FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

2

Straddling atop the ledge of one of League College's study halls, a white-furred wolf tucked his custom Fabrique National .28 back into the inner pocket of his denim jacket and watched as his target continued on his way. Thank goodness.

The weather was a bit too warm for the heavy layer he had on, but he had to put the handgun somewhere until he snuck back to his own "dorm room" to put the thing away. He patted the small armament tenderly, somewhat in awe of what he'd just pulled off and completely excited about the new capabilities of his firearm.

From 300 meters he'd popped this wolf kid in the small of his neck with--pretty much--a mustard seed.

The white wolf pulled one of his "special" rounds from his pocket and peered at the tip, in awe of how the thing worked. He was just the trigger finger, the point-and-shoot, so he didn't fully understand the mechanics of the bullet, but he had been apprehensive toward its supposed way-of-working. Keywords being "had been." His partner, Bubo, had designed the thing and explained that the casing was made of both a highly durable but disintegratable material that, upon reaching a certain velocity, would fall away into nothing and keep the "mustard seed" (a probe to monitor vital signs) on its projected course. This time, into the black wolf college guy's neck flesh.

He tossed his legs back over and stood on the roof, slicking back his short brown hair and then pressing the com in his ear, smiling just because.

"Hey, B--I got the thing in'em. You reading anything yet?"

Silence. His smile vanished. The wolf shuffled impatiently toward the door leading downstairs, tail flopping lazily as he waited for a reply. He wasn't one to be left waiting, especially with something as important as this mission going down. He wanted everything to go according to plan. He didn't want the Doc to take a chunk out of his ass if something went wrong, because if it did people were likely to get hurt; maybe even killed. He'd fulfilled the first part of his task, but if Bubo didn't reply soon he was going to kick the little shits a--

"Affirmative!" yelled the familiar and unbearably robotic soprano of Bubo directly in his ear, and directly behind him out of nowhere.

Time seemed to freeze. The white wolf had already rounded and drawn his .28, leveling it on his partner in surprise, before his bark of anger left his lips. It was a reflex from his past that he hadn't been able to change, that quick draw. It'd saved his life many times; saved him from pain and torture.

"Fuck, Bub! Are you out of your goddamn--"

Bubo--to a normal and ignorant individual--appeared as nothing more than an innocent, glossy white sphere about the size of a football floating at chest level from the ground, his single LED lit eye blinking in sequences of blue. But, as he bobbed weightlessly and registered in nanoseconds the handgun being pointed at him, calculating the capability of it scorching a bullet through his armor plating at such a close range and destroying his thought processors, he changed. His eye flared red, and he went from gravity defying bouncy-ball to jagged, electrified, gun bearing bouncy-ball of death almost at once. The robot's reaction was, of course, a pre-programmed reflex; much like Mugen's. He could think and comprehend that the wolf pointing the gun was his partner and that he shouldn't harm him, but he was being threatened and the shift just occurred without his consent. And that pissed the little machine off beyond all programmable reason.

"Agh! Shit on a stick!" Bubo fluttered around helplessly, the arms that had jutted out from inside his shell waving about and scattering pea-sized rounds of ammo across the rooftop. "Put your firearm away, Mugen! At once!"

Mugen hissed and danced around, shoving his .28 back into his jacket and trying not to slip on the bullets raining from his partner like tears of frustration. The little robot continued to zip around, then his sensors were cleared of any immediate threat and his defense system powered down. He let out a muffler-like putter of joy, spun madly, and then shot backward...right into the back of Mugen's head.

Following a hollow Thunk!, whether from Bubo's metal casing or Mugen's brain getting knocked around from impact (hard to tell), the wolf landed flat on his stomach and had every bit of air knocked from his lungs. Bubo corrected his trajectory from the wolf-caused turbulence, and floated around Mugen's head stuttering a barrage of apologies.

Mugen fought to breathe then let a snarl ripple from his throat when his lungs filled with air. He pushed himself up, eyes clenching in pain. Bubo circled like those birds from cartoons when a character was knocked senseless, and the wolf grew dizzy from watching.

"Float still, you little pool ball. Damn! For a highly advanced scouting bot, you're as clumsy as a toddling newborn with a titanium cranium." He rubbed the back of his head and was glad that, when he looked at his fingers, there was no blood. Still hurt like a bitch, though.

