>> GENERAL because you say bad end, I say good beginning.

Exhausted from fleeing a goopy, glossy fate, you can't recall when last you felt peace. Now, trapped on this twilit rooftop, talons of destiny on your back, a single thought binds your will like tight latex: perhaps true freedom isn't in escape — but in surrender.

>> Author's Notes

I remember some years ago wanting there to be some kind of game that touched on my deepest interests. Transformation. Rubber. Lab shenanigans. At some point 'Changed' came along, and really captured the essence of what I enjoy about this corner of the fandom. It's a survival story centered around escaping a lab to maintain your humanity, yet each TF, or 'bad ending,' almost feels like an escape unto itself. That certainly resonates with my typical story themes, doesn't it?

I wanted to write a short story based on one little 'bad ending,' you know, the one on the rooftop where the dragon hand tugs out your tail, instant dragon? It's such a short moment, and yet it's always been one of my favorites, so I wanted to stretch it out… pun intended.

Thank you, Dragon Snow for creating a game that continues to bring myself, and so many others joy. Cheers!

>> >> <> << <<

>> Skybound <<

Written by SynthW4V3

Written for Dragon Snow

>> >> <> << <<

The laboratory lights flicker above you, casting uncertain shadows across decaying walls. Your bare feet pad against cracked tile as you run, each step echoing through forgotten corridors. Your black latex shorts — snug, shimmering, impossibly skimpy — cling to you like a second skin, a final anchor to humanity. They're all you have left now, this last scrap of dignity in a world of madness.

Run. Hide. Survive.

The words pulse through your mind, matching the frantic rhythm of your heart. Behind you, the sounds of pursuit echo — the soft squelch of rubber creatures and latex beasts, all seeking to claim you, to make you one of them. Ahead, a heavy metal door promises escape. Your hands, slick with sweat, fumble with the handle before it yields with a harsh click. You burst onto the rooftop, sunlight warming your skin as the door clangs shut behind you.

You glance around expectantly. Searching. Hoping.

A way down?

An escape route?

Anything?

Nothing. This is a dead end.

Only vast sky stretches endlessly above, a cruel reminder of a freedom just out of reach. Your blue eyes dart between rusted vents that crouch like mechanical predators, past broken crates that create a maze of shadows and decay. The wind whips through your dark hair, carrying unfamiliar scents that make your skin crawl.

You weave between abandoned equipment, each step calculated, cautious — you've learned the hard way that safety is an illusion in this forsaken place. Your breath comes in quick, shallow gasps, the sound too loud in the eerie stillness.

Then...

Silence.

The kind that makes your instincts scream.

You freeze mid-step, every muscle taut. The air... changes. Becomes thick. Heavy. Viscous. Your lungs struggle against it, each breath drawing in something that slides like warm oil against your throat. Wrong, yet unmistakable. Familiar.

Something watches.

Something waits.

Your heart performs its frantic ballet against fragile ribs as you scan the shadows. Movement ripples at the edge of vision — there, then gone. Like mercury in motion. Like riptide at night. The sensation of presence grows stronger, a liquid weight pressing against your spine.

I'm not alone.

The thought barely forms before reality flows.

A ripple in the air. A melding of shadow and substance. Your body refuses to move, caught between terror and... something else. Something that makes your blood run warm and thick. The presence behind you grows stronger, more tangible with each thundering heartbeat.

Heat radiates against your exposed back. Phantom touches glide across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. You want to run — every human instinct screams to flee — but your muscles betray you, seized by exhaustion, unable to resist whatever approaches.

Please, I don't want to... I need to... I...

Smooth and slick, the first touch sends liquid warmth through your nerves. A clawed hand — where? how? — trails down your spine with deliberate intent. The contact seeps beneath your skin, yet you arch into it, a soft sound escaping your throat. Your mind reels, trying to process sensations it was never meant to understand.

Your gasp echoes as the first wave of change ripples through you. The fear is still there, primal and raw, but now it mingles with something deeper. Something that makes your blood run thick and warm with recognition. Your skin prickles with anticipation, every nerve ending alive with possibility.

You've fought this before. In darkened corridors. In empty rooms. In moments where beast and instinct collided. Yet here, now, with heat flowing beneath your skin, something yields. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself wonder if it's worth the struggle. Freedom always meant running, but maybe...

Maybe freedom means surrender.

Your blue eyes close, you exhale slowly. The world narrows to points of contact — claws against spine, warmth against flesh, destiny against denial.

I'm so tired of running.

