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"She's a moving violation, from her conk down to her shoes

"Well, it's just an invitation to the blues."

--Tom Waits, "Invitation to the Blues"

---

Tom waited for the arrival of his new life in a tired bus station in Chester, Pennsylvania. If Philly was the asshole of the country, Chester was the suppurating hemorrhoid incessantly proclaiming its contemptible existence. Nick's Diner was one of the only places in the area that a person could reasonably expect to have the same amount of extremities connected to their body from one hour to the next. The rest of the blasted hellscape masquerading as a town would leave you robbed, bleeding, and barely breathing in a sewage runoff ditch--if you were lucky. Even here in this fortification against the immediate woes of late stage capitalism, one had to be mindful not to contract food poisoning or lose a toe to the fist-sized cockroaches that patrolled the checkered linoleum floor.

"Four more hours," Tom muttered for the seventieth time in the last half hour. "Four more hours." He turned his red cardstock ticket over in his hands. Despite the papercuts he had earned thus far, he couldn't keep from fidgeting with the wondrous key to the land of milk and honey men called New Jersey. Newark may not be paradise, but at least it wasn't fucking Chester. The bus would leave at dawn, and he would leave with it. His cousin had a lead on a job for him at a local auto body shop from an associate of his landlord's nephew. As far as reliable employment opportunities went, it was just slightly above the complete absence of all hope, but still a damn sight better than Chester, Pennsylvania. The only job offer he'd seen in two months was in the form of a green flier posted on the side of an abandoned CVS announcing that the one gas station in the area was looking for a clerk.

Tom again looked over the plastic menu, cursing himself for not paying more attention in Mrs. Cagney's fifth grade math class. He had precisely two dollars and forty seven cents to his name and an emptiness in his stomach that perfectly mirrored the chill he felt deep in his bones as he watched the snow fall like God's own dandruff over the filthy sidewalks.

Maybe some toast? A few slices of bacon? A couple of eggs? For the first time in three decades he found himself wanting a glass of orange juice, but that was a luxury far beyond his own current station. Better to set his eyes on more achievable goals, like having something solid floating around in his stomach. He just had to be patient, wait out his poverty for another few hours and then he'd have a steady job and maybe a cot to sleep on.

"Four more hours," he repeated again. "Just four more--"

"Spare some change, sir?"

The question was not directed at Tom. How could it be? The tired homeless gentleman walking from table to table may only have had one leg but his sagging head still contained both of his eyes. Even if he were down to one, he would've been able to tell Tom Percy certainly didn't have a penny to spare. Tom had seen the man before, shaggy gray beard and dirty scarf perched above shoulders leaning heavily upon a wobbly set of crutches. He was probably a veteran, the victim of some hollow promise for a better life in exchange for a limb, all in the defense of protecting petroleum interests in an impoverished country. He never struck Tom as particularly bothersome, just genuinely down on his luck in a country too busy taking care of its rich to acknowledge its poor.

"Just tryin' to get by, ma'am, just tryin' to get by." The grizzled vagabond had moved from one table to another, trying his luck with a mother of two with a third on the way and having as much luck as expected. "Tryin' to get enough fare for the mornin' Trailway. Got some folk upstate that'll help an old vet out. Just ... Just need to get outta this damn town, y'know?"

You and me both, old timer, Tom reflected glumly. You and me both.

"God damn it, Luke, we ain't doing this again." A rotund, grease-stained gentleman stepped from behind the cloudy stainless steel kitchen door. "We ain't doing it tonight just like we ain't doing it last night just like we ain't doing it the thirty fucking nights before. I got customers, I got a livin' to make, I got kids to feed and a liver to finish drowning in bad whiskey. No charity from my patrons, goddamn it. We ain't DOING this tonight!"

"Nick, have some pity for fuck's sakes. Everybody needs some help now and then."

