FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Nicholas Grayson?"

“Yes, that's me. I go by Nick usually."

“Right this way please."

Nick followed the young businesswoman through the corridors of the Barson Lakeside Tower, an office skyscraper located slap-dash in the middle of the state capital. To him it felt like an eternity had passed since last he walked upon his home soil, the country he grew up in. Fresh from the airport, hot on the trail of a once-in-a-lifetime job offer, he forged ahead, his future in the making.

“Coffee?"

“Thanks, but no thanks."

“Have you had anything to eat?"

“No no, I'm good," he casually waved off her hospitality, the interview alone was worth the hassle.

Many years. Many stressful years abroad in pursuit of his degrees. A nobody from the bottom rung of society who lucked out on his college enrolment. Full scholarship; at a place of his choosing. An academic's wet dream. It's like his friend Tommy once said: Nick, learn to read your own god-damn handwriting, and stop copyin' my answers, and you could rule the fucking world!

He might've embellished that advice over the years...slightly.

“Just a bit further, we have a waiting room for you."

“Thank you again for reaching out to me."

She turned and smiled, halting their passage. “Oh no trouble at all, Mr. Grayson. You came quite highly recommended."

“I did?" he asked, an unmistakable hint of pride in his voice.

“Oh yes. Graduated with honours. Master's degree. Two of them. Biochemical Engineering and Analytical Biology. Postdoctoral research in Genetic Re-Sequencing & Propagation. Your advisors speak very highly of you: solid work ethic, sharp mind...though they do tend to complain about your cursive."

He chuckled. “That old chestnut. Glad I impress."

The glass door ahead carefully slid open as the two advanced through the building. A bored man who appeared to be mid-thirties sat at the only desk in the room they'd entered.

“Mr. Grayson to see the Director."

The scruffy attendant barely tore his eyes away from his work. “Interviewee?" he asked.

Nick's escort nodded.

The man looked up at them. “Has he been given clearance?"

She stalled for a moment.

“He's here by special request."

“Just a minute." The man picked up his phone and dialled in. The two stood, anxious.

The aide spoke to whomever was at the end of the line. Nick was treated to half of a conversation, leaving him restless. He wanted to sit down after hours on his feet.

“Uh-huh...yeah...Mr. Grayson...Gray-son...first name? Hold on..."

“...yes, Nicholas...I believe so...apparently by request from management..."

“...he's a doctor, I guess...yes...listen, can you tell me if he's allowed access..."

Nick and his handler both wore a look of impatience.

“...okay...you sure? Right."

He hung up.

“That was Amy in Legal. Everything's peachy. Go on." The sarcasm dripped from his words. He returned to staring at his computer, disinterested.

“Shall we," she motioned to continue.

“Of course."

They transitioned to the waiting room. To one side lay a broad set of wooden doors. Varnished mahogany. Wide, with ornate handles. Exuberant, as expected of a powerful corporation.

“If you'd care to sit here we will be with your shortly."

Nick obeyed. Before she left he grabbed her attention. “Sorry...I don't know your name..."

“It's Grace."

“Well, I just want to say: thank you. Grace. For all you're doing for me."

“Nonsense," she chirped, “you've got the qualifications our company's looking for. The boardroom will be opened once the rest of the interviewers get here, then we talk business. For now," she unclasped her bag and withdrew a clipboard several layers thick, “you can review these, and sign them when ready. These will clear you for access so we can continue."

He rifled through the pages. A few choice terms caught his eye. He looked back at her.

“This is, uh," he said nervously, “this is very...strict..."

“As you know we take our work here seriously. We are very protective of our research. You understand, of course?"

“Yes. Yes."

“As I said, your interviewers will be with you shortly. Good day."

Now alone, Nick studied the papers he'd been provided. Boilerplate stuff, most of it. He well aware of the mundanity of paperwork, having produce reams of his own writing over the course of his education. The secrecy clauses were worrisome — however he endeavoured to find out why he, out of all people, had been asked to come here and meet with (from what he could tell) the upper echelons of the Bovinex corporation.

Why me?

The third page revealed the reason for his summoning:

Senior Director Of Agri-Genetics Development & Procurement

Okay...some big-wig manager type...nothing special...

THOMAS REIMOND

A switch flipped in Nick's head. He had to re-read the name several times before it hit him.

You're kidding me!?

Is he running the whole fucking show now?

