You aren't sure where it all began. No one is, you imagine. Nobody knows how, either. In the end, the questions are ultimately fruitless attempts to control a chaotic maelstrom that wrecked the Old World to its core, and if all the epidemiologists and engineers and governments of yesteryear couldn't figure it out, what chance does anyone have in a world without any of them? Question to be answered by a future world, perhaps. A 'New' New World, if such a thing could ever or will ever exist.
All you can do for now is try and survive the current New World, and perhaps, try not to forget how it all began... As far as you can tell, anyway.
++++++++++
You're driving to work on a chill January day, shivering in the pathetically meager suggestions of warmth coughed out by your so-called car's frigid heater. It had been parked outside all night, and it would take a much longer trek than the usual trip to work to fully warm up, meaning you'll likely spend the majority of the trip in temperatures little better than the frost gracing the world outside. Grass lies half-frozen in tiny excuses for yards before tiny single-story houses, icicles hanging from lawn ornaments and crystallizing empty beer cans and old food wrappers alike.
You'd told yourself you'd move out of this one-horse town the moment you could afford it, but with this economy, that looked increasingly less likely every day. Even then, you snorted as you noted that even in better times, you'd never amass enough cash working a crummy retail job at the Raven's Creek mall, the only employment you've been able to secure.
Few other citizens are up and about this early in the morning this early in the year, though a few other wayward souls shuffle to work in beat up old cars alongside you. Others wait at the bus stop, huddling together for warmth, or march with foggy breath and under multiple layers towards the local college. You look at them with envy, but also bittersweet regret; how bright-eyed were you at that age, when the world seemed within your grasp, rather than a mirage vanishing upon the crested horizon into yet another empty sea of endless sand?
"If I'm going to wax poetic that badly, I should start a side gig selling candles," you half-sigh, half-chuckle.
Turning the corner, you slam on the breaks and nearly skid on the icy road. Someone darted out into the street, arms flailing, hat caught and carried away by the howling wind, sending their long blonde hair splaying out like a flame. Or, wait, was that blonde? Perhaps the wind merely ruffled the dye, as it resolved into shimmering black before your eyes, the person in question falling to the ground, writhing in their college hoodie and jeans, both of which looked increasingly larger for them by the moment.
You unleash a string of profanities that, under any other circumstances, would've made you proud of your creativity. Under these conditions, it's all you can do to pry your shaking hands from the steering wheel, check to make sure nobody's about to turn a would-be hit-and-run victim into a pair of them, and exit your car.
"Hey!" you call, rushing over to the person shaking on the road. "Do you need an ambulance?"
Without waiting for a reply, you grab for your cell phone in your pocket, only to drop it with a gasp as the figure in the road sits up, shaking less thoroughly, and howls into the chill morning air. The sound is piercing and otherworldly, rising in pitch but growing in intensity. Even more frightening, you watch in disbelief as their face pushes forward and upwards, elongating into a snout. Teeth sharpen, dark fur sprouts, and their long dark hair only grows longer and thicker.
"What in the world...?" you utter, taking a hesitant step backwards. Surely you're still at home, dreaming before your morning alarm, having a nightmare about that midnight monster movie you watched last night. Is this person a werewolf?!
"Help me!" the person cries, sniffing the air, their eyes locking onto you. "What's happening to me?!"
Before you can attempt to think up a response, their womanly wails devolve into a pleased, almost aroused groan. They look down at themselves, your eyes following their gaze to watch two bumps pressing out and growing larger beneath the oversized fabric of their hoodie. Why would they be wearing clothes so many sizes too large, you wonder, only to gasp as the wolf-woman's growing bust balloons big, bigger, and BIGGER still, huge voluptuous orbs threatening to tear through her hoodie.
Her hips jut wider as another aroused moan escapes her lips, shredding her jeans and continuing the trend downwards with plumping thighs and a swelling rear, a long, fluffy tail sprouting from the base of her spine. Then, you see why she was wearing too-large clothes--what was once a bulge in the front of her now too-tight jeans shrinks and recedes, making you realize that only now does 'she' perhaps really fit her form, at least physically.
Sneakers shred into clawed paws as she struggles to stand. You move to help her up, only to hesitate; what if she bites you, or infects you, or something?
"Do you still want that ambulance?" you ask, spotting your phone fallen to the ground and reaching for it.
"What happened to me?" the newly wolfish, womanly figure whimpers. "I'm some sort of dog with tits! And--"
She clasps her paws to her now flat crotch, howling in despair.
"I'm definitely calling that ambulance," you say, trying not to stare at how her V-angled arms darting down along her narrow torso squeezes her more-than-ample bosom up and out.