The voice came to the old man's defense like a valkyrie descending from the heavens, a hallowed warcry on her lips and a flaming sword in her hands. The cockroaches fled before the voice, skittering in terror, their tiny minds incapable of understanding this divine contralto. This was not a voice that belonged here. Not in a place like this.

"Come on, Rita, I got pity coming outta my pores but I got a business to run, y'know?" The fat man threw his hirsute hands into the air in surrender before the argument had really even begun. "Fucks sakes, I'll stick to grilling pig fat where I belong." He shoved the door aside with his foot and disappeared muttering obscenities to the comfort of his kitchen fortress of solitude.

Tom looked up from his laminate menu and the colorful pictures of meals he'd never eat. His eyes drifted past the sole remaining straggling roach, past the slumped shoulders of the homeless man, and finally stopped at ...

At her. This was the most perfect human being Tom had ever bore witness to, as stunning in appearance as the wretched diner was unworthy of her presence. Tall, statuesque, voluptuous. Reddish brown hair framing a face sculpted from ivory by a master of the craft. Eerily wide emerald eyes that pierced Tom's soul without even looking in his direction. Who in God's miserable earth was this? Some dignitary? Starlet? Empress? Tom's struggling mind tried to come up with a clue, some reasonably conceivable assumption as to why this incredible creature would deign to befoul herself by stepping foot in this abode of failed dreams and broken promises.

And then his reality snapped like a twig when he realized she was wearing an apron and holding in her hands a small yellow notebook containing the diners' orders.

She works here? She fucking works here?

Here?!

"Everybody needs some help now and then," the angel repeated. Tom got the feeling that maybe she wasn't just talking about the poor vagabond. He held his breath involuntarily as she made eye contact with him and gave a sad smile. Tom's hands clenched around his tiny red ticket as she approached, every footfall matching with the beat of his heart. "What can I get for you, sweetheart?"

The word was said absentmindedly, just a friendly greeting that had been thrown around a dozen times tonight alone to every unfortunate soul desperate enough to eat in a place like this. Still, it brought a genuine smile to Tom's face. He felt like he was back at prom, with his date saying he looked handsome, a customary noncommittal compliment just said as a formality. Tom had never looked handsome a day in his life.

With a shake of his head, Tom was brought back to the modern day. "Oh, uh, shit." He hadn't really decided what he wanted, but now that the choice was presented to him he realized he really only had one option. "Lemme get a couple of eggs. Two, um, two eggs. Please."

A look came over her face, equal parts bemusement and surprise. "Man with a healthy appetite, huh? Sure you don't want anything else?"

Slow down, he told himself. Breathe. "Guy like me takes what he can get, I guess." Fuck almighty, what does that even mean?

"Two eggs it is. How you gonna like 'em? Over medium or scrambled are about your only options. Nick is lucky if he can see the grill over his shitty attitude."

"Um, either is fine." Oh my God in fuck, just order the damn eggs. Tom tried to play off the odd reply. "They say any way is the only way. Guy like me ..." Oh no. Oh no no no. He was repeating himself.

She laughed. Tom had never heard a sound that made him so happy. Imagine hearing that laugh every day. He'd never have to ask for anything else. "Takes what he can get, right?" She scribbled the small order on reflex. "Guess you're in the right place then. Special of the day is 'take what you can get.' Was yesterday, too, come to think of it. Be right out."

As the current center of his universe walked away, Tom was left feeling like a dog being left behind as its owner stepped out the front door. He returned his gaze to his bus ticket, turning it over in his hands, examining the blank rear of the card as if it held some answer as to this current mystery. How the hell did such a radiant person work at a place like this? He was still making the inquiry to the unresponsive cardstock when he noticed she had returned carrying a black pitcher and a cheap porcelain mug.

"I'd ask cream or sugar, but you strike me as the kinda guy that would be religiously offended by the idea of drinking it any way but black." Her smile was the most wholesome thing he'd ever seen. Tom could tell the coffee was watered down before she had even poured, but shitty diner coffee held its own strange appeal.

