Age of Gentech

Bear28 · 01-19-2016, 08:53 PM

Maliko moved with swift cunning through the busy streets of Chicago. Pulling the hood of her sweatshirt around her face to hide her catlike appearance. She was a splicer. Not one of the original races who had been spliced for security, assassination, or for the armed forces. She was part of the underground sub-culture of black-market splicing that was quickly taken up by those into body modification. Before splicing started to become more and more common she had been a furry. Yet her fursona was long forgotten in the new world.

Fursuiters had become a rare thing. After all why spend thousands of dollars on designing and building a suit to look like an animal character when one could go out and have surgeries and be spliced with animal DNA with the same cash.

She squinted in the bright light. She couldn’t quite hide her catlike eyes with the slanted irises. The day light still hurt her at times but her eye splicing operation had been done by a bad underground back ally doctor. It was a decision that she still regretted. She had always thought about having them fixed, but she could still see as good as she could before the operation and twice as far in darkness. Yet bright light still hurt her eyes at times. Usually if she didn’t want anyone to notice her she would where dark sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt to hide he feline eyes and ears.

She had not had enough cash to get the tail. It was one of those things she was hoping to get some day, but she didn’t see it anytime in the near future.

She moved through the streets and around the see of people and obstacles with the grace and dexterity of a dancer. In fact before she had become a member of the splicing underground and body-modification circuit that most of the rest of the world ridiculed, she had been a dancer. At a young age her mother had forced her into ballet, a thing to this day that she still abhorred. The early mornings to go to class when no living thing had a right to even think about being awake. The movements that where always judged by over critical argent jerks. The pain from some of the movements, almost beyond bearing. She still winced when she remembered standing and walking on her toes. Only the truly dedicated would push their bodies to the limits for the perfection of the performance of the art.

As soon as she could she had dropped out of ballet ran away from her over controlling judgmental mother and switched to pole dancing. She supported herself and got off the streets at the age of 16 by doing erotic dancing. But her body still remembered the movements and the dexterity required for both.

Although she was a stripper she was no whore or slut. She would lay down for no man who she didn’t choose to invite into her bed. A few men had tried and ended up with a knife to their balls. Most walked away with them intact but with a scar on the leg to close for comfort. A few had end with a thin cut in there scrotums.

She moved quickly through the streets aware that she was being followed. She didn’t know by who but she knew that she was being shadowed. Her ears twitched at the same sounds of the same boots. Maybe she was being followed by the MCHE. At least she hoped it was the Menro Control and Hostel Extermination. She prayed it wasn’t any of the HC bigoted idiots.

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