FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Merc's Metamorphs

copyright 2022 comidacomida

Chapter 1: Merc

Memories ran the scope of fleeting to unforgettable and, in Merc's experience, the worse the memory the easier it was to remember. Case in point: he remembered getting stitches in his head at four years old. The clinic his mom had taken him to was an outreach center for poor families which meant they made due with what they could; in the case of the exam table, it was a surgical steel slab and, for a four year old getting stitches for the first time it was doubly uncomfortable.

That thought was running through his mind as he pulled against his restraints much the same way the four-year-old-him fought against the nurses holding him still. That was almost two decades past, but he still hated the correlation. Then again, he reminded himself, he had no say in going to the clinic back them but, if he was being honest, he was the one who chose to get involved. Being 'Powered' meant that he had the capacity to combat other 'Powered' and, when you rose to the top tier of world-changing good-vesus-evil there were certain side effects... like being shackled up in a god damn dungeon lair when captured.

It wasn't the first time Merc had been captured and he was fairly certain it wouldn't be the last; it came with the job description. The one thing he took comfort in was that most times he was imprisoned he was able to escape and he owed that all to his irregular physiology. It only made sense, of course; plenty of the movers-and-shakers at the top were familiar with most Metamorphs, but Merc was no normal Metamorph. Most Metamorphs took on animalistic features when they activated their powers, but Merc became something else entirely after barely a year into learning his powers.

Although Merc had met a few Metamorphs pushing the tape measure at over eight foot in height they were few and far between... usually exhibiting features of huge animals like elephants or bears or, in one case, a whale. Merc, on the other hand, was closer to nine foot tall than eight foot and when he first gained his powers and Metamorph shape he had been a normal kangaroo/human mix, and not even seven and a half foot tall at that. His form had come a long way, and he was anything but normal.

After an inadvertent 'accident' involving an over-utilization of his powers, Merc's body changed into something far different when he took his Metamporph shape. Instead of being simply a kangaroo, he gained charcoal-black scales on his chest, abdomen, neck and hands. His marcopodine ears slid further back on his head, merging with a cobra-like hood which flared out, giving him an almost cobra-like appearance, especially when combined with the long, sinuous tail that had replaced his thick kangaroo one. The final difference was when all of the remaining fur on his body turned stark white, creating a very strong contrast with his dark scales.

Physical features were not the only changes of course, and some physiological ones manifested. Smiling, Merc turned his arm one way then folded it back on itself; the cobra part of him granted double-jointed limbs, and he planned on maximizing that benefit to free himself. The Metamorph hated being restrained to a metal slab and was ready to do something about it. Twisting and pulling, he was looking forward to being free from the annoying restraints but, just when he expected his hand to collapse in on itself he was startled when the metal clasps around his wrists tightened, completely circumventing his chance for escape.

Growling, Merc mumbled to himself "Damn it... almost makes me wish I didn't take this fucking job..."

"And is this casual regret, or are you ready to acknowledge you were wrong to stand against us, Merc?"

The Metamorph couldn't keep a deep scowl off his muzzle; only one person in the entirety of the region would take such a self-righteous 'holier-than-thou' tone, and Merc practically hissed out the name. "General Glory..."

There was a time, long before Merc gained his powers that he used to practically worship General Glory-- most little boys and teenagers did; most adults did, for that matter. He was the perfect incarnation of everything that made America "great"; he was stalwart, honest, courageous, and a true patriot. Merc used to think he was really hot, but, as the old saying went: don't ever meet your heroes. Merc had a chance to meet General Glory-- he even had a chance to work with him on occasion, but, in truth, working with the General wasn't all it was cracked up to be and it didn't take long before they found themselves on the opposite sides of an ever increasing conflict.

Standing at well-over six feet tall, General Glory was a statue of a man with finely chiseled features. He had a heroic chin and his cheeks, though high, were masculine beyond measure, as if carved from granite. The General's hair was perfect with every last strand in place, as though the very thought of him having a bad hair day was against the laws of nature. That self-same incarnation of perfection crossed the room with a confident stride, heading right toward the restrained Metamorph. "Oh, Merc... Merc, Merc, Merc... why must we keep meeting like this?"