"I am sorry, Mugen," the robot said, now unmoving, shame evident even in his inorganic speech pattern. "I just do not like it when my weapons--"

"I know, I know," Mugen said, waving his paw through the air to silence his partner. He stood begrudgingly with his paws on his knees, tail tucked between his legs as dizziness nearly brought him down again. He then looked at Bubo, one eye squinted. "We need to get Servo to acclimate a hostile-differential program for you. So, ya'know..."

The little sphere's eye saddened. "So I do not exterminate you by accident. I am aware."

Mugen snuffed. "Yeah, like you were aware of my personal space before splitting my head open."

"I apologized. Was that not sufficient?"

"No," the wolf said. "Say 'exterminate' one more time, with feeling, and synthesize it. Then maybe it'll be sufficient."

The bot cocked its entire body to the side. "What will that action prove--"

"Just do it!"

"EXTERRRRRMINATE! EXTERRRRRMINATE!"

Mugen burst out laughing and patted the now confused robot atop its shell as he shuffled past. "I knew you were just a fancy Dalek in white."

Bubo uttered a sulky putter and bobbed sharply up and down. "Do not refer to me as a Dalek! I do not even like Doctor Who! British humor is something I will never be able to understand, even with omnibytes of processing power!"

"I hear that," Mugen said. He then paused and stuffed his paws into his pockets. He looked out over the school's campus, sharp eyes scanning the area. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still for him again. Leaves were stuck in their decent toward the ground, beams of sun glowed through the trees like spotlights, clouds froze overhead, students making their ways to wherever were locked in place with feet still in mid-step. Then motion resumed. "And it looks like no one heard us, my lucky little jaw-breaker."

"I am aware."

"Mmhmm," Mugen huffed, his tail flicking sharply. "How're the readings for the boy?"

Bubo bobbed once, his eye wide as he analyzed the readings from the probe in the black wolf's system. Then he blinked.

"Hmmm...His vitals are all normal for the most part. Pulse is 94/60, breaths are at 14 per minute; circulatory, digestive, respiratory, endocrinal, and adrenal activity is stable." He turned in midair, toward the direction of the wolf. "Temperature is 99.5 degrees, however, and there are strange fluctuations in his brain's electrical impulses. They are small oscillations, but they are--"

Mugen rubbed his chin stubble. "What about M.E.? Picking up any?"

Bubo puttered unceremoniously. "Manifest energy levels are only at .03 percent. The outcome of such a reading is indeterminable."

"Great," the white wolf said. "The Doc had me thinking this kid was on the verge of nuclear meltdown, and he hardly even registers?" He waved for Bubo to come along as he turned toward the stairs again.

"The Doctor did predict the boy's condition to advance to stage five sometime after dark, but I will keep you informed of his condition as you continue your own observations," Bubo said.

Mugen pulled open the worn, aluminum door and stared into the abyss of steps leading down. "Just let me know if the kid's about to blow before I can finish shielding his room. I hope the Doc's right, 'cause if wolfy goes into stage five out in the open we'll be in deep, deep shit."

The hum of Bubo's propulsion system reverberated off of the stairwell as Mugen descended, making his ears quiver. "I am--"

"Aware, I know." The wolf then stopped and pointed back to the roof. Bubo's eye blinked, and if he'd had an eyebrow it probably would've cocked. "And," the wolf said, "don't forget to go and pick up all of the bullets you were popping like Pez. Pigeons swallow those and we'll be in even deeper shit. The feather-bags would be exploding like melons, raining guts and feathers all over the place."

The robot grumbled. "That was your fault."

"You snuck up on me."

"Again, your fault, Mugshot Mugen."

"Bullets! Now! And stay cloaked!"

Bubo let out a metallic hiss, shimmered and vanished as he activated his stealth mode, and then the stairwell was quiet as he went to perform his task.

Mugen frowned. "And it's Mind's-Eye Mugen, now." His steps were silent as he went. "Mughsot Mugen's retired."

He hit the bottom floor and silently exited the building. To students he was just another guy on his way to class and no one paid him any attention. He didn't stick out, which was good; that's why the Doc had sent him. Being thirty-five years old and walking amongst eighteen to twenty-somethings without a second glance was uplifting in a way, and he'd never gotten to experience college. He hadn't been that privileged. Still, even though he blended in, he felt exposed. The white wolf glanced around, focused, and the world slowed to a crawl. But he kept his pace. He had a job to do.