Today is the hottest day of the year. May had been mild and pleasant, but June is making its presence known with sweltering gusto. Waves of heat are visible above every black, paved space. There is a breeze but it strikes like the air from an opened oven. The overwhelming heat subsides to a more tolerable temperature when the sun is blocked by cloud cover, but given the dearth of clouds the noon will be long for anyone looking to spend any length of time outside. Only the most dedicated fitness buffs are outside by choice and they are naturally panting and sweaty.

Wheaton, a mild-mannered fennec fox, is returning from a critical mission. Being one of the many unfortunate souls not in possession of an air conditioner Wheat, as he is known by friends, found himself sitting in his house hugging the fan and soiling his clothes with sweat. After taking his second cold shower of the day he decided he would attempt to beat the heat by going out for ice cream. It would he hotter outside to be sure, but this would at least be more diverting than sitting at home, guzzling ice water, and wishing he were small enough to fit in the refrigerator. The fennec donned his lightest pair of shorts and a tank top before stepping out into the haze. 

 After an arduous walk Wheat arrived at the Dairy King. He sat in a (thankfully shaded) queue for what felt like hours before he was able to order his snack from the ice cream sovereign. It was double fudge and it tasted amazing. Every lick helped Wheat to forget further the boredom and heat he had suffered all morning. During the trek home he grinned openly at the passersby who eyed his ice cream with jealousy. The heat melted his treat swiftly, but the fox was more than happy to lap up the sweet, dripping mess. Unfortunately the ice cream soon came to an end and Wheat scarfed down the cone. Finally feeling fulfilled and relieved of his hunger Wheat pads casually down the street of his suburban home.

“Guess I can try to get some programming done.” He mumbles. “Heh, if my computer doesn’t melt that is.” For now this seems to be as good a plan as any. He figures that he will bring a secondary fan to his room to aid in cooling his computer in order to get something productive done in spite of the heat. 

Wheat suddenly feels a shock along his spine. The sensation is exactly like receiving a static shock, but encompasses all of his spinal column. When the fleeting zap fades Wheat shudders.

“Wwwoah, that was wei—Ah, urrgg my head!” The fennec fox shouts. A steadily pulsing ache within his head causes him to double over. Something about the suddenness and strength of the pain makes Wheat think that its source is decidedly unnatural. The fox begins to hallucinate. The ground and sky are changing shape and color. Then the houses begin to shift as well. Wheat’s headache thankfully departs him, but his disorientation continues. He watches incredulously as his entire world transforms. After an intolerable five or so minutes the fluctuant landscape becomes rigid. Fuzzy details increase in resolution until Wheaton finds him in a new place altogether. 

It is nighttime in the city. Which city this is, if it is a real city at all, Wheaton can only guess. Judging by the density of the buildings and general atmosphere Wheat would guess that he is in New York City. The fox leans against a nearby building as his body becomes acclimated with the sudden shift in locale. When he has suitably recovered Wheat walks toward the street ahead which appears to be a major one.

“What the hell is going on? How did I get here?” He says vacantly. As he approaches the street he becomes very scared for on this large and presumably central street there are neither pedestrians nor drivers. Instead the street is filled with abandoned cars and tattered garbage tumbleweeds. A loud din of alarms and shouting can be heard two blocks from Wheat’s current street-corner position. Poor Wheat looks around in a panic and finds no signs of life. He sorely wishes that he had brought his cell phone with him when he had left for his walk, though he questions if it would function in this abnormal situation. Wheat places a hand on a nearby lamp post and prods it. He was hoping that he had fallen into a dream or hallucination, but the cold hardness convinces Wheat that he is awake and has somehow been teleported.

The blaring alarms and shouting which continue to sound pique Wheat’s curiosity. Given this city’s abandoned state and the lack of population the fox is terrified of what he might find, but at least he might discover some form of answer for his spontaneous translocation. Wheat crouches and stealthily makes his way toward the din. The city is in a terrible state. The roads are cluttered and filthy, shattered glass lines the sidewalks of skyscrapers, and in a few places Wheat discovers gashes in concrete which alarmingly resemble claw marks. He can’t imagine what would have happened to decimate the city so completely, but as he stalks he can’t deny that something about the setting feels incredibly familiar. Down to the very sounds he hears the entire city reminds him of something.

