form slowly beginning to shift into its natural state once more. He didn't want to go back into his room yet, and yet…

“If it makes you feel better, I interviewed them as well." Gordon stated, pulling Marshal away from his thoughts.

The marine blinked in surprise, the thought having never occurred to him. “And?"

“They're really proud of you. In their own way. You're important to them, kind of like how a kid is to a parent. They've spent ten years taking care of you, Marshal." Reed smiled warmly as he said this, his eyes squinting slightly. “Whether you realize it or not, you've bonded with them."

Marshal nodded, gripping the pant leg even tighter. The crawling sensation was peaking at the usual spots, causing the marine quite a bit of discomfort from within his suit. He stood to leave in silence, not really knowing what else to say.

This wasn't the first time the reporter had seen Marshal quickly abscond to his room. The scientists had already explained to him why this was in the aforementioned interview. Even Reed could see the telltale signs of the marine's shift.

“Would you say you're homesick, Marshal?" Gordon asked as he watched the afflicted male walk away. The blue-skinned male paused in his stride for a moment, as if contemplating the question.

Marshal bit his lip, a tactic he used quite often to gauge his shift. His canines were still adjusting, which meant he had a few moments before stage two set in. Regardless, the marine chose not to respond, pressing forwards towards his door. He didn't have to answer any of the reporter's endless questions. He pressed a hand to the mounted biometric scanner and waited for the door to open in silence.

“I know I am." The reporter added wistfully, still staring at the contorting mesh-suit as the doors to Marshal's decontamination hall shut behind him.

The main room had grown silent. The reporter glanced around at the countless boxes stacked high and sighed. He stood and walked over to the neglected lounge chair. He picked up his recorded device and stared at it in his palm, frowning.

“Well. I guess that's enough footage for one day." Reed said to himself, switching the device 'off'. “Time to get to get to work."

The reporter began unpacking the rest of their containers, keeping in mind to not move his roommate's technology from the couch. Gordon went about his work silently, his thoughts focused on a strange pit in his gut. He had felt nervous; anxious about something he couldn't quite place. The illusory doubt had stuck with him for the past few days.

Reed shrugged the thoughts away when he placed his hand on his own biometric scanner. The door to the decontamination hall opened as a low rumble from outside rocked the bunker. The storm had been quiet throughout day and had been projected to pick up around now. Reed watched the door close behind him and waited impatiently for the room to finish its job.

The journalist was almost positive that time passed slower in here. What felt like ten minutes was in fact only three. The man had timed it on multiple occasions to make sure that he wasn't going mad in this bunker. Reed sighed as he leaned against one of the warm walls of the decontamination hall, watching the beam slowly ascend.

“Maybe I feel guilty." Gordon spoke aloud to no one in particular, his mind straying back to the feeling in his stomach. Whenever the huge man would run back to his room, he couldn't help but feel bad for him. Not pity, no. Something else…

As the reporter mulled these thoughts over in his head, Marshal had been sprawled out on the floor of his own room. The shifting marine had managed to peel off his mesh-suit after the banded locks had registered he was in his room. Two minutes. It always took two minutes to wait for the damned seals to unseal themselves from his limbs. He had discarded them immediately, scrambling quickly to remove the rest of the mesh-suit.

Arousal coursed throughout his entire body, bringing him to his knees. The doctor's had been able to push the other need to the back of his mind, but the libido could not be stifled. He used to have a schedule; a way to vent all this out of him. At the end of his time on the A.R. Wallace he would have regressed to stage three for no longer than an hour. But down here things were different. He hadn't known that he would be here. Now…

Greedy fingers moved to his arousal... Wet and pulsing flesh. He could stroke himself as much as he wanted, but it wouldn't alleviate the need. Not fast enough, at least. Hazardous thoughts crashed into the changing man's mind in a never ending tide. No one knew the dangers of combining arousal and desperation as well as Marshal. No one knew what it was like to battle day in and out with this... No one knew.

---

Yerivienne Syndrome Research & Rehabilitation Unit

Keeper. Patient Zero Quarterly Review | Year 8.75 | . A.R. Wallace.

Excerpt from 'Doctor/Patient Quarterly Review'

Keeper: Hello Captain. How are you feeling today?

Marshal: Like shit. My mouth tastes like metal because of your boys.

Keeper: Routine cleanup, Captain. You know the drill.

Marshal: Yeah, well the drill sucks. And so do you.

Keeper: Don't be like that Captain. You've made such good progress.

Marshal: Progress? Doc, I've been eating my cum all day. [p a u s e] And this damn taste won't fucking go away.

Keeper: I apologize. How about this, Captain. We'll look into a solution to that for you. [p a u s e] What do you say?

Marshal: What do you want?

Keeper: Pardon?

Marshal: You never act like this unless there's something you want. So what is it. Spit it out. Want me to go strap into the drug chair? I can do that.

