“All right, calm down love.” Tracer spoke to herself, crouching within a thick bush. “Just because you and Zarya happened to apparently come to a world where there’s aliens and the literal devil, but things could be worse, right? You could be in Leeds.”
The British brunette chuckled to herself anxiously, twirling her pistols in her hands as an afterthought. Funny how reloading her guns had become something of a nervous habit since her chronal accelerator had gotten stuck.
She looked down to the glowing device with a frown, tapping on it gently. It was probably this thing’s fault that she ended up here in God-knows-when-or-where. But it would have to get her out of it, just like usual.
The girl glanced up to find the coast was clear, save for a few knights that looked to be something out of a medieval textbook. Unlike much of the more… Disturbing things she’d fought as of late, they went down quick enough, so she’d have a good chance of booking it back to that nexus she’d emerged from.
“Steady, Lena…” She muttered, dropping to a crouch. Her accelerator thrummed to life, its pounding in time with her heart. Then she set it into overdrive, blinking as many times as she could in a desperate attempt to reach safety.
Of course, this would have to be the time for an alien to materialize from seemingly out of nowhere, a green blade emerging from one of its wrists. The creature screamed from a mouth it didn’t have as it lunged towards her, blade arm held back like a snake ready to strike.
“Oh, bugger off!” The brunette called, snapping a hand to her chestplate and pulling a pulse bomb from its confines. She flicked her wrist and latched it onto the creature, smacking it in the head for good measure with the butt of her pistol.
It grunted as the impact set off her pulse bomb, and Tracer yelped as the ensuing impact sent her hurling from her feet into a nearby tree. Her back ached, but it looked like her aggressor had it worse off than she did.
The alien was bleeding from a number of places, blue liquid leaking from a nasty rend in its armor. It grunted at her, saying something in a language she didn’t quite understand. She’d spoken with enough Scots in her life to know when she was being incomprehensibly insulted, so the girl replied with a two-fingered salute.
“And jog off!” She called, preparing to dash again towards the safe haven of her own castle’s walls.
Then a bright actinic light seared her vision, and a melodious voice called out. “Friends be healed!”
Tracer blinked her eyes clear, finding a… Blue… Dragon… Butterfly… Thing. She wasn’t quite sure what to call it, but it looked like it was somehow healing the alien. In other words, it was something that needed to die as quickly as possible.
She brought both pistols up, only to pause as the thing turned towards her, its golden eyes shimmering with something akin to fear. “Ah, oh no! Go away!”
The dragon puffed something at her, and Tracer felt… Odd.
The first thing she noticed was that there was a distinct aching at the base of her spine, as though there was someone tugging on it. The second thing she noticed was the whiskers.
“W-what?” The heroine stammered, pressing her palms against her cheeks. There were long and heavy hairs hanging from her skin, thick enough that she could actually feel them swaying as she moved her head from side to side in a panic.
“What’s going orriit! Chit chirrt!” Her speech degenerated into squeaks and chitters as her incisors lengthened into disctinctive buck teeth. Her face stretched out into a slight muzzle, her jaw falling unintentionally slack with shock as it stretched further and further away.
The brunette’s ears twitched as they drew towards the top of her head, and her skin began to crawl as uncountable tiny hairs stretched out from her pores. Desperately, she scratched at her body, a whimper escaping her new muzzle as she watched her uniform grow larger and larger on herself.
“CHIRRIT!” She chittered with panic, realizing that she was shrinking in her clothing. Well, most of her clothing. Oddly enough, her chronal accelerator was shrinking with her, tearing through her jumpsuit in the process.
The shreds of falling clothing revealed Tracer’s body to herself, showing that she was covered in brown fur. More to the point, it showed that her entire form was being reshaped. Her hands were beginning to look more and more like paws, her arms and legs were getting shorter and stubbier, and her female physique was vanishing in favor of a form that looked far more… Rodent-like.
The girl looked down to her forming paws in shock, watching as her fingers became small claws and plush pads pressed out from her palms. Then the faint tingling at the base of her spine sharpened, and she screamed out a loud squeak, looking to her ass.
Tracer stared with wide eyes as she watched a tremendous tail jet out from her backside, a thick coat of fur covering her new appendage, each of the hairs as long as those covering her cheeks. They were thick and weighed heavily against her new limb as she twitched it experimentally.
Then she looked up from her tail to the world around herself, chittering again in shock as she realized just how large everything else was. She had to be around a foot tall! Anxiously, took a step back, looking down to the device on her chest.