Nick was taken aback. Advising his friend to find a job with Bovinex all those years ago, and now this.

He never told me he was this high up in the company...

...how long has he been...?

Nick did not have long to ponder when a horde of suited personnel emerged onto the scene. A security detail, most definitely. One greeted him and confirmed his identity, then with nothing more than a “this way, Mr. Grayson," they shepherded him into the boardroom.

As he settled down in front of the large central table, he watched the others scurry about, shutting blinds and assuming positions throughout the room.

“What...what is this?" he asked, hoping for some clarity.

“Precautions, sir," came one's blank response, “the Director has explicit instructions on privacy when he is in the building. No potential for outside surveillance."

“Um, why?"

Two of the security personnel shared a look that spoke volumes. “You'll find out soon," one quipped. He walked up to Nick, leaned forward and tapped the clipboard. “You've signed these?"

“Uh-huh," Nick handed it over, “here you go. Will...will it just be Tom–I mean Mr. Reimond attending?"

“No sir. Grace Pellek (HR), and Desmond Walker (CEO). They will be joining the Director."

Oh wow, Nick thought, rollin' out the red carpet for me. The whole nine yards.

He faced straight ahead. From where he sat there were three seats opposite him, one bigger than the rest. The shuffling attendants completed their sweep of the room. Two-thirds of them left, their job done. The remainder stood watch over Nick. The lights were turned on. They illuminated the room with a warm yellow glow, compensating for the present lack of sunlight.

Grace and the aforementioned Desmond entered. She greeted him once more and introduced their CEO. A firm handshake was made between Desmond and Nick. The old man was extremely thin, a twig of a man, and his skin was pale — unhealthily so. Despite appearances, he proved to be a spry and engaging person. Small talk between the three occupied the time spent waiting for the Director. To see his old friend would be a treat. Nick had kept in touch the years they spent apart, but not as often as he would've liked.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

“Does anyone else hear that?"

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. The sound increased in volume, and the floor shook slightly at every instance of the noise.

“Is there construction going on outside?"

Desmond paid no attention to Nick's query, instead opting to sort his pens and fetch a miniature notepad from his suit pocket, slapping it down onto the table and ripping off the top sheet.

Grace offered an explanation: “the Director will be here momentarily."

“I don't get it."

The boardroom door re-opened, swinging wide as a frightening thing burst through. It was a large furry creature, jet-black, brawny, and it was terrifying. The creature stomped to its seat, calm and commanding, exuding an air of confidence as it moved. And...was it wearing a suit? To the astonished Nick, it was decked out in a tailored business suit, covering most of its body. Except its feet, or what they were more accurately described as: hooves.

Half-man. Half-bull.

It sat down, flanked by Grace and Desmond. The two humans nonchalantly went about their business, preparing the interview. Barely a concern between them for Nick's astonishment. The same was also true of their security detail, standing to attention.

Grace poured herself some water from a glass jug on the table. Offering it to Nick he declined, not quite as thirsty as he was earlier. Shock will do that to you.

She filled a glass for the creature beside her, who picked it up with its huge hand.

The artificial light flickered. Nick's eyes wandered the room, avoiding the obvious point of interest. Pale green-and-blue wallpaper, or was is painted board? Nice carpet, none too shabby. At regular intervals along the wall watercolour paintings hung, mainly flowers and seascapes. In an effort to distract himself, he studied each painting in turn. Bringing his gaze back to the three interviewers he saw they were waiting patiently for him to make the first move.

I just spent the last five minutes looking like a deaf mute, he told himself. Say something!

“This is a weird dream I'm having..." he said, breaking the silence.

“No dream," the bull-creature replied. The low rumbling tone intimidated him. Nick could rationalise seeing something strange, maybe the stress was getting to him. His mind playing tricks, perhaps? If he were only seeing things then maybe...but hearing it speak? That cemented it. There was no questioning what lay before his eyes. This was undoubtedly, undeniably real.

“Err...um–uh–um...hello?" he ventured, unsure of what to say.

“Hello Nick. Guess who?"

“Ah...hehe...um, yes...I'm not sure what you want me to say. Is this some kinda orientation thing? Like a trick? An optical illusion?"

The corner of the bull's mouth crept upwards into a sly grin. Poor Nick had no time to process any of this. He was stuck, staring slack-jawed at his potential boss. “Long time no see."

“Tommy."

“Yes."

That confirmed it, however unbelievable. Frozen, he said the first thing that sprang to mind: “you've been working out."

