too freakish for normies, too normal for freaks

There used to be a girl who lived in this house. She had empty eyes waiting for death and a blank stare like she was exhausted at everything without respite, and a tail that drooped and sagged and dragged behind her.

Nowdays, the house is much more lively.

“Okay, hold him down-- down, damnit! Do you want me to fucking stab you in the ass with this thing?” A lanky ginger with feathers tries to press his weight on the struggling boy on the floor, only to get thrown off immediately. He squawks in alarm, the feathered crest on his scalp rising up.

“Sorry if some of us don’t want to get hurt? Jeez,” complains a girl with stripes running up and down her arms. She shifts, her knees digging into the boy’s back, and dodges a clawed swipe with apparent ease.

The feathered boy climbs back on, readying the syringe. He eyes the planned injection site, marked with a sharpie, then all at once jabs the needle in, pressing the plunger, and yanks it out with a small spray of blood.

“Motherfucker, that hurts! What the hell, asshole?” Howls the boy on the floor, making another attempt to buck the others off.

The tabby girl sighs, checking under her claws for dirt. “Maybe it would hurt less if you weren’t such a fucking baby about it, dork.”

“Okay, stripes, let’s see you be normal about a piece of fuckin’ metal in your leg.” He sighs, calmer now that the injection is done. “Eh, sorry for tossing you off, Miff.”

Miff rolls his eyes, preening his feathers to flatten them down. “Whatever, I’m used to it. Next time I’m injecting you, though. Me and my hollow ass bones are not made for pinning someone down!”

“I appreciate you guys so much, seriously,” he says. Sniffs, wipes at his eyes. “Ugh, stupid T is making me emotional as fuck. I found a good stash earlier, and figured I’d share with you guys as thanks. Come on, let’s have dinner!”

There used to be a girl who lived here like she wanted to die in this place. Now, that same girl is a boy, and he’s got fire in his eyes and friends who are willing to get him hormones on the black market and hold him down to get the stuff inside of him. Maybe he’s no longer fit for clinical trials, too wild and rowdy, too strange and transgender and unwilling to get naked in front of strangers.

It’s an open secret on the streets that if you’re on the brink of starvation, talk to the people in the white vans. If you can keep your mouth shut and endure it, you’ll get enough to last you a little while. But that’s only if you can manage to endure it.

Amber would say she’s pretty good at it, to the point where it’s become routine. She tries to calm her stomach with water, foraged from some hoarder’s basement, and wanders around through back alleys and side streets. The cops don’t like it when someone gets kidnapped in front of them, but the cops are pretty useless for anything except slashing their tires and killing ‘em for their food. Pigs don’t like to travel without their stash, after all.

She finds a promising spot soon enough, tire tracks and a tarp just barely askew. She knocks, because they like it when their pets perform tricks.

“Who is it?”

“I’d like to participate in a clinical trial,” she says, pulling up her hood so that her ears don’t betray her. Her tail’s tucked so far between her legs it’s trying to curl up on the front of her skirt, and she bows politely to disguise it. “I’m seventeen years old and otherwise healthy, and I was bred to be docile and obedient.”

“That so, huh.” The tarp moves slightly, and a hand beckons her forward. “We’ll see about that. How are your veins, girl? You bleed?”

“I do not bleed,” she says, ducking under the tarp. He’s asking about menstruation, of course; her canine genes take over and recycle the material in her body rather than dumping it. It’s saved her ass on the streets more than once, and it means that her body is more valuable to these people.

It’s just a garage, or what’s left of one. Plywood clatters desolately against a few broken walls, and the man standing inside looks about as beaten down as her. He’s wearing dirty jeans and a frayed button down, a baseball cap for some old team on his head.

“The hell you think you’re looking at, huh?” He slaps her, face flushing. “Get down on the ground, and we’ll see if you’re actually lab-ready or just another street rat.”

“I’m a canine hybrid, sir. Not a rodent,” she tells him. Maybe it wasn’t obvious? But that just earns her a kick to the ribs, sending her staggering back. He grabs a baton from his pocket and flicks it out, swinging at the back of her knee to topple her to the gritty concrete floor. Her instincts are yelling at her to do something, anything, but she is more than just instincts. She won’t let him win, not like this.

