A World Full of Monsters: A World Full of Monsters, #1

By L.S. Christopher

Welcome to GenoMod Labs: Four friends who do science for a living, the bunnygirl who lives in their lab, and more weird creatures than you can shake a stick at. 

 

Mod science is a relatively new frontier in genetics, one Danny Darling and his friends were already making their mark in before the ink on their joint dissertation was dry. Their company, GenoMod Labs, was just getting started when a young performer walked through their door with her unscrupulous agent, who had lied to get her to agree to being genetically modified—a process that can't be reversed. But inviting a very girly bunnygirl to live in their lab was just the beginning. Now the media is out to get them, government agents won't leave them alone, and their growing notoriety sees them fast becoming the world's go-to team of experts as more and more modded creatures keep showing up. Not to mention they seem to have picked up a mysterious arch-rival whose obsession with Danny just couldn't get any creepier. Or could it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.S. Christopher
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393928607

L.S. Christopher

L.S. Christopher is a somewhat eccentric cat owner, spooky Halloween enthusiast, and unapologetic lover of creature features. She also crafts, cooks, and occasionally writes a book.  

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monster n. /ˈmän(t)-stər/ 1 A creature of strange or terrifying shape; an animal or human having an abnormal form or features which inspire feelings of fear or revulsion. 2 An imaginary creature, as in folklore, which is excessively large, grotesque, or frightening. 3 A person who displays unusually cruel, violent, or wicked behavior.

THE BUNNYGIRL

GENOMOD WAS JUST GETTING started when we got our first referral. A guy came in, kind of a slimy guy who called himself a ‘talent handler’—that’s slime-speak for an agency agent—and he had a problem he needed fixed. He’d had one of his performers modded, and it hadn’t worked out right. Which was how we found out that one of the guys from Project Chaney, one of the government’s wolverine-using idiots, had gone off on his own and opened up shop in a dark alley somewhere. And he was apparently modding humans. We asked the talent fucker why he hadn’t gone back to the guy who did it, and he said he’d tried but couldn’t get in touch with him again, that he’d up and disappeared and the only name he’d ever given was ‘Doc’.

Dude had paid a guy who called himself ‘Doc’ to shoot up one of his agency’s desperate little dollies with god knows what to try to make her ‘unique’, and of course it had backfired like a fucking truck because the last time anyone modded a human with an animal the military had ended up liquidating every single one of them. Still, though, the talent fucker’s little girl was apparently not ‘usable’—I thought Dave was going to go for the guy’s throat when that word popped out of him—so we told him he could bring her in and we’d run some tests. Maybe we could convince her to tell her talent fucker to fuck off at the same time, because within ten minutes of meeting him I wouldn’t have trusted him with a pet tarantula, much less a human being.

He’d left her in his car. In his fucking car, in the middle of an L.A. summer day, wearing a hoodie and sweats so nobody would see her. You could hear the poor kid panting the minute they walked through the door. This did not endear him to any of us, and now Joey was in on it so I let him have the talent fucker while Dave and I took the kid into the lab and sat her in front of a fan while she shed a few layers. Not all of them, because she was still a girl and she was scared to death, but enough so that with some water we could be sure she wasn’t going to keel over from heatstroke. She did have a fur coat on, after all.

Albeit one she couldn’t take off: ‘Doc’ had modded her with a white rabbit. She had the nose and the ears and she indicated that yes she did have the tail, and she was covered with white fur. She hadn’t been a very big girl to begin with, and with the addition of the mod she was tiny and absolutely fucking adorable, but completely miserable. Talent Fucker—so far as we were concerned, that was his name now—had not done the mod to her against her will, far from it apparently, but once she’d come out of it unable to talk and therefore unable to sing he’d been stuck and hadn’t taken very good care of his project after that. The agency had told him it was his problem; they had tried to use her once at some sort of convention, but one of the guys there had gotten handsy and she’d proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that cute, cuddly rabbits are actually vicious little fuckers when you corner them. After that, the agency had washed its hands off the situation. Basically, they’d thrown her away. Coming to us had been Talent Fucker’s last-ditch effort to salvage part of their investment and get himself out of the doghouse. Rabbit house? Whatever it was, he deserved to stay in it.

