Chapter 1

Monday, June 7, 2060 ... the day the world ended!

Well, his world, anyway. Not that the world had been all that good to begin with. With a name like Angel O'Connor, it took him a while to settle in anywhere. Even when people looked at his strikingly latino features and pronounced his first name right, he ended up with all the Hell's Angel and "and Hell" jokes. And worse. More often, the teachers just looked around trying to find an anglo girl before they realized who he was.

The reactions of the "pures" was even worse. Unless they met his parents and heard the family story (going all the way back to the original Cinco de Mayo), they assumed that his appearance and sex were a result of MORFS. And treated him like trash because of it. Throw in a few old fashioned racists, and high school was just a wonderful place to be.

Despite all that, he was known for his pride. He was proud of his heritage (even though both sides of his family had been in the US for generations, and lived and talked like Anglos), proud of his family, and proud of the grades he had worked so hard for. He was in good shape, but only an indifferent athlete. He was more interested in getting a good education than in the personal glory of sports.

His family had moved four times since he had started school, as his father, Jose O'Connor, worked his way up through the company. They seemed to be set, with his father in charge of the Data Center for the entire corporation. The center wouldn't be moved, and they had wanted someone stable and settled for the position. They shouldn't be moving until well after he graduated from high school.

Confident in their stability, his mother, Magdalena, had a job with the school. Although her job was technically still clerical, she had risen to a lead position. She was known as a hard worker, and was well liked by her coworkers.

Until Monday, June 7, 2060.

Summer had just started. He had plans. Some relaxation, some enrichment, a job, and going with the family to visit friends and relatives. The usual sorts of things. But he was really looking forward to them.

But then there were the meetings that weekend. His father was in the office more than at home. And the whispered conversations between his parents. And his mother's emotions, all over the map. He was only peripherally aware of it, while he celebrated his first weekend out of school.

He should have known something was up when he smelled breakfast Monday morning. Normally, they both had meetings Monday mornings. And even though school was out for him, his mother would be busy for days with all the year end paperwork. But he had made a late night of it Sunday, catching up on the videos he had put off while studying for finals and writing papers.

Still half asleep, he followed his nose into the kitchen. When he put his mind to it he was a pretty fair cook, but he doubted he would ever reach his mother's level. He was surprised to find them both at the table, and a place set for him.

They let him serve himself and start eating before they dropped the bomb.

"I have some news, some good news, and some bad news," his father began. "First, about 20 minutes ago, it was announced that my company is merging with CTGCO. I couldn't tell you about that until the announcement, because of the laws and the confidentiality agreements. The good news is that I will be heading up the Data Center for the combined company. It will be a larger operation, and I will make more money. They are still deciding whether my title will change."

"Congratulations!" Angel cheered. He was genuinely happy that his father was being recognized and rewarded.

"Yes, well ... there is also some bad news."

Angel sobered, waiting.

"The new Data Center is in Denver. We have to move."

"But..." Angel was shocked. They had PROMISED! A part of him, the child still hiding behind the grown-up, 16 year old face he showed the world, wanted to scream and cry. But this was no time for that. If they had to move, they had to. And he would go through the process of being the new kid at school, and in the neighborhood, all over again. There were other issues, though. "What about your job?" he asked his mother.

"I gave them my notice this morning. They understand. I will be working there part time for the next few days, making sure my successor is up to speed on everything. The rest of the time, we will be getting ready to go. It might even work out well for me. I checked the internet, and two of the school districts there are looking for someone like me. I might even get a higher salary out of it." She smiled.

"You're going to miss it, aren't you?" he asked, recognizing her "putting a good face on it" expression.

"Yes, I'll miss it," she admitted. "I'll miss my coworkers, our friends here, and all the rest. But we'll make new friends, and sooner or later I'll have new coworkers."

"At least it is happening during the summer," his father commented. "You will have some time to get settled in our new home before you start school again. I'll be jumping right in with my new coworkers." He ended with an ironic smile.

Angel was silent as he finished his breakfast. He had made some friends there, once he was confident that they would really be staying. He hadn't had a girlfriend, and his tastes didn't run to boyfriends. Not that it mattered anyway - he hadn't had any offers from that side of the fence, either. But the point was that he had settled in. He had gotten used to being in one place and had put down roots of a sort. His world had started coming together.

And now that world was ending.

He was going to have to tell everyone. Disappoint everyone. His new boss, the friends he made plans with, even the teachers who expected him next year ... everyone.

Shit.

The rest of the day just got more depressing. They sketched out the schedule for him. He would have three days to pack what he would need in the short term, and get rid of anything he didn't want to take to Colorado. Then the movers would come and pack up the rest. Even the final house cleaning would be done by other people.