Keeper: No, Captain. Nothing like that. We actually have a gift for you.

Marshal: A gift? You're kidding me.

Keeper: I am not kidding you, no. It's a containment suit. Something which might be able to [p a u s e] contain you.

Marshal: This isn't some kinky orgasm denial thing is it? I like cumming doc. You know what happens if I don't get off.

Keeper: Yes, yes. I know. This is a body suit. It should keep all of your infectious fluids contained.

Marshal: So it is a chastity thing? Doc. It's not going to work. What happens when I shift?

Keeper: It should shift with you.

Marshal: Should?

Keeper: Well, mostly should. We couldn't figure out how to work a tail into the mesh-suit. But this should expand to your form. Think of it like underwear.

Marshal: Doc. I'm not about to start leaking all over you.

Keeper: I know, Captain. But the Overpolitic doesn't. This will be huge for selling your rehabilitation. It should remove all chances of accidents. They'll have no reason to doubt your safety.

Marshal: It's not my safety they're worried about, Doc. Those asses don't want to wake up with a blue slit tomorrow. It's as simple as that.

Keeper: Entire worlds were quarantined because of those blue slits, Captain.

Marshal [p a u s e] Fine, I'll wear it. But only cuz of you, Doc. And don't forget about the metal!

---

• t w o - s t a n d a r d - m o n t h s -

“Everything looks great so far." The doctor murmured, peering into the afflicted male's mouth. Marshal had no idea what this guy was even documenting, but every week he would be taken into a separate isolation room and strapped to a chair. This week was no different. How long had be been on the A.R. Wallace? They wouldn't tell him yet. No, that wasn't right. Had they already told him? Marshal frowned as the doctor took a hand out of his mouth and turned to face the far wall of the isolation chamber. The changed man couldn't help but stare at the doctor. He was definitely handsome beneath those clothes.

An annoying beeping sound emitted from the examination table beneath Marshal. The man suddenly seized against his restraints, his hands reflexively clenching into fists. An alien warble emitted from his throat as his arousal turned into raw need.

God, how badly he wanted to tear those clothes off of the doctor. Marshal's nostrils flared, his tongue sliding out of his half-shifted mouth as another long growl rolled out of his throat. The doctor had paid him no mind as he operated the machinations of the isolation chamber. The wall the doctor was facing began to shift, its panels curling in on itself to allow another doctor to enter the room.

Marshal had been able to tear his eyes away from the man's ass long enough to watch the new doc take his place beside him. He propped the tray up atop the ground and began thumbing through the selection. Syringes. Just the sight of them filled Marshal with fear. The nigh-incessant frequency of beeping was fading now, the marine no longer overwhelmed with the desire to rip the clothes off of every person he saw.

“Doc." Marshal spoke, tripping on the thickness of his own tongue. “You'f 'ot a 'reat ass."

The doctors had ignored him of course, glancing at one another as they took their place on either side of Marshal. They had never found him funny. Marshal hadn't cared. The jokes had never been something he had done for the doctors.

“Tol' me it 'as 'onna be a 'outine tessst." Marshal growled, the vibrations making his throat tingle pleasantly. The changed man closed his eyes and leaned back atop the table. “'Ou 'uys ssssuck."

“We're sorry, Captain." One of the doctors had begun speaking. Marshal could hear his dumb doctor hands moving about the tray with calculated precision. Dumb doctor hands never messed up. Marshal knew better than to fight back. The sooner they would pump him full of that crap the sooner it'd be over.

“'Ussst 'o it." Marshal snorted, his brow furrowing even tighter. He hated when they apologized. If they had been truly apologetic then they'd simply let him be. Maybe they'd even bend over for him on his way out. He had been some dumb game to them. A problem that they thought they could fix.

Marshal had not needed fixing. Marshal had been happy being Marshal. Marshal… Realized that he couldn't think right. His mind had started feeling mushy. Spotty. Like putty that was left out in the sun for far too long.

“'Ou 'uys remem'er 'utty?" Marshal slurred, his back arching outwards as he tried to adjust atop the uncomfortable stretcher. “I remem'er 'utty… 'Ou 'uys shoul' fffffuck eah' otherrr in 'ront of me. I 'on't 'otta touch. 'Ust watch."

“Relax, Captain." One of the had doctors spoken, placing a hand on his shoulder and holding him in place. “We still have six more doses left."

Marshal frowned. The number had felt awfully high to him. The marine felt his consciousness slipping away, as if layer upon layer of heavy blankets were being rested atop him. The weight had gradually built until it had engulfed him completely. If only…

If only this had been how those procedures had actually gone.

Marshal pulled the sheets of his blankets off of him, staring up at the ceiling with sunken eyes. He couldn't stop dreaming about his time on the A.R. Wallace. He wasn't even sure what he had fabricated in his dreams and what had actually happened even more. It had all started to bleed together into one giant mess.