The fox arrives at the corner around which lies his goal. Using his huge ears Wheat evaluates the situation. It is a skirmish. There is a middle aged man who sounds to be fighting with three others. These three walk with heavy steps and, Wheat can infer, possess big sturdy claws. The three attackers grunt and roar and seem to be catching up to their prey. Deciding that the group are satisfactorily distracted the fox hazards to poke his face around the corner. What he finds is shocking.

There is in fact a middle aged bear. He is surrounded by a pack of rodents. White rats of great size and monstrous appearance. They have bulging muscular bodies, sturdy legs, and toned arms. On their backs are large glass tanks of some green liquid which flows through tubes directly into their bodies. Their eyes glow in the same vibrant green as the liquid and peer over their boxy muzzles filled with sharp teeth. They do have gigantic feet and claws, three toes to a foot, and large three fingered hands. The oversized rats are not wearing pants and their endowments are bared for all to see. Though given their beastly aspect this is not surprising. Wheat blushes when he spies one of the rats who is sporting an erection. He hides again behind the corner. 

“This is impossible.” He thinks. “How can they be here? How am I here?” Upon seeing the giant rats Wheat understood the truth of his situation. The giant rats look exactly like characters from a video game; Duke Nukem: The Manhattan Project. He has, he assumes, been integrated into the world of the game. The fox’s heart races. His discovery of the ‘ratoids’ was exciting for a secondary reason. Wheat had always been fond of them when he played the game. He loved the beastly way they walk and how they carry G.L.O.P.P, the green liquid, on their backs. His appreciation did at times wander into the realm of the perverse. In light of this discovery Wheat rapidly deliberates. 

From around the corner Wheat overhears a forceful blow being dealt. A gasp is heard as the bear falls to his knees. He is scooped up by one of the ratoids, they fall into a huddle. Were he any other animal he might not be able to eavesdrop from this distance, but his sweeping ears pick up the ratoids’ every whisper. 

“We’re taking him to processing. Then we’re coming back up. Mech wants ten more by the end of the night.”

The ratoids remove a heavy sewer lid and one after another descend the manhole’s ladder.

Wheat is anxious. He wants to follow and rekindle his appreciation for the ratoids in this new light, but he also wants to find a way to return home. As he watches the final ratoids’ firm ass and swaying tail disappear down the hole he begins to rationalize. ‘I’ll just follow them. Mech Morphix is probably involved with what happened to me anyway. Maybe the ratoids will be friendly? Well probably not.’ Wheaton sneaks from around the corner after the ratoids have departed and investigates the manhole cover. It is in fact not a manhole cover at all, but a high-tech door. He fiddles with its disguised control panel and when it suddenly snaps open Wheat falls onto his tail in surprise. Praying that no one overheard Wheaton uses the ladder to descend into the unknown. Unsettlingly the circular door shuts itself and soundly latches as well. 

As he descends it becomes clear to Wheat that he is not entering a sewer. The sound of machinery hums with increasing volume and the neat, metallic hallway Wheat finds at the bottom of the ladder exactly fits his memories of the video game. The three ratoids Wheat is following are crossing a bridge of metal grating which seems to overlook a bottomless chasm. On the distant walls and fixtures is the ‘M’ logo signifying Mech Morphix’ ownership. Wheat hastily follows the group. He focuses carefully on them and occasionally uses discarded boxes and crates as visual cover. The trio don’t seem to have noticed him and continue to march with their unconscious prize. Wheat steps carefully onto the bridge. It holds no possible hiding places so he plans to hastily cross it and fall in step behind the group. 

As Wheaton takes his first step onto the bridge he is grabbed by the arm. A distinctive three fingered hand holds him with a vice grip. He is too shocked to scream. He slowly turns around to find a second squad of three ratoids. One of whom carries a free G.L.O.P.P canister. They had apparently come from a branch of the previous path which Wheaton had been too distracted to notice. The ratoid holding his arm looks down at him with a grin.

“Look what I found boys, a little, lost fox.” He says in a deep voice. The other ratoids surround Whaton and look down at him hungrily. 

“Oh, uhhh hi, guys.” Wheat says timidly. He is admittedly turned on by the rough handling and sudden close proximity to the ratoids, but shrinks from acting on the urge. “I actually am lost, do you think you could show me the way out of here?” 

