Just like Natalya, he has become something new. With a new, singular purpose. (Warning: Includes forceful changes and a pinch of horror.)

The drone lurked. She had gotten away from the uppity prey down in the larger room of the precinct and was now lying motionless, her enormous tits and ass squeezed into the air vents running through the place, next to one of the grilles from where she could keep tabs on the group of rubberized people and listen to what they were saying. The drone had to know what they were planning - if they decided to go after her, she'd have to hide herself better. It was frustrating, really; so much prey that it was too much. The drone's full lips pulled into a frown. She would stand no chance against them, all alone as she was. For now, the drone observed and bided her time: Down in the bull pen, the black woman that was so similar to the drone, yet so different, was fuming. She was called DeVeers, the drone knew, but when she had been fed some salty fluid and the changes started, names had lost their importance. Hers too - she remembered being called Carl Mellows, and she still was that person, in a way. But all the petty desires, needs and schemes of Carl had been cast aside along with his name, replaced by an almost instinctual drive.

"Why did you let her go, you purple oaf?!" Frustration was clear in the black latex woman's voice down belows as she punched the purple giantess in the arm. "We don't have time for this shit!"

"She got me in the eye, it hurt! I think she took it ou--" Taking her hand away from the face of her left head, the giantess blinked a few times. "No, wait. It's fine. I'm fine."

"Awesome." Groaning, the black leader of the prey put her head in her hands. "Listen, we need to get going. Car 3 is going to be here any minute now, and with the door like that, they'll be on their guard. I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly dying to find out if we're bullet-proof."

"'Dying' seems about right if we're not," the white twin chuckled from where she was sitting on a desk, earning a **** glare from the leader.

"Olena does not understand proble--"

"Stop it with the fucking accent!" Frustration exploded into a yell, and the strange, pink human horse flinched, almost making the black and brown, dog-headed being still stuck inside her fall over sideways. The drone couldn't help but sneer. What a stupid way to procreate, being stuck inside the partner afterwards.

"Alright, alright, geez. Just having a little fun!" As the humantaur whined, her voice sounded Mid-Western, the fake accent dropped entirely. The dog-like prey looked entirely too surprised at that from what the drone could perceive from her vantage point.

"And pissing off the rest of us. Darcy's purple people fucker joke is already more than I can handle right now." Voice turning determined, the prey's leader straightened and crossed her arms. "Fuck it. If she's the slightest bit like us, she'll be fine. Let's get out of here and lay low until tomorrow night. The other precincts deserve a visit, too - and this city deserves a... different police ****."

The drone's beautiful lips curled into a smile. Once the latex crew left, she could start preparing.

As Car 3 pulled into the street in front of the precinct, Philip Emerson's mood began to darken. He'd been glad to finally be done with patrol, but now, the officer could see that the main entrance to the precinct had been smashed in with impressive ****; it was obvious something bad had happened. So much for a relaxed end of the shift.

"Fuck. Coop, you seeing this?" His partner, Cooper Harris, leaned over the steering wheel to see better, eyes going wide as he stopped the car half a block from the precinct.

"Hell, someone crash in there?!"

"Looks like. But where's the car? That has to have been a car, right?"

"Think so. Any idea why they did it?"

"Dunno, raid the evidence locker? Maybe they thought we keep money or **** in there." Of course, most of that stuff never even made it into evidence.

"They still inside?"

"With the car gone? Probably not, but be on your guard."

Emerson used the radio to update the other patrols that they were investigating a disturbance at the precinct while Harris shut of their squad car. Getting out, both cops drew their guns, safety still on, and began to move in on the precinct. As they got closer, Emerson's brow furrowed. There were no signs of a car - no ripped off parts, no tire marks, nothing. There were small pools of fluid here and there, but it didn't smell like gas or oil, instead slightly fruity. Something really strange was going on... The bull pen was eerily silent. As they passed the mangled remains of the door, glass crunching under their boots, Emerons and Harris were further confused by the distinct lack of a mess a mere ten feet away from the door. A few desks had been pushed around, there was a funky smell in the air, but it didn't look like they would expect the precinct to look after a tussle with a car.

"What the hell? Place doesn't look looted..."

"What, you think they'd steal our office stuff?" Scoffing, Emerson crept deeper into the precinct, noting that one of the air vents at the back had been ripped open. "The fuck...?"

"Got a baaad feeling about this, Phil..." Harris squatted down between to desks, looking at something on the floor. "Get your ass over here, found something."