She had no problem typing, so I let her have my computer while the samples we took were running and she ‘talked’ to us. Her name was Hana Kim, she was twenty years old, and she’d grown up in the Midwest. She said the agency had taken her on—and moved her to L.A.—because she could sing enough to get by and she was a ‘sweet lolita’. At first we thought that meant the agency was branching into the pedo business, but she got on the Internet and showed us what she meant so we wouldn’t go set the agency’s offices on fire. It meant dressing like a china doll—ruffles and lace and ribbons and bonnets and dainty little shoes and handbags, the whole nine yards—although she let us know right away that the doll comparison was considered offensive by most lolitas. Lolita fashion was apparently some girls’ answer to a world that just wasn’t willing to be feminine enough for their tastes, and for some of them it was a whole lifestyle and not just a way to dress up. Hana was one of the lifestyle ones, and her gig with the agency had given her carte blanche to live it out on a daily basis. She’d never been one of their really popular performers, though, and it had looked like the dream might be ending with her lolitaing on her days off from a job at Walmart when her agent had shown her some pictures of adorable cartoon animal people and asked if that might be a new career path she’d be interested in.

At first she’d thought he meant furries and told him Walmart was looking better every day, but he’d explained that it was an actual physical change, not a costume. He’d told her she could be changed back if she didn’t like it—bald-faced lie right there, since we can’t even undo simple mods on animals yet—and then he’d given her a choice of animals and she’d picked her favorite. And so they’d gone to Doc’s back-alley mod-shop, Doc had asked her some questions—Hana said he’d been kind of scary, something about the look in his eyes, but that otherwise he’d been very nice to her—and then he’d injected her with something and she’d slept until she’d woken up the way she was now. Which had been every bit as cute as her agent had been hoping for...until he’d found out she couldn’t talk.

Here’s the really sad part: Hana actually loved being a bunnygirl. She loved the ears and the nose and the pretty white fur and the cute fluffy round tail nobody but her ever got to see, and she loved the way her dresses and bonnets and accessories looked on her now. She even loved the little handpaws the mod had left her with. What she didn’t love was being treated like an annoying prisoner by Talent Fucker—yes, we got her calling him that too—or being punished for defending herself at the convention after a grown man twice her size had basically tried to molest her and security hadn’t cared enough to intervene. She might have been girly, but Hana was no shrinking violet. The only reason she hadn’t told Talent Fucker to fuck off already was because she was afraid of what he’d do with her if she didn’t go along with him. Not like she could run away to go work at Walmart now, after all.

The results finally came out, and we sat down to talk to her about them. Well, since you want to stay this way, the good news is that you will, Dave said. The change looks stable. Doc did a thirty-five percent mod on you, which was just enough to make you fucking adorable but not enough to mess you up in other ways—in other words, most of the change is on the outside, not the inside. He knew this because we’d run the sims to make sure. The bad news, though, is that we have no way of rolling back or altering the mod, so right now there’s no way we can think of to give you back your voice. We’ll research it...but honestly, we’ve never modded a human because without a reversal process in place it would be so completely unethical we’d have to move into a back-alley lab like your boy Doc. In the meantime, though...

In the meantime, we do not want to leave you with Talent Fucker out there, I told her, taking her handpaws into my hands. Hana, we’re afraid of what he might do to you—I mean, he could have killed you today by leaving you in that car, and from some of the things you’ve told us...well, it sounds to us like he may think he owns you. Her ears went down and she nodded; I stroked an ear back up. I already talked to Joey, and I called our other partner Pete. There’s only one place we can think of where we can be completely sure you’ll be safe...and that’s here in the lab. She glanced around and then gave me a look, and I grinned and shook my head. No, none of us are into furries. We’ve got a room behind the cage out front—this building used to be leased to a bounty hunter, the cage was something he had in here and we’ve never used it—and you can have that space for yourself as a bedroom. Nobody here will hurt you, I promise. You can even be our lab assistant to make some money... She shook her head pretty emphatically at that, and went back to the keyboard. No?

I already have an online business. I sell hats and accessories that I make myself. It just wasn’t enough money to pay for an apartment in L.A.