His boot is on her back, crushing the air from her lungs, and he yanks her hands behind her back to start wrapping them up in duct tape. She hates it when they use tape; it always gets caught on her fur.

Don’t you have any rope, sir? She wants to ask him that, but the words get stuck in her throat. Another silent spell, then. She goes limp as he ties her legs, only tensing up when he lifts her skirt. No, it’s fine, he’s just checking her tail, and she wears long pants underneath. She’s lucky to have avoided any sexual assault from her kidnappings, but luck always runs out, she knows that. One day, she will be a piece of meat to be consumed and discarded, clothing herself in what’s left of her dignity and moving on.

The blindfold is about expected, some professional thing that locks into place with padding and straps she can’t remove, but the gag is kind of unexpected. And useless, too. If she’s in a silent spell, she can’t talk, so why bother? Is it just some kind of power play? She bites down on the knot of fabric in her mouth, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. Moron.

“You gonna be a good doggy, then?” His breath is close, far too close, right in her ear. Amber doesn’t answer. It seems like a trick question, right up until the kick in her ribs. “Hey! I expect an answer, or I might just decide to leave you here for someone else to pick up.”

She nods, slowly at first then more vigorously, cheek scraping against the rough floor. He grabs her by the hair, forcing her up to her knees, then gets an arm around her waist and starts dragging her to what she presumes is the van. The carpet is rough and he hasn’t put any sort of seat down, but at least it seems roomy. Her favorite kidnapping would have to be the one where she was strapped in tightly to the seat, though. That was actually kind of comfy, even if she couldn’t move an inch.

The door slams behind her, and the engine starts. She’s not sure where they’re going, and doesn’t bother trying to figure out. That’s the whole point of blindfolding the Seconds; they want to keep up their plausible deniability about experimenting on them. Everyone is desperate for their data, but no one wants to fess up to being the ones doing the research.

She dozes for a while, the water sloshing uncomfortably in her stomach, until she’s woken by a sudden jolt that sends her crashing into the back of the trunk. What… happened? Surely someone will come and tell her, right? There’s smoke, a lot of it, and a loud beeping, and fresh air coming in from the front.

“Hey, you! Strawberry blonde! I’m here to help,” says a voice she doesn’t recognize. The back door is opened, and someone small and light clambers inside, soft fingers removing the gag from her mouth. Amber opens and shuts her mouth, wondering what to do. None of the factions she knows of would do this, so what’s going on?

“I didn’t ask for this,” she says, as those same fingers fumble with the straps of the blindfold. Oh, good, the silent spell’s over. Usually, a good nap fixes it.

“Wh-- of course you didn’t, no one asks to be kidnapped. What kind of victim blaming are they brainwashing you with, anyways?” The blindfold comes off, and staring at her is a dark-skinned girl silhouetted against the bright sunlight. “Come on, let’s get out of here before the driver wakes up. Can you walk?”

“Oh,” Amber says quietly, realizing what’s going on. An outsider. No wonder her skin is so soft. “I’m fine right here, actually. You can just leave me behind.”

The girl standing in front of her is a cat Second, retractable claws and fangs jutting into her lips. Anger radiates from every line of her body, her curvy frame speaking of privilege. Or maybe it’s not a privilege, that her chest is big enough for men to leer at. Amber looks away guiltily. She does not want her eyes to become those of a predator.

“The fuck do you mean, you’re not coming? Bitch, do you not realize these people are kidnapping you?” She points a clawed finger at the driver, slumped against the airbags.

Amber shrugs. “I’m not stupid. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Wh-- that makes no fucking sense! That does it, I’m taking you home with me.” The Second slashes at Amber’s wrists, tearing through tape and skin alike. “….shit. Look, I’ll patch you up, okay?”

“Feed me.” Amber looks the other girl in the eyes, green and slitted. “Give me a good meal, and I’ll go with you.”

“Fuck’s sake, you feral Seconds are all the same. Whatever. Oh, and the name’s Felicity.” Her slender tail is lashing in frustration as Amber slowly unties her legs.