Rutting 'Stallion'

'Genefusion' is an unnaturally weird process.

The memory of the feeling of the bulky respirator on your lips, pumping you up enough to keep you the correct side of alive meets your dreams again. It has been the cause of many an unpleasant reawakening should your pillow fall into your face at night. You sit up, cold sweat dripping over your now tainted boy, causing you to shiver even more as your fingers run through your damp, black hair.

'Calm down... Calm down...'

'Shhh...'

'There... There we go...'

You sit back, propping yourself against the clinically filthy wall of your containment cell. Your breath echos in your ears; loud, husky... so apparently different yet not at all any different at the same time. Pretty soon your bones would be changing, reshaping like clay. Soon, all of this would get worse, so very very worse.

You just knew it.