"Oh, uh, I'm a little short on funds at the moment," Tom feebly protested. "I was gonna ask for a water but even that might be a little outta my price range."

The waitress--what had he called her? Rita?--laughed as she continued pouring. "Relax, honey. It's coffee. Hot water poured over dried beans. I don't think the diner is gonna go out of business based on giving away a free cup of coffee." She slid the full mug closer to him. Tom couldn't help but notice her long white fingernails as her hand lingered for just a moment longer than necessary in front of him. They were plain other than the length, unpainted and simple but strangely noticeable. Tom was further surprised to see a few tattoos on the back of her forearm where her sleeve slid up her wrists. Her arm bore several black lines, almost like stripes. If it weren't for the color, Tom would've thought there was something more sinister about them, like they were old self-inflicted wounds that had healed in a strange way. He hated himself for even entertaining the notion.

"Anyway," she continued as she finished sliding the mug towards him. "Got a feeling about you."

"Y-You do?" he stammered.

"Mm-hmm." She smiled, and once again Tom's world didn't have room for anything else. "Folks like you have a strange habit of repaying any charity sent their way. Got a feeling you'll end up paying it back somewhere down the line."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Much obliged, but, uh ... That's a bad prediction, ma'am."

"Oh?"

Tom nodded to the side, motioning towards the floor. Rita took notice of the tattered suitcase sitting beside his faded, almost ripped shoes. "Any paying forward I have to do will be down the line a bit."

"Ah." She nodded in recognition that he was traveling on, and for a moment Tom pretended there was disappointment in the motion. "Still, paying it forward is paying it forward. I bet you'll make somebody's day a little better because you got a free cup of coffee. I'm never wrong about these things."

Tom smiled. "Always a risky gamble, betting on a guy with a suitcase in a tired bus station diner.

"Maybe. But something tells me you're worth the bet." She cleared her throat and stepped away. "Be right back with those eggs."

Tom brought the foul concoction to his lips, never for a moment anticipating for it to be anything other than lukewarm. He couldn't be happier. Draining the cup in half a heartbeat, he set it to the side of the table again and hoped she would notice and bring a refill. He wasn't interested in the coffee in the slightest--it was more that it provided him with an opportunity to spend any more time talking with her. Before very long she appeared again, pushing through the dirty metal kitchen door and locking eyes on him immediately. She took a few steps before noticing the cup, gave a small laugh, and returned to his table.

"Thirsty?" she asked as she refilled the cheap mug.

"Don't usually get ... um ..."

"Fifty percent water, fifty percent off-brand Folger's? We call it the 'Nick's Diner half-n-half.'" She nodded towards the ticket. "You're guarding that slip of paper like you're afraid someone will steal it. Where you headed?"

"Newark."

She gave a small hiss. "I'm so, so sorry."

"That bad?"

"It's in Jersey. That's the capital of Bad."

"Can't be worse than here, right?" He swallowed hard when she didn't immediately respond. "... Right?"

The waitress looked sad. It was the first time an expression of anything other than resigned satisfaction had crossed her face. "It was for me."

"Feel like there's a story to tell there." Tom very much hoped that there was.

"Jersey's like the Thunderdome," she chuckled. "Nobody ever really gets out. Got family there?"

Tom nodded. "Distant ones. Got a lead on a job. Hopefully a good one." He couldn't keep the moroseness out of his voice as he added, "Might be something for me there."

"Lucky you." She said it without malice, with just a hint the shadow of a bad memory lingering just behind those emerald eyes. "There ain't nothing for me back in Jersey. Just a broken down jalopy of a man I left behind." She sniffed. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he responded. "But now I know there's definitely a story there."

"Not a good one," she whispered. "Lots of booze. An ex leaving in the middle of the night. And ..." She rubbed at the strange tattoos on her forearm before adding again, "Nothing good."