No, it wouldn’t be, Dave agreed. It pays for your phone? She nodded. Well, we do have wi-fi here in the lab. Do you still have your clothes and stuff, or did Talent Fucker take it all away from you?

No, it’s in storage. I had my boyfriend move it all for me.

Uh-oh. Hana, you have a boyfriend?

His name is Barry, he goes to Central U.

I gave Dave a helpless look. You’re the straight guy, I’m fielding this question to you.

Thanks Danny, ‘preciate it. He raised an eyebrow at her. Hana, you and Barry haven’t...I mean, since you got modded? You haven’t, right? Because the mod did alter your reproductive system somewhat, and rabbits are...well, they can be kind of aggressive that way. Have you gone into heat yet?

Her nose wrinkled. Yes. I locked myself in the bathroom until it was over. I’d never felt anything like that before, I wasn’t sure I could control myself. And I didn’t want to do Talent Fucker by accident.

Dave choked on that and so did I. Joey came back into the lab, and we waved him over to see. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes. Hana, I just knew these two were going to teach you bad things—the name suits him, though. I think I’m going to have to take a shower after he leaves to get the slime off. So you’re willing to stay here with us? You have my word, none of us have a furry kink.

She frowned up at him, nose twitching, then typed, You’re sure?

We’re sure, I told her. It wouldn’t be safe for you to go out on your own, especially with you not being able to talk, but we’ll figure something out. We don’t want you to feel like a prisoner, but we do want to make sure you’re protected until we can find a way to help you. What do you say?

Her answer was to hug me. And then she hugged Dave, and then Joey. And then we all went back out to the front where Talent Fucker was trying to do business on his phone and sucking up all of his monthly data allotment because Joey had refused to give him the access code for our wi-fi. He stood up with a huff when he saw us. That took a long time. Well, did you fix it?

We already told you there’s no way to reverse a mod, I reminded him. No one’s ever done it, and even though we’re all really smart guys I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect us to create new science in a couple of hours, do you?

He rolled his eyes. So what does that mean? You can’t fix it? You were just wasting my time?

We’re going to keep working on the problem, Dave told him. The person you had do this to her is just bound to do it again since it worked so well this time. I’m pretty sure you won’t be the last person we hear from who wants a modification reversed.

I don’t want it reversed, I just want it fixed. And I wouldn’t say it worked well this time, the guy huffed. So what does this mean to me? It can’t be fixed, so I’m stuck with this bad investment, is that what you’re saying?

I draped an arm over Hana’s shoulders; she was scared, I could tell because her ears were half-down and her nose was twitching and some of her fur was standing on end. You are such a bastard, I told him. It’s a pity you couldn’t find Doc again, maybe he could’ve done a human mod on you so you’d become at least partially a human being.

I’m not sure you can overwrite this much asshole, Joey disagreed. He raised an eyebrow at the guy, not quite but not-quite-not looming over him. Your time has no value because you are such a total jerkwad, he said, and the guy got kind of nervous; Joey is somewhere between six-four and six-five, and when he looms over someone they are well and truly loomed-over. You did, however, waste mine while I had to sit out here listening to you slime all over people with your phone, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to disinfect the couch. So you can go now, and don’t come back.

The guy recovered himself—by backing up a step—enough to sneer. Fine. Hana, come on. She didn’t move. Hana, you’ve cost me enough time and business. Come. On. We’re going.

Doesn’t look like she’s interested. This time I raised my eyebrow when he spluttered. Can’t loom, I’m too short. Aw, did you forget that you’re not allowed to own people? He did, guys, he really did.

Just get the fuck out, Dave told him. Hana, is any of your stuff in this jerkwad’s car? She nodded. Travel bag? Another nod. I’ll get it for you, you stay here with Danny and Joey. I don’t trust the guy not to try to kidnap you. He gestured at the door. After you, jerkwad. I’ll get her stuff, and after that if you ever show up on the property again we’re calling the cops. The guy started to sneer something at Hana; the ears went down even further. If that was about to be what I think it was, you will get punched, Dave warned him, and he shut his mouth. Jesus, you don’t even deserve to be classified as a mammal. Come on, get moving. You’re contaminating our lab with your extreme fuckishness.

