Here it is, the story you've all been waiting for!!! The collaboration of Gweall and Kitten2010. BOW DOWN TO OUR GREATNESS!!! :) Not to be arrogant or anything *Cough*... It to SO much work to get this story done (you have NO idea) and I have to give a huge thanks to Kitten for putting up with me.
Message from Kitten: Sorry for the mix up, and yes there will be more from me just not for a few months at least ):
The rest of this doesn't matter, just read it if you want some more info:
We put in a lot of long hours (So many late nights ._. and she's two hours ahead of me so I feel bad for her haha) and I'm sure a lot of headaches for our lovely editor (Golf claps for Gbc5452 for putting up with both of us) This story takes place in the same world as my series like 'Wings of Gray', 'Things Change', and 'Revolution' (Which I will finish eventually...) This is BEFORE WoG and TC but around the same time as Revo. Feel free to read her version or mine, don't matter. And we MIGHT (I know we both want to but we both have busy lives) Do another chapter of this (Different characters but still a chapter in the chronicles) I'll keep yalls posted. I hope you enjoy this as much as we did writing it, and of course I'll be the feedback troll: FEED MEH YOUR COMMENTS OM NOM NOM!!!! Get to readin' y'all!
From Gbc5452: Sweet lord in heaven...the number of time I had to correct spots where the space bar had been tapped twice...lol
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Mason walked on the cold concrete floor and felt the gravel cling to his feet. His tail was a few inches off the ground and the thin leather skin that formed his wings ran up his tail and attached to his arms. The extra bones that had grown to fill his wings when he had started his mutation were hollow and thin, but strong enough to support him if he chose to fly. The sound of the chains around his ankles sent shivers up his spine. He could feel the sharp teeth in his mouth and his ears twitched and turned with every sound.
"Move it, Dracula." One of the handlers pushed passed him. Mason scowled at his back.
"Yeah, cause I haven't heard that one before." Mason rolled his eyes.
"You say something?" The guard turned around and switched on the cattle prod they used to keep the infected in line.
"No." Mason growled.
"Good." The guard turned and walked off. Mason was sick of the vampire jokes, leave it to him to get the traits of a bat. Mason arrived at what the hybrids had come to call 'The Doctor's Office', The clean room was filled with different tools and devices designed to harvest rare (and very much valuable) parts from the hybrids. Every month Mason was brought to the eerily white room to have his brown soft fur shaved and sold. Hybrid bat fur was rare and expensive for it's soft feel and durability. Unlike most furs, it was best shaved rather than pelted. Pelted hybrid fur was taboo, since hybrids were still genetically similar to humans. People would pay thousands of dollars for it, many royalty across the world would pay to have clothing made with the precious fur on an almost weekly basis if they could. Others would use it in ceremonies and other important events. Mason didn't mind being shaved, the fur was hot.
As the creepy nurse in the white mask began shaving the soft fuzz from his chest and arms, Mason went with the motions rather than fight back. Fighting would only result in the cattle prod, and after the first few "haircuts" he'd much rather let them shave him bald. After half an hour of clearing his body of any hair, he was sent back to the holding cell. His body was hairless again and he thought he looked weird with his naked ears and brown wings. He glared at the guard ahead of him. He hated the escorts they were forced to endure, honestly whoever would have thought that after the camps an underground black market would open up. Dozens of Infected had been pulled from the camps before they were closed. Mason hated the black market more than he did the camps.
Mason had been fourteen when he entered the camps. He remembered the masses of Infected entering the camps at all different stages of their transformation. Some had just been diagnosed, others had already grown their various tails and teeth. Mason's wings had grown in the day before he was shipped off. He remembered the scratches he got from dragging them on the ground. With his new appendages, he struggled to learn how to fold them correctly so they would hide under his arms and not drag in a long trail behind him.
Mason remembered when the news first hit. When the doctors had told his mother and father that he was already infected. They had thought it was the flu but the doctors discovered his failing liver. His parents were wealthy and could afford all of the needed procedures to keep him alive. He survived the transition, but his parents didn't live long after that. Four months before being shipped off to the dreaded camp, his parents had been killed.
