2033
Taylor Wolfe never imagined her life would change so dramatically. After a short, intense deployment with the British SAS, she'd dropped the uniform, switching warzones for runways as a lingerie model. It was crazy, but it worked. In the winter of 2033, Taylor's story hit a wall - quite literally. A miscalculation and overcorrection on the icy A9 sent her car careening into a ditch. The medics said she shouldn’t have survived. And technically, she didn’t.
Instead, she woke up in a military medical ward buried deep beneath a facility in Canada. The logos were scraped, the uniforms blank, but she caught enough whispers and words to get a sense of her situation: Eureka Base, NATO, and something called Project Epsilon.
Whatever she’d accidentally made her way into, they saw her as an opportunity for experimentation. She was told absolutely nothing at first, only that the damage to her body was extensive and that her survival required radical intervention. The kind that blurs the line between species.
The induction process began with a comprehensive briefing on the genetic modifications she would undergo. Taylor learned that her transformation would involve the integration of Timber Wolf genes to enhance her physical prowess and eagle genes to augment her sensory capabilities. The modifications were designed to make her a formidable operative, capable of extraordinary feats.
Taylor's first days at the facility were a whirlwind of activity. She underwent rigorous physical conditioning to prepare her body for the impending changes and most importantly to make sure she would survive the process. The medical team conducted extensive genetic mapping and baseline assessments to ensure the transformation would proceed smoothly.
The facility, hidden beneath the streets of White City, operated quickly and with military precision. Taylor was housed in a sleek, almost prison-like dormitory, surrounded by other candidates who shared her aspirations. As time went by, however, the number of others slowly dropped one by one until only she was left. She knew where they went, and it wasn't back home.
Taylor lay strapped to a cold, steel table, her body trembling with anticipation and fear. The sterile lights above illuminated the room, casting sharp shadows on the array of medical instruments laid out nearby. The genetic modifications were about to begin, and she was acutely aware that this was a one-way journey.
The first phase involved a series of injections. The gene cocktails, designed to rewrite her DNA, were administered without anesthesia to ensure her body's reactions could be closely monitored. Each injection burned as the modified genes spread through her bloodstream. Days blurred into weeks as Taylor endured a relentless regimen of injections. Eventually they switched to an oral ingestion, a thick, green liquid. The taste was bitter and metallic, leaving a lingering aftertaste that made her gag. Her body began to change, subtly at first—her skin taking on a slight blue tint and her body hair growing thicker all over. The pain was constant, a dull throb that became her new normal.
2034
The modifications escalated. Taylor's organs were systematically removed and replaced with enhanced versions grown in sterile labs. The first to go were her heart and lungs. She was awake throughout the procedures, her body strapped down as the surgeons worked with precision. The sensation of her chest being opened and organs being extracted was indescribable, a mix of sharp pain and overwhelming pressure.
Her new heart, augmented with wolf genes, was designed to pump blood more efficiently and withstand extreme stress. The lungs, infused with eagle genes, would allow her to breathe effortlessly at high altitudes and hold her breath for extended periods. As the new organs were implanted, Taylor felt an odd mix of alienness and what could only be described as power surging through her.
The transformation extended to her musculature and skeletal structure. Her bones were reinforced, becoming denser and stronger, while her muscles grew leaner and more powerful. Her body began to resemble that of a predator, built for speed and endurance. The changes were both exhilarating and terrifying, each new day bringing a heightened awareness of her evolving body.
The modifications to Taylor's sex organs were the most intricate and painful part of her transformation. The first step involved the integration of internal testicles. The procedure was delicate, requiring precise incisions and placement in her lower abdomen.
Next came the creation of her sheathed canine penis, a combination of synthetic and biological materials. The sheath was a hybrid of a traditional sheath and a cloaca, providing both protection and versatility. The surgeons worked meticulously, shaping the new organ to match her enhanced physiology. Taylor watched in a daze as the unfamiliar, blue-tinted sheath emerged from her body, a tangible symbol of her new identity.
