[Long description: The Chief launches out of her seat and tears across the room. The force of her exit throws the stool, the R.A., and several planters to the floor.
The R.A. just lays there, sprawled flat. She watches as the Chief feels around for something on one of the shelves. The woman is changing fast— her ratty old tank top splits open around her chest, with thick clumps of fur growing out of her spine. Frayed wires emerge from the neural ports in her back, and her shins and feet elongate under her boots, doubling her over into a more digitigrade stance.
The Chief finds what she’s searching for. She claps a huge, taloned hand down on her respirator, and quickly fastens it to her face.
The R.A. rises up off her elbows, with a lurch. “Are you ok?”
The Chief doesn’t respond.]