An Overwatch Flash TF Series
(Woman to Various)
Sheep
The grass tasted good, much to Sombra’s chagrin. The Talon agent sent a baleful look to… Well, nobody in particular. She wished that there was someone she could blame for this, but the truth was it was all on her wooly, fluffy head.
She tossed the curls of her hair with an indignant huff, feeling her long locks shorten further into a proper sheep’s coat. Much as she’d like to blame Moira for designing this damned virus, it was her own fault that she’d decided to steal it, her fault that she didn’t realize just how potent it was.
By the time she’d noticed her containment unit wasn’t sufficient, it was too late. The little glowing object had changed her hands into cloven hooves, unable to hack her way out from the Talon farm grounds.
“You could haaa-aave warned me.” She glared to a blonde sheep, formerly a Doctor Ziegler. The animal didn’t seem to understand her words, not that she’d expected it to. Sombra had read the reports on the trial run, and had even played a part designing the makeshift prison to hold her and all her Overwatch friends.
Said Overwatch friends still had a few active agents with enough assets to afford Sombra’s rates, earning a momentary defection from Talon. The Hispanic woman’s loyalty couldn’t be bought for any price, but it could be rented remarkably cheaply.
She crinkled her nose and spat out another mouthful of dirt and grass. Then she looked to her surroundings for the thousandth time, searching for any means of escape. Naturally, all she saw were Omnic farmhands and a sheepdog who’d once been a promising Overwatch cadet.
The dog noticed her with a bark, and Sombra shifted on her hooves uneasily. She was mostly sheep now, with a full coat of wool and a quadrupedal posture. Her legs were as long as ever; however, forcing her to keep her furry butt lifted in the air in a rather undignifying manner.
“WROOF!” The sheepdog let out a rather loud bark, and Sombra found herself instinctively shuffling towards the rest of her herd—the herd, she had to remind herself. She had to keep focusing on who she was, and not how the grass was so delectable or how her herdsisters felt so warm…
She shook her head, and her ears lengthened with the motion until they tousled at the sides of her face. The woman crinkled her nose, searching for words and finding none. Then she lowered her head to the ground, searching for sustenance and finding plenty.
Inwardly, she screamed. She hated the fact that she was literally grazing her brains out, and hated the fact that her last moments were spent among the company of ovinized Overwatch agents, rather than a rather unhealthy collection of wealth and dirty secrets alike.
Her hindquarters fluffed with fur and began to lower to the ground, her legs finally giving up the last pretenses of humanity. More grass made its way into her mouth, and she chomped at the leaves with thick, blocky teeth. She struggled for something, anything to keep her mind intact. The only word she could really recall was her name, and between chews, she bleated it desperately.
“Sombraaah…” Chew, chew… “Som… Baa-aaa-ah…” Chew, chew… “Suhbaaah-baaa-aaah….” Chew, chew, chew… “Baaah…”
Bear
“Ah, the infamous Sombra.” Katya Volskaya looked at her latest acquisition with an unhealthy expression, one that bordered between obsessed and manic. “You know, you have given me no small amount of trouble.”
“I can imagine, puta.” Sombra glared, restrained by a pair of trained bears. Bears! It was inconceivable that she’d been bested by such a simple tactic, but apparently the Motherland had more than a few tricks up their fur-lined sleeves.
Using werebears had been as unexpected as it was unpleasant. Their senses could pick her up even when cloaked, and they were completely unhackable. Even her translocators were of little use, for once a bear caught her scent, it did not easily let go.
“Please, name-calling will get you nowhere.” Katya tutted, motioning to one of her human guards. The man presented her with a small syringe, one that glowed with a curious light. “Though… I do so love your language. You see, I studied on you after you spread all those lies about me.”
“Lies? No mames.” Sombra snarled, spitting at the ground. One of her bears beside her growled menacingly, and she looked to it with a languid grin. “Ohh, poor osito, don’t like me calling your boss names? Or maybe you don’t like me giving away that the ‘Hero of Russia’ is nothing but an Omnic collaborator. Malinche.”