"I got two ears and three-and-a-half spare hours." He hoped his smile was half as genuine as hers was before they embarked on this chain of memories. "If you wanna get something off your chest, I mean."

For a moment it seemed like she wanted to do just that. Instead she shook her head slightly and gave another sad smile. Tom hadn't noticed until now, but her canine teeth seemed unusually long. He wondered if she was a vampire. Strangely enough it would make more sense if she were. "I'll, uh, see about those eggs." Again she retreated to the kitchen as the cook grumbled over something unimportant.

And again Tom chugged his coffee like a college kid studying for finals. Or at least, he assumed that's what they did. He'd never been anywhere near a college.

Tom sat the cheap mug back on the edge of the table, simultaneously hoping and not hoping that she'd catch on to his game of trying to get her to return. He held his breath as he saw the stainless steel door swing open again ...

... and his heart died in his throat as the cook stepped into the room, Tom's runny scrambled eggs in hand.

The man strode towards Tom so quickly that he feared for a moment he was about to be asked to leave. Instead, the cook slammed the plate on the table and hocked a loogie into his mouth. He swallowed audibly, and suddenly Tom wasn't quite as hungry as he was a few moments ago. He wondered if the man spat while he was alone in the kitchen or if he normally preferred to ingurgitate his expectorants.

"Here you go, big fucking spender."

Tom eyed the eggs as if they were a collection of colostomy bags. "Uh, thanks man."

"Two forty-five." He crossed his arms, indicating he wasn't going to leave without getting the money for the food. He grunted as Tom laid the exact change down on the table, hesitating for a moment before he forked over his last two cents. He was now bereft of all currency, but found himself in the possession of two brand new barely cooked chicken fetuses.

Nick swept the money into his apron with a greasy hand the size of Tom's face. He eyed the empty coffee mug, no doubt wondering whether he should attempt to charge for it as well. With a grumble he turned to walk away, evidently deciding it wasn't worth the exertion, although he did snatch the cup up as he left.

"Hey, uh, the waitress? Rita?"

The fat man continued walking, never losing his stride. "Went home. Not feeling well." He threw his hands into the stagnant air before shoving the door open roughly. The words "Not like I don't love to do every god damned thing" followed him as he retreated to his grill.

Tom's heart sank at hearing she had left. He returned his gaze to the half-cooked eggs as if they may hold the answer to just why the universe always seemed to conspire against him. He stabbed at the eggs with a fork, half expecting them to scream in protest at the assault. Debating whether or not to risk the meal, he decided that he'd rather be hungry than risk almost certain food poisoning.

Another more pressing concern came forth as Tom found himself needing to piss. His plan to draw the waitress back into his life by pounding watered down java had backfired on him like everything else always seemed to. He slid out of the booth, heading in the direction of the bathroom he had noticed when he came into the damned place. For one terrified moment he was afraid he had lost his ticket, but the sharp edges of the laminate pierced his finger like a diabetic lancing device as he slipped his hand into his pocket. At least he still had his ticket out of here.

Tom pushed the door open, recoiling at the stench of the washroom. His shoes protested along with his sense of smell as they loudly came unstuck from the urine-soaked floor with every step. It was a single-seater bathroom, containing only a mildewy toilet, a sink that had never known the touch of soap, and a distinct lack of paper towels. Tom sighed as he lifted the toilet seat with his foot, pushing it out of the way before using the wretched thing. As his urine drained into the john along with what remained of his self respect he leaned his head back in relief. Having his head at this angle, he noticed another feature of the bathroom, a filthy, narrow window placed just below the ceiling. It was probably all that passed for circulation in this, the festering heart of a festering diner.

And then came a sound that Tom immediately knew the origin of, even though he had never heard it before. There was a groan of pain coming from the other side of the window, equal parts sob and discomfort. Tom's eyes opened widely as he immediately realized it was Rita's voice.

