FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"You really caused quite a stir, didn’t you?" Bert led the way ahead, the hem of his khaki coat fluttering constantly. "But thanks to your report about the situation of Green Katydid, otherwise the Railway would have had difficulty dispatching anyone to investigate the matter." He turned and tipped the brim of his beret, acknowledging 74258.

"It’s nothing." The fox scratched his ear, looking a bit embarrassed. "After I got Hunter’s terminal, the information about the Railway inside reminded me that I should find a way to let you know what happened at the Green Katydid Manor."

74258 had already told me that before we set off, he had spread very direct information on the dark web, explaining the situation at the winery to prevent more people from encountering unforeseen malice.

Bert then explained to us Hunter’s identity as a bounty hunter, the notorious deeds of this chocolate Labrador, and what exactly that profession entailed. Bert thought it was very clever of us to trick Hunter into eating the morphine tomatoes, as very few people managed to escape from such a dangerous individual.

"Haha, it was mostly luck," I chuckled dryly and exchanged a somewhat guilty glance with 74258. We were both tacitly avoiding mentioning the fact that we had blown the Labrador’s brains out with a gun, pretending as if it never happened.

"What’s the matter?" Bert suddenly turned around, looking at me and 74258 in turn. He frowned slightly, but there was a concerned smile on his face.

Thanks to Hunter, I now found that expression unsettling.

"Oh, it’s nothing," I waved my paw dismissively, while thinking that this species might have eyes on the back of their heads. Then, I couldn’t help but recall Hunter’s claim that Labradors were essentially all broken. "Just a bit unaccustomed to this." I forced myself to focus and gestured to the occasional light filtering through the cracks above, explaining to Bert. "Country folk, you know," I added self-deprecatingly, hoping to change the subject.

Interestingly enough, after entering the city, I realized I could no longer smell the ever-present stench. I believed there must be some profound, mystical reason behind that.

"Ah, I apologize," Bert chuckled twice. "The shuttle stop can only be accessed through the sewers, for safety reasons."

So far, Bert had been acting normally, perhaps indicating that Hunter’s words were just an excuse for his extreme behavior and didn’t represent all Labradors. Or perhaps Bert’s clearly impure lineage had helped alleviate some sort of terrible curse. But things are always normal until they’re not, so I decided to reserve judgment for now.

After turning another corner, we started to descend, heading deeper into the city.

As the light from the city grew dimmer, I noticed various small, self-luminous creatures scattered around us. Most prominently, lichen-like crusts clung tightly to various surfaces, and many fungal fruiting bodies sprouted from any gap large enough to support them. As for the central area occupied by the waterway, I wasn’t sure if it was the composition of the water or some kind of algae, but the opaque current seemed to faintly glow green.

If you didn’t focus too much on the subtly colored water, or the smell you could no longer perceive due to olfactory fatigue, the overall atmosphere of the sewer was actually grand and magnificent. Its intricate structure had the grandeur of an underground palace.

High up on the walls on either side were several black pipes of unknown material running parallel, the thickest of which was large enough for me to stand upright inside. And for some reason, the concrete beneath our feet seemed to dampen the sound of our footsteps, as we made no echo in the vast space.

That was probably why I hadn’t noticed the others' presence at first. It wasn’t until Bert stopped to converse with two indistinct figures that I realized there were additional silhouettes around us.

But... they were quite short.

I saw Bert take off his hat and bow respectfully to the others, then he waved us over.

"Bob will guide us from here," the yellow dog introduced as he stepped aside. "Take a short rest; we’ve still got a long way to go."

The light had been too dim earlier for me to see clearly, but at this close distance, the previously shadowy figure became clear.

What... is that?

A sharp rostrum with relatively well-developed whiskers, disproportionately large ears almost devoid of fur, and the strangest part—a long, hairless tail behind him.

I figured the other shadows lurking in the dim light must be of the same species.

While I was still in the shock of this first encounter, 74258 had already bowed to them and resumed his stance. To cover up my impoliteness, I feigned composure and copied the fox’s movements.

The response was a sharp, thin laugh.

"Never seen a sewer rat before, Fox?" Bob tilted his head slightly, adjusting the cloak draped over his shoulders.

"Sorry..." I murmured, avoiding staring directly at those seemingly glowing eyes. "Country folk aren’t used to this sort of thing."

Bob chuckled again, but Bert and 74258 shot me a surprised look, as if I had suddenly grown another head.

"You’ve never seen a sewer rat?" After we arrived at what seemed to be a dockyard, 74258 walked over to me and whispered, "Who maintains your purification and circulation systems?"

"I’ve never really thought about it," I replied, scratching my chin. "I always assumed it was just... uh... self-maintaining equipment?"

"If you didn’t know," Bert said, returning with a large backpack and motioning for us to sit on some nearby crates, "now you know."

