It was four am on Sunday November 19 when the current director of the CDC was woken up. Living in a modest house in the Suburbs of Atlanta Georgia, ensured his commute to CDC headquarters was short so he could be home with his wife of twenty years without delay. The man believed that the world stopped operating after five pm and began again at eight am. A backwards line of thought that was instilled in him by his conservative and deeply religious parents. Parents who considered it a grievous sin to do any work on a Sunday. He was religious and staunchly catholic; which is why he thought he could instill those values in an agency that preferred to value science as opposed to scripture.
His first day on the job after replacing the outgoing director, gave him a brutal reality check as those under his command did not share the same sentiment and values. So he, like many narrow minded individuals decided it was best to purge the administration and replace the vacancies with like-minded individuals. This was met with fierce resistance and extreme push back from politicians, public opinion and even from the president himself. So he was forced to back down and accept a reality that refused to work at his pace.
So as he stirred from his slumber as his cell phone was blaring, the director knew this was going to be a day that would grate on his usual routine.
“Who the hell thinks it is appropriate to wake me up at this ungodly hour,” he barks; not bothering to check the caller id as his eyes are still half closed.
“Please stand by as the President of the United States wishes to have a word with you,” the female voice on the line droning.
This snapped the director awake as he sat up causing his wife to mutter.
“Sorry darling,” the director stepping out; “this seems important.”
“Director Crawley,” the man on the other end talking; the director knew it was the president speaking as he is the only who would dare to call him at this hour and not get torn to pieces.
“Mr. President,” the director putting on a bathrobe as he left his bedroom; “please tell me this an emergency. As this Sunday and I am looking forward to Church.”
“I’m catholic as well,” the president speaking in his usual slow yet deliberate cadence; “but my job as well as yours affords us little time off while serving our country. So I you need to be in Washington within the next two hours to brief me and the chief of staff regarding some disturbing reports.”
“What reports,” the director responding in a confused voice as he has no clue what is going on.
“Your secretary should have you sufficiently caught up as you jet to the White House. I expect you here promptly,” The president ordering as he ended the call.
“Oh this better not be a new Covid wave,” the man grumbling as he jumps in the shower and begins his day after being so rudely awakened.
****************
Director Crawely could not believe what he was seeing on the t.v as he drank coffee while thirty thousand feet in the air on the way to Washington. Video footage from a garment factory in Calcutta India showing people turning into anthropomorphic animals and engaging in bestial acts that were best described as ungodly and downright demonic.
“When was this,” the director downing his third cup of coffee.
“Two hours ago,” the secretary answering; at around the same time, this was taking place in the Old twon Square in Prague.” The secretary swiping on his tablet as another video feed showing a group of people also transforming like those in India. “Dusseldorf, Germany; Kyoto, Japan; Amsterdam,” the secretary pulling up the footage; “as well as London, Paris….”
”This is happening everywhere?” Director Crawley interrupting his secretary still not believing what he is seeing.
“Yes,” the secretary pulling up another video; “This was taken an hour ago, in CFB Borden.”
Where the hell is that,” the director pouring himself another coffee”.
“A military base in Ontario Canada, thirty minutes north of Toronto.” The secretary pulling up the footage of a parking lot; “and it was broadcast live on social media.”
The footage is that of a soldier getting jumped by a bipedal caribou person and depicting it ripping the military fatigues off the man as it began grinding and humping. The man’s struggles soon faded as fur began to sprout all over his body; face pushing out and feline muzzle forming as ears reform and relocate on his head. The director chocked and spat out his coffee as the former soldier now a calico cat man-creature began to drop down and grip the caribou creature’s phallus and started sucking it off.
“Turn it off,” the director refusing to watch the lewd act any further. “How did this happen. Where is the source?”
“We don’t know,” the secretary turning off the television as he suppresses a smile and lies to the director; “what we do know is that whatever caused this, spreads fast. And its global,” the secretary grabbing a decanter of whiskey and pouring two glasses.
“It’s a little early for that,” the director looking as his secretary hand him a tumbler.
“You’ll need it for this last bit,” the secretary taking a swig; “I had to call in every favor I had to get this footage.”
The director turns back to the television as he sees a security footage feed of the Chernobyl ruins in Ukraine. Watching as several bi-pedal animals getting attacked by the occupying Russian soldiers as they milled about the abandoned reactor. Watching as the automatic rifles cut down several of the creatures.
“At least they can be killed,” the director smirking.
“Wait for it,” the secretary speaking; “this part floored even me.”
The remaining creatures turned their focus on the solders and with speed that could only be described as supernatural, cut down each soldier. Ripping flesh with claws and fangs as the Russians try to flee but are brought down to a man. But that part didn’t begin to shock the director. It was seeing bizarre symbols glowing on the wrists of each animal creature and the weapons that the soldiers wear wielding dissolve in puddles of melted down metal and ash.
The director could not believe his eyes as he downed the whiskey in a single gulp. “I’m going to need another,” he pushes his glass to the other man. Unable to take his eyes off the footage as the animal creatures wrists glow even more as they finish erecting the mammoth concrete sarcophagus that has been slowly being built to seal the damaged reactor
“Fuck me,” the director looking floored; “how in god is that possible?”
