A Prompted Story by /u/prompted-writing


An eccentric billionaire assembles a team of unscrupulous/financially desperate scientists for a singular purpose; to create an actual catgirl. Of course, the billionaire forgets that cats are apex predators that don't like being caged.

(reddit link)


Story in multiple parts due to comment length restrictions. See replies for next part.

--|--|--

Andre Truman is acting upbeat, but his face reveals his true feelings as he hoists the last of the scientific equipment into the trailer. His smile barely reaches the edges of his lips, let alone his eyes.

"It'll be alright, you'll see," he says, his slow-paced voice somehow resonating at an even lower pitch than his usual deep bass. He pauses a little too long as he sets the last beaker down amidst the test tubes. "We'll get a good price for this gear. It'll keep us afloat until we build a new life for ourselves down south."

Vixxy isn't buying it.

"You are not gonna sell your equipment, dadio! You're a man of science, big man! It's in your soul!" Her voice is her father's polar opposite: high, sharp and delivered in rapid bursts. She jumps effortlessly to the top of the haphazard equipment pile and lands without disturbing a single vial. Her long, baggy pants have barely settled, her colourful beanie is barely balancing lopsided on her head and already she has reached into the pile and fished out a calculator. She begins poking it at random to emphasise her point.

"Bip, bip, bop! You gotta be sciencing! You can't give up!"

Andre takes his time walking over to her. Vix waits for him, starring, head cocked, arms akimbo. She's as used to his languid pace as he is to her irrepressible speed. Andre pulls her beanie down so it's properly covering her ears. Her unkempt, bright green hair sticks out and frames her face. It looks like her beanie is stuffed full of pine needles.

"It's a tough market, kiddo, lotta scientists out of work right now. Not much call for science in this economy, but we'll find a way."

"Nuh uh! No way! The 'conomy can -BLEH-", she makes a retching sound, like she's coughing up a hairball. Vix pulls her hand back, ready to start knocking things off the pile in frustration. She see's Andre's eyes widen and catches herself. She carefully, deliberately puts the calculator back into the pile and then she's off again. Her jump to the ground is less a leap than an effortless step, merging seamlessly into inhumanly long bounds around the loading bay.

"Hey, hey now," says Andre, sticking his head out the loading bay door. He pulls it back in relief. "There's no-one around Vix, but we're in a public place. You've gotta be more careful."

"I know, dad!" Vix' tone is laced with exasperation. "I'm not a kit anymore! I know when someone's there. I can hear them, I can smell them."

Andre doesn't reply. He circles the trailer, throws a tarpaulin over the science gear and starts tying it down. She has no idea how close to finding them Musk got this time. He's protecting her from that knowledge. She's too young, too innocent to worry about the terrible resources Musk at his disposal and the utter ruthlessness with which he'd use them to reclaim her if he ever found them.

--|--|--

Elon Musk looks up from his tablet. He isn't happy. Manipulating the stupid masses into hating each other usually makes him happy, but it isn't working this time.

Someone is trying to get his attention. Whoever it is still far away, on the other side of the mega-yacht, past the pool and helipad. They're too scared to come closer in case they bother him when he doesn't want to be bothered. Their head is barely peaking out of the staff quarters.

He taps the screen, unleashing the algorithm to continue spreading hate without his supervision. He puts the tablet down.

"Come!" He calls, taking at least some small pleasure in watching his underling nervously scuttle across the massive deck. "What did you decide was worth bothering me about, ..." Elon looks at the man and snaps his fingers.

"Alan Pastrovic, sir. Your head of administrative affairs. Sir, we have some news, it's good news sir, news..., news on project NKO-Ultra". Elon raises an eyebrow. "That is, the, uhhh, catgirl project sir."

Now this is interesting. Elon begins actually paying attention. No-one steals from him without facing hellish retribution. "Continue."

"Our agents have located the asset sir. It is being concealed and protected by your former Chief Science Officer, Dr. Truman."

Elon has no idea who that is. He rarely bothers remembering his replaceable underlings. But not for long. This idiot he will research. He will memorise everything there is to know about this thieving fool, "Truman." It will make his vengeance so much sweeter.

Finally, the prize he invested in so heavily is nearly his. Elon jumps to his feet, suddenly inspired and energised, making his nameless underling stumble backwards.

"Send me the location and all the information you have. There's no room for your bumbling errors. I'll have the US military secure the prize."