“No. I don’t think we can.” The ratoid holding Wheat’s arm says. The bar code on his shoulder indicates him as being number ‘5069.’ “But you know, we love new faces around here. Maybe you should stick with us.” The ratoid pulls Wheat close to his body. The fox breathes deep his body odor and swoons. He hastily tucks aside his boner before tripping into the rat’s chest fur. He takes his time righting himself and stands awkwardly aside.

“I… I might like that. Actually.” Wheat admits. The ratoids look at him doubtingly. “I’ve always wanted to meet a ratoid in person. You guys are so cool. And so much… bigger than I expected.” Wheat says, glancing at 5069’s throbbing rod between them. He decides to use some flattery to help himself out of the situation. Of course his statements are coming from a place of sincerity.

“Oh?” 5069 says. He pulls Wheat into an embrace and holds him firmly around the waist. He leans close to Wheat’s ear and whispers, “You like this?” 

Wheat breathes heavily and allows his arms to slowly encircle 5069’s rock-hard chest. “Ye-yeah.” He moans.

“Good, that will make this easier for us.” 5069 says before tightening his grip. Wheat is surprised by the sudden pressure and begins thrashing. The other ratoids have sprung into action. The one carrying the G.L.O.P.P canister affixes it to Wheat’s back while the other secures its strap tightly. Wheat looks into 5069’s eyes pleadingly as a switch is flipped. The mechanized hoses of the canister spring to life. One embeds itself into the small of his back and the other two attach themselves to Wheat’s neck. They uncomfortably nestle in Wheat’s skin before the green ooze begins to flow. The ratoids release the fox who is frantically trying to free himself from the canister. As it is firmly attached to his back he is helpless to reach it. He can only listen as the tubes churn with the notorious transformative slime. 

Wheat growls loudly as G.L.O.P.P hits his bloodstream and rapidly courses through the entirety of his body. He shakes and quivers as the changes begin to take place. His muscles feel like they are on fire. There is a great pressure as his chest protrudes and packs on pounds of muscle. One by one his abs seem to pop and his pectorals groan as they reach a humungous size. The ratoids watch with glee as Wheat writhes from the discomfort. From his torso outward the fox transforms. His upper thighs balloon in size and also change shape. His plantigrade legs extend and adjust. His feet enlarge to become massive paws with the very huge claws he had always loved. He wiggles the well-clawed toes in amazement.

“Nnooo, I din’t want thisss.” Wheat hisses. The ratoids laugh in reply. 

Wheat is forced to hunch over as his back enlarges. The canister relentlessly pumps him with the addictive slime. The fox wishes he could turn it off yet with every ounce he is pumped he grows to love the feel of it. He does his best to hold into his intelligence as his body becomes increasingly monstrous. His arms double in girth. Cracking and popping loudly as they grow and his hands which had been five fingered transform into the meaty, three fingered hands that ratoids possess. Wheat’s neck is now wide and muscular and his face no longer resembles that of a fox. He looks over his rounded rat nose and twitches as his ears change shape. His wide triangular ears are now soft and rounded. 

During the entire transformation Wheat had been growing. Now, standing on his new paws, he nearly meets the stature of the nearby trio of ratoids. While the flow of G.L.O.P.P is relentless the transformation is beginning to subside. Wheat’s fluffy tail sheds to reveal the fleshy and cordlike tail of a rat which he then swishes in shock. His entire body pulses as the changes mercifully end. Wheat stands unevenly in his heavy new body and looks about with glowing green eyes. He is at a loss for what to do next. Distantly he believes he should try to escape, but this drive is overpowered by his sudden appreciation for G.L.O.P.P. As he is pondering the other ratoids approach.

“How do you feel brother?” 5069 says. He collides softly with Wheat and strokes his thigh.

“I uhhh.” Wheat begins, surprised by how dumb and bestial his voice sounds. “I feel good. But I have to get out of here. I think.” 

