Birds of a Feather (FUC Academy), page 1
BIRDS OF A FEATHER
A FUC ACADEMY STORY
SCARLET FOX
Copyright © 2024, Scarlet Fox
Cover Art © 2024 Dreams2Media
An EveL Worlds Production : www.worlds.EveLanglais.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This story is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
CONTENTS
Introduction
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Also by Scarlet Fox
About the Author
INTRODUCTION
What the flock?
Gabrielle Crowe wants nothing more than to see Dr. Grimm pay for his crimes. The problem is no one knows he exists and she can’t tattle since she can barely caw. Revenge seems doubtful until an alluring stranger glides into the nest she calls home and starts asking questions. But can Gabby trust this beautiful woman?
Lyla Cruiz wants to be free of the IV bag that keeps her energy up while dragging her spirits down. Seems like she’ll never be free to soar until she meets Gabby. Suddenly, breaking the rules to help her new friend has this hummingbird fluttering and feeling alive like never before.
However, tasting the nectar of happiness comes with danger. Can Lyla handle it, or will her flight be cut short?
Does this premise and world seem familiar? That’s because it is based off the Eve Langlais Furry United Coalition. Eve Langlais has invited her author friends to come and play in her world. To find out more, visit worlds.EveLanglais.com.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my friends, family, and fans for always supporting me. You mean more to me than I could ever say.
Thank you to Jessica Ripley for the help with the edits and rearranging of things. You always help the flow and point out the kinks that need working out.
Thank you to Devin Govaere for the final read-through and suggestions. Your insight is invaluable and I enjoy reading your comments.
Thank you to Rebecca Pool for the beautiful cover art. Your talents always amaze me.
And thank you to Eve Langlais, for creating this world and not only allowing others to play in it, but supporting and encouraging us to keep going! This is my fourth book in the F.U.C. world and I couldn’t be happier to be given the chance to bring the readers another story!
1
Broca’s aphasia.
The medical diagnosis for what Gabrielle Crowe had been experiencing resembled a cruel nightmare. It was a type of brain damage brought on by the crazy experiments thought up by a pair of deranged minds: Sandy and Dr. Grimm.
The pair of evil researchers had abducted Gabby last year. She and many other birds—including her dad—were held in their underground compound where the scientists attempted to break down a shifter’s transformation. The results were horrific. Many were stuck in various stages of the change to bird form. Some were stuck with bird legs, others with bird heads or eyes. Some were completely in bird form but could speak a few words. While Sandy toyed with the language centers in Gabby’s brain, Dr. Grimm had other plans. FUC and ASS were able to mount a rescue before Gabby learned of his diabolical plan.
When she was first rescued, it took the doctors a bit to realize what the problem with her language was. It took them even longer to figure out that her mind worked fine. Though she could think fine and understand others, when she tried to communicate, it came out all wrong. Something happened on the journey of language from her brain to her tongue, or hand if she was writing. Even more annoying, she sometimes confused yes with no. Sometimes she could utter a word or two, but none of the doctors of WANC—the Working and Administration Networking Core at the Furry United Coalition Newbie Academy, or FUCN’A, for short— could comprehend what she was trying to say.
The worst, though, was trying to tell the agents that, while they’d arrested Sandy, the red-tailed hawk shifter, Sandy hadn’t been alone in her actions. Dr. Grimm, who was also involved, was still at large. When they told her Sandy had been captured, all she could say was, “No.”
They reassured her that no one would harm her again. She wished they could understand that she was trying to tell them Sandy wasn’t the only evil doctor in the underground lab. Dr. Grimm was still on the loose, and no one knew, aside from her and maybe a few others who probably couldn’t communicate either.
Not that Gabby didn’t keep trying to tell them. First, she repeated “no,” trying to get them to understand she wasn’t safe. Then “Grimm.” Finally, “Grimm. Out.” But no one, not even her little brother, Phineas, could understand what she was trying to say.
Eventually, she gave up. She’d wait until she could talk. But what if he came for her?
Dr. Grimm told Gabby she was special. Even the memory of his thin voice sent ice through her veins. The hair on her neck stood up just thinking about him. Sandy had said he was only interested in Gabby, though Gabby didn’t understand why. All she knew that to mean was, odds were, no one else had encountered him. No one else knew about him. No one else would tell FUC about him.
Months went by. Then half a year. And finally a year. Dr. Grimm hadn’t come for her. Relief flooded her at the thought. Maybe he’s forgotten about me. She could only hope. Except Dr. Grimm didn’t seem like the forgetting type.
Most nights, Gabby found herself screaming into her hospital pillow, trying to let out the frustration so she wouldn’t risk exploding on an unexpecting nurse or doctor. True she had no outward disfigurement, unlike many of the other experiments, and should consider herself lucky. Guilt was a prickly heaviness inside of her whenever her frustrations rose at her inability to communicate. Her situation could have been worse. But to Gabby, living trapped in her own body seemed a cruel fate. No, that was too dramatic a statement. She could at least move around. Walk. Try to communicate in other ways. It was just that her leaden tongue messed up everything she tried to say. Her train of thought was fine, but somewhere along the track, the cars jumbled out of order and only one of them made it to her mouth. Often the correct word didn’t even come out. Sometimes she said the opposite of what she intended.