A riot had started and a bunch of Anti-Hybrid groups set fire to many houses that were known to contain Infected. No one knew about Mason's situation, but his house caught fire when a neighbors was lit purposely. It was in the dead of night and by the time the fire department got there, his parents were dead. Mason had been saved, and put in foster care until they could find a place for him. That place turned out to be the camps.
Mason hated being a bat. Hated being a "New Zealand Long-Tail". Most hybrids knew how they became infected. When in the hell did he ever get near a bat that comes all the way from New Zealand? He hated the need to take off at every sound. He hated the need to hang from the rafters of the low ceiling, and he despised the urge to catch the moths, roaches, and other insects that scattered across the room. Sure, flying was cool. But it wasn't worth the hassle of trying to keep from swallowing one of the dusty fluttering creatures every time he saw one. His teeth and ability to fly came in handy during the 'Dog Fights'. He may not be a lion, tiger or a bear. But he could bite like Count Dracula. He also hated the Vampire jokes. He hated those a lot.
Mason sat in his corner of the holding cell that he shared with at least fifteen other infected. He poked at his teeth with his tongue, he was due to have them pulled tomorrow. Bat teeth were used in jewelry and to decorate weapons. Mason looked at one of the other cowering men in the cell. He was horny, it had been a long time. Many of the other captives had taken it upon themselves to... satisfy their urges. Most of this wasn't consensual, but they didn't care much. Mason had never stooped that low, he may be a mutant but he wasn't a monster. Mason yawned and stretched his arms, unfolding the wings until they were fully spread. He curled up in a ball, using his wings as a makeshift blanket.
The sounds of screams and cries could be heard throughout the building. Mason sighed and closed his eyes. He could hear the sounds of a fight in one direction, the sound of a rape in another. And somewhere in between was the whirring saw of The Doctors Office. There was no doubt about it, he was in Hell. He wondered if he would ever get out... ~~~~~ *******
Toby was nervous to return after years of being away from home. He wondered if it would be the same there, since he had changed so much. He touched the cold glass of the car window, frustrated that he couldn't see the scenery. The vague memories made him long even more for the sight he'd lost to the surgeries. They hadn't been his choice, none of it had.
He couldn't remember much from being sick. It was all just a blur. He didn't remember exactly when his mother died, whether it was before or after his sister had passed on. What he did remember was his father's anger and disgust. And then going away.
Then the surgeries passed in a blur as well. Three years of his life, gone in an instant. Spent with the surgeons who seemed to feel nothing for him, no sympathy for his pain, no regret for ruining his eyesight in an attempt to return his eyes to the baby blue they had been before the change. They viewed him as something less than human and the only way for him to cope was to believe that as well. It was hard to accept, he still struggled with it. But facts were facts. Toby had become a freak.
Toby was ashamed of what he was. The sickness had made him disgusting. He had mutated into a gross combination of human and frog. Though he knew the surgeries had changed him so much that he looked normal, he never would be. There were things that couldn't be changed.
He felt the car come to a stop and he gripped his cane. He still wasn't very good at feeling around with it, but he was learning fast. The air smelled like rain and Toby felt a strange urge to swim, to feel mud between his toes and soothing water all around his body. He shook his head, ridding himself of the thought as he tapped the tip of the cane to the ground a few times experimentally. He hated not being able to see what the driver was doing or who was there. He felt so exposed. His body tensed up and every little sound became amplified.
"Son!" his father barked.
Toby reacted before he could control himself and a soft croak escaped his throat. Even without his sight, he knew his father was disgusted by him. He could feel it. He hung his head, pulling down at the knitted cap he wore, pushing black yarn and straight black hair to hide his face even more.
"Let's see if I got my money's worth," his father said coldly.
Toby was able to restrain himself from croaking again as his father grabbed his chin, examining the extensive skin grafts on his neck. He made a soft, indifferent grunting sound as he grabbed his son's hand, pulling away the glove. Toby winced as his father prodded the places that the webbing had been cut away. It was still sore, but Toby didn't say anything.