Katya didn’t reply to that, instead sticking the needle into Sombra’s neck with a rather self-satisfied smirk. “Lying again, that’s all you do. Mentirosa, it means ‘liar’ in your language, yes? I like that. Especially those last two syllables. O-sa.”
Sombra blinked. “You wouldn’t…” She breathed, already knowing it was too late. A heat was building within her, bubbling from her beating heart to her tanned skin. Sweat dewed her brow as her body rippled beneath her clothes.
She’d seen this before, this change. It was the same thing that those Russian agents had injected themselves with… She assumed. Then again, that didn’t make much sense, given that it had made them into ursine supersoldiers. Why would Katya do that to her? To break her, to flip her?
“I can see your mind racing, osa. It means ‘female bear’, yes? Surely by now you’ve realized.” Katya laughed coquettishly as shaggy brown fur crept along her victim’s body. “But you need not worry. I have no need of more soldiers. But my precious werebears do need something to relieve their stresses on.”
Sombra huffed, literally struggling to speak. Her tongue had swelled to fill her mouth, and she had to forcibly spit it from her lips to breathe clearer. “Pwbluh,” she managed, looking down to the pink, floppy appendage and finding it reached to her breasts. Her aching breasts…
A shudder traveled through her body, and she looked to Voskaya with renewed hatred. So, that was the woman’s game. She wanted to-to-to… Sombra’s thoughts trailed off as they grew disjointed, and she struggled to reconnect dots she’d just linked. It was to…
“A pity. I’d hoped you’d realize you were becoming feral without my needing to tell you.” Katya gripped the underside of Sombra’s chin, lifting the woman’s head even as it grew larger, heavier. A muzzle extended into the Russian’s palm, and she smirked to her captive. “Do you still understand? You are a beast. A mindless, stupid beast.”
Sombra huffed, her nostrils widening and flaring on her face. Her tongue flicked at the right one instinctively, picking it in a dopey fashion even as her back hunched. A series of loud pops and cracks marked the rearranging of her musculature, and the wearbears dropped her onto her paws.
“Evidently not.” Katya smirked, lifting her foot and pressing it gently on the top of Sombra’s head. “Kneel for your owner, beast.”
Sombra… She… She was confused. She knew that this woman was better than her somehow, but owner didn’t have a good ring to it. Still, what else could she be?
The Hispanic woman snuffled, grunting and wiggling her body as it grew. More and more bulk stretched at her clothes, tearing through the fabric in a wave of beary expansion. Freed of the confines of her leggings, a small tail waggled behind herself.
“Guhrrrr…” She looked to Katya curiously. Something about this felt wrong… She looked to her large, thickly-padded paws, and to their claws. A distant memory of using dexterous mini-claws came to her mind, and she wiggled them curiously.
“Kneel, osa.”
Oh… Sah… That sounded familiar. That was her name. The bear blinked dopily, eyes crossing as she saw the foot atop her muzzle. An impulse to bite at it was quickly quashed, as she did not want to hurt her owner.
The lumbering grizzly dipped her head subserviently, and Katya grinned with triumph. “Excellent. Welcome to the menagerie, pet.”
Salmon
Her first warning of danger was a whirring, the sound of a dentist’s drill cutting through the air. Her eyes snapped open, and she lunged from her pillow to the ground. A sharklike robot stood over her bead, a buzzaw-hand digging into her pillow.
The Talon agent flicked her hair from her eyes with a scowl, lifting a hand towards the machine. “Mistake.” She clicked her fingers to hack the device, only to be forced back by a counterswing. That was an unpleasant revelation: apparently the damned thing was shielded.
Sombra spun on her heel in an instant, knowing fully well that discretion was the better part of valor. Her soles slapped at the hotel’s tiles, and she searched her mind for the building’s schematics. Calling for help was useless, since every Talon agent worth their salt knew better than to get in the way of an unimaginatively-named Murdershark.
The closest way out would be through the freshwater pool, and its connecting sluice to the great outdoors. A rueful grin spread across her features at the thought. Sombra was a good swimmer. Actually, Sombra was a great swimmer. She’d broken every in-house Talon record on their first interoffice Olympics, and she suspected that was the reason she’d been targeted.