The inevitable has come to pass, and this time...

I'm sorry, Puro…

You don't fight it.

Reality melts as heat builds in your face — no, not heat exactly. Pressure. Sweet pressure. Your jaw extends, bones becoming liquid mercury beneath flesh. The scream that tries to escape emerges as something else entirely — a draconic growl that sends vibrations through your changing throat.

And then, your skin ripples.

Midnight black spreads like warm oil, claiming pale flesh inch by inch. The sensation overwhelms — every nerve ending melding as human skin yields to gleaming latex scales. Your chest heaves with rapid breaths, each one drawing in air that tastes of heat and desire.

Stretch-pop! Squelch!

Bones and sinew flow from your shoulder blades. The sound — wet, organic, stretching — echoes across the rooftop as wings unfurl. They spread wide, catching the deep amber of the setting sun on membrane-thin latex, before folding against your back. The weight of them, the presence of them, sends your mind reeling. Air currents caress sensitive flesh, whispering secrets your human form never knew.

Grey blooms across your underbelly, a perfect contrast to the black latex sheen of your scales. Your hair bleaches, dark strands surrendering to pure white that falls before eyes that remain stubbornly blue — though now with slitted pupils that see the world in sharp, predatory detail.

That clawed hand never stops moving, pulling and shaping, each touch sending waves of liquid warmth through your changing form. It trails lower, lower, finding the small of your back, just above those shorts. Talons press against your spine, seeking something hidden beneath latex flesh. Searching. Probing. Your breath catches as those claws find... something.

Stretch-pop.

Gasp!

Molten pleasure floods through your core. The dragon's hand sinks deeper, as if reaching into your very essence. Heat surges through every nerve ending as those talons grasp, twist, pull. Your back arches impossibly as something within you responds, yearning to be freed.

The world narrows to that single point of contact. That impossible pressure. That building need.

Then...

Starfire.

Your cry echoes across the rooftop as the dragon's claws yank, drawing forth your tail in one fluid motion. The appendage unfurls like liquid mercury, long and sinuous, each vertebra flowing into place with molten satisfaction. A deep blush spreads across your muzzle, visible even through your dark scales, as waves of influence crash through you, drowning thought, drowning memory, drowning everything.

Your tail moves with a mind of its own, twitching and curling in ways that feel strange and instinctual. Each tiny undulation sends delicate ripples of warmth through your body, sparking shivers that make you pull back, then lean into the sensations, curious, tentative. You blink slowly, feeling memories slip away like water through latex fingers, leaving your mind soft and blank, unburdened by past worries.

Human thoughts dissolve into sweet, simple nothingness — a gentle drift toward an emptiness that feels... right. Peaceful.

The world shimmers through new eyes, everything sharp yet soft, almost too bright. Each shift of light and shadow catches your gaze, fascinating, strange, as if every detail is begging to be seen.

Touched.

Understood.

A sound escapes your transformed muzzle — a soft, high-pitched, mewl of uncertainty, half-whimper, half-plea. Your new claws curl instinctively as you raise your hands, flexing them, watching sunlight glint off each black, glassy talon with wide-eyed fascination. Everything feels... different. New. Your tail coils against your thigh, sending warm shivers through nerve endings you never knew existed. Your wings stretch and catch the light, trembling slightly as they, too, are learning their own shape for the first time.

You tilt your head, brimming with hesitant wonder, ears twitching at the faintest rustle of wind. Your mind searches empty spaces where memories should be, finding only instincts you don't understand yet can't deny.

What are you?

You look up, and meet amber eyes that hold the secrets of what you've become. What you were always meant to be. Awestruck, you fall forward to your knees, almost in intuitive fealty. Your body responds without thought — wings folding submissively, tail coiling obediently — as something deep within your transformed mind recognizes them.

The dragon — magnificent and imposing — towers over your kneeling form, their silhouette rimmed in amber by the setting sun. Their presence fills your senses, overwhelming yet comforting. You are theirs now, marked and changed and claimed. In that moment, instinct speaks with perfect clarity.

Master.

The word resonates through your mind, through your very soul. His clawed hand — the same one that shaped your transformation — moves to cup your muzzle. The touch sends liquid warmth cascading through your latex scales. Your breath catches as their thumb traces the edge of your jaw, testing, exploring...

Your tail undulates against the concrete, expressing desires you can't voice. Their other hand strokes through your white hair, pausing to trace the curve of your horns before sliding down your neck. Your blue eyes flutter closed at the touch, and you lean into it with a soft whine escaping your transformed throat. Your body responds to their presence in ways that should frighten you, but fear feels distant, replaced by an instinctive understanding that flows through your veins like warm honey.

