Find out what's causing this

Sophie: "You said it yourself: Something's causing this!"

You jump to stand up on the table, and promenade down it like the most elegant of models on a catwalk.

Sophie: "We're being driven to huddle underground in silence and darkness. We're all beautiful and sexy people, but we're being prosecuted and treated like animals! Somewhere out there, under a billion layers of societal bullshit, lie the answer to our problems."

You strike a hard fist into the palm of your hand and make a lightning-fast turn, continuing to gracefully walk along the table, now backwards.

Sophie: "We're strong, hot and unstoppable! I don't know about you, but I'm going out there to meet my fucking maker. Who's with me!?

Your speech is rousing, emotional even. At first, the standbyer's silence against the echo of your yelling casts doubt on your believability. However, a few do take a stand.

The 19-year old catgirl under the table who's sick and tired of sucking pronged catcock all day. The toned blue-eyed twentysomething boy who misses the outdoors and wants to go hiking. Every sullen face and tender mind, exasperated with constant odoursome copulation, cramped spaces and the lack of sunlight.

'Yes.' 'Yes!', they chant out, nearly unanimously. In a matter of seconds, the whole room is entraced by your overflowing charisma. As the hollering and feverous yelping slowly subside, someone thinks to ask:

Someone: "Well, what's our plan?"

Now charisma will no longer help you. This calls for cunning, intelligence, strategy and keen judgement. Your situation is grim to say the least, and to make ears or tails of anything will be a formidable challenge. You however are fully up to it.

Sophie: "Somebody got their cell phone? Also a pencil maybe?"

You draw a rough map of the city onto the wall. Each one of you takes a turn to announce their name and place of residence. By placing these on the map, you find a clear scatter pattern of cat-ification occurences around a certain suburban block.

Sophie: "That's our start. We'll investigate the entire block."

Robert: "How? We'd get accosted by swarms of horny humans if we so much as step outside."

Sophie: "We'll go outside under the cowl of night. We've got built-in night vision goggles - it'll be no different than daytime for us."

You begin to undress.

Sophie: "Let's pool together all of our clothes, and see how many full-cover disguises we can scrape together."

The unquestionable certainty and authority in your voice and actions is compelling: the others are eager to follow. Izzy in particular seems keen on taking off his sweaty shorts and t-shirt.

Tweaking and combining the collected clothes gets you about twenty full outfits. Finding twenty willing agents to go searching through the neighbourhood poses no problems. Robert elects to remain at the base to take care of the remaining transformees.

And so, after all the respectable people in town have gone to bed, your group of misfits sneaks along rooftops and alleyways into the quiet, unsuspecting neighborhood on which the transformations are centered. You guide your troops to split up and search each house individually. Soon, a signal is given out that a humble single-story dwelling on the west side of the street needs further inspection.

There's clearly audible humming and rumbling coming from the cellar. This in itself isn't so suspicious, but there's also a large assortment of esoteric high-tech machinery stacked up to the ceiling. This has to be your mark.

The cellar door, accessible from the backyard, is padlocked. However, five of your burliest accomplices working together are able to tear it open nontheless.

As the dust of outside settles onto the concrete floor, your entourage of catburgulars silently slips into the oddly fashioned cellar. Tubes full of glowy cyan liquid run between piles of interconnected hardware. There's a metallic, almost a sterile scent to the room.

You're all prepared to search for a control panel or an instruction manual, until somebody ushers everyone to be silent. The occupant of the house seems to have awoken from the sounds of your break-in. Footsteps approach from upstairs.

Sophie: "(Close the cellar door - we'll have the visual advantage in darkness. When the perp comes through that door, we jump them.)"

You await anxiously for the door. You can hear them every step of the way - it's most likely a large person in slippers. A real scaredy cat, judging by their faltering gait.

When the handle finally begins to slowly turn, the guy in charge of manning the door hesitates and pulls it forcibly open. The occupant, apparently armed, is too startled to fight back as you chaotically pile onto them.

Now it becomes apparent that the occupant is a bespectacled obese man in his early thirties, wielding an ornate but tacky sword, apparently an unskilled replica of a katana. His bristled neckbeard almost spells out the name:

Gerard: *Gasp* "Egads! My experiments have apprehended me! (Oh, I should've seen the ironic twist coming from a mile away...)"

Sophie: "Eww. Fuck, get up you guys, geez louise this jerk smells of frito lays and cheap deodorant."

You seize his sole weapon and, with great difficulty, manage to elevate yourself from under half a dozen other people. The lot of you tie Gerard to a chair. Brandishing the fake katana, you begin interrogating the man.

Sophie: "Now. Explain yourself."

Gerard looks defeated and resigned. He sighs, thinking back on his progress and trying to compose a coherent answer.

Gerard: "About the anthro transformations? Right. I suppose I'm in no situation to be withholding anything."

He pauses for a moment.

Gerard: "Ahem. For you see, I'm a bit of a scientist. I dabble in spontaneous genetic modification, a discipline which has, as of yet, been considered quackery. But I sure proved those snotty professors at my university wrong, huh?"

He looks around for a moment, trying to gesture towards your conglomerade. Unsuccessfully, due to being tied.

Gerard: "...Right. The mechanics of it would certainly go over the heads of such non-academic personnel such as yourself, but in essence I can imbdue individuals with a wide array of selected traits. I was trying to modify for myself an ideal partner: a physically enhanced insatiable catgirl who could keep up with my astounding virility (While off-topic, I would like to mention that I can perform for almost two minutes at a time)."