We waited until Dave came back with the bag, and then we took Hana back to show her her room. She texted her boyfriend to have him bring the rest of her stuff, and while she and Joey were playing clean-the-room I called up Talent Fucker’s agency and had a talk with his boss about how illegal slavery was and how maybe if they didn’t want us to help Hana become the poster-bunny for exploitation in the entertainment industry they might want to consider coughing up one last paycheck to help her get settled in her new place. It was just amazing how nice they were, and I hung up satisfied but not happy. I wasn’t going to be happy until we knew exactly who and where ‘Doc’ was and what he was up to. Because modding is a relatively new science, it doesn’t always work the way you want it to...but the bastard still had no problem doing mods on humans even though there was no way to reverse them.

We had a monster on the loose.

Hana was settled in like she’d always been there within a week, and anyone who’d walked into that back room would have wondered if they’d slipped through some sort of wormhole into an alternate dimension. The walls were white, and so were a lot of the other things she owned, but everywhere were touches of pastel pinks and blues and lilacs and yellows, and pretty pictures, and stuffed animals, and a wardrobe straight out of a freaking Disney princess movie. Which she apparently kept filled with the help of her sewing machine, which Dave looked up online and said was worth more than he’d paid for his first car—we had lab equipment that couldn’t operate at the level of technical sophistication Hana’s sewing machine did. She made clothes for herself, and things to sell online, and when she was tired of sewing she crocheted little hats and tiny round animal toys and all sorts of pretty, dainty, adorable things. We let her move all of the sewing stuff into the cage so she’d have more room and better light, with the understanding that the cage door would never, ever be locked unless she was in heat—she requested that, and we agreed to it.

We did insist on one rule: Barry the Boyfriend was not allowed in her bedroom. Anytime, whether she was in heat or not. Because Barry was apparently every bit as okay with the change as she was. We couldn’t fault him for that, they’d been together before it happened and outward appearances aside she was still more human than not. But we still couldn’t let him have...conjugal visits, not just because Hana probably had increased fertility and we weren’t sure yet if he could get her pregnant, but also because, again, rabbits can be vicious little fuckers. Honestly—and we told Barry this—it was entirely possible that if he skimped on the foreplay she’d rip his junk off and eat it and nobody really wanted that to happen. He told her we’d said that, of course, and her response had been: Don’t skimp on the foreplay, then.

Yeah, she has a sense of humor about it. She wasn’t in heat when she said that, though, and we were pretty sure that if she got to him while she was in heat the sex alone would kill him—because if her not letting him stop didn’t do it, him stopping anyway was going to get him disemboweled. His answer to that was to ask if it would work if he became a bunnyman, and we told him not until we’d figured out how to reverse it and to go finish college. He took that in stride and changed his major to zoology, which was probably a bad sign.

We’d been kind of worried about Hana not getting enough socialization at first, but it turned out she had plenty. On multiple social media platforms, because bunnygirls who can’t talk can still type like a motherfucker. And take adorable selfies. And flirt with their boyfriend in chat. She’d had a small fan following before the mod, had done her best to keep feeding them on social media afterwards, and now that she was back in all her new adorable bunny glory her following was growing exponentially. We were pretty sure the agency had banished Talent Fucker to Minnesota or someplace over that—he’d cost them a fucking goldmine, and since they themselves had dropped her contract their own rules said they couldn’t even ask her to come back for at least two years.

Not that I think she would have anyway. They’d scared her. We didn’t.

IN THE BEGINNING

NOW, EVEN BEFORE WE added a bunnygirl to our group, GenoMod was a little weird as far as genetics labs go. Not just because of the kind of work we do, but because of the way we do it. We’re a private lab, not connected to a university or funded by the government. We have custom sim software that nobody else has, and three different branches of science all working together. Oh, and we’ve all been friends for years, we came up with the idea to form the company in grad school. Although the fact that we ended up meeting each other at all was a pretty weird series of coincidences all by itself.

At nineteen—by about a month and a half—I started my first year of college. The Midwestern college I’d chosen wasn’t one of the really huge ones or Ivy League or anything like that, but they’d accepted me and they had a decent math program. It was also nearly 800 miles from Boston and no one else I’d known from high school was going there, so I was on my own and a half. I didn’t mind all that much. I was used to blending in, to being the average guy nobody notices, so the shock of being alone wasn’t really all that much of a shock for me. And I was taking a full load and had managed to snag a work-study job, so I didn’t really have a lot of free time anyway.