“That is why we are heading to Washington,” the secretary passing back the tumbler with a few fingers of whiskey; “to brief the president and come up with a game plan.”
“Are there any locations in America that are reporting these things,” the director drinking the whiskey as he turns to the files in front of him. Before the secretary could answer, Director Crawley’s phone begins to ring; checking the caller ID, he is stunned to see who was calling him.
“Dr. Williams,” Director Crawley ansering the call and sounding shocked; remembering the virologist he managed to banish to the east coast of the United States, unable to recall her exact posting. “To what do I owe this call?”
“You saw the footage,” the doctor gritting her teeth at the sound of her old human name; “the videos on social media.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the director trying to play dumb; “and how did you get this number?”
“How I got the number matters not,” Denise speaking; “and don’t play dumb. I’m referring to the footage in India. Surely your secretary showed it to you. Or did he show you the footage in Ukraine?”
“Find out how she knows,” the director placing his hand over the phone while speaking to his sectratary.
“I know because your secretary showed me the footage first,” Denise speaking; “because he, like me is a fury.”
“A what,” the director sounding confused and looking at his assistant; placing the phone down as his secretary grins. A glow emanating from his wrists as his glamor fades and the director is staring at a six foot tall anthro porcupine fury.
“A fury,” the secretary taking the director’s phone and putting it on speaker; “you’re on speaker Denise.”
“Thank you Adam,” Denise speaking; “As I said director, we call ourselves fury. That is what we like to be called. As for the mass outbreaks you just witness,” the voice on the phone pausing before beginning; “I had a paw in it. I managed to make the gift we spread through intimate contact air born and had it dispersed into the Jetstream. Took longer to circulate across the planet, but the wait was well worth it.”
The director’s ability to focus on Denise's voice faded as he began to feel flushed. A heat rising up in him as he felt his entire body itchy.
“Denise I’m going to have to interrupt you,” the Porcupine fury speaking; “Director Crawley is transforming now and is unable to focus on anything but his release.”
“Oh dear,” the tigress fury audibly sighing; “I thought we would have more time.”
“I gave him two glasses of whiskey,” Adam answering as he watches the director rip his clothes off in a mad desperation; “it has the desired result.”
“A double dose I see,” Denise answering; “oh and Adam, it was good to hear from you. How is your wife?”
“She didn’t make it,” Adam sighing; “diagnosed with Lupis last year; her body couldn’t handle the gift and she passed in my arms.”
“Oh I’m sorry Adam,” Denise sighing; “I didn’t know. How is Crawley at the moment?”
“Stroking himself mad,” Adam looking at the naked man as scales begin to spread all over his body; “and becoming a reptilian fury from the looks of things.”
“Well he was a snake to get his position,” Denise snorting; “fitting he might become an anthro version of one.”
“We are on our way to Washington,” Adam watching Crawley as he becomes a Chinese green Tree Pit Viper Fury. His scales turning into a brilliant emerald green as they cover his entire body. His testicles and penis becoming internal as his phallus twists and turns reptilian; now poking out of a horizontal vent in his crotch as he strokes himself furiously. Chest broadening, muscles pushing through. His face pushes out in that of a snake, his eyes turning into a deep shade of red with a vertical slit for pupils. His tongue flicking out as it becomes forked and two hollow depressions forming under his eyes.
“Looks like he is done,” Adam chuckling as he watches the director moan; spraying his seed as he came from his masturbating. Opening his mouth to show two hypodermic like fangs just as runes appear in his wrists and ankles.
“Do you know if the pilots heard,” Denise speaking through the phone.
“I made sure to make the cabin soundproof before we took off,” Adam waving a paw-hand; the runes glowing and the director’s mess getting cleaned up.
“Good,” Denise responding; “we don’t need to arouse their suspicions just yet; “get the director up to speed and make sure he uses his glamor infront of the president.”
“I’m aware,” Adam reaching for the phone to end the call; “good luck Dr. Proudhoof and if I don’t hear from you, Happy Thanksgiving.”
“You as well Adam Needle-Quill,” Denise responding shortly before the porcupine fury ends the call.
“Well director,” Adam watching the new snake fury coming down from his orgasm and looking content; “how do you feel?”
“Like a million bucksssssss,” the director stressing his s as his forked tongue flicks outs.
“Denise hasssss a lot of explaining to do,” the director sitting down and finishing the whiskey; “what else do I need to know for meeting the president?”
“Just what you have in front of you,” Adam taking the tumbler and putting it away; “oh and apart from the footage at Chernobyl, all that you saw is currently on social media. And the videos are blowing up.”
“Furies,” the director looking at his green scaled hand with sharp pointed claws where finger nails should be. “May god have mercy on humanity,” the director smiles; “because this is not half bad.”
“Or gods,” Adam sitting down; “best read up on the documents, we should be landing soon.” Adam dispelling the soundproof bubble just as the pilot informs his passengers of their decent. “I don’t think Crawley quite fits you anymore,” Adam Needle-Quill watching his boss reviewing the documents; “any ideal what you are going by now?”
“Director Fork-Tongue,” the green pit viper fury responding as he flicks his tounge; reading up on Denise Proudhoof’s notes on the fury virus killing those who have compromised immune systems and are either elderly or dealing with a terminal condition/illness.