Tommy erupted into laughter, loud enough to hurt Nick's ears. The hybrid's huge chest rose and fell with each guffaw, his voice echoing throughout the room.

“That's what you opened with!? Hah! Ah man, trust you to fuck up first impressions."

Grace, offended, raised her voice: “Sir, that language is not appropriate for this setting!"

“Please, Ms. Pellek," the CEO interjected, “Director Reimond is more than capable of judging that for himself." He then addressed Nick: “you were acquaintances, if I'm not mistaken?"

“That we were," Tommy said, interrupting. “Nick and I go way back."

“Y-Yeah," Nick stammered, “old friends."

Desmond looked pleased. “That explains his recommendation." He nodded in the direction of the hybrid.

“R-Recommendation?"

“I called for you," Tommy explained, “to come here, now that you're educated in a field the company has a vested interest in. There's a changing of the guard, see, and I reached out to you for help." He cleared his throat. “Long story short, I'm the one offerin' you a job. High-paying, naturally. Better than any other offer you'll get. Three times market rate. I want you here with me Nick."

“..."

“Oh for—" Tommy lightly slapped his friend on the cheek, careful of his superhuman strength. His bovine digits felt alien to Nick, the fur brushed up against his skin, bringing with it a strange sensation. It was bristly in places, soft in others. Tommy followed up with a hard snap of his fingers. That woke Nick from his daze.

“You're—!"

“A bit on the hairy side?" he joked.

“But...how? Why? What!?"

“You're the geneticist, you tell me."

“A...A BULL! A big man-bull! That's what you look like. Did...did you...?"

“Have my DNA spliced with that of a bull, why yes. Yes I did. Explains why we never made video calls don't it?"

“When did this happen?"

“Oh...about, what, three or four months after we last met in person? That sounds like it. Part of my 'employment' requirements at Bovinex."

“IS NO-ONE ELSE HERE FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!?"

“Hey, hey, calm down. This is all new to you. It's shocking, I know. I understand. Not many outside of this company are aware of what I am, hence the precautions," he pointed to the shut blinds keeping the outside world from peeking in. “You signed some pretty air-tight agreements to even have access to me. And I trust you won't go blabbin' to the press or some shit like that."

“No."

“Good, because we take security breaches seriously. Deadly seriously."

“So," Nick muttered, “aren't...aren't you gonna explain things?"

“What, about me and mine? Too much to tell in one sitting. That can take a back seat to the real topic at hand: you."

“Me."

“Like I said, I want you on-board."

“As...as a geneticist...?"

“There, you're gettin' it! This company has had...uh...let's call it an unsavoury history when it comes to experimenting on human subjects. When I took over control of research efforts, which was a few years ago mind you, I put a stop to any and all new experimentation. Basically slapped a moratorium on the predatory side of Bovinex's recruitment. I've first-hand experience of what they do to force people — people with nothing to their name, no-one left to turn to — to 'volunteer'." He made air-quotes with his fingers to emphasise his disgust. Nick noticed a shameful expression come over Desmond. Clearly he and Tommy had fought over this very issue many times. He presumed Tommy usually won; hard to argue with the giant wall of animal muscle he'd become.

Nick understood. “This means your parents, when they joined..."

“Got it in one, my friend. They're just like me."

“God..."

“We're a bit past religion at this point," Tommy quipped, “playin' God and all that." He took the opportunity to stretch his weary arms, cracking his joints as he released a contented sigh. “This stuff's itchy," he said, scratching under his suit, “don't normally wear clothes like this. Hell, don't normally wear clothes..."

“Tommy?"

The bull returned his attention to Nick. “What's up?"

“You mean to tell me you've been this...this way for years? How, how in God's name do you cope?"

“Cope huh," Tommy rubbed his chin, “things are always easier to cope with when you have family supporting you. That's really all I can say."

“And your folks, where are they?"

“Oh at home."

“The same home you used to have?"

“Yep. Our farm owns the majority of the surrounding countryside. Perfect place for a hidden community of people like us."

“Freaks, some would say."

Tommy levelled a harsh glare at his friend. Nick shrunk into his collar, wishing he'd kept his stupid mouth shut. The bull crushed the glass in his hand, grinding his fingers together, tiny pieces of broken glass falling through the gaps. Not a scratch on him. He'd turned it almost entirely to dust.

“I'm gonna forget you said that."