Speaking of messes. Marshal growled in irritation as he glanced down at his mesh-suit. His system had been incredibly productive over the past few weeks and the marine had grown tired of cleaning his sheets every night. The afflicted male slowly rolled out of bed, placing a hand to the distended mesh-suit. He poked at it in an effort to gauge how much the distended material had collected overnight. He could only assume that a quart of fluids now sloshed around inside the suit as he pulled himself to his feet.

The big male yawned as he strolled towards his bathroom. He knew he wasn't getting enough sleep. He had been pulled awake four times last night by the sensation of his tail fighting against his mesh-suit. The nightmare of waking from a horrible dream… Only to be trapped in a damned person-sized condom. He rubbed the sore spot on his tailbone as the door to his bathroom opened with a hiss.

“Maybe I should just sleep on the drain." Marshal muttered, striding across the cold metal floor. His long toenails made a nice rhythmic tapping noise as he slow to a halt in the large room. There was a shower in one corner and a rather normal looking bathroom in the other. The rest of the room served only one purpose to Marshal.

“Disengage Lock." Marshal muttered to himself, bringing a pale blue hand to the metal collar of his suit. He tugged at the tight seal, taking deep breaths as he fet the mesh suit expand. Fluids started to trickle down the marine's legs as the minutes passed, pooling out across the floor before sinking through the fine metal grating.

Marshal continued to tap his toes along the floor as he idled, frowning at the blank walls. Marshal figured that they could have at least put a mirror along one of the walls. To the marine this room had been declared the most boring one. Unfortunately for the afflicted male, this is where he spent the most of his time. The room reeked of his scent, something which he was grateful to escape whenever he escaped to the shared space.

The large man let out one more yawn as the suit finished its unsealing, its form having almost doubled in size. He let whatever fluids remained trickle down his body as he moved beneath the shower head. Warm water immediately poured out of the faucet, causing Marshal to shudder in glee. The only redeemable thing about this room had been the shower. The sensation of a thousand little droplets splattering across his skin felt amazing. Slowly, he removed the loose suit and let it soak beneath the fresh water in an effort to rinse it clean. He knew that the decontamination chamber would take care of the outside of the mesh, but he hated talking with Reed when he had a cup of slit juice rolling around in his crotch.

Marshal grimaced at his choice of words. The damned journalist had called him out the other night for being too hard on himself. He knew the guy was right, but Gordon had no idea what it was like to live with this syndrome. He thought back to his dream and frowned as he stepped beneath the faucet.

“I'd have been content being me, huh?" Marshal murmured, watching as the water pooled above the drain. The grating covered the entire floor of this room, but the slits for drainage were so tiny that the fluids often had to spread out across the floor. The act often hypnotized the afflicted man, a depraved sense of pride flooding through him whenever he would watch his fluids stop up the drain.

“Whatever." Marshal grumbled, as if coming to a conclusion. In truth the large man had just stared at a drain for fifteen minutes, but his mind came to an immediate and sudden realization. “Fuck what anyone else says. I'll live my life the way I want to."

The marine huffed, turning the faucet off and picking the mesh suit up off the floor with his feet. He slung the suit into a dry corner of the room and stomped after it, shaking his head. “And no reporter, big-headed politics, or damn doctors are gonna change that."

The marine was met by a blast of air as this side of the room began to dry him off. He held the suit up towards the exhausts as well, his frown thinning. “I'm me." He stated firmly. “That's all there is to it."

---

Yerivienne Syndrome Research & Rehabilitation Unit

Keeper. Archived Logs |Year 7.15 | . A.R. Wallace.

Footage From 'Isolation Chamber [Patient Zero Surveillance]'

Highlighted Timestamp Start

Patient Zero sat upside down against a wall-panel, his lower half curled over himself. The infected male wiggled his toes in delight as a thick glob of fluids drooled from his slit and into his maw. The afflicted male let it sit on his purple tongue before sliding it around in his mouth, his throat warbling in satisfaction. The man's arms lay sprawled across the ground, his entire body language reading sated and relaxed. Patient Zero yawns loudly, another thick glob of fluids dropping into his waiting maw.

The RCA [Random Check-Up Alarm] rang throughout the room, the panels reverberating slightly as the loud noise suddenly chimed out of each wall. Patient Zero's eyes widened for a moment as he looked about the room, a hand reaching up to stroke at his slit. He pulled the clawed finger out of his slit as his tail slapped against the ground before swirling the collected fluids in his mouth. The panels on the south corner of the room opened up to reveal a doctor dressed head to toe in protective gear.

The afflicted male rocked back and forth, his tail raising slightly before slamming against the ground. Patient Zero used the momentum of these actions to roll himself upright and stand to greet the doctor. The doctor waved back as the two began to talk.

