“Holy shit! Come take a look at this.”
“Well, goddamn, it actually worked, but that's no bear.”
“Hell, no, but what is it?”
“Somethin' dumber than a bear to get caught in your trap.”
“Hey, my trap could catch a bear.”
“Y'idjit, that's a throp. It's got clothes on”
“Well, I can see that, but what is it?”
“How the hell should I know? I ain't no zootologist and even if I was, I don't care. It ain't human and that's all that matters.”
“Well, is it dangerous?”
“It ain't now. It's all bound up in your trap.”
“Ya think it's alive?”
“I can see it breathing. It's alive.”
“Ya think it can talk?”
“Who the fuck cares? Ya can't trust anything they say anyway.”
“Then what do we do with it?”
“Kill it before it can cause any trouble.”
“Then what do we do with the body?”
“Cook it up for dinner.”
“Are you crazy?”
“We's gonna eat the bear. What's the difference?”
“It's part human.”
“Not enough. Looks animal to me. Remember the rule: If ya kill it, ya eat it.”
“Well, I'm not gonna kill it, then.”
“It's a throp; it's just an animal.”
“It's wearing clothes, for God's sake.”
“My wife could put a sweater on my dog, but that don't make him human.”
“I didn't say it was human. I just don't want to eat it.
“Then what're ya gonna do with it, then?
“I dunno. We should find out where it came from. Might be one of those Vegas sex slaves.”
“Who cares? Ya caught it; kill it.”
“What if there's more of them?”
“Then we'll kill them, too. Fuck, next you'll be saying ya want ta invite them sand chiggers over for supper.”
“I think I'd rather have a Christian throp than one o' them.”
“Ain't no such thing as a Christian throp. Th'ain't got souls ta save.”
“All God's creatures got …”
“Ain't one o' God's. This perversion was made by men that don't listen ta God. If they did, they'd know better'n ta mess where they shouldn't.”
“It's alive and that's enough. God says thou shalt not kill, so I'm not.”
“Fuck. It's an animal, just like the deer you gots no problem shootin' and cookin' up.”
“Well, maybe I'm not gonna anymore.”
“What, yer just gonna leave?”
“Yup.”
“It's your trap. Get back here!”
…
The young morph listened to the footsteps receding in the dry leaves and waited in silence before cautiously looking to see if they had left. A man stood there, staring back sternly. This had to be the man that wanted morphs dead, but he was just looking.
“Well?”
Well? Well what? He won't believe anything. What's to say?
“Well, are you one o' them slaves from the sex ranch down in Nevada?”
The morph started to speak, but still couldn't think of anything to say. The compound was in Arizona, not Nevada, and they were training house slaves, not sex. Over two dozen morphs managed to escape before security caught on. That was last month. Now the target was a place outside of Colorado Springs that they had learned was auctioning morphs.
“Don't you get any ideas. I ain't no dog fuckin' pervert. Those teeth of yers ain't getting' anywhere near me and I ain't interested in yer dirty, animal pussy. Y'ain't even got any good tits.”
Fortunately, this wasn't it, or he would have other plans. Unfortunately, his plans might be worse.
–
Name?
Species? Basic
DNA Base? Animal or human
Gender?
Escape? No help