Gabby steeled herself to settle in and start her evening ritual. It wasn’t that she didn’t like therapy or the homework exercises she was assigned. In fact, Lynn, her cognitive therapist, courtesy of FUC—the Furry United Coalition—was very nice and patient. She taught Gabby word games she could complete on her own to build up her ability to speak and write again. Lynn also encouraged Gabby to challenge her negative thoughts. Instead of allowing negative thoughts to linger, such as “I will never talk again” or “I’m stupid,” Gabby learned to replace them with hopeful ones, such as, “This is going to take time, and that’s okay.” Though most days, it felt anything but okay.
Her father, Joe, was probably the only one who understood what she was going through. She only wished she could commiserate with him. Alas, she’d given up on the idea of doing normal things with her father again. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever see him in human form for more than a few minutes.
Along with Gabby, Joe was captured and changed by Sandy and Dr. Grimm. FUC and ASS—the Avian Soaring Security rescued Joe from the same underground lab as Gabby and the others. Like Gabby, her father had difficulty speaking—could only utter one or two words at a time. However, Joe’s situation differed greatly. Unlike Gabby, who looked human, her father was stuck in crow form. The doctors and specialists at WANC had been able to get him to change back into human form only briefly. It was better than nothing, Gabby supposed.
She felt horrible feeling so low about her own situation when things could be so much worse. As much sympathy as she had for him, she also realized that she had to grieve for the father she’d lost.
The two of them weren’t the only ones facing challenges, though. Most of the patients on her floor came from the same lab. Some of them were in worse shape than Gabby and her dad. The other day, she saw a man with a human body and a bird head. What a terrible sight to see! What was worse, the pang of guilt quickly set in after Gabby realized seeing him made her feel better about her own situation. That sting of shame curled up inside her gut just thinking about it. What a selfish thought, to feel better after seeing someone else’s injuries.
Gabby reached behind her, grabbing her trusty pillow. She squeezed it with her fingers. This is soft. Her cognitive therapist encouraged her to try shorter sentences. “S-soft. Soft. It,” came out instead. Still wrong. But close. Her therapist would be proud that she focused on the positive instead of the negative.
She tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. It felt stuck, like her words. A hot tear stung at the corner of her eye, blurring her vision. Gabby put the pillow to her face and screamed.
&n
The strange noise sounded again. Lyla Cruiz woke up from a dead sleep and shot up in her hospital bed, glancing around for any sign of an intruder. Nothing seemed out of place, aside from the sound. A muffled, guttural cry coursed down the hall. She hopped out of bed and tiptoed toward her door, peering out. Nurses and other staff milled about as if nothing was awry.
Am I hearing things? She didn’t think so. She heard a similar noise yesterday and a gagged sniffle last week. It laced through the nights, reminding her too much of the sounds from her cell at the lab. Other experiments crying themselves to sleep. When she first arrived at WANC, Lyla thought it was a memory, etched in her brain, playing on repeat until she fell asleep. It was never loud though, which made her question if it was real. But the more she analyzed it, the more she decided it had to be one of the patients. If it was a memory cropping up, wouldn’t it always be the same volume? This sound changes pitch, tone, and intensity. If Lyla didn’t investigate, her brain would drive her crazy running through all the scenarios or what it could be.
She leaned out the doorway further, feeling a tug at her hand. The IV line stretched taut behind her. Lyla trudged back to the bed, grabbing the metal rack that held the dextrose solution drip. It snaked its way down a plastic tube all the way to her left hand. She stuck her tongue out at it. If she had to spend another month in the hospital dealing with the tests, medicine, and being poked and prodded, she would scream.
Wait! That’s it, that’s the noise. Someone is screaming. But who?
Lyla couldn’t sit around another night, pretending it wasn’t happening. Determination puffed up her chest. She was sick of being scared. This wasn’t the dank cell she was used to. It was a hospital. “I’m safe,” she reminded herself as she rolled the IV bag next to her like a trusty companion. “Sorry for earlier,” she said to the bag. “I didn’t mean it.” She gave it a shy smile.
For months before coming to the FUCN’A hospital, Lyla had no one to talk to, and in that time, she’d picked up the terrible habit of talking to inanimate objects. Though it was deeper than that, and she knew it. She really did feel bad about sticking her tongue out at the bag, as if it had its own feelings. Definitely not normal, but it had helped her to survive the last half a year in the tiny cell she’d called home.