Highlighted Timestamp End

Significance of Highlighted Footage: The RCA was installed to test how Patient Zero would react to unsystematic audio sensory. The response of untreated subjects range, but all exhibit animalistic behavior when the RCA starts up. Subjects become irritant, regarding the surprise as a threat and often lash out at the source of the noise. This highlights Patient Zero's first RCA to not induce such a response.

I [Keeper] immediately went in instead of waiting the appropriate amount of time. I wanted to question the individual about how he was doing in the aftermath of the RCA. Patient Zero seems to be unaware of all previous 'volatile behaviours' when the RCA's are rung. Further questioning is required.

---

• t h r e e - s t a n d a r d - m o n t h s -

---

Connection Established at 4.67563^56.73 on e1242b. Channel 2.-----------------------------------------

Communication achieved.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Video Established.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Refreshing Audio Drivers.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Audio Established.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

---

Transcript Start

Reed: Sorry, can you hear me now?

Keeper: Yes. Much better. Could you please repeat what you said one more time?

Reed: Are you ready to start the interview?

Keeper: Yes. We are already recording on our end.

Reed: You don't mind if I record a copy as well, do you?

Keeper: Not at all, Gordon.

Reed: Thank you. [p a u s e] I just wanted to start off by saying that Marshal has been doing a wonderful job down here. Trust me, I've had a lot of roommates in my life and that man is far from the worst.

Keeper: That's wonderful to hear. The two of you are getting along then?

Reed: Yes. Very much so. We probably spend an average of five to six standard hours together per cycle. You would think I'd get bored down here, but there's so much audio that I have to sift through when I'm not with him. He's doing well to keep busy, too.

Keeper: I see. Would you be willing to share some of your audio with us? The crew is quite curious to hear how our patient is acting around you.

Reed: Quite casually, actually. He's a very open person. Although I don't know the extent of your relationship with him.

Keeper: You must understand that we were his caretakers. [p a u s e] Has he told you much about his time here on our station?

Reed: No, he tends to keep quiet about everything after the Yerivienne crisis. There are times when he opens up about the events and living conditions upon the Wallace, and the most that I can say is that he is conflicted. I like to think that he misses you, but I don't rightly know.

Keeper: Thank you for the insight. Moving on, we have a few questions about the facility and the Captain. Shall we proceed?

Reed: Please.

Keeper: Have you noticed any immediate problems with your current living situation?

Reed: No. I do worry about a huge storm blocking us from receiving our next shuttle of supplies for a ridiculous amount of time, but I am fully aware of how silly that fear is.

Keeper: Are the storms that bad to you?

Reed: No. I'm just being a baby. Let's continue on.

Keeper: Alright. Do you feel safe within the bunker?

Reed: Yes. The bunk still doesn't feel like home, but I trust it completely. I trust Marshal too, if that's what you mean by safe. The storms are a bit daunting at times, but it's not my first time living on a terraforming planet.

Keeper: Do you have any complaints about your current living situation?

Reed: Nope. [p a u s e] Oh wait. Yes. Getting a connection to the web is ridiculous. I assume there is nothing that can be done about that though.

Keeper: You would be correct. It might take up to a year before the storms dissipates enough for the type of stability you are looking for from your connection.

Reed: And this is going to sound silly, but are our decontamination halls supposed to take so long? All of the ones I have used in the past take a few seconds at most.

Keeper: Those halls are not like those you might find on other ships or planets. The Yerivienne syndrome is spread through an afflicted human's sexual fluids. Most halls are not designed to deal with such high density hazardous materials such as this. It should also be noted that the halls repeat their task twice to ensure the safest possible living situations. It should only take around a few minutes to complete the process. Why do you ask? Is it taking longer than that.

Reed: No no. It is most definitely operating correctly.

Keeper: Is there anything else that you'd like for us to know?

Reed: I'm really not sure if I should say this, but [p a u s e] He knows why I was selected for the project. I was the one that told him as well. Holding the information didn't sit right with me.

Keeper: I understand. That was well within your rights to do. [p a u s e] We actually have one last question for you as well. We understand if the question is too personal for you.

Reed: Okay.

Keeper: Would you say that you are sexually attracted to Marshal?

Reed: That is [p a u s e] Yes. Yeah, I would say that I am attracted to him. As much as one can be to a victim of the Yerivienne Syndrome. He's got a [p a u s e] nice jawline.

Keeper: Alright. Thank you for your honesty.

Reed: Actually, since we're asking questions like this [p a u s e] Are you one of the scientists who had to watch me?

Keeper: Pardon?

Reed: You know [p a u s e] Luckers. Did you [p a u s e] see me?

Keeper: Yes, I was one of them.

Reed: Oh.

Keeper: I know that must be weird for you. However you must understand that I have grown desensitized to such acts over the course of my ten years with the Captain.

