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Omnipocalypse: The Nostalgia Dump

Weremutants from Channel Six

By Von Krieger

April O'Neil had a sixth sense for stories, an instinct that guided her to places where the juiciest scoops were taking place. Something deep down inside of her told the reporter that there was something funny going on with America's closest naval neighbors to the East.

Megalopolis, Isola Raptura, and Malt Whiskey World.

One was a city-state built on an artificial island by some World War II supervillains who had been granted amnesty for their relatively petty crimes in the scope of the atrocities committed by the Axis Powers and had been granted the right to make their own tiny nation just outside of US territorial waters.

The other two were theme parks that operated on similar principles. Can't tell us what to do if we're technically our own nation, neener neener neener.

Except that despite faint memories of them being there, April was pretty sure they weren't actually supposed to be there, and why would the US allow what was effectively open borders with a supervillain run megacity so long as the method of entry and exit was an "embassy" that functioned as a ferry and rail terminal. Automated boats and trains arrived no later than on the hour, and the high capacity rail did far more than that. And despite everything seeming like it had been there all along, everything look like it had been constructed in the past few weeks.

A noticeable number of people headed out to the city and the parks and were never heard from again. And the embassy itself? The actual embassy was an ancient, dilapidated warehouse that had been abandoned by the former owner. Aside from one "ambassador" who mostly seemed to be a photogenic talking head who spent his time rubbing elbows with New York's rich and powerful, there didn't actually seem to be any proper embassy staff.

There wasn't even any security, even though the "ambassador" had his office and residence in the warehouse rather than in the brand new and luxurious facilities meant to channel thousands of people to and from the islands every day.

But that warehouse was weird. They could have demolished it, but instead they kept it as is. Not merely kept it as is, but they'd built a parking garage over it. It was untouched and isolated by cyclone fencing that stretched from floor to ceiling.

April had scoped the place out. It was suspicious in just how insecure it was. No guards, no cameras pointed at the building. Heck, the parking garage itself seemed to operate on a sort of honor system entirely dependent on the good will of those that parked inside to actually pause to stop and insert their cards to pay.

They didn't even have any way to block the entryways, no swinging bars, no garage doors, no retracting spikes, not even so much as a mad science stun ray. For a city of supervillains it was so mundane it basically screamed that there was nothing going on there. And April seemed to be the only person that thought that a place going around screaming "THERE'S NOTHING GOING ON HERE! PERFECTLY NORMAL OPERATIONS HERE! NOTHING INTERESTING HAPPENING!"

Well, it wasn't ACTUALLY screaming that, but it would have been screaming that if it were a person. According to April's reporter-sense, at least. Suffice to say, the place was calling to her to explore it. She'd explained her suspicions to Irma and she'd seemed skeptical. But the moment she'd shown her a photo she'd taken of the place it was almost like a change came over her friend, who had said "We need to go."

So they went.

The fence was no obstacle, what sort of investigative reporter didn't have a variety of tools to get into places that she wasn't supposed to? She kept bolt cutters (amongst other things) in her news van for exactly these reasons.

She was almost disappointed to find that the perfectly normal dilapidated warehouse on the outside was also a perfectly normal dilapidated warehouse on the inside. Most of it was so covered in dust that you could tell nobody had been there in years. Except there was an oddly dust free path that led to a particular section of the interior wall.

The wall itself seemed to exist to provide a foundation for an elevated office that could look out over the whole of the warehouse. There was a locker room, showers, and a bathroom on one side, and unless the "ambassador" slept on one of the locker room benches or in his office, he didn't actually have a residence here. Which the official story said he didn't.

A little application of UV light from a multi-mode flashlight revealed that there was a section of shelving that saw people grabbing it a lot, and human hands picked up all kinds of filth that would end up fluorescing under the right kind of light.

A little tug moved the shelf aside revealing a stairway that led down, down, down into the darkness. But rather than being creeped out by the place, April felt oddly calm and relaxed. Rather than investigating some dangerous place that was the mad plot of some kind of supervillain, it felt more like she was coming home after a long and exhausting day.

The stairwell came to an end in front of a heavily armored door that still remained stubbornly shut and instead saw the entry to the warehouse's secrets was through a hole knocked into the wall. That was something that a lot of people didn't think of. They thought of walls as these inviolate things and that you absolutely, positively had to go through a door. In reality these days most of a building's interior was just air. You could put your elbow through drywall painlessly so long as you took time to tap on the wall beforehand to determine where the studs were.

April and Irma crept through the hole in the wall and emerged into what was obviously some kind of illicit science facility. There was all kinds of machinery, translucent tubes that looked like they were meant for growing (or holding captive) biological specimens for observation, several sealed off clean rooms, and down at the opposite end were several massive storage tanks that were illuminated by a multicolored glow. As if the Northern Lights had come down from the sky and had decided to display at this time of year, at this time of day, in this part of the country, localized entirely at the far end of the secret underground facility.