My assigned roommate in the dorm, however, seemed to have way too much. He was a second-year freshman, and I came back to our room between classes in the middle of the second week to find a sock on the doorknob. I considered that for a minute. It was his sock, and I knew what it meant, but I needed to put up books and grab my apron for work and him getting his rocks off in the middle of the day, I decided, wasn’t really my problem. So I unlocked the door and went in, dropped off my stuff, grabbed the apron, and left again. My face was still flaming, though, and as I closed the door I heard her say, Was that your roommate? Didn’t you...

Yeah, was his breathless answer. But he’s a noob, he probably didn’t know what it meant.

She giggled. He does now. Did you see that blush? Poor little innocent guy.

Hey, mind off the noob and back on the sex god, he complained, and that was it for their conversation.

That wasn’t the last time it happened, though. I realized pretty quickly that he was majoring in screwing, but after asking around about it I also came to the realization that nobody cared and I was supposed to be a ‘good roommate’ and respect his privacy. The fact that he was socking our door at all hours of the day and night to request his privacy didn’t seem to be a concern for anyone, so I just kept going in, doing what I needed to do, and then going back out. He scrawled a sign on a piece of paper and taped it to the door that said ‘THIS MEANS KEEP OUT’ with a wobbly arrow pointing to the sock; I fixed his arrow and wrote down at the bottom, ‘It’s there every day, you might as well just glue it on.’ I’d stopped blushing by that point, and the girls had gotten so used to seeing me that once his current partner had stopped to say hi and ask if I knew if our Comp I assignment was due that afternoon. He really didn’t like that, and I snickered all the way to my next class.

And came back to find the door bolted from the inside; the bastard had put on a deadbolt latch. And he wouldn’t answer the door, either, so my assignment didn’t get handed in that day and the Comp professor reamed me for making excuses and not acting like a responsible adult. This is college, she informed me. We don’t hold your hand here. Either grow up or get out.

The door was still locked two hours later, so I found the dorm monitor and told her about the deadbolt; she scolded me too. You can’t carry a few things with you during the day to give him some privacy? she asked. Be more considerate. I’ll tell him to take it off the next time I see him, but if he complains again you’re out.

"He complained?"

He said you were keeping him from studying by going in and out all the time, that’s why he put on the lock.

Funny, I didn’t know the university offered a class called Practical Applications in Human Sexuality, I told her, and then left before she could scream at me. And then I went outside to think the situation over. I was pissed, but that wasn’t doing me any good—except for keeping me a little warmer, since my coat was locked in the room. My roommate was being an asshole, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that and if I kept complaining they were going to kick me out of the dorm, which I couldn’t afford to let happen. Bad enough he’d tanked me in Comp I, which was a class I’d been having trouble in already. So apparently I was going to have to work around him for the rest of the semester and then request a new roommate as soon as registration came back around. Because there just wasn’t anything else I could do.

I switched out my backpack for the duffel bag I’d moved in with and just started schlepping everything around with me every day. I’d get up in the morning before Dickie—not his real name, but it should have been—got up, pack up everything I was going to need for the day, and then leave and not come back until that night. I studied in the library, kept my bag in a hall locker while I was at work, and then came back to the dorm in the evening and waited in the lounge until he came out to the bathroom so I could get in for the night. And I worked my ass off and pulled through Comp I with a barely passing grade, but I wasn’t planning on being an English major and it didn’t tank my GPA enough to get me in trouble with Financial Aid so that was fine.

Of course, because my year was just destined to be shitty all the way through, I caught a bad cold at the end of the semester and spent Christmas sick. On the couch in the dorm’s main lobby, because everyone else still around was having parties in the floor lounges and Dickie was celebrating by spending the day having wiener playoff races in our room. The main lobby was pretty quiet, though, and the TV was set on the holiday classics channel, and I had all my cold supplies in a little cardboard box I’d scrounged up so nobody could complain about me making a mess—the dorm monitor was still in the building, and she still didn’t like me. I’d even put up a little sign on one end of the coffee table that I’d drawn a biohazard symbol on with the words ‘WARNING: VIRUS BLAST RADIUS, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK’ underneath. A few people had come through the lobby and seen it and laughed, which made me smile; I think they all assumed that I was waiting for someone to come pick me up, which was even better.