Reed: Are you saying that I'm not as good as the sex monster?

Keeper: Pardon?

Reed: Sorry. That came off wrong. Marshal's my only source of conversation, so if I say anything a bit strange I apologize in advance.

Keeper: Understood. [p a u s e] We are actually done here. Thank you very much for the chance to discuss your situation.

Reed: Thank you for the chat as well. It's been a long time since I've talked with someone who isn't blue.

Transcript End

---

Connection Established at 4.845721^26.11 on e1242b. Channel 1.---------------------------------------

Communication achieved.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Video Established.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Audio Established.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

---

Transcript Start

Patient 0: Hello? You guys there?

Keeper: Hello Captain.

Patient 0: Fucking finally. I thought we agreed on this timestamp.

Keeper: Our apologies. We were able to reach connection with Gordon before you.

Patient 0: Well you're here now.

Keeper: You sound angry, Captain.

Patient 0: Of course I'm angry. You of all people should know why I'm angry, Doc.

Keeper: Pardon?

Patient 0: You chose Luckers of all people? You could have chosen anyone to stick me on a rock with and you chose him?

Keeper: Is this a problem for you?

Patient 0: He was my damn relief, Doc. You knew that. You fucked with the system when you put him in here with me. You fucking knew that.

Keeper: We had to pick someone that we knew you were attracted to. If we are to prove to the Overpolitic [p a u s e] Captain? Captain?

Patient 0: What?

Keeper: Am I boring you?

Patient 0: No.

Keeper: Honestly, Captain.

Patient 0: What? You never cared before.

Keeper: Yes, but a copy of this recording is going to be sent to the committee in charge of this-

Patient 0: Really? Well tell them that they can suck my dick. Better yet [p a u s e] Hey committee. Suck this.

Keeper: Captain.

Patient 0: I bet you missed seeing this every day, didn't you Doc?

Keeper: Actually its outbursts like this that prove to be one of the few things I don't miss.

Patient 0: Don't be like that, Doc. I already know you're going to edit the transcripts.

Keeper: We will see. If you can't even behave yourself in a single call then this project might have been for nothing after all.

Patient 0: Now you aren't playing fair at all, Doc.

Keeper: Then can you agree to act civilly for the rest of this call?

Patient 0: Fine.

Keeper: How are you enjoying life on the bunker?

Patient 0: It's amazing. The privacy is amazing. I can scream and shout and curse in here and no one will be able to hear me. I told Reed that and he said that thought scared him. He wasn't locked in a box with cameras for ten years.

Keeper: And Reed?

Patient 0: He's great. He doesn't poke me with mystery juice and strap me to chairs, so he's miles ahead of your company.

Keeper: Are you attracted to him?

Patient 0: Is there a blizzard outside? The answer is yes. Obviously. He's Luckers. Luckers. He got all embarrassed when we talked about how all the docs had to watch him slut around. It was cute.

Keeper: I believe he mentioned the same event to me moments ago.

Patient 0: No shit? What else did you guys discuss.

Keeper: Whether or not he liked you.

Patient 0: Doc. Don't do this to me. I'm having enough trouble as it is.

Keeper: 'Yes. Yeah, I would say that I am attracted to him.'

Patient 0: Fuck you, man.

Keeper: 'As much as one can be to a victim of the Yerivienne Syndrome.'

Patient 0: 'As much as one can be'?

Keeper: 'He has a nice jawline.' [p a u s e] Captain? You okay?

Patient 0: Yeah. I just… You're making this harder than it has to be, Doc.

Keeper: We have to make sure you can control yourself.

Patient 0: You've already done enough fucking tests.

Keeper: And this is your last test. All you have to do is pass.

Patient 0: Yeah? Or what?

Keeper: We actually [p a u s e] Don't know.

Patient 0: Woah, really?

Keeper: This really is our last chance to prove that the rehabilitation program works. If this doesn't pan out the Overpolitic will begin considering more drastic plans of action.

Patient 0: You're not going to lose your job are you? The station? And [p a u s e] What about me?

Keeper: Let's worry about those things as they come to happen. For now we need to prove that you are capable of controlling yourself. Fully controlling yourself.

Patient 0: Well you're making it pretty fucking hard, Doc. Don't you think the human-me would be just as tempted by my situation?

Keeper: Would the human-you jeer at the Overpolitic by whipping out his dick?

Patient 0: That is [p a u s e] Fair enough. Are we done here? I actually do have to take care of this.

Keeper: We are done. We're counting on you, Captain.

Patient 0: Yeah, love you too. Assholes.