The swirling greens and pinks were almost hypnotic, and it was everything April could do to take off running towards them. Instead she kept her pace to a hurried walk, keeping her flashlight trained on the ground in order to make sure she didn't stumble over any debris in the way.

Irma also seemed eager to get to the glow, but she didn't seem to experience the pull quite like April did. They had to weave through a number of wheeled clothes racks that sported a ridiculous number of nearly identical suits and ties, all black, white dress shirts, and shelves stocked with sunglasses.

April reached the first of the large tanks, which had "DECEMBER 31, 1989 MASS INCIDENT, PNEUMATIC TRANSIT TUNNELS" emblazoned on it. The closer she drew to the tank, the better she felt, but this was not her destination and she felt herself compelled onwards.

She followed a set of pipes coming from the tank, following them around several corners before coming to a stop as she caught sight of the glow's cause. One of the pipes had developed a tiny leak and was constantly drip, drip, dripping tiny amounts of pink slime that oozed down the pipe and pooled on the floor.

Another nearby tank, though much smaller and lacking pipes, was emblazoned with a date from a few years before and the name of a railyard, though it was identified as a "LOCALIZED INCIDENT." April had been there for that! Shredder and his two idiot goons had crashed a pair of chemical tanker trains together, one containing Nyotrinaline and the other containing Taxon-9, the major components of Shredder's mutagen.

The uncontrolled mixing, environmental contaminants, and the leaking diesel fuel from the trains had made the resulting goo behave differently from the standard variant, which created a genetic hybridization between the organism and that of the creature that organism had significant recent contact with.

April and Irma splashed through the muck, continuing onward to the destination that had driven them there.

There was some kind of animated slime that was using itself as a series of tools to carefully measure and mix the various liquid components stored in the tanks. Some were latched onto pipes and seemed to be hungrily sucking at them, while others were more stable and seemed to be acting in the place of pipes to move measured quantities of liquids to where they were needed. But at the center of everything was a massive black blob that had bubbles of mixed glowing chemicals contained within itself.

"Yes! The first of my army has arrived!" said a gleeful voice that seemed almost on the verge of breaking out into song at a moment's notice, "So many wonderful forms of pollution! Mix 'em just right and they can work magic! Especially if you toss in a little actual magic. Like to call in some former mutants whose beautiful forms were stripped away from them and forced to revert into plain, boring humans."

A slime tentacle waved dismissively, "Now don't get me wrong, humans are wonderful! You all spent so much of your time polluting the planet and despoiling nature, mwah, chef's kiss! But all the uniformity of… well… form? Ladies, there's so much out there that you could perfectly pollute your generic genomes with and you had it taken away from you."

April and Irma could do nothing but stare at the talking slime bubble, "But don't worry about that! A little mood slime, some psychic sludge, and above all else the unmixed mutagen from some fly guy's goo gun and I can call those it changed right here. I thought I might have to wait until I'd grown enough to slither a tentacle up the stairs or an elevator shaft, but here my favorite roving reporter went and found me and managed to cognitohazard herself and a friend right into my clutches."

The reporter managed to get ahold of herself just long enough to realize that something was wrong and that the strange feelings of home, belonging, and welcoming were a trap. But the slime formed a tentacle around a bubble full of glowing green goop.

A moment later April and Irma were covered from head to toe in the slime, it seeped easily through her clothes and seeped just as easily into her skin. And it felt good. Really, really good.

"Hope you don't mind, but I decided to spice up the original mix with a little somethin' something' from a few places. You'll have to forgive my manners, being stuffed into a tank for I don't know how many years with nothing but noise pollution from radios and TVs to sustain myself on, my socialization skills are kind of rusty, and not in the good, sexy way of rusting either. Taking nice, strong iron and making it all weak and brittle. Mmm mmm, oxidization girlies, truly the forcefem of chemistry. But for you two? Honeys, I'm doing the opposite of that!"

April's trademark yellow jumpsuit began to feel tight on her body and it began to tear under the pressure from her rapidly expanding flesh. She also felt an unfamiliar weight blossom in her loins. Oh no! She'd never told anybody about that! About the time several years ago when Bebop and Rocksteady had managed to find the Turtle Lair and drop a carton of delivery Chinese food that had led April to locate their warehouse lair. Why was it always warehouses near the water?

She hadn't found any mutant warthogs, rhinos, or men prone to wearing cutlery, but she had found some kind of strange machine that she'd taken pictures of. Turns out it was some kind of matter transporter, and a stray cat had wandered into the warehouse, jumped on the controls, and then over to the pad where April had been standing.

The altered controls hadn't teleported her anywhere, which was what the machine was supposed to be for, but it had scrambled her genome and caused her to slowly acquire feline traits, instincts, behaviors, and mannerisms due to her being scrambled up with the stray cat. With the stray tom cat.

Her jumpsuit was baggy enough to conceal it for the most part, but to her mortification Shredder had noticed and taunted her after she recoiled from a mouse that Bebop had caught for her to eat that she was "Still more female than feline."