Sophie: "Nobody asked. So I'm guessing your little 'experiment' didn't work as intended?"

Gerard: "An understatement, my dear."

Sophie: "Don't call me 'dear', you creep!"

Gerard: "...Yes m'lady. But true: I was only able to make functioning bodily modifications - trying to increase willingness and ehm, 'excitability' led to strange pheremonal problems."

Sophie: "What about our presence being undetectable to anyone who doesn't see us?"

Gerard: "That was, ah... I didn't want mere commoners to take notice of my, let's say, unusual company. But as with the mental additions, this didn't work whatsoever! Still, it's a fairly brilliant workaround of the human psyche."

Sophie: "Well aren't you an academic multitasker. I thought you were a psycicist not a psychologist?"

Gerard: "The most logical course of action with this machine was of course to enhance my mental faculties, m'lady. I taught myself half of all known psychology in days!"

Sophie: "You really could've gone for the functional half instead of the theoretical. Hmmm..."

So the machine could be used on yourself as well. This prospect raises some eyebrows. Some of your accomplices begin to exchange muddled words. You came all the way here to **** your 'creator' to reverse your alterations. But what if...

A Cheshire grin broadens onto your face.

Sophie: "I've heard enough. Now..."

You lean in close to the tied man, purposedly letting him get a front row seat to your cleavage.

Sophie: "...How's about showing me the ropes to this thing?"

Gerard tries to resist, but breaks and relents when 'faced' with your enormous catgirl boobs. You're particularly thrilled to hear that your current modifications aren't anywhere near the machine's full capabilities.

Scrunching up your face and fondling your chin in contemplation, you casually read out an extrordinarily entitled list of attributes to paste onto your already-demigoddess-like body.

Sophie: "Hmmm... Let's see, I want invulnerability, immortality, telekinesis, mind control, shapeshifting, super intelligence, super strength, super speed, flying, laser vision, powers to make myself invisible, intangible, unnoticeable, and I want total control over stuff like time, space and reality."

Gerard gets a nosebleed before the halfway point, and apparently has an involuntary orgasm at the last three. Nevertheless, he doesn't object, and feverishly types up the wanted properties. While he could have a chance to escape this situation by instead changing the target parameter to himself at the last moment, he chooses not to. Gerard has suddenly become entranced by the idea of empowering a woman in such an overt manner, and wants to see it through, even for the briefest of glimpse into the existence of such a Goddess.

Some of the other cathumans voice concerns about handing over seemingly endless amounts of power exclusively to you - they played parts in this too.

Sophie: "Don't worry, once I'm done, I'll be powerful enough to empower all of you as well."

His glasses fogging up, Gerard finalizes the program.

Gerard: "W-will you do the honours of pp-ppre-pressing 'Enter', m'lady?"

Sophie: "Gladly!"

A simple tap of a plastic button, sending an incredibly low-voltage signal to be processed by a depricated computer, in fact initiates a universe-wide shift in the balance of power - namely, all of it is given to you.

The change itself is strong enough to rattle the proverbial windows of the universe. The laws of reality sputter and thrash: the 20th digit of pi jumps from 6 to 9, eviscerating all of known mathematics in one fell swoop. Entire galactic superclusters are in upheaval over the birth of their new ruler. Sentient creatures all over the universe all suddenly look up to the best of their abilities, to see the sky flashing with lightning-bolt like energy all concentrated towards one spec of dust in the faraway spirals of the Milky Way.

You certainly could give an accurate textual representation of what ascension to omnipotency feels like - after all, you are omnipotent. However, our author Ultra Bra cannot, and thus we'll forego the needlessly verbose exposition of attempting such a thing.

Merely from the infinitesimal trickles of power which eluded you, your feline friends have passively been turned into an especially powerful pantheon of Godes and Goddesses, and Gerard is now some kind of an Abrahamic Super God. However, as you detest this man, you decide to instantly deprive him of these powers and instead channel them in equal proportions to your team. Omnipotent as you may be, treachery is still something which you can't do. In any case, the power which you bestow upon your followers, in all of its immenseness, is trivial in comparison to you.

Sophie: "(Wonderful.)"

With the slightest brush of your telekinesis, you crush Gerard's computer, compressing it into an atom-sized black hole that immediately disintegrates. Don't want any competition.

After this, you decide to elevate every existing iteration of yourself in every existing timeline to that of a Goddess. More accurately: the Goddess of Probability.

The powers of a Goddess of Probability are extremely passive in nature, and will in some timelines remain unnoticed throughout your life. Still, due it's propensity to nearly constantly beget extremely unlikely iterations of ongoing timelines, even retroactively, its influence over the multiverse is unthinkable.

This is why you were treated to a tail and ears when you looked in the mirror this morning. Your alternative universe-selves must've been ascending and transforming themselves for years now - and your alternate-selves will do so in continuation - forever in fact, as you surprisingly often manage to attain immortality.

The universe, and in fact this entire multiverse was created for you, by you, and it's been progenitated by iterations of you for possibly since the beginning of time - since the mantle of the Goddess of Probability is given to any random woman named Sofie after the passing/**** of the previous.

You wanted to go out and find what's been causing these transformations, and you gone and did it too.

ENDING 50 - "It was me all along, Sophie!"