And then someone’s parents came in. They were obviously someone’s parents, because duh, and the dad took a look at my sign and laughed. You’re about two feet short, I think.

I grinned at him. The coffee table doesn’t reach that far. Here to pick someone up?

He shrugged. We thought we’d surprise our son. He’s not answering his phone, though.

He might not be able to hear it, I offered. There’s at least two parties going on, and they’re kind of loud.

The mom had spotted my bag. Waiting for someone to pick you up, sweetheart?

I shook my head. My roommate’s using our room today, I had to find another place to be. I grinned again, though, because I had cold medicine and a box of tissues and someone had left instant cider on the coffee station and I really liked the movie that was currently on; I may have been sick, but I was having a good day. I waved my hand at the empty lobby, which was pretty with decorations and had a big tree in one corner and a nice view of the snowy grounds outside. I think I got the better end of the deal, really.

That made her laugh and pat me on the head, and then the two of them headed for the elevator and I went back to my cheesy Christmas rom-com.

Mom came back to the lobby some ten minutes later and joined me on the couch. She looked upset, and I sat up a little straighter, wincing. Let me guess, he was partying hard?

He was partying very, very hard, she confirmed. I’m letting his father take care of it—I just want to scream at him. She sniffed. He told us he was staying over for the holiday because he wanted to study.

Ouch. I’m sorry, I told her, handing over a tissue. Hey, do you want some cider? It’s the instant stuff, but it doesn’t taste...well, to be honest I’m not entirely sure how it tastes because I can’t taste it, but it can’t be that bad, right?

That made her smile. It can, yes, but thank you for offering...?

Danny. I stifled a sneeze in my own tissue. I’d shake your hand, ma’am, but I’d be giving you a Christmas present you really don’t want.

Very considerate of you, she approved. I’m Amanda, Danny. So has she figured out he’s Santa Clause yet? I like this movie, but that girl is so dumb I don’t know how she manages to live on her own, much less hold down a job...

We finished watching the movie together, and Frosty was just starting when her husband came back down. Ooh, my favorite, he said, and plopped down next to his wife. He’s packing, he told her. She’s helping him, and so are two other mostly drunk girls, and they’re all three reading him the riot act. He gave her a hug. He’ll straighten out, sweetheart. So how much fun have you and Danny been having while I was upstairs, hmm?

Blame it on the cold medicine: It never even occurred to me to wonder how he already knew my name. I’d offer you some cider, sir, but I’ve been told that it’s really bad if you can actually taste it.

He laughed and got comfortable, stretching out his legs. Instant? I nodded. Yes, it would be—artificial apple is nasty. When I was in college and broke, I’d make fake cider by melting Jolly Ranchers in a cup of hot water.

When you were in college, you had a permanent diet of cup noodles and candy, his wife reminded him. They have better cafeterias now. Is yours open today, Danny?

I shook my head. No, sorry. I heard someone say the pancake place out on the highway was, though.

Oh yes, we saw that coming in. Amanda settled in with her husband. We haven’t watched Frosty in years.

He laughed again. I’d offer to sing along with it for you, but that might traumatize Danny here.

I smiled. They were cute together.

I think I fell asleep right around the time Frosty was committing multiple felony kidnappings, and when I did wake up night was falling outside and I was the only one in the lobby. Someone had turned the volume down on the television, and the lights were down too so the Christmas tree in the corner looked like magic. My sign had been moved to sit in front of me, and someone had written on the back of it: Your roommate is gone now, you can go back upstairs. Merry Christmas!

Aw, that was sweet. I gathered up my stuff and hauled it back upstairs, went into my room and crashed.

I didn’t realize I was now roommateless until late the next morning when I got up and saw that all of his stuff was gone. The room was spotless, the sheets had been washed and the floor swept. The latch had even been removed from the door. And there were some sugar cookies on a paper plate on my desk,