Stepping through, you squint at the light – and are met by a draft of cool, dry air that washes over your transformed form. It slides effortlessly across your glossy rubber scales, sending a shiver rippling from the tip of your snout, to the end of your impossibly long tail.
Indeed, you lift your head and draw your eyes across your surroundings; having entered into some kind of sterile-looking hall, almost reminiscent of some kind of hospital or lab – quite the far-cry from the oddly cushy interior of the mansion you could remember.
Your claws click softly against the floor as you force yourself forward, each step grounding you in the here and now, dragging you further from the haze. The door behind you closes with a final, echoing thud, sealing the room—and the moment of your rebirth—behind you.
You pause, clawed feet meeting the cold tile floor beyond. The sensation surges up through your legs, tickling the sensitive pads of your soles and sending jolts of maddening pleasure straight to your mind. You can’t help it—your digits splay instinctively, claws lightly scratching against the ground as a faint, silly hiss escapes your throat.
Your breathing quickens, tongue flicking out past your open jaws, tasting the sterile air. Your eyes half-lid, a dreamy haze threatening to drag you under once more. The floor beneath you feels almost too good—smooth, unyielding, and cool enough to tease at the edge of mind-numbing bliss. Your tail coils and uncoils behind you, unable to stay still, as though it, too, is fighting against the fog settling in your mind.
N-No… have to focus. You strain, and take another step, then another, settling into a steady stride – balancing atop the balls of your feet, taking a mock-digitigrade stance.
Every step forward feels like a battle, the ticklish sensation beneath your soles a constant distraction, the gentle caress of air on your scales a constant temptation. You clutch at your head with one clawed hand, struggling to maintain clarity, to resist the pull of that intoxicating pleasure.
Focus… just focus, you whisper – think – hoarsely to yourself, even as your snout parts to mouth the words.
But it’s so hard—so maddeningly hard. The lingering remnants of your latex transformation cling to your thoughts like sticky resin, whispers of bliss urging you to give in, to collapse, to bask in this surreal new existence.
You hiss softly, shaking your head defiantly to clear the fog. No. You can’t fall back into it. Not now. Not when you have answers to search for.
The only way to go is forward.
Through this sterile hall you shamble, seemingly the only door bar, the one leading to the room where you’d been imprisoned and transformed – but, to your relief, the ‘maze’ is short-lived, and you come upon a door which opens into… some kind of fairly expansive dining room – the cold tile under your feet replaced by an immaculately plush rug, velvet surface lined with gold trimming.
It’s… surprisingly cozy – even if a bit too cliche for your liking – but whoever designed the interior certainly seemed to have some class.
Stepping forward, you glide your eyes across the large table at its center, and can’t help notice a monitor or two plastered at the far back – seeming to double as some kind of meeting room. The screen as it was, lay shut off.
Yet… something else catches your eye; something white – crumpled under the leg of one of the plush-looking chairs. Curious, you saunter over, tail swishing in intrigue – and lean to take a scrap of paper into your claws.
…It’s a note. Not wanting to accidentally rip it with your points-for-fingers, you careful unwrap it like a gift to reveal a hastily scrawled short-essay of… someone in less than a good mood, ink smudged in frustration.
The bottom is also stained with a faint ring of coffee. Of course…
-------
To Whoever Cares (if anyone does):
Can’t believe I have to settle for a scrap, guess that’s what I get for leaving my diary back home. Phones and other personal electronic devices aren’t allowed anywhere near the facility for ‘security reasons.’ Riiight.
But still – ANOTHER 14-hour shift? Fourteen hours of crunching numbers, staring at glowing screens, and running pointless diagnostics on "the precious project" because the higher-ups can’t make up their minds. "Revise this, recalibrate that!" They bark like we’re machines, not people. When’s the last time any of them even touched real fieldwork? I bet it’s been years.
I signed up to make a difference — to contribute something meaningful. Instead, I’m stuck babysitting malfunctioning tech and covering up their mistakes. Guess it’s all fine so long as the coffee keeps flowing and you-know-who gets to parade around, pretending he’s a goddamn revolutionist, when he’s just a nepo-baby.
Doesn’t matter if we're exhausted. Doesn’t matter if morale’s in the gutter. All that matters is the damn results. Always the results.
One of these days, this whole place is gonna crack under the pressure. And when it does, I hope all those fucking techbros and corporate assholes are the ones scrambling to clean up the mess.
Also, if any of you dolts decide to snitch and show this angry scrap to one of the higher-ups, it’s your ass I’m setting on fire. Cheers.
- T.S.
-------
…Huh.
You flick your tongue, setting the note down. Convenient – yet, whatever was going on here, was certainly far more than you were expecting. How some… cutting edge research seemed to lead to the craziness outside, it seems those answers thankfully lay somewhere in this building – also conveniently at the far edge of town where not many people live.
But first, you needed a starting point, you recalled some rooms on your original break-in. Coupled with a map of the mansion’s interior you see hanging along one of the Dining Room’s exits, it seemed you were on the first floor of the building. Thankfully as well, it seemed fairly straightforward to follow.
A bit of exploration never hurts anyone, so they say… now if only you had pockets – or clothing…
You crumple the note back up and opt to just carry it for now - but other than that, the most immediate course of action which comes to your mind is to...