Tom forced the last drops from his urinary tract, not bothering with flushing the toilet or washing his hands as he zipped himself up and fled the room. He stomped across the diner, his human rights violation of a meal entirely forgotten as he pushed open the front door, nearly bumping into the sleeping form of the homeless man lying on the sidewalk. For a moment he started to apologize, but realized the man had never woken up.

Rounding the corner of the bus station diner, Tom slowed his steps for a moment, straining his ears to see if he could hear Rita's distressed voice again. There was nothing. He considered for a moment if he hadn't imagined it, but just as he was starting to remind himself of what a fool he was he heard the sound again, an almost muffled wail of harm. He sped up his stride, rounding the back corner of the building to find himself in an alley only slightly more disheveled than the front streets of the shit town.

And there she was. Tom didn't know what he expected to find, but it was certainly not this. He thought that perhaps she was just moaning in anguish at whatever cruel fate had brought her to this town. Maybe she had sampled Nick's eggs and was dealing with stomach pain. Worst case scenario, he feared that maybe she was being mugged.

But nothing, nothing could have made him guess that she would be standing in this filthy alley clad only in her undergarments.

Tom's mind rebooted as he stopped. He instinctively looked away, hiding his eyes to avoid causing her any embarrassment, stepping back to the edge of the building. He thought for a moment about clearing his throat and asking if she was in need of help before he realized the scene before him was even stranger than it first appeared.

Rita was holding her thin stomach, breathing hard as she clawed at her sides. And "clawed" was the correct word. Her fingernails were longer than they had been inside and almost seemed to be flexing, retracting and extracting as she tried to suppress the pain she must have been feeling. Another groan of discomfort spilled from her mouth along with a long string of drool. She spat on the asphalt, shaking her head slightly from side to side.

Leaning back against the wall, Rita moaned out the words "Fucking stupid girl." She cast her eyes towards a dreary backlight above a nearby dumpster and Tom saw that her jade eyes were now reflecting the light. They had been vivid before, but were now giving out their own internal brightness, like the eyes of an alley cat caught in the headlights of a car. Her auburn hair was soaked in sweat as she breathed deeply, muttering out the same reproachful refrain before gritting her teeth from another wave of pain. Tom could see her canines were large enough now that they were plainly visible, another string of drool dripping from her trembling bottom lip. "How the hell did I forget it was tonight? Can't put it off any more."

Rita reached for the strap of her bra before a sudden pain caused her to hunch over. Her clawed hand reached down to her bare feet as she lifted one foot and then the other like she was standing on hot sand. Tom hadn't been there to see the first stages of this strange transformation, but watched with an open jaw as he saw her toenails being pressed aside, replaced by sharp thornlike nails like those found on her fingers. The new claws scratched audibly against the asphalt, giving off tiny dry noises like bone scraped against bone. Her legs seemed unshaven, bright orange hairs reflecting the sheen of her sweat-soaked skin in the pale fluorescent light overhead. She ran the palms of her hand across her legs, flexing her fingers carefully so that she wouldn't scratch herself with her inch-long talons.

"Can't keep doing this," she sobbed. "What the fuck is the point?" She grunted as she brought her other hand to her torso, sliding it from just below her small breasts down her slick belly to the hem of her underwear. It almost seemed to Tom like she was intentionally touching herself before he noticed six bright pink spots trailing in two rows down her torso. She repeated the motion, bringing her palm back up her body, this time lingering on one of the nubs just underneath her bra. Rita rubbed and lightly twisted the skin between her fingers as he brought her other hand between her legs, touching herself through her sodden light blue panties. She pulled her hand away, running her fingers along the top of her underwear, trailing through a line of soft white hair emerging from the hem. The thin hairs were trailing higher now, slowly surrounding her navel before climbing higher, a sparse trail that eventually connected to a growth Tom was just now noticing between her breasts. She slipped her hand underneath the hem of her underwear, hissing as she began touching herself in earnest. Her forearms were slowly being enveloped in similar hairs to the ones on her legs, a rich auburn contrasting with the black stripe tattoos that ran from her wrists to her shoulders. Tom realized the same tattoos were on her legs and her back at the same moment that he realized they weren't tattoos at all. They were a part of her skin.