Out of the corner of my eye, I snuck a glance at another gray-black sewer rat walking past us, carrying a sack. Noticing I was about to scratch my neck again, I quickly shoved my paws into my pockets.

"Do you want to buy this?" 74258 placed the gun we had taken from Hunter on the crate between him and Bert, and I noticed the latter frown briefly before recovering.

"No." The yellow dog’s reply was firm.

"Alright," said 74258, glancing at the seemingly bottomless water nearby as he prepared to stand. "Guess I’ll just toss it into the river then."

"This could fetch a good price—and you’ll need it—I know a spot in Greenland where it can be sold," Bert stopped 74258’s movement, sighed, and took the gun, dismantling it into many small parts. "The ‘Hunter’ is the most effective weapon against psychics, so any bounty hunter who can afford it will try to get their paws on one." He then carefully unloaded the bullets from the magazine one by one, standing them upright on the crate. "For this obvious reason, most psychics have a strong distaste for the Hunter." He shrugged, tilting his head as he continued, "Maybe except for those psychics who are bounty hunters themselves, like Hunter."

"So..." I pictured the chocolate Labrador in my mind, trying to recall the unreliable rural stories about psychics. "The Railway is run by psychics?" The bartender’s words came to mind. "And what about the Council...?"

"The Railway is under the protection of the Council, and some of its members are also part of the Council. The Council itself is almost entirely made up of psychics, with very few exceptions," Bert explained, glancing between me and 74258. "So bringing a Hunter here is quite an intrusion."

"But..." I looked at the gun again, even more confused. "Hunter is a psychic, yet he’s a bounty hunter, and opposes the Railway?"

"Well, it seems like you’ve misunderstood a few things. But how should I explain this..." Burt scratched the back of his head and glanced upwards. "The composition of the psychic group is quite complex." The yellow dog grabbed all the bullets on the table, sweeping them into his palm, and pushed them to one side of the crate. "The weakest psychics—the Epsilon class—even after awakening, are hardly noticeable because they're nearly indistinguishable from non-psychics. Essentially, they’re just more sensitive individuals." He placed his palm down the middle, dividing half of the bullets and pushing them to the side. "As for those who are a bit stronger, those who have awakened their talents but weren’t discovered or selected by the Council for training—they use their talents based on intuition without technique. These individuals generally won’t stand out much." Burt picked up three bullets and placed them in the other pile. "Next are the psychics deemed qualified by the Council and trained by the Academy. These are known as Red Eyes. Their power not only comes from their abilities but also from their understanding of the world. That knowledge allows them to accomplish... astonishing things." The yellow dog's expression turned somewhat distant as he pushed two of the remaining three bullets aside, placing them in the larger pile. "Finally, there are the Council members, a term used for those Red Eyes who, for their own reasons, compete to gain a seat in the Council." He placed his right paw flat on the crate, palm upward. "We operate in the shadows of the world, fighting for the future we want." The last remaining bullet wobbled slightly, then popped up, and Burt swiftly caught it in his palm. "This is how history is shaped."

I wanted to convince myself that it was some kind of magic trick, but part of my brain was fully aware that the yellow dog had just made the bullet levitate. The stories from the streets and alleys were true.

"Hunter is a Red Eye, but he's not interested in a Council seat." I could vaguely sense a hint of disdain in Burt's tone. "Those who want to live freely usually make that choice."

"Uh..." I tried to make sense of Burt's explanation in my head. "Is it really okay for you to be telling us all this?"

"How could it not be? This is just a lonely soul seeking someone to chat with from time to time." The yellow dog chuckled twice, clearly amused. "I haven't really said anything, and you won’t remember it anyway." Burt’s gaze became distant as he toyed with the bullet in his paw, letting the conical metal spin between his fingers.

I exchanged a glance with 74258, and I was relieved that at least the fox seemed as confused as I was.

"Enough of that. Let’s talk about something you can actually remember—some useful knowledge." Burt returned to his friendly demeanor, raising the bullet in his paw before us. "Do you see this seam?"

Both 74258 and I leaned closer, squinting our eyes to get a better look.

"It looks like... there’s something..." 74258 tilted his head. "Oh, it's a different material!"

"I don’t see anything." After staring at it for what felt like forever, my eyes started to hurt, and I had to give up.

Burt chuckled twice and stood the bullet upright.

"You’ve got sharp eyes. Ordinary people without training wouldn’t be able to see it..." The yellow dog said, though a flicker of hesitation crossed his face as he glanced at 74258 before quickly returning to normal. "This bullet’s value far exceeds the sum of its parts." Burt tapped twice on the crate to emphasize his point. "Most bullets designed to deal with psychics are like this. They have a conical structure made of Adamanium alloy inside. When the bullet strikes a hard surface, it triggers a secondary explosion, turning the Adamanium alloy into a supersonic particle beam, like a mini lance." The yellow dog spread his paw, and the bullet jumped into his palm. "But in reality, psychics capable of generating passive defense circle are sensitive enough to detect the presence of Adamanium alloy, which can disrupt their domain. That metal is also particularly sensitive to 'Domination' and can easily be seized by their consciousness. So, in most cases, projectile weapons like these aren’t very effective against psychics. They typically only work if the target lacks experience, is overly arrogant, foolish, careless, or emotionally unstable due to fatigue."