The Kangacobra already had an answer ready "Because you can't seem to just let us take the diamonds and be done with it?"

Merc and his group had been paid good money to secure a sack of green diamonds. Although easily confused for emeralds and worth only half as much as normal, clear diamonds, his employer needed them for an experiment... one General Glory's group of Legendary Heroes would not appreciate. The cash was good and it seemed like any easy job, but Merc hadn't counted on interference, and the only thing he liked less than being talked down to by a self-righteous prick was interference. General Glory, however, didn't seem to take note of Merc's preferences.

The man had stopped walking toward him and, instead, floated several inches off the floor, levitating back and forth across Merc's field of vision as if pacing as he spoke. "Oh, Merc... there are plenty of Metamorphs who choose to side with the Legendary Heroes-- you've worked with us on more than one occasion... and yet you can't seem to keep out of trouble. Why do you continue to act out?"

Merc sneered. "Well, if you and the misers at Legendary HQ paid better then maybe I wouldn't have to find work elsewhere."

It wasn't that the two hadn't had the discussion before-- far from it; General Glory had 'the talk' with him at least a half dozen times, and yet the Legendary Hero couldn't seem to stop talking down at anyone with special powers who chose anything but the 'path of righteousness'. Then again, anyone who had ever spent any time around General Glory realized just how flawed the man was. "Isn't it just like you people to sell your services to the highest bidder."

From anyone else, the term 'you people' could have meant any number of things, but General Glory, as it turned out, was something of a relic who had never quite kept pace with the times. Although the leader of the Legendary Heroes looked scarcely older than thirty he was, in fact, over a hundred and fifty years old. General Glory, while not an actual general, had served in the US Military-- specifically as a lieutenant during the Civl War. He fought for the Union but, as Merc had witnessed time and time again, the man was hardly a paragon of racial tolerance. The Metamorph had no trouble calling him on it too. "Oh... 'You people', huh?"

General Glory roated in the air to face him, his handsome face tweaked slightly in displeasure. "We've talked about this before, Merc... you are a bad role model for all of the rest of the little brown kids who cross over the border. You may be too young to remember what happened last time you Mexicans caused problems for the Union, but I do... and it didn't end well."

Few people managed to get under his skin (or scales) like General Glory. Despite being born and raised in New York, Merc was proud of his heritage, which was mixed Dominican and Columbian. He wasn't, as General Glory implied, Mexican. "No soy de Mexico, pendejo."

The Legendary Hero's expression soured further. "I do not speak 'Cartel', Merc... try English.... it's our national language for a reason."

The Metamorph rolled his eyes; in addition to the statement being beyond racist it was also blatantly wrong. "The U.S. doesn't HAVE a national language."

As if flipping a switch, General Glory's expression changed once again to a more serene, calm, and benevolent one. "Merc... I am not here to argue with you. I'm trying to HELP you. I'm here to tell you that there's a better way. It's no secret that Legendary HQ sees great promise in you. Maybe it's time to consider joining the right side."

Merc tried to flip him off, but the restraints keeping his wrists pinned made it hard to 'aim' the gesture. "You're such a relic... the 'right side' is just the one that is better at propaganda, man. Besides, why would I want to work with a relic like you? You're a raging, bigoted asshole."

General Glory didn't rise to the bait. Simply shaking his head, the man straightened out his outfit, which looked like a sky-blue version of a civil war union uniform with a bright silver star on the chest, and then casually brushed some seemingly imagined speck of dust from it before sighing. "You kids these days... so headstrong. Willing to rush forward without even looking because have convinced yourself that you know everything. If you colored folk would spend less time running your mouths off and more time--"

The Kangacobra had head enough. "Check your privledge, Glory... you know HQ doesn't like it when you go off on your racist rants."

The chiding finally had an effect; if there was one thing General Glory hated it was being told he was wrong, and that went double every time he got reprimanded by the command team for his social faux pas. "These restraints will keep you from changing. We'll see if you're more reasonable in another few hours... I'm told Metamorph transformations can be VERY uncomfortable if they're sustained for too long."