Rita's tongue slipped past her lips as her mouth dropped open, revealing her incisors were now just as sharp as her canines. "Hate this," she whispered. "Only thing that helps with the pain." She continued sliding her fingers into herself before quickly retracting her hand with a panicked yelp. "Fuck!" Her claws were sliding further from her fingers now and she had to resign herself to feebly pawing between her legs with the palms of her hand. "Can't even do that right, you stupid, silly--Ah!" A sickening sound came from her back, like every air bubble between her joints was suddenly popping. The hair was thickening now, white on her belly, a deep orange on her arms and legs, with dark stripes trailing down her extremities. The sharp pink nubs--teats, Tom finally realized--pressed through the pure white fur as her cheeks and forehead also started to sprout rich orange fur. Her pretty reddish-brown hair was slipping from her scalp now. Rita helped it fall away by tugging at it one clump at a time in a way that seemed practiced, like this change was a regular part of her life. The parts of her scalp that were visible were quickly covered with the same orange fur and black stripes.

Rita held the last clump of her pretty hair in her hand for a moment as if mourning its loss before tossing it aside. Now bereft of her human hair, her ears began to stretch, growing larger and rounder as they slid to the top of her head before being enveloped in black fur. Now clad entirely in orange, white, and black fur, it didn't take Tom long to realize what he was looking at.

A tiger? A ... were-tiger?

Rita turned to face the wall, the wide stripes on her back putting to rest any other possibility as she reached behind her to try to work the clasp of her bra. She fumbled awkwardly with fingers that seemed shorter and thicker than they had a moment ago, cursing under her breath as she found herself unable to manipulate them. Worse, her frame seemed larger than Tom remembered, almost like she was swelling, growing larger. After a few failed attempts to undo the bar she hissed in frustration. "Fuck it," she muttered before extending her claws and simply slicing the offending garment down the middle, freeing her noticeably larger breasts while spinning around to lean her back against the wall. Two more tugs and the straps of the bra were rent in twain like the veil of some long-forgotten temple that had no place existing in the same world as a creature as strange as this. Rita shrugged her shoulders, letting the scraps fall to her feet before kicking them away. "Now you," she whispered as she brought one hand to her panties, intending to tear the last piece of clothing away before she let out a sudden scream and fell to her hands and knees.

Even after watching the waitress transform into a monster, Tom still had to resist the urge to run to her side and offer some help. He restrained himself after he realized she was becoming and apex predator that had been on top of the food chain for the past two million years.

"Noooarrgh!" Rita arched her back, her spine pressing against her skin in a way that revealed each individual disc. She gave a short sob as she shook her head. "Worst part," she lamented. "Always the worst part." Tom watched astounded as her arms began to swell, hard muscle forming out of sheer nothingness as she flexed them. The same growth was happening along her legs, her lithe form giving way to a creature capable of sprinting, leaping, and pouncing without effort. A tearing sound came from her waist as her panties struggled against inevitability to resist being ripped apart. She leaned back on her legs, lifting her hands off of the pavement in order to hug herself, rocking back and forth in what small consolation she could give herself. Tom could just barely hear her sob out the word "why." Her mouth opened slightly, her long tongue hanging past her lips like a dog now as she stretched her jaws, daggerlike yellow teeth wet with her saliva. She ran her paws down her front, and Tom couldn't help but notice the growth of steel corded muscle hadn't been confined to just her arms and legs. With every heave of her chest, more and more tightness developed across her abdomen, sides, and shoulders. Tom supposed that between her larger frame and added mass that she must weigh at least a hundred pounds more, a sharp contrast to the human woman she had been not so long ago.

