Cross-World Hero #3 : Not Sheepy At All

The first night in the new apartment had been as miserable as the wolf expected. There were sirens and car alarms going off at all hours of the night. Not a single insect or woodland critter scampering about to be heard. Not even roaches in the walls.  His only company that night was the gentle hum of the air conditioner.
His hopes got the better of him around 3am when he heard a crash that, his mind betraying the reality of his situation, he mistook for a sasquatch performing a warning by striking nearby trees over and over. That had just turned out to be one of his neighbors.
By all accounts, he should have been dead to the world, having hopped from world to world for what evidently had been several months by Mobius time. The physical and mental exhaustion of it all was there, feeling as if every individual strand of fur had ached. How he managed to answer the questions during the interrogation so clearly was anyone’s guess at this point. 
He was just glad it was over. Now if only he could get some dang sleep!
Counting sheep had ended up being a bad idea as every little ewe that crossed the barn’s threshold began to look more and more like Lanolin with each critter that pranced out of the barn, rapidly evolving from the four-legged critter to the pretty sheep with the ‘tude within thirty seconds.
And she was scolding him there too, despite her featureless nudity.
The images conjured in his head had left the counting scene as reality wavered and what was a barn door turned into the interrogation room’s wall. No doors, not even the two-way mirror behind him. 
The vividness of it all. This was far too clear to be his imagination, he decided as Lanolin’s naked form phased through he foam-padded wall to his right. Her body now more defined with familiar female shapes, but still largely featureless beyond that.
Playing out the scenes from this morning, the sheep sat opposite Laik, her torso hunched over and her forearm resting on her leg. She shot him that same heavy-browed glare, never once attempting to cross her legs(not that there was anything to see) or cover her chest (which was just a singular protrusion). 
Her mouth moved, but no words came out. He remembered what she had said, however,
“Where have you been hiding these last seven months?” Her tone was cold, hardened. It was the whole bad cop routine coming from someone that’d never actually had to play the role before. It had almost made him chuckle.
If his memory was accurate, what she did next was going to be a treat in her current state. 

But instead of kicking herself up out of the cold metal chair, propelling herself forward and slamming her hand against the back of his chair, her blue eyes rolled to the back of her head and her body fell limp as a ragdoll.
Laik wanted to move to her, but found his body totally immobile. The bodily equivalent of the muteness one can sometimes find oneself in within a dream.
Not-Lanolin’s body slid to the floor, her structureless limbs flopping to her sides like cooked noodles tossed in a strainer. And then… Wait, when did her hands develop suction cups? he wondered in silent terror. Not-Lanolin was morphing into a writhing, tentacled mass right before his eyes. 
Sure he’d yearned for sleep, but not if it meant a nightmare like this and—
“You believe this to be a nightmare, child?” The voice said, emanating from somewhere in the pile of shifting pile of wooly tentacles with the little black sucking suction cups. Each lined with horrific serrated teeth.
“The sight before you will pale in comparison to the horrors I will surely cast upon this pathetic planet.” As the deep voice bellowed, the mass of tentacles began to take shape, forming a massive head with two glowing orange eyes at the front. “Now tell me, child: Where is the Phantom Ruby—“
A series of loud explosions ripped Laik from his chair, his adrenaline suddenly spiking, and his body feeling the fight-or-flight response. Even the face made of tentacles had seemed surprised.

The explosions quickly turned to blunt, rapid knocks at the door as the interrogation room turned back into Laik’s tiny studio apartment. His bed was at the far wall beside the window, a tiny kitchen directly ahead, and the front door to the left of the fridge.
Thump-thump-thump!
Someone was knocking at the door. At 7am. No one knew he was here, except for—
“—It’s Lanolin. Open the door, wolf. It’s important.”
Lanolin the Sheep. The actual sheep and not the one from that bizarre nightmare, he’d hoped.
“I’m coming…” He said, his voice drenched in grog and further exhaustion. He stepped through his carpeted ‘bedroom’ out onto the linoleum floor that covered the rest of the apartment, ignoring the sight of bedhead that he’d have noticed had he glanced in the mirror.
“You look like crap,” Lanolin said.
“I feel like crap,” Laik replied. He took a quick glance at her, noting the heavy boots, green cargos and orange tank top. Same as what she wore yesterday.
“…You aren’t made of tentacles by any chance, are you?” He realized what he was saying as he said it, typical of most interactions with women. 
If expressions had any physical impact, then the look on the sheep’s face would have knocked the wind out of him.
“I’m not even going to ask. I’m only here because I forgot to give you something yesterday. It’s not much, but you’ve seen the state the world is in, so there’s not a whole lot of cash to go around, but the Restoration all agreed you deserved something just the same.” 
She handed him a card with the Restorations’ emblem etched onto the front. “Just something for helping out during the war,” and then promptly turned away, throwing up a hand and waving goodbye. “See you around, wolf.” 
“Th-thank you, Ms. Lanolin.” He couldn’t help but stare at her as she walked away. The fluid movement of her walk. The sway of her hips— It was all very feminine and clashed with the light infantry-style outfit and attitude she wore.
“Don’t mention it.” Her voice faded as she disappeared down the stairwell.

Laik slipped the card into his rucksack. His stomach growled in anguish, demanding sustenance. A noise he was all too familiar with when a lot of his meals growing up had depended on what fish were biting on any given day.
“All right, all right,” he patted his belly, “Let’s go find somewhere that’s serving breakfast.” Slipping on his fingerless gloves, followed by his now-clean socks and sneakers, Laik headed for the door, ready to fill his stomach and see a bit more of what Central City had to offer.
“And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”