The final step was the introduction of female genitalia. The lab-grown vagina and labia were carefully grafted onto her body, the skin and tissues blending seamlessly with her existing anatomy. The process was slow and excruciating, each stitch a reminder of the transformation she had willingly undertaken. As the new organs settled into place, Taylor felt a profound sense of completeness, her body now reflecting the duality she had always desired.
Taylor's transformation continued, her body becoming more canine and wolfish with each passing day. Her skin, now fully light blue, was covered in a fine layer of fur. Her eyes took on a steel blue hue, and her vision sharpened, allowing her to see with unprecedented clarity. Her senses of smell and hearing intensified, making the world around her feel both overwhelming and vividly alive.
Her limbs grew more muscular, her hands and feet taking on a slightly elongated, claw-like appearance. Feathers began to sprout from her thighs, elbows, and calves, their downy texture blending with her fur. Her tail, covered in a mix of blue and grey feathers, swished behind her, an extension of her new, powerful body.
The psychological toll of the transformation was immense. Taylor's mind struggled to reconcile her new identity with her old self. She spent long hours in front of a mirror, tracing the changes with her fingers, marveling at the creature she was becoming, not really believing it was still her.
2035
Taylor paced the confines of her quarters, her newly enhanced muscles tensing and relaxing with each step. It was functional but sparse, a simple cot, a metal chair, and a small table cluttered with data pads. The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching her door.
A staff member entered, their expression neutral but betraying a hint of empathy. "You’ve come a long way," they began, their voice calm and measured. "But the hardest part is yet to come. Your physical transformation is nearly complete, but now we need to condition you. Training will be intense and grueling. Your new abilities need to be refined and controlled."
Taylor nodded, her steel blue eyes locking onto the staff member’s. "What does the training involve?"
"It will push your endurance, strength, and agility," they explained. "Simulated combat scenarios, high-stress endurance tests, and mental conditioning exercises. You'll be tested on every level to ensure you can handle any situation that may arise in the event of a war. Given the political climate, that very well may be on the horizon."
The prospect of further challenges ignited a spark of determination within Taylor. "When do we start?"
Before the staff member could respond, an alarm blared through the facility, the harsh sound echoing off the walls. A robotic voice followed, cold and urgent. "Alert. War protocol initiated. All personnel to emergency stations."
Taylor’s canine heart raced as the staff member’s calm demeanor faltered for the first time. "I was going to say tomorrow but there's been a change of plans," they muttered. "Follow me."
They hurried through the winding corridors of the facility, past bustling scientists and soldiers preparing for the unknown. Taylor's enhanced senses picked up snippets of conversation, panic and urgency woven through every word. The weight of the situation began to sink in—war had started, China had been bombed, and everything was about to change.
The staff member led Taylor to a deep underground chamber dominated by an array of cryogenic pods. Technicians scurried around, preparing one of the pods for immediate use. Taylor felt a shiver run down her spine as she took in the cold, metallic environment. This was where she would be frozen, suspended in time until it was safe to awaken.
"We're placing you in cryosleep," the staff member said, their voice now clipped and efficient. "The war means we can’t risk your safety. You haven't even started training and the grim reality is that you were the only candidate to survive the procedures. The pod will keep you in stasis until a set date far in the future. If the systems fail, the computer will automatically release you. If that happens, it's up to you to survive and find out what's happened."
Taylor felt a rush of emotions—fear, uncertainty, hopelessness. She had hope that she would see action soon, but now she would be given a reprieve, albeit in an unconventional way. She stepped into the open pod, the cold air making her shiver.
The staff member gave her a final nod of encouragement. "You’ve proven your strength, Taylor. When you wake, the world will be different, but you’ll be ready for whatever comes."
Taylor lay back in the pod, the lid closing with a hiss. The hum of machinery filled her ears as the cryogenic process began. She felt her body growing numb, her consciousness slipping away. Her last thought before cold claimed her was of the future, and the hope that she would one day awaken to a world where her transformation would be accepted.