It wasn’t the experiments that bothered her as much as the isolation. Lyla came from what some would consider a big family. The silence of her cell had gnawed at her brain until, out of desperation for company, she befriended a tiny pebble on the floor. She kept that tidbit of information to herself when the psychiatrist at WANC evaluated her soon after her rescue, but she had brought her old friend with her to the hospital. The grey stone now sat at her bedside table, and she explained to the staff that it was more than a souvenir. It was proof she survived. If anyone noticed it and found it odd, they never said. Lyla glanced back at it longingly. She wished she had a pocket to take her trusty rock with her, but alas, the simple T-shirt and shorts FUCN’A provided offered no such luxury. At least they were better than the hospital gown she’d had to wear when she was first treated. That thing barely covered her ass.
Lyla popped her head back into the hallway before taking a bounding step out into it. She nodded to the nurses she passed, plastering a smile on her face. “Out for an evening stroll?” one of them asked.
“You know me. Staying in my room for too long feels like I’m back in that cell.” Or a bird in a cage. Plus, all that hummingbird energy gave her cabin fever. Pacing the halls was far better than pacing her room. And seeing others out and about helped quell the loneliness.
The nurse nodded. “Just let us know if you need anything.” She went back to the paperwork in front of her as if not hearing the muffled screams that had pulled Lyla from her room to investigate.
Why didn’t anyone else seem to hear the noise? It sounded like a wounded animal or someone in extreme mental anguish. Maybe both. In a hospital full of shifters and people who were experimented on, it could be anything.
Maybe they all know who it is. Did that person ask to be left alone? Lyla wondered. She certainly didn’t think the staff ignored the noise because they were cruel. The people at FUCN’A were anything but.
Once again, she wondered if she was somehow the only one who could hear it… which was why she simply thanked the nurse before continuing on in the direction she believed the sound was coming from. Until shew knew it was real and not just in her head, she wouldn’t say a word of it. To anyone.
But she couldn’t keep trying to ignore it. I need to know who’s screaming.
Suddenly, the sounds stopped. So did she. Lyla pretended to adjust her hospital sock as a doctor walked by. It would look odd if she just stood in the hallway, staring at nothing, doing nothing.
A sob echoed out of one of the rooms up on the left. Lyla shuffled her feet forward, afraid to scare off whatever, or whoever, it was. She peeked into the room. The patient appeared to be sound asleep, their long trunk—literally, a long elephant trunk replaced their nose—quivering with a snore. Was that it? Am I mistaken? Lyla scratched at her head, ruffling up the feathers mixed in with her pink hair.
She dyed her hair pink because it was still her favorite color. When she was a child, her whole room at her mom’s house was shades of pink. The feathers adorned her head like a fluffy crown because some whacked-out, evil scientist wanted to see how to change the way shifters looked in human form. And coming out of it with only feathers to show meant she was one of the lucky ones. The sleeping patient before her didn’t appear so lucky. Their human face appeared far too small to support the elephant appendage.
Not wanting to linger rudely in the doorway, Lyla decided to press on. After some consideration, she decided the trunk snoring was not the muffled screams she’d heard earlier, so she kept looking for the source. As she shuffled down toward the next room, another nurse rushed by. It was oddly busy for the night shift. Something must be up. Maybe there was a fresh delivery of rescued shifters in need of fixing. That was, if they could be fixed. Lyla herself had stumped the docs—none could figure out how to rid Lyla of the feathers sticking out of her head.
She poked her head in the next room. There, a lump of a body lay in bed. Wavy, brown hair flowed out from underneath a pillow. Lyla feared something terrible had happened and was about to call the doctor when she noticed the person’s chest rise and fall. They were breathing, at least.
Lyla knocked at the open door, taking a step inside the dark room. “Umm...” She wasn’t sure what to say. What was proper etiquette when you walked in on someone with a pillow over their face? She didn’t know.
The person startled, popping up like a flower that’d just seen the sun after a week of clouds. Lyla noted that she wasn’t just any person. Not just one of a hundred faces that passed through these halls. This was a beautiful woman, clearly startled, and the sight of her made Lyla’s breath hitch.
The stranger’s fluffy brown hair floated around her like a storm, flowing around her face in a tangled mess that she tried to tame with her fingers. Wide blue eyes fixed on Lyla, and Lyla’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes locked. She tried to ignore the flutter of butterflies in her stomach and remember why she was actually out and about. Now that she’d discovered the source of the sound, she could return to her room. Mystery solved.
“I should go.” The words went against every fiber of her being. She wanted to stay, to find out why this woman screamed every night, but what if she was intruding?
“Okay,” the woman agreed. But when Lyla turned to go, she said, “No.”
The woman’s firm voice stopped Lyla in her tracks.
She turned toward the woman’s tear-streaked face. “You don’t want me to go?” Lyla wasn’t sure what to do. Which was it? Go or stay? She had to admit to herself she didn’t mind sticking around. It seemed that whoever they were and whatever had happened to them, they needed a friend.
The patient nodded her head then quickly shook it. “No.”