Merc couldn't resist. "You mean like an erection? Or more like having a stick up your ass? Seems to me that you've been handling that just fine for a hell of a lot longer than a few hours, General, sir."

General Glory about-faced, feet landing on the ground again as he made his way back out of the room. "If you act like a child then you can be treated like one. I'll give you some time to sit here in time out and think about what you've done, boy"

The Kangacobra stared daggers at the Legendary Hero, who strolled out of the unofficial 'dungeon' without another word; Merc really hated that guy and, for probably the dozenth time in two weeks wished that he'd given himself eye lasers. Letting out a sigh, Merc lamented many things more than that, but it was a side-effect of one of his biggest regrets: already having selected his two powers.

Unlike Legendary Heroes, who usually had somewhere between three to five, most Metamporphs, in addition to their alternate form, only had one and, on rare occasion two. The other main difference was that Legendary Heroes' powers were usable all the time, while Metamorphs could only use theirs when they shifted into their animal-like form. It was generally acknowledged that Metamorphs were inferior to the Legendaries, but, just like in many other ways, Merc broke the mold.

Most Metamorphs were born humans and underwent a change of sorts-- some were chemically altered in laboratories, some had freak accidents with nuclear radiation or some mutagenic compound, and others still were the targets of otherworldly curses (Merc smirked to himself, playing through his mind what something like that would be like for the stupid people who generally disbelieved magic). As a special case, Merc didn't gain his powers from science or from ancient curses, but from an artifact-- one of the rarest forms of Metamorphs there was. Then again, maybe he only thought that because he'd never encountered another one who gained its powers like he did.

Flexing his left arm, Merc then did the same to his right; although he knew the glove was there, it disappeared into his body when he took on his Metamorph form. It was a fairly innocent-looking thing and the day he'd picked it up out of a trashcan in an alley near his house, it changed everything-- not the least of which was his form. Practically overnight he became a celebrity among Metamporphs and the huge fandom that followed them. Unlike other Metamorphs, who only had one or two abilities, Merc had one or two AT A TIME. He had been an all-white Kangaroo, and every time he took that shape he could select up to two powers-- they didn't even need to be the same as the ones he'd chosen previously!

Yet none of that did him any good, especially since he had two powers active and neither of them would get him out of his restraints. Oh, sure, he could always activate a third, except the results would be less than ideal-- he'd done that once and he learned from THAT mistake. No, he realized, he would be forced to continue dealing with General Glory and the smug son of a bitch's monologues, which he filled with intolerance and willful ignorance. "Fuck me, I need a drink."

"A fuck and a drink? Both of those can be arranged."

Merc's outspoken inner thoughts were, for the second time that evening answered by another party. Looking up, the Kangacobra saw a line of climber's rope descending from the ceiling. In any normal circumstance that wouldn't have been at all spectacular except for the fact that it was actually hanging THROUGH the ceiling. As short a time as a few months prior, Merc didn't have the first inkling of understanding as to how "matter transversal" worked, or even what it was, but after Demon gained his powers, it became applied knowledge-- superficially, anyway, since he still had next to no clue how it worked.

Even as the rope lowered down to the ground, Demon himself made an appearance, phasing through the floor just like the cable to which he clung. Demon, Merc's number two, was a Metamorph like him but, at the same time, in many ways not like him. Unlike Merc, Demon had two abilities which remained consistent, and the first was matter transfersal, or, more casually: the ability to make matter pass through other matter. Demon was a pit bull, which meant he had the tail to go with the rest of the body and, as Merc watched, he could tell from how it was wagging that his friend was about to get on his case.

Demon made good on it. "So... figured you'd just take the night off and hang out with General Glory, huh?"

Merc rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't be my ideal version of a good time, but I suppose I could think of worse."

The Pitbull chuckled, letting go of the rope; it immediately fused with the ceiling. Making his way over to where Merc was restrained, the Dog looked him up and down. "Worse... as in something like being chained to an operating table?"

