New Story Has Begun!

Well, the latest Corporate Takeover story is out, which is exciting, but no rest for the wicked! The next will be a tg monster girl story, which is fun, but began with a prologue that no longer fits. So, here's the prologue that will only ever be read here:

The metal door banged open, slamming into the white-painted cement wall hard enough that a puff of dust drifted in the night air, hanging before it dissipated like an unfinished thought. Such poetic notions were the last thing on the mind of Hilton Westlake as he careened from the cement path down a slope into the woods that surrounded the compound behind him. No alarms sounded in the facility. They hadn’t noticed he was gone.

The buildings behind him resembled a clenched fist pointing a finger skyward. It had an organic smoothness to it, eschewing the harsh lines of traditional architecture. Bubbles of roofs undulated against the surrounding greenery, butting against a tower that rose high above the earth. The observation level at the top of the tower resembling an unblinking eye. The compound as a whole suggested the futuristic designs of the late 1960s, which was precisely when the facility was originally constructed. 

Security lights lit the verdant and trimmed lawn surrounding the residential pods, and pole-mounted bulbs threw stark light on the flats pace between the buildings and the high walls of the compound. Hilton was never much of an athlete. He’d been blessed with a thin body that never took on extra weight. With his pale skin, he looked nearly as aristocratic as his name. A hooked nose presided over a thin-lipped mouth, and his green eyes were pale. The oily blonde hair that hung in ringlets around his face and to the nape of his neck were brushed back as he crouched low at the base of the perimeter wall. He would have to jump up, grab the ledge, and swing his legs up to catch the lip of the wall. It all sounded easy in theory, which was where Hilton spent most of his time - in the pursuit of theory. 

That stupid curiosity and vanity might have damned him. But he could tall the score on that count later. He tensed and leaped, catching the top of the wall with his fingers. He held for a moment before his left hand slipped free and he went crashing back to the ground. He recovered quickly, an upside to the changes he’d undergone since arriving at the cursed island. 

He crouched, looked up and re-drew the distance in his head, and leaped again, grunting with the effort. This time he had a better hold. He winced as he swung his legs, the new weight on his chests aching at the sudden compression against the wall and the new indignity of the pendulous motion of his torso. But he had it! His foot caught the wall and he lifted himself up, where he crested the barrier for a moment, and then was over the side, rattling his way down into scrubby brush.

Thistles tore at his arms and legs. It was frustrating difficult to keep much in the way of clothes on these days. Another gift of the mad doctor. Who would have ever believed there was such a thing as mad scientists in this world of modern convenience? Take away a man’s cell phone and wifi, and he’s just an animal. Hilton was hardly even a he anymore.

There was no clear path through the woods, so Hilton put the tower at his back and moved. Eighty yards from the wall and the brush gave way to the jungle. Slender stilts of roots lifted into the air, and spiny trunks extended high up to the canopy. The floor was covered by dead leaves, and his footsteps sounded terribly loud in his ears, competing in volume with the thrum of his pulse. 

There were other sounds, too, others moving in the shadows. Little light penetrated the tall trees. They had been warned on arrival about the jaguars that might stalk the shadows of the jungle floor. But Hilton knew all too well that what moved with him was not native to this island. His head whipped to his left, sending his curls flying again. And still, he could swear he saw the whip of a tail before it disappeared behind one of the cascades of roots snarling down from the dark heavens. 

“Just keep running, Hilly. Once you get to the shore, you’ll find the boat. One thing at a time.”

He was all too aware that the words that emerged from his mouth were no longer English. That had gone a couple of days before. It sounded perfectly natural to him, but Stella, who had by then had grown a soft pair of pointed ears, no longer understood at him. Her slitted eyes took on a predatory glean, too, and he saw her no more after that last chance encounter.

On he ran, until the tree trunks finally gave way to a thin line of scrub, like the thin mustache of a libertine, and then he wa son the beach. He tumbled, somersaulting into the sand where he lay on his back, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. The waves were rising with the tide. He could feel the rhythm of the waves as they struck the beach, the exhalation of foam as waves rolled and crashed and beat out their short lives against the coast. There had been no alarms. Whatever hunted in the jungle was still cloaked in its darkness. Here, on the beach, he was safe.

“Come to us,” someone called. 

Hilton rose fast. He first looked behind him into the jungle, but the voice called out again, and he heard that it came from ahead of him, somewhere in the waves. He stood, face pinched and curious. On his way, he staggered his steps to remove his shoes. They were loose on his feet and felt foreign. The feet that struck the sand were slender, and the toes were webbed. 

His pace increased. Now he was shrugging out of the track pants he scavenged from his things, boxed up in a storage room. When they fell away, smooth, thin, pale legs were revealed. It felt better now that the clothes weren’t irritating the sensitive skin anymore. The more he changed, the more hateful clothing became.

“Welcome home. Come, sister.”

The voices called to him, and he called back. Not only did they hear, they understood. 

He peeled away the last of his clothes, the ridges on his arms and legs propelling him as he dove into the water. When he surfaced again, he sang in joy, and his joined the chorus before disappearing beneath the waves and leaving behind only the steady undulation of the waves.