Transcript End

---

• f o u r - s t a n d a r d - m o n t h s -

The storm had grown in intensity over the last standard hour. Both men laid sprawled out across their respective couches, eyes transfixed on the ceiling on their bunker. The two had not expected to still be laying out here, the natural flow of their conversation having ended quite some time ago. The most recent readings from the A.R. Wallace had reported readings of a massive tempest heading their way. The entire bunker shook and rumbled on a magnitude neither men had witnessed. Sleeping through the storm felt like an impossible task, their minds too wired on the issue at hand.

“We should ration our supplies." Reed said at last, turning to look at the blue-skinned man opposite him. “Just in case things go sour."

“They already have gone sour." Marshal responded, eyes still transfixed on the grey ceiling of their shelter. The large man's fingers were intertwined across his chest, his hands slowly rising and falling at a steady pace. The reporter felt envious of the marine's calm energy in that moment, his mouth thinning into a frown.

“They could go more sour." Gordon said, turning back towards the ceiling. The light fixtures seemed to flicker every so often; something which Marshal had explained was nothing to worry about.

“Yeah. But it's out of our control." The afflicted male said with a snort. “We'll cut rations in half. I don't have a problem with that."

The two sat amidst the deafening quakes that rattled their base. If estimates from the A.R. Wallace were to be trusted than the storm would settle down in time for their next shipment. However if they weren't right…

“What I do have a problem with is that attitude of yours." Marshal said suddenly, pulling Gordon out of his thoughts. The large man slowly pulled himself upright atop his couch as he adjusted the material of his mesh-suit.

“My attitude? Marsh. What if we run out of food?" The reporter asked, turning to look back at his roommate with concern.

The marine was already shaking his head, his eyes focused on the small male across from him. “We're not gonna run out of food. If you keep projecting stuff like that you're gonna start panicking. Focus the mind on something else. Take deep breaths…" Marshal paused, his chest expanding outwards before slowly settling back down. “Like that. Trust me. Just keep the mind busy."

They both sat in silence as Gordon tried to take the man's advice. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the couch, mind searching for something else… Anything else. But it seemed impossible. The world outside of this bunker was engulfed in a flurry that seemed to penetrate his shelter. A panic arose in the reporters chest as a realization hit him: He was trapped in here.

Marshal glanced back over at his roommate, the smaller man's hands gripping the cushions of his couch with wide eyes. The marine frowned and got up, biting his lip as he felt his juices shifting inside of his mesh-suit. He could feel his canines lengthening as they dug into his blue lips. He wouldn't have long now, but he'd be damned if he left the reporter alone in this state.

“Hey." The marine began, clearing his throat. His nostrils flared as his mouth began to push out, the man opposite him none the wiser. “Reed."

Marshal was not used to feeling tongue-tied. He stared at his roommate, eyes wide as he realized that he had no idea what he could say to the man. He had always been blunt. The changes had only magnified that. But when he stared at the reporter across from him the words caught in his throat. No, it was more than that. There weren't any words at all.

“You know why I started camming?" Reed suddenly spoke, his eyes still locked on the ceiling above them. “I had been sent to this one planet to… photograph a celebrity. It was on this holiday planet… And everyone around me seemed so happy and relaxed."

The marine shuddered, his body hunching over as his jaw continued to rearrange itself. His nose had molded into a snout; his lips curling for an instant as his teeth lengthened. The afflicted man's mouth had pushed out significantly by now as the rest of his body continued to convulse.

The reporter lay unaware of Marshal's transition, his small smile fading into a discontent frown. Reed's eyes fluttered as he turned his attention to his feet, his back arching out against the couch as he paused to stretch. “Everyone was on vacation. And there I was. In the middle of paradise… Being paid to stalk and harass an actress."

Marshal shut his eyes tight as he could feel the end of his spine begin to push out. The sore tailbone had already been through so much this week, and now it would be forced to stay within the constraints of his damned suit once more. Marshal ground his teeth as his fingers dug into the tight material. The marine cursed silently as he fought for the will to speak. If only he could find the courage to say something… If only...

“They hired me to be a journalist and they'd put me on the most humiliating tasks I could've imagined. The money was great, but… I felt trapped. I had no one to vent to, and barely any time to myself. So I… Started… Camming." Reed blushed as he thought back to his first time on air. “I didn't expect anyone to watch. And when people did, I… I don't know. I just didn't stop."

Marshal finally gasped aloud, his throat warbling as he let out an exasperated grunt. The man's entire body was tense, his muscles spasming as the suit tried to keep up with his adjusting body. Over four feet of his tail had pulled out of his body, his suit bulging as the thick appendage curled around his leg. He could feel his toes curling in on themselves, his claws digging into his skin as the black nails lengthened.

“I didn't keep doing it because of the viewers. I did it because… In some weird and sick way… I felt validated by it." Gordon scoffed as he thrust his hands into the air, slowly curling them into fists as he scoffed. “It's so dumb! I feel so dumb just for saying it! But when I cammed I wasn't alone. I didn't hate myself. I didn't stop and I cultivated this weird identity. It was empowering! And then when I heard that I'd be interviewing Patient Zero I was like, 'WOW!'"