"Sir, I'm, I'm so sorry sir, we haven't been able to exactly, as yet, pin down the exact location of NKO-Ultra. It, uh, seems to disappear any time our agents get close. B-but we have placed a tracker on Dr. Truman."

"Fine. Then have them secure that bloody thief and we'll extract its location."

"Yes sir, I'll make the necessary calls. Should we have them take him to Guantanamo, or, uhh, the TDDC Site?" Elon clears his throat, meaningfully. "I mean, the, uhh, The Lair, sir."

Elon was especially proud of the Taklamakan Desert Data Center. It was the largest he'd ever built and at no small cost. Two rivers had needed to be redirected and an entire city silenced after he'd taken their water supply. It wasn't cheap, but it was entirely worth the price. A construction projected of that scale in a place that remote made it was quite easy to incorporate additional facilities without global scrutiny---research labs unburdened by ethical oversight, production facilities for autonomous security forces, even dungeons.

A former employee, now deceased, had stupidly referred to the TDDC as "The Lair" over monitored communications channels. He'd had to be made an example of, obviously, but Elon eventually decided he liked the name, and especially liked how uncomfortable it made his underlings.

"Yes," he said, smiling for the first time in days, "I'll deal with that idiotic arsewipe at The Lair."

--|--|--
--|==|-- Part 2

Carlos hurries through the narrow data center corridors. Rather than walls, he is surrounded on all sides by endless racks of computer equipment. Each rack stretches from floor to ceiling, filled with flashing circuit boards, connected to each other by webs of yellow network cables. Through the gaps between the computer parts Carlos can just make out the heat-management infrastructure. Coloured pipes carrying water between the always-churning electronic brains, blue for incoming cold water, red for outgoing hot, like a grotesque circulatory system.

Carlos had always felt humbled, existentially humbled, in the endless, humid, data-walled corridors. Like a tiny worker cell inside a massive beast whose purpose he could not comprehend. The feeling is amplified now by the alarm sirens and throbbing red lights. The Lair is on full alert.

Carlos pushes his way through a door set in actual steel walls. It takes him out of the data tunnels and into the central administrative zone. He freezes. There is the boss, Musk, in full monologue mode. It doesn't matter how urgent his message is, interrupting Musk during a monologue, even distracting him would carry unthinkable consequences. Carlos stands motionless, halfway through the doorway, praying that Musk hasn't noticed him.

The boss is carrying a baton and circling a metal cage that restrains a giant of a man. The man is wearing a lab coat and thick glasses. His eyes follow Musk, but he makes no other reaction to the diatribe. Surrounding them are eight members of Musk's elite security detail, carrying automatic weapons.

Laying on the ground beside them, in a passive pose which hides their terrifying nature, are two automated robotic attack dogs. Their "heads", positioned unnaturally in the center of their bodies, are geometric prisms of omnidirectional sensors. Their "knees" bend in opposite directions on their front and rear legs. Their "bodies" look like clean geometric solids, but Carlos knows that they are covered with panels that conceal weapons of horrific potential.

"... think we don't know it stowed away on the tactical transport that brought you here? Then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought. We know it's in the facility. That's the point! There's hundreds of miles of intraversable desert in every direction. There's no escape. It's only a matter of time until we locate and secure it. Once we do, you can I are going to have weeks of fun in the information extraction chamber."

Elon pauses expectantly, clearly pleased with himself. The caged man doesn't take the cue to reply.

The silence stretches.

Elon moves aggressively towards the cage. It becomes apparent that the baton he is carrying is a cattle prod as arcs of electricity begin sparking along its length.

The giant speaks. "It is a she. And she knows where you are too."

As though on cue, a ceiling panel on the far end of the room explodes downwards. A figure swings out of it, so fluidly and quickly that Carlos barely has time to register what it is. It swings from the high ceiling and leaps to the top of the far wall. An agonising, ear-piercing sound fills the air, as the creature thrusts its claws into the wall, through the plaster and the Musk-pleasing wallpaper. Her claws---Carlos can see that it's a she now---slow her descent as they scrape against the metal base wall that separates the administrative zones from the data center proper.

Everyone else in the room stuffs their palms in their ears to block the noise. Everyone except the caged man, who reaches, unhurried, into his pocket, pulls out some strange looking ear plugs and carefully places them in his ears, as though this is all too familiar.

As far Carlos, the screech of claw on metal is sudden, agonising and unexpected. Though his eyes half-squint in instinctual recoil, he is still able to get a look at the slowly descending interloper.