Year Unknown
Taylor’s eyes fluttered open, her vision blurred and her body heavy with the weight of cryogenic stasis. The hum of machinery was gone, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed against her ears. She struggled to move, her limbs stiff and uncooperative. The cold seeped deep into her bones, making every breath a laborious task.
The cryopod’s lid had lifted, exposing her to the stale, frigid air of the facility. She tried to sit up, but her muscles rebelled, and she fell back with a thud. Panic began to creep in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to wake up yet. What had gone wrong?
With great effort, Taylor pushed herself into a sitting position, her body shaking uncontrollably. She rubbed her arms, trying to generate some warmth, but the cold was relentless. Her breath came out in visible puffs, and she noticed her hands—larger, covered in grey fur with blue-tinted claws. Her heart skipped a beat.
“What… what happened to me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective surface of a broken screen nearby. Her steel blue eyes widened in horror as she saw the creature staring back at her. Her face was undeniably wolfish, a short muzzle with a black nose, and subtle blue fur around her eyes. Her mind raced, struggling to reconcile this new reality.
“No, no, this isn’t right. This isn’t me.” She tried to stand, her legs wobbly and unsteady. Each step felt foreign, like she was learning to walk again. She stumbled to the edge of the room, where a puddle had formed from a leaking pipe. Peering into the water, the reflection confirmed her fears. The wolf hybrid staring back was real.
A flood of memories surged back, hitting her like a tidal wave. The surgeries, the genetic modifications, the pain, and the endless experiments. The desire to be whole. It all came rushing back, and with it, the realization that she was no longer fully human. The panic rose, a tight knot in her chest threatening to choke her.
“Get it together, Tay. Get it together,” she muttered, gripping the edge of a table for support.
The facility around her was dark and deserted. Dust and debris littered the floor, signs of abandonment and decay. She noticed a small crate near the cryopod, marked with a red cross. Slowly opening it, she found a care package left by the facility staff. Inside were packets of food, bottles of water, and basic medical supplies. A note rested on top, written in hurried script.
“Taylor, if you’re reading this, it means the world has changed and we can no longer help you. We left these supplies to help you survive. Stay strong.”
Her eyes scanned the room further, landing on a metal locker against the far wall. She approached it cautiously, her senses on high alert. Opening it revealed a set of SAS combat gear. The sight was both familiar and comforting, a connection to her past life. She pulled out the black military uniform, the plate carrier, the handgun, and the special purpose rifle.
“Alright, Tay. Time to gear up,” she said, more to convince herself than anything.
She dressed slowly, her movements deliberate as she adjusted to her new form. The black military gear fit snugly, the plate carrier providing a reassuring weight, as if this set of gear was meant for her. She holstered the handgun at her side and slung the rifle over her shoulder. The equipment felt like a lifeline, a tangible link to who she used to be. Looking at her reflection again, she saw the nametag on the uniform: Taylor Wolfe. It was hers.
"What the shit?" she said aloud, confused as to how her old uniform and equipment made its way to the underground facility she was in now, but relieved to have something that fit her.
Once fully geared up, she took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The reality of her situation was sinking in. She had been released before the set time, which could only mean one thing: the world above had met its end, and she was now alone in this desolate new reality.
“Survive. That’s all you have to do. Survive.”
October 9, 2072
Taylor’s breath came in choking gasps as she leaned against the wall, trying to steady herself. The memories were fragmented but vivid. She recalled being led down the long, sterile corridors of the facility, her handlers speaking in hushed tones about her impending sleep. The path they took imprinted itself in her mind.
“The way out,” she muttered, forcing her shaky legs to move.
The facility was eerily silent, save for the distant hum of emergency lights. Taylor stumbled through the hallways, following the mental map she had pieced together. She reached the elevator but found it unpowered.
“Of course,” she sighed, looking around for an alternative.
Her eyes fell on the stairwell door. With a grunt, she pushed it open and began her ascent, each step a struggle as her body slowly thawed from the cryo-induced cold. Her muscles ached, but she pressed on, driven by the primal need to survive.