The Kangacobra tensed his muscles, straining for a moment against his shackles. "Oh, is that what this is? I thought it was General Glory's own personal sex swing."

An ephemeral, almost nonexistent voice entered into Merc's mind; he didn't so much hear it as he sensed it. "So... which Legendary got him?"

Merc shot a withering gaze at Demon; dealing with the Pitbull was one thing, but to hear the blow-back from the third member of their team would be something else entirely. The Dog didn't take the hint. "It was General Glory."

Demon's statement was spoken aloud, assuredly for Merc's benefit, since Bruiser, their telepath was able to read their surface thoughts as easily as he was able to project his own. The projection, in that moment, was reduced to the world's most annoying guffaw. "No shit? Oh man... Merc, how in the hell could you get captured by THAT old, uptight prick?"

The Kangacobra didn't particularly like being restrained in what basically amounted to a high class dungeon, but being picked on by his teammates certainly didn't help. "Stick it in your blowhole, Bruiser. Can you two at least get me out of here before General Geriatric gets back?"

Bruiser, the third member of their team, was a Metamorph like Merc and Demon and, as an Orca, he tended to get most of the nautical-themed grief. Still, the group's telepath took it well, shifting over into a more professional tone (if such a thing were possible with sharing thoughts) as he noted "The General is heading up to the third floor, secure in his victory... as usual."

Demon reached forward and took hold of one of Merc's paws. "You know... for as often as that guy trips up at the 5 yard line, he really isn't that great with the follow-through, is he?"

Merc snickered. "Maybe he's getting addled in his old age."

Giving a quick yank on Merc's arm, the Pitbull pulled it right through the restraints. He repeated that with the Kangacobra's other arm then each of his legs, using his Metamorph powers to bypass the bindings completely. "You know, while we're here and he's alone, I bet the three of us could take him, no sweat."

Shaking his head, Merc rubbed his wrists. "First, we're not getting paid to play with General Douchebag... and second, we're getting real close to two hours."

No other information needed to be said; Merc's glove controlled their changes, and their Metamorph forms only lasted 60 minutes at a time. Demon sighed, making his way back over to the rope. "Fine... but I still think we could take him."

Bruiser's mental assessment was far different. "He can fly, he has laser eyes and he has super strength... if Merc chose better powers for fighting him MAYBE... and that's a BIG maybe, Demon. Anyway, get back up here... it's windy, and someone in the base is talking about a helicopter incoming soon."

The Pitbull reached out and grabbed hold of the rope, causing it to give a slight jump as it once against phased through the ceiling above rather than be trapped in it. "Eh... I still think he'd be a pushover... all we'd have to do is start making out in front of him and he'd be so sick to his stomach he'd surrender just to get us to stop."

Merc pushed his paw into Demon's face, not just to get him to shut up, but also to free up a little room so as to make it easier to ascend the rope. "Yeah, yeah... you're just looking for a good excuse to get some of this hot Metamorph body."

Demon winked. "Scales and fur? What's not to like?"

Bruiser, as usual, had to take it just a little too far. "Don't forget the two penises... his cobra body gave him the benefit of packing it double."

A little too far... or not far enough, depending on Merc's mood, and the Kangacobra was definitely in the latter. "Hey... two from me means an equal opportunity for the both of you..." but he wasn't about to lose sight of the objective. "But let's deal with the task at hand for now and follow up with the two of you getting the simultaneous pounding of your lives once we're back home."

Unlike many of the Metamorph groups out in the world, Merc's squad actually knew one another outside their 'special activities'. The fact that it was Merc's glove that gave his friends their powers was not lost to either of them and, in part, was likely why, when it came time to sign contracts with potential employers they had to settle on a name to reflect that situation. A lot of people often claimed that Merc was a little egocentric, but it was Chance and Bruiser who had selected their team name, and both liked to remind him of that often.

Bruiser reached down and helped Merc up through the ceiling, getting him situated safely on the roof before the Kangacobra let go of the rope to lose his, as Bruiser put it 'matter-pass-y-through-y' affect. The Orca smiled. "And it looks like Merc's Metamorphs live to contract another day."