At the end of the three days, he and his mother would take an indirect route to Denver. They would visit family and old friends of his parents en route. That, at least, was part of what they had planned before. But now, they wouldn't be coming back home. Now, they would end up somewhere else, and try to make that home.

He made it a point to limit his whining to the inside of his head, or the empty house, as much as he could. It would only have upset his parents, and riding cross country with an upset mother at the wheel was no fun. Besides, even he had to admit that whining did little good. It wasn't even a good way to blow off steam about the problem.

Packing his own stuff took almost no time. Digging out the things he needed to return to friends, and the things he wanted (or needed) to give away, took longer than that. By the end of Monday, he was helping his mother pack the fragile and special things they didn't want to trust to the movers.

Tuesday morning, they drove his father to the airport and said their goodbyes. A couple of his coworkers, who were also transferring to the new office, would drive his car there for them.

When they got home, he had a few hours to devote to saying goodbye. His mother would be at the office for the rest of the morning, and then would be taking care of things like newspapers, mail, and all the other details of moving away.

He spent the morning making the rounds of his friends, giving them the things he had put aside and collecting the things they had borrowed from him. A group of them had lunch together at their favorite place, one of the few that hadn't been driven out by some chain.

They joked and commiserated with him, reminding him why he liked them in the first place. They also reminded him that they all had phones, email, and messaging, and made sure he had all the necessary details. A couple of the girls gave him goodbye kisses, to make sure he'd remember them.

It worked, he thought with a grin.

He got home at about the same time as his mother, and they got to work packing more of the things they would be taking in the car. Dinner was leftovers and other goodies from the fridge. He was tired enough that he went to bed much earlier than he had planned on.

He spent most of Wednesday packing the car, while his mother finished up at the office. They would be leaving the following morning, on the theory that it was better to start off relatively rested. He would share the driving, about one hour for every three his mother drove. It was better than nothing.

Wednesday night, his friends took him out for a "night of debauchery," to send him on his way in style. Unfortunately, their choices of excess were limited by their ages. They stuffed him with junk food and candy, played a couple of games, watched a couple of "borrowed" pornos starring unusual MORFS characters, and staged a wet t shirt contest for him to judge. It might not have been much by adult standards, but they enjoyed it.

Thursday morning gave him a new experience: a hangover. Even though he had been careful not to drink (his mother would be sure to smell the alcohol from his sweat and breath in the close confines of the car). His mother gave him no sympathy, but didn't seem too mad about it.

As they drove out of town, he eagerly looked around for a last glimpse of familiar places and people. Within an hour, he was back to nursing his hangover and feeling sorry for himself.

By lunch time, they were well on their way toward the State line. He should have been feeling better by then, but he felt worse. When they stopped for lunch, he lost it almost as soon as he ate it. His mother checked his forehead, she noticed that he had a fever. Cautious by nature, she called her medical insurer and found an in-network clinic nearby.

They were prepared to learn that it was some kind of flu or the like. They were not prepared for the diagnosis they got: MORFS. With no place to call home, he was on his way to becoming anything from a super hero to a cocker spaniel.

After a long discussion with the doctor, they decided that they would continue on to his aunt Maria's house, while he slept away his changes in the back seat. It was less than 10 hours away, so they should make it with little or no trouble. They got his supplies, and gave him a video chip to watch on the road. When he was ready, he would eat an energy pack, take a pill, and then spend the next 18 hours asleep.

His mother joked that she was going to have a quieter ride than she expected, but he could see that she was worried. He watched the video while she told his father and then his aunt about his condition. When they got there, his aunt would be ready.

He made sure to go to the bathroom before they left, then strapped himself into the sheet covered back seat. After choking down the energy pack, he wished his mother a good night (even though it was still fairly early in the afternoon) and swallowed the pill. In moments, he was unconscious.

His mother laughed quietly at the irony of some of the advice she had seen. There was the comment that it was common for one or both parents to want to spend the time when their child was sleeping through the changes in the room, watching over them. It cautioned that it was both pointless and a bad idea. Pointless, because there was nothing they could do. A bad idea because they would be wearing themselves out unnecessarily, and because they would run the risk of seeing some very disturbing things while their child changed. It was ok to check on them every few hours, but they recommended no more than once per hour.

The irony was that she would be spending the time with him. Of course, she would be driving rather than just sitting there watching and worrying. But she would be there, for all the good it would do her.

