"Welcome to Con-Viction 20XX" read the sign on the hotel/convention center's entrance, its font reminiscent of digital clocks, on a star-and-planet-filled background.
The noise of hundreds of fans of all ages, from all across the country, filled the hotel's lobby, as the bustling members of the crowd each tried to rush their own way to reach whatever particular events had drawn them to the convention. Every year since the fantasy/sci-fi con's inception, attendance had steadily grown larger and larger, soon rivaling even New York Comic-Con. And with the growing audience had come a growing scope, as the con cam to cater not just to its original fantasy and sci-fi audiences, but fans of western animation, anime, video games, and even furries (though the latter category was still met with a lot of resistance from others).
Big-name brands took to promoting their newest films and games through exclusive trailer reveals in side-rooms, small time artists offered paintings and crafts of all sorts in the artist's ally, video game tournaments with hefty prize-pools drew the eyes of even the more casual players, while actors, writers, and internet personalities hosted promos and Q&A panels. But without a doubt, the biggest draw this year was the costume contest.
While the contest had always been a focal point at the con, with the number and quality of entries rising each year, this year, an eccentric millionaire, Tobias King, had upped the ante significantly, offering a small fortune to the contest's winners. This drew the country's best cosplayers out in droves, even attracting the handful of remaining practical effects and costume artists left in Hollywood to attend. Hundreds of attendees that would normally not have considered coming in costume did so this year, either in vain hopes of being an underdog victory, or simply a desire to not be left out, with the overwhelming majority dressed up as something.
Isaac "Izzy" Horn was one member of that final group. The twenty-two-year old man had been rummaging through his parents attic looking anything vaguely costume-like just hours before the con, hoping to not seem too out of place. A descendant of the Maidu people who had abandoned its traditions and culture, never caring for his parents' old stories, he attached no significance to old wooden coyote mask he'd found among their other keepsakes.
Amidst the hustle and bustle at the entrance, he reached into his backpack, and pulled the old mask out, brushing off any remaining dust and slipped it over his head.
"It's not much," he mumbled to himself, "but it'll do."
As Izzy stepped into the convention center, he felt not a chill from the AC, but a hot wind blowing from a source he couldn't identify. He glanced around to try and identify its source, but couldn't find it. Then he began to feel sick to his stomach. Following the signs to the nearest restroom, he got in, and hobbled over to the sick, finding himself alone. He struggled to remove the mask and get a better look at himself in the mirror, only to find that even trying to take it off was impossible.
Looking up in the mirror again, he saw not himself in a mask, but an actual coyote. It almost seemed to be grinning at him.
Then it opened its muzzle.
"Your costume could use a bit of work," it said.
"Wh-what the hell! Is this freaky old thing part of some old drugged ritual?"
"Tsk tsk tsk..." The coyote in the mirror shook its head. "I thought your parents taught you better than that. Surely you'd recognize good ol' Coyote when you see him, wouldn't you?"
"I-I know what a coyote looks like..."
The coyote snorted. "Not A coyote. The Coyote." He regained his smile. "The old trickster? Sang with the Earth Maker to help create the world? Inventor of lying? Ringing any bells?"
Izzy renewed his efforts to get the mask off. "I have got to be dreaming. That's all this is. Just a dream."
Coyote sighed. "Well, if this is all just a dream, why doesn't your consciousness just take a little nap, and I'll take your body for a drive. And maybe improve your costume, too."
Izzy froze in place, his body no longer responding to his thoughts. He slowly found himself standing up straight, and pulling off his clothes, revealing tawny fur, with patches of gray and black on his back.
"Why are you doing this?" He thought, powerless to use his own voice. "And how? Let me go!"
"You didn't say please," Coyote spat with a laugh through Izzy's body. Izzy winced internally as he felt his feet pinch inward, becoming narrow hind-paws as fur spread over them. From their underside, dark little leathery pads pushed out, making staning barefoot slightly more comfortable, but not by much. His toenails twisted and reshaped, clacking against the tile as small claws.
"You're coming along nicely now." Coyote said, looking over Izzy's hands as fur spread over them, black pads forming on the palms and fingertips, claws growing in place of nails. "Now now, don't worry, I won't completely get rid of your whole... two-legs gimmick. I've gone around dressed as a human before. But all those furries out there have been giving me... ideas."
Izzy groaned internally.
The once-wooden mask began to bond to Izzy's face, slowly turning to flesh, blood, and fur, the long, pointed ears and narrow snout picking up sound and scents Izzy never would have dreamed existed as they twitched to life.
"There we go," Coyote said. "Really, everyone's costumes could use a touch up, don't you think? Maybe we should mosey on over to that contest when the winners are announced, and change everyone else into their costumes all at once?"
"NO!" Izzy mentally screamed.
Coyote shook his head. "No, no you're right, that's more ol' Raven's style. We can do that if we're short on time, but taking them one by one's more fun. In fact, since you have such an enthusiastic opinion on who we should or shouldn't change, I'll give you back control so you can pick who we change first. As long as you don't try to leave the convention, or warn anyone. Why, if I like enough of your choices, I might just leave you be, and let you live your life in control of your body. Now, try to speak, Izzy. Say some tongue twister."
Izzy suddenly found he could control his mouth again. Not wanting to risk boy toyed with more, he complied. "Rubber baby buggy bumpers."
"Good work," Coyote's voice echoed in Izzy's head, "now try to scream a warning that an ancient trickster spirit is here to have a fun time at the con."
Izzy tried to form the words, but all that came out was a canine "yip!"
"I hope I've made my point clear," Coyote's voice echoed. "Now, get out there, and have some fun."
Hesitantly, Izzy stepped out of the bathroom, and back into the lobby, hundreds of potential victims all around him. He gulped, and braced himself.