The journalist laughed at his own foolishness, his eyes squinting as he let his hands fall limp onto his chest. “And then… I learned that it was because… I'd been making a sex monster cum in some containment facility for years. Me!" Reed laughed as he tried to rationalize why he'd ended up where he was... Who he was talking to...

“Hey-" Marshal choked on his words as he was forced to stifle a groan of pleasure. The pleasure in his crotch had just doubled, an all-too familiar pressure mounting between his thighs. The marine's slick cock had started spreading his slit open, a sizeable bulge slowly expanding from beneath the mesh-suit. He could feel a steady stream of infectious fluids filling his suit, his mind growing hazy for a moment. He stared at the human opposite him, still completely unaware of the changes happening opposite him. Marshal felt his tongue loll out of his maw, his breathing quickening as his need became more apparent… And visible.

“And you know what?" Gordon began, slowly turning towards his roommate. “I felt more trapped on that stupid planet than I ever will here with-"

The journalist's words were cut short as he finally brought his attention back to the afflicted male. Gordon had only seen pictures and videos of stage-two afflicted, but he'd never seen one so close. The creature that sat opposite him looked bestial, its skin a more vibrant blue than Marshal's. It was the journalist's turn to be at a loss for words, his eyes darting across the huge male's form. Reed swallowed tightly as his gaze fell upon the titan between Marshal's thighs. It was big. Bigger than it had looked on camera. The journalist blushed as he thought back to all those nights in his room on the bunker… His 'extended' research on Marshal's anatomy… Replaying his favorite clips over and over until…

“Hey." Marshal croaked out once more, his neck muscles straining as he struggled to speak.

“Hey." Gordon said, his hands still resting on his chest. He laid as still as he could manage, suddenly all-too afraid of moving suddenly. He had read quite a handful of reports on the Yerivienne syndrome by now, and knew better than to try and bolt towards his room. He had no doubt that Marshal would chase after him, by his own volition or otherwise.

Or maybe he wouldn't? The stray thought hit Reed suddenly, conflicting him greatly. This was Marshal after all… The man Gordon had spent over three months with by now. The two sat in silence; waiting in anticipation for the other to make the first move.

“Hey." They both say again; each speaking out in an effort to goad the other into action. Reed blushed as he realized his foolishness, Marshal's eyes turning to the table between them in shame.

The bulging mesh-suit flexed in need, as if calling out to Marshal to please himself. The marine was in no mind to give into his desires at the moment. Instead the afflicted male shuddered, steeling himself to speak once more.

“Did I… Ssss-scare yyy-you?" Marshal asked, his words slow and carefully enunciated. The sex-monster had not found much need to practice speaking after stage-two… Until now.

“No." Reed lied unconsciously, shaking his head in refusal. “Er, yeah. But… You… Don't scare me."

Marshal cocked his brow in curiosity, several quills lining his forehead rising in a similar motion. “Oh? I've nn-never ss-shhifted in ffront of you… before." The man slowly spoke, wincing at the erratic pace of his wording.

“Yeah." Gordon said, nodding. The man was desperately trying not to stare at the throbbing length between Marshal's legs, his hands starting to grow clammy as they rested atop his chest. “Usually you slink off to your room by this point."

The wind howled outside, the storm's intensity only increasing in magnitude. The floor shuddered beneath them as they sat in tense silence.

“You didn't… Look lll-like you wwwa-wanted to be a-alone. So I… Staayed." Marshal said, nostrils flaring in annoying at the handling of his thick purple tongue.

“Thank you." The journalist said, his cheeks flushing with arousal. “But.. You don't have to stay out here for me. Don't you need to... “

Reed swallowed tightly as he let his eyes return to the sight of the enormous strain in the mesh-suit. “Take care of t-that?"

Marshal looked down at his shaft, his hand instinctively moving to cup at his groin before holding himself back. He let his claws grip the couch cushion instead, squeezing tightly in an effort to build upon what little restraint he still had. “Maybe." The marine said, a pit of annoyance building within him. “Not like it'll do mmm-much good."

Gordon frowned as he cocked his head slightly. “What do you mean?"

Marshal sat in silence, his eyes still glued to the table between them. He opened his muzzle to speak before quickly shutting it again, shaking his head firmly. He couldn't tell Reed. It was too embarrassing to say aloud. No, it was more than that. It was too shameful to say aloud. To admit his needs to the journalist would go against everything the two of them had been working towards for the last three months.

“Is everything… Okay?" Reed pressed, finally finding the motivation to sit upwards. The male leaned in, placing a hand on the table to draw the marine's attention. “Is there something wrong?"

“N-No." Marshal said, his bottom lip trembling for a moment. “I jussst... It's... hard."