Tom's attention was drawn to another part of her chest, a part swelling for a different reason altogether. With every sharp breath her breasts were filling, sliding further down her chest as they ballooned outwards. Thick pink teats had replaced her nipples now, looking identical to the pairs of animalistic glands that trailed down her torso. She brought one breast to her mouth, her tongue dropping lower to lick her thick teat as her other hand again slipped between her legs. "Hurts," she moaned. "Come on, come on." With a loud snap her panties split apart, rendering the creature naked. Rita immediately took advantage of the lack of clothing by dipping two of her stubby fingers past her swollen slit. Tongue still lolling from her mouth, her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she gasped out a simple, "Yes!" She tried to slide another finger inside before shrieking in frustration and pulling them away from her mound. Bringing both of her hands to her face she mewled like a kitten as her hands shifted, becoming simple primitive paws more adept at slashing at prey than what she needed most right now. "Godddd FUCK!" she screamed as she hugged herself again, the pain and frustration of the transformation overwhelming her. Her eyes blinked rapidly, a thick gray third lid sliding horizontally almost halfway before she suddenly gave a sharp gasp and looked in Tom's direction.

She had seen him.

"Oh no, oh no, oh god, oh no." Tom was surprised the words were coming from her mouth and not his own. She started to say something else before groaning again, the sound growing in volume until it became a roar no human could ever imitate. The sound was wild, primeval, the sort of noise Tom's distant ancestors must have lived their lives in fear of. It made every hair on his body stand on end, his ears widening in instinctive terror as his simple ape mind told him to get away quickly. Instead, he was rooted to the spot as the horrible transformation continued. Rita reached for him, five long claws unsheathing as she extended her arm. He hoped the gesture was automatic and not that he was about to be sliced into pieces. A word died on her long tongue as she again roared, leaning away and pawing at her torso frantically as her teats continued to lengthen and swell. Each nipple rose from her chest as the flesh swelled behind them, leaving her with six additional small but expanding breasts on her torso. She shook her head in repulsion, pressing against the swelling flesh as if she could keep them from growing any larger. Rita fell forward, the position and sheer size of the monster making her almost resemble the more feral version of her new species. Tom wondered if she was going to change completely, but there were enough human parts on her body that he quickly put the thought aside.

Rita fell to her side on the filthy wet asphalt, sobbing and roaring as her body continued to grow. A small nub was just barely visible atop the crack of her swelling ass, separating from the skin as alternating stripes of orange and black enveloped it. The poor creature spread her legs just enough that Tom could see her slit sliding backwards now, closer to her anus as she screeched and pressed against it as if trying to keep it from moving. Her tail bobbed back and forth, slithering like a serpent as it continued to grow. When it was long enough, it slipped between her legs like a frightened dog.

Pity filled Tom and he could no longer keep it at bay. Knowing full well this was the dumbest decision of a lifetime filled with dumb decisions, he took a step towards her, one hand extended as if he could possibly help her in any way. The monstrous feline rolled onto her back in response, her mouth opening in a silent roar as long wirelike whiskers slid from her cheeks. The light of reason was leaving those emerald eyes now, replaced by the feral orbs Blake captured in prose, though still filled with their own sort of bestial sadness. Her maw opened impossibly wide now, her skull cracking as she closed her eyes in pain while her mouth and triangular nose slid forward inch by inch. As her snout continued to grow, more and more of those flesh-rending teeth popped into place as she gnashed and twisted, every part of her body now rendered completely inhuman. Again she rolled onto her back, thrust her hips upward in agony while four sets of large breasts fought for space on her already massive frame.

And then, with one final foot of length added to her tail the change was finished. In place of the body of the most beautiful woman Tom had ever encountered now resided the large, monstrous form of a nightmare, half a predator and half a myth. A deep rumble came from the beast as she opened her inhuman eyes. She rolled to her four paws, stretching her back like a tabby waking from a long nap. As she rose to her rear paws, Tom's feet seemed to suddenly remember how to move as he took a few steps backwards. The creature rose, now towering above Tom's form by at least two feet. Rather than tear him apart, the tigress attempted to preserve her modesty, one paw drifting between her legs while the other alternated between one large breast to the next before finally giving up. She shyly turned her back to Tom, her low grumble slowly transforming into human words.