Merc scowled. "You know I hate that name."

The Orca winked, helping Demon up onto the roof. "Why do you think we keep using it?"

The Pitbull got in on the fun. "And leaked it to the press."

The Kangacobra scowled. "I hate you both."

Demon chuckled, giving Bruiser a light elbow. "Uh oh... careful... looks like Merc may plan on getting revenge."

The Orca began spooling up the rope. "That's fine... as long as he does that later. Helicopter is incoming and I don't wanna be stuck on this roof when it flies overhead. How about we G.T.F.O.?"

Merc glanced around, looking for their method of getting off the roof, but he paused when he noticed something missing. "What about the diamonds? Did you guys already get those or what?"

Demon cut a soft growl short. "No, dumb ass... we were too busy saving you."

Bruiser's eyes gleamed a faint lavender for a split second. "They're on the second floor... east wing."

The Pitbill shrugged, rolling one shoulder then the other as he strode across the roof. "Lemme know when I'm on top of--"

The Orca spoke up. "Right now."

Demon disappeared into the roof, sinking right through it. Merc shot a glance toward Bruiser, who didn't bother meeting his gaze; the Orca was focused on the place where the Dog had disappeared. Nevertheless, Bruiser's voice popped into the Kangacobra's head. "The diamonds were put in the holding safe in The Professor's office."

Merc didn't like the sound of that, especially since, out of the entirety of the Legendary Heroes, The Professor was the only one who didn't have any powers. Rarely ever in the field, The Professor was smart. Wicked smart. A certified fucking genius. He made MENSA members look like remedial elementary students. Worse for them, it wasn't just that he was and he wasn't just a brilliant thinker, he was a shrewd, crafty, wiley one. That fact sent a warning tingle up his spine. "Tell Demon to be careful in there... it's not gonna be some simple snatch and grab."

Bruiser was quiet for several seconds, eyes still on the room. "Demon says that he can't phase through the safe... it's resisting his power."

Scowling, Merc wasn't about to call it quits, but there were limited options on how to get at the diamonds if Demon couldn't get past material that wasn't affected by his abilities. Letting his brain known that it was going to have to earn its keep, the Kangacobra began considering alternate ways to problem solve; even though The Professor was inhumanly savvy, he didn't know everything about Demon's powers and that would hopefully work to their benefit. An idea popped into his head. Turning to Bruiser, he gave him a message to transmit. "Ask Demon if he could find something to phase through the safe other than his arm... maybe a ruler or something?"

The Orca glanced his way for a second before focusing again on the roof. Several seconds passed before the results were relayed. "Nope... ruler went through but the power isn't transferring to the bag of diamonds."

Merc was ready to have a fit but, in a moment of spontaneous ingenuity, he came up with an idea. "See if Demon can phase out the floor... if he can't get into the safe maybe he can drop it down a level."

Bruiser looked at him like he was an idiot. "How is that gonna help exactly? He'll just have to follow after it-- safes like that don't just break because they drop twelve feet, Merc."

The Kangacobra didn't miss a beat. "When the diamonds hit the carpet Demon can phase his power into them and the safe will pass through them like the floor."

The Orca actively scowled. "Demon said he can't transfer his power through the safe-- if he couldn't get the diamonds to phase with the ruler what makes you think the floor would do it?"

Although Bruiser had a point, Merc wasn't about to give up. "Well... it's better to try SOMETHING than just sit here hoping a solution will fall in our laps."

Still scowling, the Orca returned his focus to the roof. Merc waited (im)patiently, mindful of his surroundings since he hadn't forgotten a helicopter was soon to arrive and remaining on the roof put them in clear view of anything overhead. He was just starting to come up with a follow-up plan when a loud crash boomed from below, along with a muted "FUCK!" from Demon.

Merc wanted an update. "What's going on?"

Bruiser had a disappointing answer. "The safe fell through, but the diamonds didn't take, so it's hanging from them cuz they're still pinned against the floor... I guess the floor inside the safe stopped phasing like the rest of it."

"Then what about--"

The Orca interrupted. "Some of the henchies inside heard something... they're on alert."