Who was it, she wondered, who was it that sent the device after her? Was it Erin, that Finnish bitch with a chip on her shoulder? Or maybe it was their dear host, upset that Sombra had so easily outswam his prized Natalia? Either way, she’d get revenge on them, starting with her escape.
She dove into the water, glad that she only wore a t-shirt to bed. Any more fabric would slow her unnecessarily, and she needed every bit of speed if she wanted to outrace a Murdershark. Her legs kicked herself through the water with ease, and a splash heralded the arrival of her pursuer.
Sombra drove her arms forward, carrying her through the depths with long, flowing strokes. It felt good against her skin, washing away her every tension, her every concern. An ache settled along the back of her spine, but she ignored it, kicking her legs up and down, up and down.
This was her element. She might be known for her hacking skills, but in another life, she was made to swim. Her arms beat behind her, flicking front to back, front to back. Her legs pressed together, and she began to sway them from side to side, surging forwards even faster.
Somehow, impossibly, she was outpacing a robot built to hunt in the water. She allowed herself a victorious grin, despite the burning in her lungs. The exit was so close away, she was almost there… Her hips swayed from side to side, her entire body easily flicking left and right, carrying her forward.
With a splash, she made it through the small canal that connected the pool to the outdoors. Her head broke the surface of the water just as sharp pains lanced through either side of her neck. Victoriously, she opened her mouth to laugh, to suck in the air of freedom.
She choked. Her eyes widened dramatically, and she gaped at the air, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Something was wrong. Something had happened. Sombra’s vision began to gray, a large and splotch object filling her peripheral vision.
The woman splashed back into the water, and air flooded her lungs once more. Her eyes regained their focus in time to see a shimmering snout settle between them, splitting her eyes to either side of her head. She saw drifting purple-black hairs flowing around her like some sort of halo. She knew that she hadn’t fully escaped.
A wordless sob slipped from her scaled mouth as she looked to her scaled body, realizing how it had been so much easier to swim, how her swimming had taken on such a strange lateral motion. She looked like a fish. No, worse… She was a salmon.
She didn’t know how it was possible, but she’d get her revenge on whoever did this. The fish thought that to herself as she looked back to the compound. Then she turned her head towards the river, and by the time she had begun to swim once again, all thoughts of vengeance, all thoughts of retribution, all thoughts at all slipped from her aquatic brain.
Raven
Sombra squawked, groaning and writhing on the ground as more and more feathers burst from her form. They felt like small needles being shoved through her skin, and even the slight tufts of hair around them did little to ease this discomfort. This was all rather… Unexpected, to say the least.
She opened a yellow-tinged eye to glare at the ‘Witch of the Woods’, a rather handsome looking Dutch girl. It was said that she had the power to use magic, real magic. Of course, Sombra had discounted that as a flight of fancy.
Then she’d come eye-to-eye with the witch’s new familiar, a brown-furred tabby with hauntingly familiar brown eyes, and a cog-shaped pattern on her arm. By the time the pieces had settled, Sombra had realized it was too late.
“A-AWGH!” She yelped, tears dewing at the corners of her eyes. Her legs kicked and scrabbled at the ground, her breasts heaving with every breath she took. Her body felt wrong, like she was wearing clothes too-tight, backwards, and inside-out all at the same time.
“There, there… Silly dear, don’t be so dramatic. You should know that I’ll take marvelously good care of you. My pet Brigitte here has to look after her kittens, and I do need someone to act as my familiar.” The witch caressed Sombra’s head as she spoke, turning hair to feathers beneath her touch.
“FWAAARK YOU!” Sombra half-squawked, gaggin as her teeth merged in her mouth, growing thick and pressing out past her lips. She watched a beak slip past her purple-dyed lips, then watched as the purple was swallowed by her new beak’s enamel. The white of her teeth dulled to a numb black, and it crushed her nose within its confines.
“HHHCKAAW!” Sombra clacked her beak open and closed, feeling it curve. Her legs scrabbled all the harder as they compressed, an invisible vise constricting them. Her skin became hard and calloused and knobbly, and she scraped her growing talons against the pretty oak of her captor’s home.