The room shook as they stared at one another in silence. The reporter couldn't help but yearn for the man across from him. He looked so troubled… Almost scared. The footage of stage-two afflicted had shown men like him acting like savage animals, snarling and rutting whatever they could find. However the only thing Reed could see sitting in front of him… Was a man who needed his help.

“Marshal. Talk to me. Is it something… I did?" Reed asked, wincing as he said it. Every time the marine had fled to his room he hadn't been able to shake a pained feeling… A feeling that now gripped him ten-fold.

Marshal couldn't tell him the truth. He couldn't bare to tell the man in front of him that it was something he had done. It wasn't his fault, but… He needed him. He needed that stability in his life. Damnit… He needed Luckers back. The brute let out a stifled warble as he closed his eyes. He could feel his own hand betraying him as it reached out and stroked his length. It felt so good… Not the touch itself… But the gaze that seemed to soak in every inch of his pleasuring. Marshal let his claws knead at the mesh-suit as he began to cave, reveling in the feeling of his length sliding against his slick fluids

Marshal let out a long and deep moan, his muscles tensing for the first time since his transition into stage-two. Reed was frozen in place, his own arousal mounting at an alarming pace. This… Was bad, right? Gordon thought hard about the morality of what was happening. He was currently watching a giant blue sex-monster touch himself… And… He wanted him. The journalist's heartbeat quickened at this realization, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

“Hey Marsh?" Reed asked, not sure what he could even say to the blue alien.

The afflicted male simply opened his muzzle wider, letting his tongue roll out of his mouth. He panted loudly as he gripped his length, his eyes locked on Reed's. Marshal knew he was losing control, but he'd finally gotten what he'd needed. He didn't need to touch the man. He didn't need to cum. He just… Needed him. Marshal couldn't explain it. The need. It coursed through his entire body like a drug, spurring him forwards… Closer…

No!

Marshal tore his hand away from his crotch, a task which proved to be no easy feat. Even as the marine pulled himself to his feet he could feel the urge... The need… His entire body sang for Luckers. For Reed.

“Fuck." Marshal rasped, his chest heaving. His constricted tail curled even tighter around his leg as he awkwardly took a step around the couch and towards his door. “Fuck. I…"

The reporter blinked in surprise at the sudden change in attitude, standing up with a concerned expression on his face. “Marshal?" He asked, his own arousal clearly tenting his pants.

“We can't do thith. It'sss… Nnnot healthhy." Marshal said, his eyes wide as he stared at Lucker's arousal. How badly he wanted to take that into his mouth… To curl his tongue around it and watch him writhe. To see his skin turn blue.

NO!!!

Marshal flailed for the lock behind him, his hand pressing against the biometric scanner after several attempts. He watched in terror as Gordon stepped towards him, a look of regret plastered on his face. He couldn't… They couldn't!!!

“Marshal!" Reed called out again, the tightness gripping his chest like a vice. Why was he chasing after him? What did he hope to accomplish? The two stared back at one another with pained looks on their faces, the door to the decontamination hall slowly sealing them off from one another.

“Thisss is ff-for your oww-n good." Marshal whispered, a clawed hand already tugging at the collar of his mesh-suit as he groped himself. The doors to the decontamination hall shut shortly afterwards, sealing the two off completely.

Reed stood alone in the common-space, his shoulders sagging as the realization of his situation set in. He was horny, confused, and alone… Feelings that Marshal probably knew all too well. Gordon stared at the doors to the decontamination hall, letting his imagination fill in the details of Marshal's escape from his mesh-suit… And the lewd events that would no doubt follow. Reed found his hand had made it's way to his crotch, his fingers toying with himself through his pants. The storm outside raged on, the crashing booms shaking the ground beneath Reed. As the light fixtures flickered overhead, the journalist came to a sudden and all too obvious realization.

He needed to help Marshal.

He also needed to get off.

Reed turned on his heel towards his own decontamination chamber, quickly opening it and leaning his back against on the heated walls. The journalist couldn't help but notice how much faster two minutes seemed to pass when one was gripping their cock through their pants, the airlock finally opening and allowing him into his room. He tore out of his clothing as fast as he could, his erection bobbing freely in the air as he took his monitor from his work station. He quickly swiped through screens and other regulations before hitting one last button, a white light on top of the tablet signifying that his camera feed had been turned on.

The reporter took a few hesitant steps back, blushing madly as he centered himself on screen. It felt different when Reed knew he would be watching. Gordon gripped his cock with one hand as he turned to the side, letting the camera catch his 'good side'.

“H-Hey Marsh." Reed began, his voice sounding timid in his own ear. “Before you try and close out of this… Don't. I want you to watch this. A-And even if you don't pick up the call right now… It's recording. So. From one sex-monster to another… Welcome to your own private viewing. I hope you… e-enjoy."

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