She'd been fitted with a mind control collar, told to destroy Splinter, and unable to resist the command, her feline-fused brain had hatched a plan that brought her to the zoo. Somehow the matter transporter's alien energies hadn't just spliced her with a tom cat, but also given her something of a superpower. She had a sort of empathic control over cats. Dozens of stray felines had followed her home, and the tiger she'd freed from the zoo had obeyed her commands.

Correction, the TIGRESS from the zoo.

Cats were cats, and they did everything at their own pace even when under mind control. Tainted by the mind of the amorous tomcat, April had gone after the biggest, sexiest lady feline that she'd known of with the intent of combining the mind control collar's command with a hot and heavy hookup. 300+ pounds worth of hot, heavy, stripey hookup.

And it seemed that her body remembered that link somehow, as rather than the tawny fur that she'd sported as the Catwoman From Channel 6, orange and black stripes were sprouting upon her skin. Her boots basically exploded as instead of feet, April was suddenly standing on massive paws. Her jumpsuit, which had held up remarkably, turned to tatters as something massive pushed out of the base of her spine.

She turned her head to find a massive insectoid abdomen between her back and her butt, adorned with the same stripey fur that the rest of her was gaining. A few moments later it was joined by a pair of filigree wings.

Though it had just been the one time, April had never forgotten the sensations of sex as a male cat, the flowing of blood into her member, the intense building pressure within her loins. Except that now the blood flow didn't result in her getting erect, it just kept making her bigger and bigger down there while remaining half hard.

"Hey! I don't appreciate this line of thought, missy! Don't go around thinking thoughts like I'm some kind of pervert! I'm a spirit, I don't have those bits or those urges. But there's nothing that says I can't appreciate assets I haven't got. And as the first of my army of gorgeous gene-polluted mutants, I've got to make you be the envy of everybody from the Deepest Darkness to Transexual Transylvania!"

April felt the bones in her face crack, her skull taking on a predatory shape with powerful jaws filled with deadly teeth. But there was something more then, a pair of antennae atop her head. The last of the aspects from the time she'd been blasted by Baxter Stockman and turned into a mutant wasp. The antennae made everything feel… better somehow. Like the loss of her humanity was no big deal. Like she was having happy (and lewd) thoughts broadcast directly into her head.

She looked over at Irma, seeing what had happened to her companion. Irma had joined her in shedding her humanity, her body had bloated into a massive, muscular rat-beast, her grey fur accented by a pair of darker grey moth wings that were slowly growing from her back.

Right, Irma and Vernon had been turned into rats that one time. Urgh. That pompous jackass had also been turned into a spider in the same event that had made her a wasp and Irma a moth, as well as their boss, Burne, into a bee. Honestly, Vernon being transformed back into a rat-spider would be a massive improvement.

After all, Irma looked so… hot like this.

"That's right my little hellcat! Soak up all the good vibes Papa Hexxus is sending your way. Pollute those thoughts with animalistic desire. I'm cheering you on, girlfriend!"

April's gaze traced over Irma's long, slender, muscular tail. Over her broad hips, down to admire her powerful paws, up to her friend's own lengthening cock and swelling balls to her ballooning breasts that were barely contained by the scraps of her sweater.

She… she should call for the Turtles. But… Irma was right there and the girl was so socially awkward and perpetually starved for romance. It… it'd be rude to have a nice, fat, bestial cock between her legs and leave her best bud hanging when she was probably just as turned on and worked up as she was.

The tigress-wasp turned and gripped Irma's hips with her huge, heavy handpaws. How had she ever been convinced to give up her feline form? Why had she ever let the Turtles turn her back into a boring, normal human? Why… they'd stolen away her feline control superpower! And Irma had had powers of her own once. She'd fought crime as Super Irma briefly a few Halloweens ago.

Yes! It was those damned Turtles that were responsible, they were jealous! A bunch of little green Napoleon complexes made manifest since they were already shorter than she was as she had been, and she would absolutely tower over them in her sexy new cat-bug form. With their ridiculous reptilian internal genitals, they were jealous that she, a mere human woman, had been far more well endowed as a man than they had ever been or could be.

Yes! She'd show them, she'd show them all what a powerful, virile tiger that she could be! She would not only lead an army of mutants to show the world just how sexy it was to despoil nature in your very own genome, but she'd eagerly breed them as well!

"Bang your cares away," sang Hexxus, clapping several massive slimy tendrils together twice "Humanity was yesterday, yas my girlies slay," clap clap, "Enjoy your brand new cocks!"

April slid her massive, still growing shaft into Irma's eager depths and cupped one of her breasts with her handpaw, the other caressing her friend's new cock.

"Let me help you with that," she purred, "I know how inexperienced you are with stroking a cock…"

Nothing else seemed to matter except breeding her best friend.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm," purred Hexxus, just as delighted, "I do so enjoy all kinds of toxic love!"