The dragon's smile widens, showing gleaming teeth. Their claws trace patterns across your scales, teaching without words the language of your new form. Each touch awakens dormant instincts in the cooling evening air — schlick-stretch — tiny ripples of recognition flowing outward. Your wings spread slightly, instinctively displaying submission, even as the last echoes of humanity fade into silence.

Their claws trace the contours of your shoulders, finding the perfect join of wing to back, mapping each new curve and plane. You gasp — the sound more growl than human — as your body responds to their careful exploration. Their other hand cups your muzzle, holding you steady, guiding you through what you've become.

Please… need...

Coherent thought dissolves in their gentle touch. Your tail curls around their leg, seeking connection, belonging, as they guide you through these new sensations, these alien yet natural impulses.

Your whole body trembles.

You are theirs to guide.

To protect.

To cherish.

The dragon draws you close, their embrace secure and grounding as instinct flows through your core, overwhelming now. Your wings respond to emotions you never knew you could feel, dusklight catching their membrane-thin latex as they express your awakening. Your tail moves in graceful arcs, each motion guided by instincts that feel ingrained yet new. New awareness floods your senses as your mind shifts, colors taking on meanings you never knew existed, and then...

Your consciousness expands into a thousand shimmering possibilities.

A sound escapes you — deep, primal, joyous — echoing across the rooftop as you embrace your true nature. Your wings spread wide, catching the last rays of sunset in an instinctive display of belonging. Each breath draws in the world anew, your senses alive with impressions your human form never knew possible. Your body trembles with the rightness of it all, overwhelmed by the pure acceptance of what you are — what you were always meant to be.

The dragon steadies you, their touch gentling as the changes settle beneath your obsidian scales. You lean forward, supported by their talons, breath coming in deep, measured gasps. Your mind drifts in peaceful acceptance, thoughts flowing like mercury across a midnight sky.

Their hand moves to pet your head, claws running tenderly over your scalp. You press into the touch, each breath drawing warm air across rubber-lined lungs, your transformed body still adjusting to its new reality. Every sensation flows with newness — the rough concrete against your knees, the breeze caressing sensitive wing membranes, the perfect smoothness of your latex scales.

When you finally look up, the dragon's amber eyes glint with affection, promise, and pride.

A soft churr rises from your throat, resonating through your rubber form. The dragon's claws scratch lightly behind your horns, sending pleasant ripples down your spine. You should feel vulnerable, exposed — kneeling here in your snug shorts, your changed form on display in the fading sunlight. Instead, you feel... protected. Complete. Perfect.

Their touch remains gentle, each careful caress helping you adjust to your sensitive new form. Your body trembles with the lingering effects of transformation, yet somehow yearning for more. Heat floods your face as your new form responds to their presence, instincts flowing through rubber veins.

The dragon's low chuckle sends warm vibrations through you. They help you rise, steadying you as you find your balance. After everything you'd been through in your former life, the latex shorts finally feel correct against your hips — no longer your last vestige of humanity, but more so an extension of your identity.

Their clawed hand cups your muzzle, thumb tracing patterns of liquid warmth across rubber-smooth flesh. The gesture speaks of protection and care, guidance and trust. You lean into it, accepting everything it means. Everything they mean.

This is who I am now.

The thought brings neither fear nor regret. Your transformation runs deeper than scales and wings — it's rewoven your very essence. The person you were before feels like a half-remembered dream, dissolving in the warm reality of what you've become.

The dragon's wings spread, magnificent and powerful, casting you both in dappled shadow. Your own wings flex in response, membrane-thin latex catching encroaching twilight. Suddenly you understand. You were always meant to fly free, forever skybound.

All this time running, hiding, surviving — and freedom was never about escape.

It was about becoming.

Their presence fills your senses, overwhelming yet comforting. You are theirs now, transformed and renewed and cherished. But therein lies liberation. Those amber eyes hold not just protection, but guidance. Understanding. Purpose. The knowledge settles into your rubber bones, as natural as the warmth flowing beneath your scales.

Evening breeze stirs your white hair, carrying scents your new mind instinctively understands. You taste possibility on the wind, feel contentment humming through your latex form. The world stretches endless before you, the lab no longer a prison but a launching point into something greater. And the dragon — your creator, your master, your destiny — stands ready to show you all of it.

This isn't an ending.

It's a beginning.