'Henchies' was the rude term Powered folk used to describe hangers-on who were aligned with one group or another but didn't have any powers themselves. In the case of the Legendary Heroes' henchies, they were usually equipped with equipment prepared specifically by The Professor, and that meant they were still plenty dangerous. Merc's mind, once again, used the urgency to spur creativity. "How about having him end the phase-- lock the safe half way through the floor."

Brusier's face screwed up in concern, but there was a glint of recognition in his eyes. "You're really wanting to gamble on this, huh?"

Merc's Metamorphs spent a lot of time learning about their various powers over the course of the months they'd had to experiment and one thing they came to understand about Demon's matter transversal was that, when Demon stopped touching items that were phased, they would end up occupying the same space, and the smaller of the two items usually gave way to the larger. The problem was that it wasn't always the case. Merc made the call. "Can you think of another way to get through the safe? Sawing through it with the floor is what we have time for, so tell him!"

Bruiser let out a long sight. "Fine... You realize that the Dire Legion won't be happy if we fuch this up, and YOU'RE the one who signed the agreement."

The Orca returned his attention to the roof and, a moment later, the prior crunch was outdone by what sounded like an enormous crash. Four furred fingers appeared from within the roof and Demon pulled himself up, emerging from below. "Okay... so whatever was underneath the office was breakable."

Merc wasn't all that concerned about whatever got trashed inside the Legendary Base. "Well? Did you get the--"

Demon held up the sack. "Can we get the fuck outta here now?"

There was no further objection.

* * * * *

The Metamorph transportation only last two hours, and that was not a lot of time to pull off a heist, break out of Legendary custody, drop off 'the goods' and make it back safe and sound to somewhere the three could return to their non-Metamorph forms in private. Fortunately,the contract Merc had signed with the Dire Legion meant that he had a local dead drop where he could turn in their ill gotten gains; payment would follow up within twenty four hours. There were some definite benefits when dealing with mega villain groups, namely secure, speedy and untraceable electronic payments.

A less in-the-loop mercenary squad would have doubts about a group like the Dire Legion making good on their debts, but those would be the kind of people who bought into the Legendary Hero hype. Merc knew better; if the Dire Legion got a reputation for not making good on their contacts they'd soon find themselves without hired muscle, and Merc's Metamorphs were well known enough throughout the market that, mega villain status or no, stiffing them on a paycheck would black list em for sure.

Lacking any kind of transportation that could accommodate their Metamorph forms, Merc and his companions were forced to handle things the old fashioned way: the Kangacobra had incredible physical aptitude in his Metamorph form, and that meant he had no real difficulty in leaping from roof top to roof top. Knowing they had a trip ahead of them, Merc was very specific when selecting one of his powers, and it was the ability to reduce his companions to one fourth their normal size. The rules of physics still applied, however, and that made them much more dense, meaning, as he carried them, he was hauling along close to a thousand pounds; Metamorphs weren't small.

Even with that restriction, Merc made good time bounding across the city. The kangaroo portion of his body was made for jumping, while his greater-than-human strength and stamina allowed him to manage the extra encumbrance without any major reduction to his top speed. After a few miles it did start to take its toll but, fortunately, they'd arrived at the dead drop. Merc kept visual watch while Bruiser scanned the area telepathically; Demon, in the meantime, went to the large boulder in the park and walked right into it, phasing through the stone with the bag in-paw. He returned without it. Merc knew that the Dire Legion would be able to collect the goods; it wasn't the first time they'd used the spot and it would doubtlessly not be the last.

From that point, Merc had to suck it up; the had a few miles left to go in order to get across town and back to their base of operations. Even as Demon approached for a fresh 'resizing', the Pitbull announced "Glad that's over... how about we not fuck with the Legendaries again for awhile? Not sure all this trouble is worth the pay."

Merc felt his mind tingle and Bruiser gave a chuckle, clearly identifying that he'd done a precursory scan. The Orca winked at the Dog. "Wait til you see the zeroes attached to the paycheck... you might change your mind."