The stairs seemed endless, but eventually she reached the top. Before her stood a heavy metal blast door. With a deep breath, she pushed it open, the heat of the outside world hitting her like a wave. The difference to the cryopod's chill was jarring, making her stagger back.
“Here we go,” she whispered, stepping out into the sunlight.
The sight that greeted her was one of devastation. The once-bustling streets of London were now a war-torn wasteland. Buildings lay in ruins, and the remnants of cars, tanks, and APCs littered the landscape, their metal carcasses still fresh from recent battles. Taylor’s heart sank at the sight, but she forced herself to move forward.
Her rifle at the ready, she walked cautiously, her eyes scanning for any signs of movement. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional distant explosion or the groan of collapsing structures. The city felt like a ghost town, the air thick with the scent of smoke and decay.
Taylor’s thoughts turned to her old apartment. It was a slim hope, but she needed to see if anything from her past remained. She navigated the streets with a mix of caution and familiarity, avoiding open spaces and sticking to the side streets.
“Stay focused,” she reminded herself, her steps slow and deliberate.
As she approached her apartment building, a sense of surrealism washed over her. Amidst the ruins, her building stood untouched, as if shielded by some unseen force. Taylor’s heart raced as she climbed the familiar stairs, each step bringing back a sea of memories. She reached her floor and walked down the hallway, her breath catching in her throat. Her door stood ajar, untouched since the day she left.
Pushing it open, she stepped inside, her eyes widening in disbelief. Everything was exactly as she remembered. Her belongings were undisturbed, her bed neatly made, and her clothes hanging in the closet. It was as if time had stood still.
Her gaze fell on her laptop, still sitting on the desk. She approached it with trembling hands, opening the lid. The screen flickered to life, and she saw the date: October 9th, 2072.
“Thirty-eight years,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The weight of the realization crashed down on her, and she sank to the floor, clutching her chest as panic seized her. Everyone she knew was gone. The world she had left behind was lost forever, replaced by this nightmarish reality.
Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to breathe. The enormity of her situation overwhelmed her, and for a moment, she was lost in the depths of despair.
“I’m alone,” she choked out, the words echoing in the empty room.
Wiping her tears, Taylor forced herself to stand, her legs still shaky. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. There was no going back, but she was still here, still alive. And as long as she drew breath, she would keep fighting.
Taylor wiped her eyes once more, taking a few calming breaths as she opened her laptop again. The device was surprisingly functional given the circumstances. She opened the network settings, hoping against hope that some connection might still be active. To her surprise, one network showed up: EMERG. EVAC STN. STLGNG.
“Emergency evacuation, Stansted Airport,” she murmured to herself. “Still going.”
Her mind raced. Stansted was about 70 kilometers away, a daunting distance to cover on foot, especially in a warzone. But what choice did she have? If there was any chance of finding other survivors or getting to safety, she had to try.
Packing the laptop and charger into her backpack, she took a last look around her apartment. There was so much she wanted to take with her, but she only had a small tactical backpack. She grabbed her stuffed fox plush, tucked it into a pocket in her bag, and sobbed a bit. The familiar surroundings gave her a pang of longing and sorrow, but she forced herself to turn away and head out the door.
The streets of London were eerily quiet as Taylor began her trek. The city was a shell of its former self, the scars of war etched deeply into its bones. Buildings lay in ruins, smoke still rising from some of the more recent devastation. The sight was a constant reminder of how much had been lost.
Taylor walked cautiously, her senses on high alert. Every sound seemed amplified in the silence, and her eyes darted around, taking in every detail. She tried starting several cars along the way, hoping to find one with enough petrol to get her to Stansted. Each time, she was met with disappointment—empty tanks, dead batteries, missing wheels, or vehicles too damaged to operate.
After a few miles, her legs began to ache, but she pressed on. She had no choice. As she moved through the city, she noticed signs of recent conflict: fresh bullet holes, burnt-out vehicles, and hastily abandoned barricades. The war had not ended; it had merely moved on, leaving destruction in its wake.
