Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tigress Shapeshifter... slaughtering dreams...
Pic from ~ smartbizconnection.com ~
Tuesday greetings, shapeshifter lovers! Kytaira is back, she’s savagely pissed and she’s out for blood...
~~~ x-rated language and grrrrrring gratuitous violence ~~~
Tigress Shapeshifter... slaughtering dreams...
From where I stand I watch them slaughtering dreams. Silently, I vow to find ‘them’.
I am upon a mile high platform aboard an invisible ship that belongs to the Leffriz... an ancient, galactic-faring race who have three undersea bases on Earth. Given their policy of non-violence, they were more than willing to offer their assistance to me and my black tiger, Zurroc. They know I will exact my brand of justice.
Standing behind me, he draws me closer, his arm firm around my waist. My hand finds its way to his forearm. I hold onto him, my black tiger. I can’t help it. He fiercely insists I respond to his caring passion for me... dare I say his love?
“It is mass murder,” he rumbles near my ear.
For close to an hour we watch the Earth pour out its blood into the Gulf of Mexico. Sheltered from the overpowering fumes, the dangerous ugly odors, we witness the death throes of fish, of turtles. The truth, death claims all aquatic life, both animals and plants. All the while, the ocean shrieks its own dying agony.
I scream inside with the terrible pain of it. I scream at the horrific injustice of this slaughter on a mass scale. I scream as my pain threatens to consume me, twisting like a hurricane through my body. Oh, yes, ‘they’ are planning on more mass murder by using tech-conjured hurricanes.
“I can’t stand it.” I turn, burying my face in his chest. He cups the back of my head with his large hand, his tenderness a comfort. When I lift my head our gazes meet. “I can’t stand to see them slaughtering dreams... all the folks who live here and make a living here, their lives, their hopes and dreams... all those who survived the ravages of Katrina, those who worked to save New Orleans...” I shut up, knowing I’ll start blubbering like a cub with a thorn in her paw if I continue.
Besides, I have a mission.
“Do I intrude?” our Leffriz escort politely asks in his singsong voice.
“No,” Zurroc answers. “Is your transport device ready?”
“Yes. We have checked its readiness three times. Your mate will be safe in her arrival and in her return.”
Moving from Zurroc’s embrace, I draw in a long breath to prepare myself. “I know my destination.”
The Leffriz regards me for a moment, his expression kind. His gaze is piercing, though, despite the color of his eyes, a swirling seafoam blue.
In minutes, I wait inside the transport device. Ignoring my fluttery misgivings about the alien tech that looks like a giant tube of yellowish light, I close my eyes and focus. I summon my power. From my core, I loose my need to kill.
Landing inside a soft flash of light, I crouch and gaze around. I know where I am, a corporate building in Florida, close to that silly mouse’s playground. Talk about a deliciously plump snack. A delightful chase through the crowds with Mickey shrilly yelping for help... pounce! A few well-placed crunches... no more squeaky voice.
On silent feet I saunter toward the boardroom’s double doors. Around me, the low wail of an alarm system starts. Within seconds, killer beams shoot from every direction. Having altered my physiology to slightly out of phase, I remain unaffected and simply push my way past the doors. Heavy, tall and designed to intimidate, they give way easily before my tigress strength.
Three humans stare at me as if I’ve just arrived from the moon, unexpectedly... well, they aren’t quite human beings. Not anymore. They’ve all made those infamous deals with the devil, offering their pitiful souls in exchange for status, wealth and something much larger, an assured position in the new international order.
Two men and one woman, they’re the media’s dream portrait of high-powered executives... that is, except for their youthful ages. But then, they’ve been cloned several times now. Yep, all of them are immaculately dressed, pressed and presented. Of course, they all have personal trainers and a team of grooming specialists.
“I do hope I am interrupting. Am I?” I raise my eyebrow high and brace my legs in a posture of challenge.
“Who are you?” The woman asks with a proper insolent tone.