At that point, the hero-turned squirrel realized that one of two things was going to happen if she recalled herself through time. Either she’d be able to return to a human form, or she’d remain a squirrel for… Who knows how long. And given that the latter would happen pretty definitely if she didn’t…
The squirrel chittered as she triggered the device that was still on her chest, sending herself back into the past in an attempt to cure herself of her sudden squirrelification.
There were only two possible possibilities she had fathomed. Which, of course, meant that a third had to both emerge and occur.
The world swam around herself as she recalled through time, and she fell to all fours as she realized that there was a literal weight lifted from her chest. She looked down to find that her chronal accelerator was missing, and that there was a very familiar boot beside her.
The hero looked up to find she was literally beside herself, a perfect copy of the once one-of-a-kind Lena Oxton patting herself down and inspecting her bum to make sure she didn’t have a tail. Then the girl grinned widely, twirling her guns. “Glad that worked!”
Tracer watched in stunned disbelief as her copy blinked away, evidently not knowing that she’d left herself behind. “Chirr chit-chit!” She called desperately, outstretching a hand towards her distant silhouette.
Then, just like that, she was gone, leaving a frightened squirrel alone in a warzone. Tracer’s ears twitched and she squeaked as a nearby cannon fired, the sound all the louder thanks to her transformed hearing.
Desperately, the girl dashed away on all fours, the act seeming somehow more… Natural now. She didn’t pay that nearly as much heed as she should have, instead concerning herself with finding cover. That in itself was another oddity, one which Tracer noticed.
Normally the girl wouldn’t have been bothered by gunfire, having heard enough of it in the field. But now it was the most frightening sound of her life, telling her to hurry-scurry as far away from danger as possible.
She scampered desperately, seeking refuge under an oak tree. Heart pounding in her chest, Tracer chittered loudly, twitching her nose and ears in an attempt to see if the danger was still nearby. In the process, she caught wind of a delectable scent.
The squirrel padded cautiously around the tree, nose twitching as she sought out the source of the smell. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the source, seeing an acorn before herself. For a moment, horror threaded her thoughts, the realization that her thoughts were changing heading to the forefront of her mind.
Then instinct took over, and she grabbed the acorn with both paws, bringing it to her mouth and chowing down. She couldn’t quite taste it in the same sense as she could as a human, but that didn’t make it any less appetizing. No, it was actually all the more fulfilling for being so nutritious!
Her eyes glazed slightly as she finished her treat, and for a few minutes, Tracer actually lost track of who she was. She acted on impulse, climbing up a tree, seeking a nest, finding a mate… Only the feeling of another squirrel’s weight on her back brought her to the present.
“CHIT CHIRR!?” She squeaked, eyes bulging as she shook her furry head. A desperate glance back to the squirrel behind her confirmed what she knew to be true, and she tried for a moment to squirm out from beneath the male.
Unfortunately, it seemed that the signals she’d given him earlier were too attractive to keep him from making good on what he started.
With a chitter of his own, the squirrel plunged deep into her, his cock stretching her tight squirrel pussy. Tracer squeaked as she felt his thick member stretching her, and her heart began to race with fear. This time, she could feel her mind beginning to slip from herself.
What if it didn’t come back? Would she never think of herself as a human again? As Tracer Oxton? No, wait, that wasn’t right… Tracer was her alias, her real name was… Was…
The squirrel squeaked with horror at the knowledge that she could no longer even recall her own name; then again with pleasure as the male pistoned into her furry body once more. Her eyes crossed as she choked out another passionate whimper, grinding back against her mate.
Then she shook her head, whiskers swaying as she struggled to reassert control over her mind. It was so hard to think, though; so hard not to delve deeper into the passions of endless ecstasy that… No!
The squirrel chittered, trying to think of something, anything other than the bliss coming from her changed body. Unfortunately, nothing could come to mind, and soon she couldn’t even think of her own monicker.
Her human identity, her education, and even her sense of self all trickled from her thoughts, and the squirrel let out a desperate, passionate chitter. With that, she devolved completely, succumbing to her new squirrel form.
Utterly brainless and lust-flooded, the squirrel ground her rodent hips back against her mate. All thoughts of her former life were forever lost, and as the distant battle she had once been a part of continued, the new squirrel had her first of many climaxes.
She was never to return to her old life; never to return to her days as a member of Overwatch. Of course, she didn’t remember; much less care.