“I'd like to as well," Nick sheepishly replied. “Sorry."

“Apology accepted, buddy." The red in Nick's face faded.

“I don't mean to interrupt this reunion," Desmond pointed out, “but we are on a schedule. Director Reimond, if you please?"

“Of course. My wife's expecting me home in an hour."

“You have a wife? Is she...?"

“Another hybrid? She is." Tommy searched his pockets, an idea brewing, while Nick continued his line of questioning.

“Hybrid. That's the official term, huh?"

“Eh, well, it kinda just stuck," Tommy said, pulling out an oversized smartphone. He kept talking as he flicked away on its touchscreen. “Ms. Cain — formerly the head of the particular test programme that involved my mom and dad — she had a few suggestions for names. Hybrids was one, 'anthros' another...the process too: shifting, 'anthromorphing', transmogrification, yadda-yadda..."

He stopped messing with his phone. “Aha! Here we are." Tommy handed over the device, which to Nick looked and weighed more like a large tablet computer.

Nearly dropping it, Nick took hold of Tommy's phone. On it was a picture of several hybrids.

“That's my wife Jen," Tommy said, guiding Nick through his family photo, “and these," he tapped the screen, “are my boys. Caleb, James, and Conor."

He chuckled. “Tried to find a photo where everyone was wearing...y'know...somethin'. Surprisingly rare."

Nick continued to stare at the image. “Caleb is six, James four, and little Conor here is twelve months old," Tommy added, “they're wonderful calves. Jen's a great mom too."

“You have a family, Tommy, and they're...the same as you. There's a lot you haven't told me."

“I know. I was always planning to come clean. Eventually. Didn't rightly know when though."

Nick handed back the phone. They had a tonne of catching-up to do, more so than he originally envisioned. This was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill interview, his old friend offering him a good job. But, he had discovered, there was an entire secret enclave of hybrids living under the jurisdiction of the Bovinex corporation. And his best friend was in charge.

“We have lab personnel retiring. Movin' on to pastures new, if you'll pardon the expression! Hence, the job offer. Dr. Trimble was the first to leave, a while back. He was the guy behind this," he waved a hand over his body, “feat of human science. And we've had a skeleton crew down in the lab since."

Nick listened intently.

“I want you to helm our science team. The research programmes will be up and running again soon. I intend to start sending out feelers for more subjects, but I ain't gonna compromise my morals to do so. We're not coercing, exploiting or forcing folks into this," he scowled at Desmond, “never again."

“I can see in my mind, many years from now, a thriving community of beings just like me and my family. And for that to happen we need support staff. I'm sure you've worked out by this point our industry's primary focus is advanced dairy production, so you see where the whole cow/bull thing is comin' from. Both my herd and my dad's herd need to grow."

“Herd?"

“Ugh, forgot you need to have everythin' explained to you. Look, just put the stuff you don't understand to one side for a minute, okay? We're hiring medical specialists, genetic engineers, security guards..."

“This is a growth phase for our company," Grace explained, “the development of this type of genetic modification has huge implications for us as a society. Us as species. Specialising ourselves through selective splicing is predicted to not only increase productivity, but enable us to live in harsher environments, and—"

“Ms. Pellek, there's no need to confuse the poor guy further," Desmond laughed, “the Director is well aware of the potential for this research, his family's been living it. Let him inform Mr. Grayson how he sees fit."

“Why thank you, Desmond. Thinking about me for a change," Tommy snidely remarked. Desmond retreated back into silence.

“So you want me to run your laboratory?"

“That's the offer. Remember, it'll be the best paying job you'll ever find." Tommy passed an employment contract to Nick. He read the section on salary.

“Whoa," he gasped, “yup, that is a lot."

He looked back at his friend. “You don't expect me to go through...that..." he said, drawing attention to Tommy's inhuman form.

“No, no, no! Not at all!" Tommy reassured him, “you wouldn't fit in most of the labs to begin with!"

A bout of laughter eased the tension in the room.

“I can give you a day or two to think about it. Until then keep it in mind yeah?"

* * *

“How'd the job interview go hon?"

“It was...interesting," Nick collapsed on the couch, tired from a long day on his feet. His wife had been unpacking since their arrival this morning. Their new apartment was filled with the remnants of what seemed like a thousand cardboard boxes.

“That's good I hope. And your friend Tommy, how's he doing?"

“Amy, sweetheart, you'd never believe it even if I told ya."