Emerson scanned the bull pen once to check if they really were alone before walking over to his partner. Halfway there, he thought he could hear a faint squeaking noise, somewhere in the walls or ceiling, so faint that he thought he was imagining things. They didn't have rats again, did they? His bewilderment only grew when he saw what Harris had found. Right there, between a desk and the operator table, there was a large pool of white, viscous fluid - and a discarded, crumpled up uniform, complete with radio, belt and holster. Empty holster.

"Damn, what...?" Rubbing the beard stubble on his chin, Emerson chewed the inside of his cheek. "Check the name. I wanna know which joker's running around naked, here."

"Gimme a sec... O'Malley. Never figured him for a streaker."

"Yeah, right. The guy's a fucking prude. He wouldn't even do this on a bet. Something's seriously screwy here."

"Ya think?!" Before Emerson could stop him, Harris dipped two fingers into the white goop on the floor, bringing them to his face and sniffing. "Ergh!"

"You fucking moron. What if that's a biohazard?" If Emerson had to hazard a guess what the stuff was, he'd actually go for cum - but altough it did look like jizz, there was such a ridiculous amount, and it was impossibly thick... No way it actually was. "Wipe that off and let's check if there's anything missing in evidence. Use the rubbing **** for the mic."

The drone was hunting. Just a few minutes after the large group of prey had left the precinct, two new ones had entered, clothed and fleshy. And armed - but the drone didn't worry. She was confident she could take them; two were much more manageable, even if they stayed together. Crawling through the vents, careful to make as little noise as possible, she had stalked the new prey in the bull pen and now followed as they walked deeper into the precinct, looking around nervously. They knew something was wrong, their instincts telling them they weren't the apex predator right now. As they talked in hushed voices, the drone went from vent opening to vent opening, waiting for her chance to pounce.

"You hear that?" Emerson had definitely heard something right now - the squeaking noise again. But it didn't sound like rats, more like something far larger dragging over metal. "Someone's definitely here. You think we should wait for Car 7 to come back? Four of us would have better chances."

"Against what, junkies? Gangbangers? Rodents of unusual size? Don't be a pussy, man."

But Harris was obviously getting nervous, too - he was fiddling with the safety of his gun, pushing it a little towards off and letting it snap back to on with a click. This bad habit had gotten him reprimanded several times in the past, getting in the way of more than one promotion and keeping him firmly in the lower rungs of the ****. "Their car is gone. If there's anyone still here, it's gonna be some dumbass straggler. Hell, I'll take point if you're too damn chicken."

Moving past Emerson, Harris brushed against his partner a little more forcefully than necessary - a bit of bravado to calm his frazzled nerves. Judging by the constant click-click-click of his safety, it didn't work very well. As they slowly made their way towards evidence, Emerson swore he could hear something move in the air vents. Something big. But the noises were so low that he couldn't really tell where exactly they were coming from - or even if the stress was getting to him and he was, well, hearing things.

"There we go, evidence locker. And no naked O'Malley jumping us. Told ya." Opening the main door, Harris motioned for Emerson to cover his six before creeping inside to do a cursory check of the individual lockers. "There's nothing wrong he--YAAAH!"

"Shit!" Cursing, Emerson whipped around, expecting to find Harris struggling with some druggie, but instead, his partner had a shit-eating grin on his face. "You fucking asshole! You think that's funny?!"

"Yeah, pretty much. Just a little joke among friends, right?" But still, the safety went click-click-click. Harris was obviously still on edge, his dumb prank not enough to get rid of his nervousness. "I told you, the place is completely--hurgh!"

Before Emerson's dumbfounded eyes, a pair of shiny black arms clamped down around Harris' head with almost preternatural speed, an equally glossy tail of the same color wrapping around his ribcage. Harris was yanked upwards, legs kicking wildly as his arms flailed in panic. Still, Emerson jumped forwards, intent to grab his partner and pull him back down-- Click. Everything seemed to slow down as Emerson's system was flooded with adrenaline. Harris' gun rose, his fingers tightening, and Emerson threw himself to the side, sliding over the lino floor at almost the same time as Harris began to empty the magazine into the walls and floor. Covering his head with his arms, Emerson soon heard the clatter of Harris' gun when it fell to the ground, empty and useless, even with the ringing from the thunder of the shots.

Getting back up, Emerson stumbled back to the entrance to evidence, just in time to see his partner's boots disappear into the vent, a low, strangely seductive chuckle echoing through the air ducts, seeming to emanate from every single grille in the vicinity.

Author's comment: My first foray into this kind of stuff - something different from what I usually do. But I've pretty much been wanting to write something like this even back when I first started out, so thanks @ curious.krissy for the inspiration. The next chapter is in the works and will contain a bit less creepiness and a bit more transformations.