“A little less of that, if you won’t mind. It’s not that I can’t fix it, but… Why spend the effort, you know?” The witch smirked, pinning Sombra’s arms at her sides.
Sombra arched her back, feeling a wide fan of tailfeathers explode from her backside. They fluffed at the air in time with the deformation of her fingers, long and glossy feathers carpeting the useless nubs that had once been her hands.
She lolled her head from side to side, looking for some semblance of her old body, but only finding an avian visage no matter where she turned. A hysteric musing passed through her mind, wondering if this was what Brigitte had felt, albeit with fur rather than feather.
Then, like a candle being snuffed out, all thought fled her mind. Her eyes blinked again and again, growing dark and beady. Her body twisted and shrank to a smaller form, one that hopped to its feet and preened at its wings.
“Hhkkaaw!” The raven crooned to her Mistress, curious what the witch had in mind for her next.
Mannequin
Sombra fell back against the door to the cheap store’s dressing room, her breath catching in her throat. She’d meant to steal the set of lingerie from the store, a simple act of shoplifting just for the sake of it, but the second she put it on, she felt…
Good.
She looked to her reflection again, seeing the black lace against her tanned skin, dazzled by how wonderfully her purple-dyed hair caught the light of the outlet store. It was all pleasurable, too pleasurable.
Had she been in a proper state of mind, she’d likely have questioned why the store had such a cryptic sign about ‘punishing would-be-thieves’. She would have wondered why her feet had gone numb beneath herself. Above all, she wouldn’t have begun to touch herself.
It wasn’t a lewd motion, at least not intentionally. Sombra simply needed to run her fingers along her thighs, feeling the milky softness of her skin beneath her fingertips. She needed to caress her breasts and look at her reflection, licking her purple lips seductively.
When had she last felt like this? Had she ever felt like this? Questions for another Sombra, in another time. This Sombra only knew of bliss, and she moaned as her legs were set alight with rapture. They were numb, but were numbed at the height of her passion. The only thing they could feel were mind-numbing tingles.
She looked down to them and blinked, the addled pleasure of her mind momentarily broken by the sight of white plastic overtaking her toes, creeping up her ankles, slipping past her knees to her thighs. Panic died faster than it could rise, quashed by the indifference of ecstasy.
Who cared if Somra was becoming plastic? It felt amazing. She cupped at her left breast with her right hand, stroking the plastic, her plastic, again and again with her left. She couldn’t feel the touch of her fingers through the hard material, and somehow that only made it even hotter.
What if someone saw her like this? Did she want someone to see her like this? She bit at her lip, considering throwing the door to the room open. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breath, rose and fell and stiffened.
It didn’t hurt, not breathing. Instead, the lack of distraction only let her better appreciate her body, and how incredible it felt to be frozen like this. Her fingers stiffened, and she clutched at her breasts all the tighter. Her other arm hooked behind her head to show off her cleavage, a sultry pose that would leave any man hard.
The white plastic crept up Sombra’s breasts, numbing them with her touch. She dreamed of someone finding her like this, someone staring at how gorgeously petrified she was. Her left arm shook slightly, trying to squeeze her breast a little tighter and in the process dislodging itself. It hit the ground with a hollow clunk that only brought a further smile to her face.
Then the plastic overtook that too, and Sombra’s thoughts devolved into incoherent passion. She was trapped at the height of bliss, at the breaking point from which there was no return. She could feel her mangled passions revel in the notion of being looked at, of being lusted over.
Her hair brightened to a platinum blonde, curling into a trendy wig. Her arms and legs grew a little more slender, a little shapelier to match the other mannequins in the store. Her breasts swelled, and she felt herself falling past that tipping point.
Sombra lost herself, lost every bit of herself in that moment. She needed people to see her, to see how she wore her clothes, to fantasize about her and lust for her and never ever realize who she was. She was a mannequin, she was a mindless nameless mannequin and because of that she only knew pleasure.
Every feature on her face smoothed and glossed over, leaving only a blank slate behind. Nobody would know that she had once been a human. Nobody would know that deep inside that mannequin’s core, a woman lost herself to a perpetual climax, a heaven beyond all physical possibility.