Standing, she places herself between the two men. They remain seated, one of them perched on the conference table and the other seated in a luxurious leather chair. Their sharp gazes attempt to eat me alive. But then, I’m not surprised because they have dined on human flesh.
I give honey-blonde woman a toothy grin. “Since you might believe the truth, and nothing is being covertly recorded, I’ll tell you.”
The seated man glances to the side at their control panel. No blinkie winkie lights. No digital readout. It’s blank and dead. “What did you do?” he demands.
“Oh my.” I tap my chin with one very long curved nail, coated with a blood-red shade of polish. “Which question do I answer first?” I tilt my head and wait.
Mr. Table-sitting man whips out an advanced tazer model. He aims at my middle and activates it. Just for laughs later, I bend forward and blow a breath as if I’m extinguishing a stubborn candle flame. Simultaneously, I reverse the energy. Dropping the weapon, he shakes his red burning hand.
Nope, not entirely human or he would have keeled over. I smile brightly as I sweep my gaze over their taut faces. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Who are you?” the woman repeats. Reflexively, she grips her own arm, her nerves showing.
“I am a tigress shapeshifter from a planet-world far, far away. My assignment on Earth is, simply, justice.”
“Justice?” Mr. Chair-sitter eyes me as if he can take me in a fight.
“My intel is that you three have been very, very bad. You know, destroying-the-Gulf bad.”
With a flick of my finger I part two huge panels revealing a screen that takes up the entire wall. Displayed is an up-to-date representation of the destruction and death occurring in the ocean... and, also, on the surrounding land and beaches. Seeing the mass murder count projected, I steel myself against my own emotions.
“Taking bets on the final death numbers?” Their silence, their dagger gazes, confirms more evil doings. “With the piles of dirty bloody money you made dumping BP stock, this must be greedy icing on the oil-soaked cake. Not to mention all the profit to be made with the supposed clean-up.”
Their sneering smiles are meant to taunt me, to let me know I have no power to harm them, so they think. They still believe I can’t halt their demonically inspired slaughter.
“Oh, yeah,” I continue pleasantly enough, flipping my short tresses in a playful manner, “I heard a nasty little rumor. Maybe, you can tell me if it’s true.”
“What is that?” Table-sitter asks, stalling for time. Their cavalry arrives. I hear the copter drones on top of the building as they whir inside and descend through the chutes designed for them, for their attack on an enemy who has breached the boardroom.
“Why...” I draw out the word, “didn’t Haliburton, a known affiliate of BP, just take over Red Adair’s company. You know, he’s the tough-as-nails guy who stopped all those nasty ole oil fires. I think they even made a movie about him.”
Three pairs of eyes narrow and glint at me.
“The endgame is not to stop your gushing hole from hell, is it?” I feel the tigress within me glare at each one of them.
“No, it’s not, bitch interloper.” Chair-sitter rises up, an unholy gleam in his eyes. “Your time here is over,” he intones like robotic man. He doesn’t finish his words. Nor does he touch me with the laser scalpel in his hand.
I have stepped close to him in a blur of speed. Instantly, my forefinger morphs, becoming my tigress claw. With one clean swipe I open up his throat. His blood gushes, spurting into the ocean of air.
“Your turn.” I slice the woman’s throat before she can squeak in terror. Her eyes bulge with fright as her hands fly upwards. Already, her blood spills... spilling so like the blood of Mother Earth.
With a flash-fast whirl I avoid Table-sitter’s skilled defensive strike. His throat splits open from the quicker slash of my claw. He pitches forward and I hear his gurgle as he drowns in his own blood.
Sensing another presence, one I don’t want to tangle with yet, I pause only long enough to watch their blood spew from their throats. I make certain death owns the three of them before I stand on the yellowish circle of light waiting for me.
“Too late,” I say to the four copter drones streaking toward me, their miniature guns blazing laser pulses.
Zurroc opens his arms to me the moment I walk from the transport device. “Poetic justice, my tigress,” he softly growls, as I lean against him and wrap my arms around him.
“Yes, poetic justice.”
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