Taylor’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard the distant rumble of a vehicle approaching. Instinctively, she ducked behind a destroyed truck, her breath coming in feral bursts. She peeked around the corner, watching as an IFV rumbled closer. The vehicle was heavily armored, its turret sweeping the area as it moved.
Please don’t see me, she thought, her heart racing. The IFV slowed down and came to a stop right in front of her hiding spot. The turret rotated, the barrel of the cannon pointing directly at her.
Taylor froze, her mind racing. The engine of the IFV shut off, and she heard the clank of the front hatch opening. A figure emerged, clad in military gear, looking around with a confused expression.
“Who are you?” the vehicle commander demanded. “and what the fuck are you? Am I seeing shit?”
Taylor took a deep breath and stepped out from her hiding place, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Taylor Wolfe, British SAS. Well, formerly," she pointed to her nametag. "Also some sort of genetic experiment,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her.
The vehicle commander’s eyes widened in surprise. “Get in,” he said, gesturing toward the IFV.
Once inside, Taylor felt a small measure of relief. The vehicle commander introduced himself and the rest of his crew briefly before turning his attention back to her. “So, you’re one of those experiments, huh? What happened to you? My uncle volunteered, told me all about it. I was just eight years old. I never saw him again.”
Taylor nodded, her mind still reeling from the past few hours. “I was part of a project to create enhanced soldiers. I went into cryosleep before the worst of the war started.”
The vehicle commander gave a grim nod. “You’ve missed a lot. The war... it’s taken everything. Governments have collapsed. What’s left is just the military, holding on by a thread. Most civilians are either dead or have joined the ranks. There’s no real structure left, just survival.”
Taylor listened, absorbing the bleak reality of the world she had awakened to. “Is there any hope?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The vehicle commander sighed. “There are rumors. A new settlement in the US seems to be doing well. Here in the UK, there’s a place at Lancaster Castle, but it’s overcrowded. They’ve reverted to a simpler society—farmers, lumberjacks, and so on. They even have a king, though he’s no true royal. The Royal Family was wiped out in an assassination purge.”
Taylor felt a pang of sorrow at the mention of the Royal Family. The vehicle commander continued, “The King of Lancaster is a good person, doing his best, but the place is overpopulated. If you want more than a mundane life, you’ll want to go to Stansted. They’re evacuating high-profile individuals to somewhere. I don’t know where.”
Taylor nodded, determination hardening her resolve. “I want to go to Stansted,” she said firmly.
The vehicle commander gave her a nod of approval. “Alright then. We’ll get you there. It’s not going to be an easy journey, but we’ll do our best.”
The journey to Stansted was tense but uneventful for the first few hours. The countryside was a stark contrast to the ruins of London, but the signs of war were still present. As the IFV rumbled along the battered roads, Taylor peered out through the small viewports, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead.
Halfway to their destination, the peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of gunfire. The IFV jerked to a sudden stop, and the vehicle commander barked orders to his crew.
“Insurgents!” he shouted over the roar of the engine. “Prepare for engagement!”
Taylor felt a surge of adrenaline. The vehicle commander turned to her, his face set in a grim expression. “This is normal,” he said. “Insurgents are basically lawless raiders. They try to disrupt or dissolve what little is left of the military because it’s the only part of the British government still standing.”
He paused, ducking as a bullet pinged off the hull. “The current general is doing an excellent job maintaining order. We’re able to keep going thanks to fuel made from corn, or some shit. It’s not perfect, but it’s green and keeps us moving.”
Before Taylor could respond, a large explosion rocked the IFV. The blast was close, but fortunately, it missed. The turret whirred to life, firing at the attackers. Taylor’s instincts kicked in. Without a word, she unlatched the rear hatch, much to the vehicle commander's surprise.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled.
“Helping,” Taylor replied, her voice steady. She grabbed her rifle and stepped out, scanning the area for targets.