Forestalling any further dialogue (or brain scans), the Kangacobra reached out and grabbed each of his companions. In a matter of three seconds they were reduced to what Merc liked to refer to them as 'travel sized'. Hefting them up, he sprang into action, bounding up and onto the boulder, onto a tree, onto a lamp post and then onto the nearest roof top. It didn't take him long at all to get up to speed, at which point they were off like a shot, springing from roof top to roof top across town. There were a number of good reasons why Merc wanted to get home, but the ten minute warning alarm coming from his pocket was probably the most easily evident.

In a matter of four minutes, the three of them had arrived at the end of the buildings; a large, four lane street separated them from their destination: a large, walled structure that, even at midnight, wouldn't be without eyes wandering the grounds. Backing up on the long, flat roof of the warehouse on which he stood, Merc readied himself, judging the distance he'd have to clear to make it across the road. He gave his companions a single warning. "Tuck and roll when we land."

Bruiser only groaned, while Demon had a comment to offer. "You know I hate the 'tucking and rolling' thing."

Time was short and Merc really didn't have time to argue. "Lose a few pounds and your belly won't get in the way."

"Fuck yo--" Demon didn't get a chance to finish his statement.

Perhaps it was the Kangaroo portion of his Metamorph form, but, for Merc, there was something liberating about bounding. He crossed the 60 feet of rooftop in a matter of seconds and then, coming to the end, he pushed as hard as he could with his hind legs, slapping his tail against the concrete as he rocketed out, soaring through the air. Using that same meaty tail as a counter balance, Merc made sure he was able to twist his body in such a way that he'd be able to land feet first; his legs were strong and could absorb the vast majority of his impact, but he'd still have to go into a roll.

Just as the ground rose up to meet him, Merc shot his legs out, cushioning his forward momentum as they took the weight of his body like two shock-absorbing springs. At that very moment he tossed his two partners to the side and then went into a roll, springing into the air to reduce some of the momentum, and came down with his natural shock-absorbing legs bleeding off the rest of the kenetic energy. Despite Demon's objection, the Pitbull also fared just fine. Bruiser, unfortunately, ended up on his face, mumbling something about ducking and rolling not working well with a dorsal fin.

Helping the Orca up, both Merc and Demon moved to the wall. They both looked to the Orca, whose eyes glowed softly. Tensing, the Pitbull placed a paw against the wall; Merc and Bruiser both reached out touch the Dog. The moment their telepath caught an opening in the patrols, Demon led them safely through and, from there it was a quick trip across open ground toward the building they sought. The entry to the three story building was key coded and the lights out front would put them in clear view of anyone watching; that was not going to be helpful. Fortunately, Merc had an idea.

As the Kangacobra's eyes meandered to a statue in the middle of the courtyard, Demon had apparently already put together the plan. "Fuck me... tuck and roll twice in one night, Merc? Are you serious?"

With three minutes left, they really didn't have much time to be picky. Rather than provide an answer, Merc just picked up his companions and, not even bothering to shring them, he sprang into action. With one bound and a jump, the Kangacobra easily cleared the 10' height of the statue plus its base, landing with his large, long foot paws on either of the statue's shoulders. Lingering no more than a split second, he pushed with all his might, clearing the distance to the rooftop of the building-- or, rather, he almost did.

The impact of his body against the concrete facade of the building knocked the air out of him. A moment later he was no longer responsible for carrying the weight of Demon and Bruiser; they managed to grab hold of the lip of the roof and he was left dangling from them. While neither of his companions were quite as large as he was in their Metamorph forms they were each plenty strong and they were able to work as a team to scamper up onto the top of the building, and to the safety of the darkness there.

Bruiser chuckled softly once all three were laying on their backs, gazing skyward, breathing heavily. "Well... it wasn't a tuck and roll."

Demon wasn't reassured. "Screw you, Fishman."

The Orca wasn't the least bit insulted. "Cetaceans are mammals, not fish, Dog-face."

Merc slowly got to his feet, doing a quick check of his abdomen to make sure nothing was broken; as far as he could tell he got away from the collision unharmed except for his pride... until he reached for his cell, and his paw came away with a trashed piece of technology. "God damn it."