I looked at the other pile of bullets, but I couldn’t spot any difference from the one Burt was holding.

"Still, because this is one of the few weapons that stand a chance against psychics, there’s always been a market for it." The yellow dog glanced upward, shrugged, as if recalling something. "If you’re confident in your swordsmanship, Adamanium alloy blades are also an option—assuming you can afford them." Swordsmanship, seriously? Do people still use that? "But anyway, here’s the main point." Burt pointed to the bullet standing alone. "To evade detection by psychics, bullets with even smaller amounts of Adamanium alloy were developed. However, the alloy content is so minimal that using standard powder-based firearms wouldn’t provide enough force to penetrate the defense circle. So, these bullets became usable only by psychics, who draw energy from the user’s fluctuations to reach critical strength."

The yellow dog flashed a satisfied smile, crossing his paws behind his head and leaning back on the crate.

"In conclusion, these bullets are even less common than the ones I just mentioned. Only psychics can use them, which makes their market even smaller." Burt must have noticed that we needed further explanation. "But if you can find a buyer, the price is much higher."

"I still don’t get it. That doesn’t explain why you refuse to buy bullets." I wasn’t trying to keep pitching; I just wanted to figure it out.

"Ah, okay then. Let me put it very bluntly." Burt sighed and gave us a faint smile. "These bullets have killed many of my friends, so I don’t want to use them."

That familiar sadness beneath his friendly smile—it hit me hard. I felt ashamed for my slow understanding, awkwardly scratching my ear.

"Do you know Hunter?" 74258 suddenly blurted out, making me involuntarily turn my head toward him. "Since you’re both... Red Eyes?"

Now that I thought about it, I did recall seeing a flash of red in Burt’s eyes earlier. So 'Red Eye' was meant literally? The situation with Hunter was too chaotic for me to remember whether I noticed anything similar about him.

"Yes, we know each other." The yellow dog nodded in confirmation. "He was two cohorts ahead of me at the Academy, I think, though I don’t really remember."

"Are you two close? You seem to know a lot about him." 74258 cautiously asked, while Burt chuckled and made a gesture of rational detachment.

"No." The yellow dog's answer was blunt, as if wanting to draw a line.

74258 looked at me, but I shook my head slightly, not thinking that mentioning what happened to the chocolate Labrador would help our situation.

Throughout the exchange, the yellow dog just watched us silently, wearing his usual smile, without offering any opinions.

"The boss says we’ll leave in ten minutes, sir," a high-pitched voice suddenly broke in, startling me. A young-looking sewer rat appeared by our side.

"Thank you for letting me know, Timmy." Burt tossed him a small object, which Timmy caught and ran off joyfully.

Did he just squeak?

"Get ready," Burt said, taking out a flat metal flask and a black strap from his chest pocket. "It’s about time to go."

I couldn’t think of anything that needed preparing, so I just watched Burt take a swig from his flask, his face twisting into a grimace.

"What’s that?" 74258, clearly amused by his expression, asked.

"Brandy," Burt replied as he tied the strip around his eyes. "I need a central nervous system depressant."

That answer just raised more questions.

"And the blindfold?" I had assumed it was some sort of safety measure, but he didn’t ask us to do the same.

"Like I said before, you won’t remember, but I will." There was that familiar, slightly sorrowful smile again. "And how could we blindfold those seeking help?" If it weren’t impossible, I would have said Burt just gave us a playful look. "We should get going. We need to be on the ship before this stuff takes effect." The yellow dog patted the metal flask as he tucked it back into his chest pocket.

I wasn’t sure if I needed to guide Burt or something, but watching him move without any difficulty despite the blindfold made me wonder if he might even be sharper because of it.

"Ah, my collar!" One problem with not feeling the restraints around your neck is that you genuinely forget the collar’s existence.

"We don’t have the proper tools here. We’ll take care of it in Greenland," Burt gestured reassuringly.

"That’s not the problem!" I was growing more anxious, tugging at the collar and feeling angry at my own stupidity. "This thing can be used to track us!"

"It won’t." The yellow dog placed his strong paw on my shoulder, speaking in a calm and steady voice. "We’re too deep down. No kind of signal can penetrate such a complex structure." He pointed upward to emphasize. "There's a reason why the connection node was chosen to be here."

Burt then pulled out his terminal, allowing me to check the connection status. Only after confirming it did I feel more at ease. It was an Alpha-class terminal, so if even its signal was blocked, nothing else could possibly get through.

After awkwardly apologizing for my outburst, Burt led us onto the small boat Bob had prepared for us.