Her enhanced senses picked up movement quickly. She spotted a group of insurgents trying to flank the vehicle. Taylor aimed with precision, her training taking over. She fired, each shot finding its mark with lethal accuracy. Insurgents fell one by one, their surprised cries echoing in the chaos.
Among the attacking forces, Taylor noticed a makeshift tank—a heavily armored pickup truck with a mounted RPG—approaching. She steadied her breathing, aimed, and fired. The driver’s head snapped back, and the truck veered off course. A second shot took out the gunner before he could fire the RPG.
The remaining insurgents, seeing their comrades fall, began to retreat. Their panicked screams filled the air as they fled from the relentless onslaught. The IFV’s turret continued to fire, ensuring their departure.
Once the dust settled, Taylor climbed back into the IFV. The vehicle commander looked at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. “Not fuckin' bad,” he said, nodding approvingly. “There’s no need to be so anxious. You were special forces once. Don’t forget that.”
Taylor gave a tight smile, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The vehicle commander grabbed the radio and called ahead to Stansted. “This is patrol unit Delta, on our way to Stansted. Eliminated an insurgent group with some fleeing. We’re dropping off a priority VIP. ETA is approximately two hours. Prepare for arrival.”
He didn’t mention anything about who or what Taylor was, and she was grateful for that. She settled back into her seat, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. The battle had reminded her of who she once was—a skilled soldier capable of extraordinary things.
The journey to Stansted was uneventful after the skirmish. Taylor remained alert, scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. As the IFV approached the airfield, she could see the fortified gates and the watchful eyes of the guards. The vehicle rolled to a stop, and the vehicle commander stepped out to exchange hushed words with the airfield’s guards and general. She focused and listened, her augmented hearing allowing her to catch a few words.
"That's correct. She is a wolf. A dog. Literally. And her last name is Wolfe. She's probably the last SAS operative alive. Give her some fuckin respect, got it? You might outrank me but if I hear anything happened to her I will personally see to it that those responsible suffer the consequences."
Taylor watched from inside, her heart pounding. The vehicle commander returned and opened the hatch. "Time to go," he said. "It was an honor to serve with you, even if it was only for a few hours. Good luck, Taylor."
She nodded, climbing out of the IFV. "Thank you," she replied, her voice sincere. The vehicle commander gave her a final nod before ducking back into the IFV, which rumbled away, leaving her standing at the gates of Stansted.
The guards at the airfield greeted her warmly, a stark contrast to the grim faces she had expected. "Welcome, ma'am," one of them said, guiding her through the gates. "We've been expecting you."
The airfield was bustling with activity, soldiers and staff moving with purpose. Taylor was led towards an imposing transport plane, its engines already humming with life. The on-site general approached her, his face kind but serious.
"This is your transport," he said, gesturing to the aircraft. "It’s equipped with the latest safety features, reinforced hull, advanced navigation systems, and more."
Taylor nodded absently, not really absorbing the information. Her mind was racing with questions about where she was headed and what awaited her. As they boarded the aircraft, she turned to the general. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.
The general gave her a reassuring smile. "We're going to Sigma City."
The interior of the Airbus was utilitarian but comfortable, designed for long hauls. Soldiers and a few civilians were scattered throughout, all wearing expressions of weariness and hope. As the engines roared to full power and the aircraft began to taxi, Taylor gazed out of the window, her thoughts a turbulent mix of fear and anticipation.
The plane lifted off, and she felt the familiar pressure of acceleration. Taylor leaned back, closing her eyes. The past twelve hours had been a whirlwind, and the reality of her situation was still sinking in. Her recent actions were guided by a need for survival, not by logic or reasoning. She was no longer the person she once was; she was a hybrid, a soldier, a survivor in a world that had moved on without her.
As the plane climbed higher, the landscape of a war-torn Britain spread out below her, revealing the true extent of the war going on. In the middle of London, as the fog began to hide it from view, she saw a massive crater. She began to cry, the harshness of the world she was in now hitting her again and again and again. She had no idea what awaited her in Sigma City, but she knew she had to keep moving forward, to find a new purpose in this altered world.
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