The drive was largely uneventful. Though she wondered and worried about what her Angel would become, she was able to concentrate on the driving. When she stopped for dinner, it was at a fast food place. She went inside, got her meal, and then sat where she could watch the car while she ate. The only times it was out of her sight were when she got her meal, and when she used the restroom. While she was eating, she called her sister again, and verified that all was ready for their arrival. Her niece and nephew had already gone through MORFS, so her sister knew what to expect. Or thought she did.

One precaution Maria mentioned she had taken surprised Magdalena. She called the local police, and explained the situation to them. She halfway expected them to get calls about them carrying an apparent dead body from the car to the house. Some of the neighbors were less than friendly anyway, being in the throws of the anti-MORFS fervor encouraged by certain churches and others.

The last couple of hours of the drive were the hardest. It was late at night, and she had gone through a very emotional day. While she had been careful not to let Angel see it, she was worried before they got to the clinic, and shaken by the diagnosis. And all that on top of leaving the home, friends, and job that she had grown to love. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. The second time she caught herself drifting off to sleep - and off the road - she knew she had pushed herself too far.

She pulled into the lot at a nearby truck stop, with its combination of gas pumps, large convenience store, and mini food court, and called her sister. She hated calling for help, but she needed to get there in one piece. The truly galling part was that she was little more than an hour's drive from her goal. She had already hit the point where caffeine no longer woke her up, so even that choice was not available.

Like before, she sat where she could watch the car while she waited and sipped her iced tea. She didn't even notice it when she slipped into a fitful sleep, until a hand on her shoulder startled her awake. It was John, her brother-in-law. After a hurried conference, they decided that Maria would drive Magdalena and Angel, and John would follow in his car.

When she opened the car door, she was assailed by the smells. She had left windows open a crack for ventilation, but it was still concentrated. She recognized the smell of adolescent sweat, and the rest was an unpleasant, but largely unidentifiable, mixture. Maria assured her that it was normal.

"Maggie, it was pretty much the same when our two changed. Just," she coughed, "not quite so concentrated. After all, they were in large, well ventilated rooms instead of a minivan turned moving van. It's a warm night, so we can just open the windows and it will air out the car while we drive."

They talked for about twenty more minutes, until Magdalena faded back into her fitful sleep. When they got to the house, her sister woke her up and the three of them carried Angel into the house. After getting him settled into bed, her hosts pointed out that they had seven hours or so before he was going to wake up. They would look in on him from time to time, but she needed to get some sleep if she was going to do him any good. They would wake her an hour before he was scheduled to come out of it, or earlier if anything came up.

She didn't take much convincing. They were right, and she knew it.

When Angel woke up, he noticed three things. First, he was in a strange bed in a strange room. Second, his mother was right there, asking how he felt. Finally, and much more urgently, he felt every minute of the 18 hours it had been since he went to the bathroom.

"Bathroom!" he was relieved to find her helping him out of bed and on his way. While taking care of business, he noticed a set of towels and a washcloth had been set out. When he finished, he took the hint and stepped into the shower. He didn't feel all that different, and nothing obvious had been lost or gained. But he knew that didn't mean all that much.

After drying himself off, he wrapped a towel around himself and made his way back to the bedroom. The bed had been stripped and remade, and a pair of underwear and his old gym shorts were on top of the covers. He slipped into them, and was about to take the towel back to the bathroom when there was a knock at the door.

"It's me," his mother called. "Are you decent?"

"Haven't been for years, but I'm dressed." It was an old family joke.

She came in, followed by his four hosts. His aunt and uncle looked pretty much like he remembered, except they seemed just a little bit taller. His cousins were more of a surprise.

David, the older of the two, looked like a movie werewolf. He was covered in dark gray fur, and had a hairy tail sticking out the back of his pants. His mouth and nose stuck out some, giving the suggestion of a canine muzzle.

Janey looked more like a cartoon squirrel, with red orange fur, prominent incisors, and a large, bushy tail.

He had been told about them, but seeing them in person was different. Their voices had changed, but they could still speak fairly clearly. He later learned that their speech had taken a lot of work to get that good.

He assured them all that he felt every bit as bad as he looked, and they left him to his preparations. He ate the energy pack (which hadn't gotten any better tasting), popped the pill, and all but passed out.

The next three days were a blur of waking, taking care of his body's immediate needs, saying a few miserable words, eating (if you could call it that) and going back to sleep. He had a few impressions about the changes he was going through, but the video had warned him that they were notoriously unreliable. On the plus side, he didn't notice any fur, and his head still seemed completely human. On the minus side, he seemed shorter and there were some changes below the belt. He was unhappy about those minuses, but he was too miserable in general to care all that much.