“Don’t you want to stay here with us?” 5069 says. He grinds lightly against Wheat’s leg as the others surround and caress him. Wheaton turns to mush. In the face of the stimulating slime in his body and the ratoids he had always dreamed of begin with he can no longer deny his urges. “You’re one of us now, afterall.” Wheat pants with half-lidded eyes. 5069 nods to the others and kneels before the stunned Wheat. He carefully takes Wheat’s dick in hand and coaxes it to its fullest size. One of the ratoids stands behind Wheat and gropes his ass. The third stands astride 5069 and kisses Wheat deeply and repeatedly, their muscular chests pressing together. 5069 then opens his mouth and warmly envelops Wheat’s cock before sucking and licking away. Wheat sighs sharply between his snogs with the ratoid facing him. The former fox places one arm around his partner and the other on 5069’s head. He plays with one of his flopping ears.

The four writhe in excided orgy. Wheat is impossibly happy. This situation is one had dreamed about for so long, but obviously never imagined it would happen. The ratoid behind him grinds against his tight ass while tracing Wheat’s musculature with a claw. 5069 is diligent in pleasing the ratoid. Despite his overwhelming pleasure Wheat starts to worry. He begins to remember the danger of his situation and starts to shy away. He pushes his kissing partner aside and pulls the rear ratoids arms away. 

“Wait, stop. I-I do want this, but I can’t be here. This isn’t right. I have to get back to my own world. You know?” Wheat says in his deep voice. 5069 looks up at the ratoid behind Wheat. A hiss is heard as Wheat’s canister is adjusted. The G.L.O.P.P suddenly flows much faster. Wheat pants as the fiery narcotic floods his system and overrides his rational mind.

“Grrrr yeah. More!” He shouts. The ratoids resume their humping which is ideal as the resurgence of green ooze has increased Wheat’s lust all the more. He pulls the front ratoid in closely and explores his mouth with his new tongue. He entwines his fingers with those of the ratoid in behind and humps into 5069’s yearning mouth. He is close to climax, but derives as much satisfaction from the other ratoids as possible. “Mmm, one of you now, yesss.” He groans. The rear ratoid had actually been increasing the flow of G.L.O.P.P for some time. At this rate Wheaton would surely be addicted in an hour or less.

5069 cups Wheaton’s balls in hand and sucks even harder. The new ratoid groans and grunts loudly as he makes the final humps. With both hands pulling 5069’s face he finally cums. His seed sprays directly into 5069’s throat and the ratoid swallows it sportingly. 5069 licks Wheat’s rod perfectly clean before removing his warm muzzle. The other three continue to grind and grope for some time before the two ratoids leave Wheat alone. 

Wheat stands panting and grunting. He can hardly remember what brought him to this strange place. All he can think of in this moment is spending time with his ratoid brothers and securing G.L.O.P.P. He looks expectantly with glowing green eyes at the others.

“Thank you. I-I understand now. I can’t believe I tried to deny you. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Wheat says, blushing from the bold faced statement.

“Hmm, I knew you’d come around.” 5069 says “You can call me 69, I am your commander.” Wheat smirks. 69 approaches him once again. On his way he happily kicks Wheat’s belongings off of the ledge into the blackness below. The shreds of clothes containing the last indicators of Wheat’s identity and his former life fall into infinity and the former fox could not care less.

“Let me see your arm.” 69 says. Wheat extends his burly arm as 69 produces a scanner-looking object. He directs it at Wheat’s shoulder and a red beam appears. It painlessly sears a barcode and serial number into Wheat’s skin. 7909 is the number. 

“Alright foxy. From now on you will be known as 7909.” 69 says, patting Wheat on the shoulder.

“Yes sir.” Wheat says, admiring the new tattoo.

The other ratoids, joined by 69 have begun to cross the bridge, Wheat, or 7909, follows after them.

“Listen up 7909. If you find a person to convert you will be given two gallons of G.L.O.P.P. If our whole team brings in ten we get a bonus. If you can’t bring in converts you’ll run out of Gl.O.P.P. Of course I might be able to lend you some if you do me a few private favors. Hehe.” 69 Explains.

7909 follows along in a daze. He has a headache and is generally disoriented, but he does feel one thing for certain. He is absolutely thrilled with his new body. The big canister of ooze which sloshes on his back excites him. He is literally living his dream. Despite the fact that he is effectively trapped now does nothing to diminish his glee. He flexes his ratoid hands and grins widely. His ratoid brothers guide him into the base. 7909 looks eagerly forward to embracing his role to the fullest.