It's, a girl. A teenager, perhaps. Instead of hair, her head is covered by bright green fur. The fur turns hot pink as it progresses up her two, large, pointed, furry ears. A long, thin, fur-covered tail emerges from behind her, also coloured green that fades to pink. She's wearing what looks like a spandex bodysuit. The bodysuit stretches from her wrists too her ankles and its dark blue base and subtle magenta swirls somehow manage to ground and compliment her vivid fur. Her feet are bare and also thrust into the drywall as she descends.

"Wooo! Zzziiip!" The catgirl calls as she dives from the wall and begins bounding along the floor towards Musk.

"Get it! Non-lethal force only! I want it alive!"

Carlos dives behind the administrative terminal to his left and eight trained soldiers simultaneously open fire with rubber bullets. Cowering there, all he can hear is havoc. Bullets firing and rebounding, glass shattering, people screaming.

"Incoming, cover m..."

"Take that fatso!"

"Your six, she's on your six!"

"Hey, meany, don't shoot your friend, he just wants to give you a kiss!" Followed by the crunch of skulls colliding.

Screams, bullets, the scrape of claws on hard floor. Carlos cannot tell how long it continutes, but eventually he dares a peek over around the side of the desk. Five soldiers are strewn unconscious around the room.

The catgirl has grabbed one of the remaining three by his hair and is bounding across the floor towards the cage, pulling him behind her. She looks both graceful and terrifyingly strong. The soldier is flailing and barey managing to keep his feet under him as he's dragged along. As she reaches the cage, without loosing any momentum the catgirl steps up the cage wall and backflips over her victim, releasing his hair just in time for his face to slam directly into the cage's electronic lock.

The soldier rebounds, unconscious. The cage lock sparks violently. The cage door opens.

"Time to fly, Dadio!"

"Idiots!" Screams Musk, cowering uselessly at the center of the chaos. "Canine units, activate!"

With uncanny speed, the robotic dogs are on their feet and in pursuit of the catgirl. Strange gleaming weapons emerge from their bodies as they bound after her with an unsettling, unnatural gait.

Carlos retreats behind the illusory safety of his computer terminal.

"Stay! Sit, ugly puppy! Argh! Ouchie, ouchie! That hurt!"

More crashing sounds and the shriek of robotic limbs. The momentary patter of rubber bullets, quickly cut off.

"Okey dokey! Fetcheroony!"

Curled up in a defensive huddle Carlos can barely make sense of the clamour of flesh and metal. It doesn't last long though, and the relative silence that follows is even more worrying. Until, at last, is is broken by Elon Musk's laugher.

It starts off slow but builds into a maniacal cackle.

"You thought you can take on me! Me! The richest man in the world!? You thought you could run from me? I own this world. I own everything and you are just..."

Carlos recognises the tone of Musk's voice as it rapidly builds to a full-blown monologue. He dares once more to peek out of his hiding place.

The first thing he sees is the disabled robotic dog, one of its freaky limbs torn off and the bodies of the two remaining soldiers strewn unconscious on top of it.

The second thing he sees is the still-very-much-active killer robot, pinning the cat girl to the ground. Electricity arcs ominously from its protruding weapons. The catgirl is looking up at it in terror, thrashing and twisting but unable to extricate herself.

The third thing Carlos sees is the boss, standing over the pinned girl, sheer delight on his face, spittle flying as he bellows his victory speech.

The last thing Carlos sees is the bear of a scientist, walking up behind Musk, his fists clenched together over his head like a giant sledge hammer.

Carlos tries call out a warning, but it catches in his throat. In that critical moment, that split second, Carlos' well honed instinct to never interrupt Musk's monologues wins out. He stays silent and slinks back behind the desk.

A fleshy thud interrupts Elon mid-sentence. Carlos recognises the second thud as the boss' body hitting the floor. A loud tone sounds, followed by an electric voice announcing, "Exclusive executive commander no longer present. Hijack prevention initiated. Deactivating limbs."

It's in that moment that Carlos realises, quite suddenly and with absolute certainty, that his future will be much better if he had never been in this room at all. He begins crawling back out the data-centre door. The last thing he hears is the sound of a large man unabashedly weeping, and a high pitched voice speaking over the top of him.

"Yeah, yeah, I missed you too. Ohhh! Can we keep a doggy! Can we go on the sand scooter! Pleeeease! Can we, can we?"