Journals of a Transformed Biologist

That really should have hurt.

I hear a voice speaking to me. In my head. Now, normally, that would be scary. But I am not normal. I suppose I should introduce myself. Doctor Jonathan Kings, biologist and minor schizophrenic. Nothing medication doesn't suppress.

Medication would be good right now.

That was Julius. He's my voice of reason. As usual, he makes a good point. If I can hear Julius, I need my meds. I stand up, and immediately fall back down. My god, what happened last night?

Something that caused amnesia, disorientation, and medication to wear off.

Thanks, Julius. I didn't know. I stand back up, wobbling a bit as I find it difficult to balance. Eyes shut, I shuffle over to feel for a wall. Since one certain incident, I've become quite adept at navigating blind. However, the first thing I encounter is rough. Bark. I must be in a forest. Damn that Crow, I know this is his doing. Not the first time he's relocated me while unconscious. I open my eyes, and look around my dark surroundings. That's when I fall back down again. Nothing to do with balance, just shock.

Cartoony. The first word that comes to mind. Cartoony. The colors are bright and solid, each color a distinct difference. Every object looks two-dimensional, and even seem to have faint outlines. It looks as though I have been removed from the laboratories and placed into a cartoon forest, complete with exaggeratedly scary trees.

"My god, Crow, you've outdone yourself!" I laugh out loud. Or try to. All that escapes my mouth is a dry rattle.

I sit up, more quickly than I should. I try to speak again, and once more, all that emerges is a rattling hiss. It sounds as if a snake is attempting to gargle maracas.

Pushing the strange image out of my mind, I spot a lake nearby. Perfect. I stand once more, and fall forward this time, landing on my hands. Oh god, my hands. Where there used to be a perfectly normal, albeit scarred, pair of hands, there now lay two claws. Each has only three fingers, with a strange number of joints on each. I lift a hand, and move muscles until the appendages twitch.

I experiment for a minute or two, and get some control over my new... hands. I soon discover that the base of each digit is locked in place. However, to compensate, it seems-

Water now, hands later.

Right. I drag myself to the lake, and dipping my face into the water, I soon drink my fill. Damn the risks, I've already had everything you can get from lake water. I sigh in relief, and what emerges is a gurgle.

I hear a gasp, and look up. What I see barely fazes me, given what's happened today. A small, four-legged creature. I would call it a horse, if not for the coloring and wings. The creature stares me down, as I lay at the lakeside. I wave, a friendly gesture, and it continues staring. How rude. As I continue to stare down the creature, I take mental notes of its features. I am a biologist, after all. The creature is a bright yellow, with a light pink... let's call it a mane. Stick with the horse comparison.

I try to call out to the creature, and once more I gurgle. The creature seems transfixed, and steps closer. I remain sitting, partly to reduce my height, partly because I cannot stand. The creature- oh damn it, I'm calling it a horse. Not a word,Julius. The horse approaches me, and I do not break eye contact. I attempt to stand, and immediately slip and fall into the mud. I hear the creature approach, and I lose consciousness once again.

I wake up, and keep my eyes closed, listening. I can hear the sound of hooves on a hard surface. The yellow horse. I wait for my mind to clear before I lift my head. Or try to. My neck is like a board, I can't bend it forward. I know it isn't restrained, as the pressure is in my neck, instead of the top of my head.

My eyes open, and this time I hear a distinct click. The horse hears it too. I hear the hooves coming closer, and I turn my head towards the source of the sound.

Your head seems to turn fine, but you aren't able to bend your neck. Take note.

Oh, goody. The gang's all here. Voices aside, I look at my new surroundings. I'm laying on a green couch, with the wall to my left. On my right is a rug, a few various animal containers, and a door. Finally, a bit of luck. A fellow biologist! The horse must be modified. Perhaps they can help me!

Or they could test on you.

Shut it, Julius. This is my thought log. Good point, though. I shall flee at the first sign of hostility, from either this biologist or their little horse pet. Speaking of which, it's headed this way. It, like everything else so far, looks like an animation. The wings- bloody wings, why does everybody modify their pet with wings?- are folded, into no more than bumps on the horse's sides. The coat is pink, the mane is yellow, and it is bringing me something. Looks like food. I reach out, and take some, as the hooved creature shrinks away from my hand. Not that I blame it. I prop myself on my elbows, as the rest of my arms feel stiff, but otherwise normal. I smell the dry substance.

Nothing. I'm not even smelling it, I'm just breathing in rapidly. I'll look into that later. I try to take a bite, but that would be far too easy. My mouth doesn't open. My jaw seems to be cemented into place. Panicking, I spot a framed mirror on a table at the other side of the sofa, and scramble to try and reach it. I fall off the couch, landing with a "clunk", and try to stand.

That won't work.

Clunk.

I told you.

I crawl over to the mirror, panic knocked out of me. I grab the mirror in my claws, and look at my own reflection. I see a mask. Or what I think is a mask, until it blinks in surprise as I do, the click audible in the newfound silence. The mask has three points, two of them horns on either side, and a flat central plate, in the shape of a teardrop. The bottom ends in a jagged line, echoed by three layered plates underneath it. That would explain why my mouth didn't open, it was locked in place. In the center of the center plate, there is a diamond shaped hole, with a shining eye hidden inside. When I say shining, I don't mean in the poetic sense. The damn thing was glowing.

I shakily replace the mirror frame, and crawl back onto the couch. I close what I now know to be one eye, noting once more the click. Listening, I hear flapping. My eye slides half open, and I watch the horse fly to the floor, and quietly walk out the door. I hear a lock slide into place. My eye slides shut, and I let the subconscious take me prisoner once more.