Every time he woke up, it was to the gentle smile of his mother. Some times alone, some times with the others. While all of them gave him words of encouragement, his cousins were able to share what they went through, and assure him he would get through it.

Then he woke up. This time, really woke up. He had the usual full bladder and coating of crud, but otherwise, he felt normal. His mother smiled a little more than usual, and seemed a little more cheerful when she spoke. But it wasn't until he had taken care of business and started his shower that he realized something about what she had said.

She mispronounced his name. She said it like he had wings and a harp. In the past, she had only used it when saying something gushy like "my sweet angel" rather than his name.

In the shower, he took stock. He had medium sized breasts (judging by girls he knew), white skin - anglo white, not albino white - and, saving the worst for last, fully female plumbing (as far as he could tell). His hair was fine, blond, and down to his shoulders. He couldn't really see his pubic hair, but it seemed a little softer than it had.

Damn!

"This is not the way I wanted to get into a girl's pants."

"I would think not!" He nearly jumped out of the shower at the sound of his mother's voice. It was bad enough that he had said it out loud, but the fact that his mother heard it? Aargh!

"Please tell me I'm still asleep, and you're not really here."

She barely held back the laugh. "Alright. You're still asleep, and I'm not really here."

"You wouldn't lie to your only son, would you?"

"Not any more. But my new daughter is fair game." This time the giggle escaped.

Magdalena was more relieved than anything. If he ... she could joke like that, he ... she was taking it better than she had feared. She knew there would be difficult times ahead, and that it hadn't really sunk in yet. But this was a good sign. Her son had always been strong, in the ways that mattered. He was proud, and that pride had taken a blow, but he was strong.

But she wasn't quite sure how Angel would take the rest. He had been proud of his approaching manhood, and it was gone. But she would come to take pride in her womanhood. But he had been proud of other things, as well.

"Oh, no." His tone conveyed long suffering martyrdom, tinged with humor. "Don't tell me. You always wished you had a daughter to dress up like a doll, take shopping, and share all that girl crud with, didn't you?" He tried to put a note of accusation in the last, but wasn't sure he carried it off.

That hit a little close to the mark. They had only been able to have one child, and sometimes she really did harbor the guilty wish that he had been born a girl. "I'll never tell. But if I did, I guess that wish will have come true."

As he shut off the water, he asked "How's Papa taking it?"

"Before or after the anguished cries that the noble name of O'Connor would disappear forever?"

Angel startled himself by giggling. The name was common to begin with, and he had enough male cousins on his father's side to survive a major war.

Magdalena went on. "He's just happy that you're alive and well, and relatively normal."

"Relatively?" That had him worried.

"We don't know everything yet. You seem fully human, but we'll need the tests to be sure."

"I just got out for the Summer, and already you want me to study for some tests?"

Magdalena sobered. "Not for the tests. But you will have a lot to learn, and little enough time to learn it. All the little things the other girls spent their lives learning."

Angel reached for a towel, and she handed it to him. He started trying to dry his hair the way he was used to, but she stopped him.

"Not that way! You'll never get the tangles out. Dry the rest of yourself first, then we'll deal with the hair."

He dried his body off, his newly sensitive skin reacting more than he expected to the rubbing.

She let him finish, then commented "You'll find it more comfortable to pat yourself dry, instead."

"Now you tell me." he groused.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, and stepped out.

"Not like that!" she told him. "You've got a lot more to cover, now." She yanked the towel off him, then rewrapped it in a more feminine way. She debated wrapping his hair in another towel, but decided to just bring it along. Another practical lesson.

When they got to the bedroom, his aunt and his cousin Janey had just finished changing his bed.

"The boys are downstairs," his aunt informed him. "And they will stay there until I tell them otherwise."

"They know you don't mess with Mom!" agreed Janey.

His mother guided him to a chair and sat him down. "Close your legs, dear. You're a young lady now."

Janey stifled a giggle, as he snapped his knees together. He gave her what he hoped was still a dirty look.

His mother took a large, wide toothed comb and started combing out his hair.

"Ow! What are you trying to do ... pull it all out by the roots? Besides, I thought you used a brush for this sort of thing."

"No, you use a comb first, to get the knots and tangles out. Between your toweling it, and letting it dry this much, it is harder than it needs to be."

Janey jumped in. "And I bet you didn't condition it, either!"

"We'll teach you about that. If you condition your hair when you wash it, it won't be as hard to comb out. Then, while your hair is still wet, you comb it out to untangle it. After that, you can brush and dry it. Just doing that may take you half an hour or so in the morning. Still, you'll learn." She left her daughter's hair a bit damp, and moved on.