"Please don't tell anyone. I need this job."

No response was given. When the she-beast turned around, Tom was gone.

---

Tom found himself staring at the cold remains of his atrocity of a breakfast before sapient thought started to reassert itself. At some point he had stumbled away from the horrifying scene and must have shuffled like a zombie back into the diner and returned to his table. He had evidently been staring at the ruined eggs long enough that the sun was just beginning to peak over the abandoned buildings outside. He vaguely remembered the cook yelling at him that he'd need to buy something to keep his seat, but the look in Tom's eyes must have shocked him into silence.

His bus would be leaving soon. He'd be able to put Chester behind himself completely. No more pitch black alleys. No more filthy bus station diners.

No more monsters.

The bell on the front door rang again and Tom looked up from his plate for the first time in hours. He wasn't surprised to find the homeless old man from before entering the diner. The breakfast crowd--if one could call it that--would be arriving soon and perhaps he'd be able to scrape together enough change to buy his own bus ticket one day. If he didn't starve to death first.

Tom was, however, extremely surprised at the figure that entered after him.

Rita dug into her apron, her clothes disheveled and filthy from her experience in the back alley. She must have taken her work clothes off before the transformation, knowing that she'd have to be back at work at first light. Her clothes were disheveled, wrinkled, like she had ...

Like she had changed into a fucking tiger in the back of a bus station diner.

"God bless you, Rita! God bless you forever an' ever." The old man's eyes were filled with equal parts shame and joy as Rita dug into her apron, pulling a few coins from the bottom of the large pocket.

"It's okay, Luke." She started to count out a few quarters before she gave a desperate sigh and simply handed the entire small handful into the man's soft, wrinkled hands. "It's not much, but ..."

But it's all I have, Tom finished for her. It's all I have.

Rita herself was unable to finish the sentence as her jaw dropped when she made eye contact with Tom. "Oh, shit." She cleared her throat and tried to smile. "B-Back for some more shitty coffee, sir?" Aside from her disheveled uniform and slightly dirty skin, she was the same beautiful woman she had been a few hours ago.

The old man followed Rita's gaze over to Tom, his expression turning glum as he must have again decided Tom wasn't worth bothering with. In truth, Tom should be the one asking him for change. He had nothing whatsoever in his pocket, save a string or two, the keys to an old car he'd never see again, and ...

Tom fished the ticket from his pocket. For some reason he couldn't stop himself from smiling, though it wasn't for the reason he felt it should have been.

"Hey," Tom called. "Old timer. Think I found something for you after all."

The homeless man blinked several times, glancing at Rita as if to ask her if he was being tricked. After an encouraging shrug from the waitress, the old man shuffled slowly towards Tom.

"Trying to get on the Continental?" Tom asked.

He nodded. "One day, mister."

"Jersey?"

Another nod. "Thereabouts."

Tom returned the nod, his gaze drifting down to the sacred red ticket before he held it out to the man. "Leaves in twenty minutes. You can have my seat. I'm ... stickin' 'round here for a while."

The beggar looked as if he had been offered the keys to a candy-apple Caddy. "You ... I ... What? H-How much do you ...?"

Tom shook his head. "Nah. It's yours. Keep the change on you, think you'll need it in a few hours. Besides, I, uh ... got a feeling you'll end up paying it back somewhere down the line. Saw a flier about a job at the gas station, seems like something even I couldn't fuck up."

A confused smile was slowly forming on Rita's pretty face. Despite the sharp fangs she couldn't help but flash at him, it was a pleasant sight. "Y-You're sure about that? Not much here worth sticking around for."

Now it was Tom's turn to smile as he stared into those emerald eyes.

"Don't think that's true at all," he replied.