Demon glanced over and he smirked, tail starting to wag. "Come on, dude... you kept saying you needed a new one... so now you have a reason to finally spend the cash."

The Kangacobra snorted. "Whatever-- I'm more worried about the timer I had running... I don't think we have time to get back downstairs."

Bruiser took a step back. "Well.. here's as good a place as any."

Demon shuffled his foot paws. "Uh... what if someone sees us in the hallway?"

The Orca thumbed over his shoulder toward the stairwell entrance, "I got a stash up here... it'll have everything we need."

The conversation was an important one, but Merc wasn't about to risk Metamorph complications by not returning to human shapes within the allotted time. Folding his paws together, the Kangacobra reached 'through' his fur until he felt his glove where it lay within his body-- metaphorically speaking, anyway. He really wasn't sure how it worked, but the results still functioned and, as he imposed his will upon the artifact, he felt the world around him grow larger or, more specifically, he lost a quarter of his height, and nearly half his weight. His fur and scales all disappeared, leaving him completely bare skinned. He took in a breath through his clenched teeth when his bare feet felt the cold of the roof.

His companions likewise went through their change. Before long, three naked twenty-somethings stood in one another's company, the rest of the world oblivious to their presence. It might have put him ill at ease at one point but after so many months it was all but routine. Well... routine if it had been in private; being on the roof left them a little exposed. Fortunately the supplies were right where Bruiser had indicated. The pudgy white guy who had been Demon was quick to rummage through everything. "What the fuck, Juan! There's just towels and a water jug here!"

Juan, no longer an Orca picked his way across the roof, wincing, most likely due to an uneven piece of concrete; the Latino's dark skin made Chance look even whiter. "Exactly. Water for our hair, and towels for our waist, Chance. As far as anyone knows we just forgot our clothes when we went to the showers."

Chance sighed, grabbing one of the towels as he splashed himself right in the face with the water. "FUCK that's cold!"

Juan picked out a towel and tossed the other to the third member of their company, the tall Hispanic guy with curly black hair who, up until that point had been Merc. "You alright, Frank?"

Frank pulled his eyes from his companions, berating himself for how distracted he'd become. He'd known Chance since they were kids and Juan had been a recent fling; was seeing them naked that distracting? In truth, he had to admit he'd always enjoyed Chance's bulky build and back when they'd first fooled around as seniors in high school it had certainly been fun. Then again, Juan was a much more recent acquisition and the guy's swimmer build was something to behold. Making a mental note to rub one out in the future before a mission so he wouldn't get distracted, Frank accepted the towel Juan tossed his way before answering. "Fine... just thinking about this mission... we cut it pretty close."

Chance gave his shoulders a precursory wipe down with his towel, leaving his hair wet before wrapping the cloth around his waist; his ample hips made it difficult to cover everything and he had to leave the towel open along his left thigh. "I told ya it'd be easier if we kept outta sight and didn't get involved with groups challenging the Legendary Heroes."

Frank accepted the water from Juan, who'd already wet himself down and had the towel closed around his waist. Upending the jug to take the last of the water, he shivered; it WAS fucking cold! Quickly wiping himself down, he likewise covered his unmentionables; although everything was usually covered up by scales when he was in his Metamorph form, on the occasion he 'got frisky' as a Kangacobra, his 'parts' were a lot harder to hide-- not just because of the size difference, but having two cocks didn't exactly lend itself to subtlety. Thankful for small favors of just-a-little-larger-than average endowments as a Human, Frank headed toward the stairwell.

He was followed quickly by Chance and Juan followed thereafter. It was the last of their number who spoke as they walked down the stairwell. "Hey, Frank? You ever question how smart it is taking a job from whoever pays the most?"

Frank stopped at the landing for the third floor, opening it up and making his way into the hallway beyond. It was almost midnight on a Thursday so the building wasn't very busy; the few people out and about didn't so much as spare them a second glance. Keeping his voice down, he led his companions to their shared dorm room. "Hey... if the world wanted us to play fair then college wouldn't cost so much."