"Now it's time..." she announced, with a glint in her eye.

His aunt opened the closet, revealing a full length mirror on the inside of the door. His mother stood him up, and turned him toward it. " ... for the grand unveiling!" She whipped the towel off, leaving him standing there completely naked.

"Mother!" he shrieked, trying to cover himself.

"Relax, Angel." She used the halo and wings pronunciation again. "It's all girls here. We just want to help you get used to who you are now. And to help you understand that there's nothing you need to hide from us. You have a lot to learn in a very short time, and you will have a lot of questions. Questions that would have been unthinkably rude and embarrassing to ask us when you were ... in your former life. We'll answer almost any of them."

"Almost?"

"We reserve the right to refuse to answer questions that involve someone else," she replied, with mock formality. "And to lie about the personal ones."

They all hugged him, then turned him again to face the mirror.

"Angel, meet ... Angel." his mother said, waving her hand toward the mirror.

Angel was stunned. He had never seen a real naked girl before, except in magazines and pornos. And very few of them. But they were all women, really. Now he was staring at an attractive girl his age, and it was him. After a couple minutes of moving his eyes between his boobs and his crotch - much to the quiet amusement of his audience - he looked at the rest and got more of an overall impression.

He was what his father called an "everyday beauty." He was pretty, in a teenage girl sort of way, but not really a world class beauty. In a crowd of his female (former) classmates, he would fit right in. He was neither plain nor outstanding.

For the rest, he had blue eyes, blond hair (a lighter, nicer color now that it was drying), and distinctly Anglo coloring and features. He had a suspicion about something that was bothering him. He turned to his Mother.

"Why have you been calling me Angel?" He pronounced it the way she had.

"Because now you look like an Angel O'Connor, instead of your old self. It is common for people to change names when MORFS changes their sex, and if you really want some other name we can probably arrange it. But the easiest thing would be to keep your name the same and just start saying it the new way. It makes the paperwork much easier, and you already answer to it - even if you don't like to."

"Figured it was something like that." He shrugged. "Now what?"

"Now, we get you dressed. Starting with these." She held up a rather skimpy pair of panties.

A week ago, he would have enjoyed the sight of them. Now, they just seemed ... inadequate. He swallowed and breathed, then put them on. He was surprised how well they fit, and how nice they felt. "Whose are they?"

"Yours. When we saw how you had changed, we measured you and did a little shopping."

She handed him a bra. Up to now, it had been a kind of a game. Somehow, this made it real. One minute he was standing there, holding it, and the next he was curled up on the bed, crying his eyes out.

"It's no fair! I don't want to be a girl. I can't be a girl. I'm a man, dammit! I had plans!"

His mother held him lightly, rocked, and cooed soothingly. "That's right, cry it out. It isn't fair. None of it is. The move, the change, all of it. You did everything right, and it still happened. You've earned the right to a good cry."

Through the haze of his emotions and tears, he saw that she was crying, too. He hugged her to him, and cried until he was cried out. Drained.

"There. Feel better now?"

"A little. But why am I losing it like this? I never used to cry like that. Maybe when I was a baby, but still... ?"

"It's another part of being a girl. The hormones play hell with your emotions, and you aren't used to it yet. The good part is that it's ok for girls to cry. And sometimes, it's the only thing that helps."

Janey snuggled up to him. "Welcome to the psychotic world of the American teenage girl, An. Just wait till you learn the secret handshake!"

Angel giggled a little through his tears, an odd sensation.

"I kinda know what you are going through. When I woke up with all this," she indicated her fur, tail, and head, "I thought my life was over. And in a way, it was. But I have a new life now, and it will be what I make of it. Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it stinks. But it's my life."

"How long... ?"

"How long did it take me to get used to it like this?" He nodded. "I still have to remind myself sometimes. Like when some of my former friends say or do something hurtful." She sighed. "But for most of it, it came when I realized that this is it. This is my life."

"So now what?"

"Now, we finish getting you dressed and ready to face the world." His mother replied.

She held up the bra. "I'll show you the easy way for now. But if those things get any bigger, and I bet they will, you will need to learn the right way to do it."

She put the strap around backwards, with the hooks in the front. She closed one hook and had him close the other two. Then she slid it around until it faced the right way. She showed him how to finish putting it on, then adjusted the straps a little.

The top was just a polo style shirt, with the few buttons going the wrong way. He barely noticed the difference. The skirt was another matter. He felt the emotions welling up again, but took a couple of breaths and fought them down again. When it was on, it seemed too short. He felt exposed, even though it went down to his knees.