FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Genies may not exist, but I do. Come tell me your wishes," reads the holographic text projected onto the entrance.

I push against the iron tiles with the handle of my mop. The hallway floor inches further with every passing second. I push my hands against my hips, and curl my knees into my abdomen. In microgravity, one must make themselves small to avoid collision with wires and overhangs. In this transit tube, high-voltage cables cover the entirety of the inner surfaces. They're supposed to be isolated, but after cleaning the messes of the engineers around the station, I don't trust them one bit when it comes to safety. “Accidentally" dropping twenty-two bottles of lubricant in the entrance dock, right next to an airlock leading into the deadly void of space? How is that even “a small mistake"?

I bang my head against a metallic vault door, and swear in frustration. I thought I had installed cushions in every possible corner of this place! If it weren't for me, the crew would be crawling in filth with their bruise-covered arms from repeated collisions with the most unlikely surfaces. Once, the communications administrator even faceplanted into the trash compactor's door. Had it not been closed, his replacement would already be on the way.

The scientists, the engineers and the administrators sneer at me while I clean up the air filters. They fail to realize I am the lifeline of the station. It's easy to fish out some recruit thirsting for adventure from a state-of-the-art university. Finding someone who would accept to cover their hands in oil, antifreeze solution, and even sometimes mildly radioactive water for nigh zero pay? Now, that challenge would leave Human Resources scratching their heads for weeks on end.

I pull the red lever on the ceiling. The central section of the vault door rotates, and the two halves separate to allow my body to pass through. A deep hum intensifies as I poke my head out of the opening.

Fantastic. Another anthropomorphic animal.

That trend has been plaguing the station. I can easily imagine the team of advertisers gathered in their meeting room, tossing around boring slogans such as “Complement your emotional expression with a tail!" “Let your true identity blossom for all to see!" or even “Stuck in a body for the next hundred years? Why not make it unique and cute?"

It's so petty. I hate walking into the cafeteria only to see some schmuck in a rainbow cat body, wagging their tail while a crowd of onlookers applaud them for braving to “show their true colours." I'd give them a piece of my mind, but the equal opportunity laws would put me at risk of losing my job. Once the party's over, I vacuum the fur in the air before it gets stuck in the filters.

Usually, it's the young ones who fall for it. I certainly didn't expect the Hermit of Shanxi Station, renowned billionaire driven mad by success, to have given into the craze. The rumors say she never leaves her room at the top of the complex. Who would she even show her new form to?

I must admit this is one of the most tasteful body reconstructions I've seen so far. Pure white fur, no mishmash of neon stains or strange symbols. Snow-coloured tail, as fluffy as the heavy-duty feather dusters I resort to using for the biggest messes. I shudder at the thought of the hundreds of hair strands released in the air with every swipe. The Hermit's anatomy clearly took inspiration from the vulpine designs - five fuzzy fingers topped by tiny black claws appear on each hand, and the head of an Arctic fox rests above two burly shoulders, its eyes closed.

She sits cross-legged in the center of the chamber, levitating with absolute immobility. A black cape wraps around her chest, decorated with cyan thread woven around its perimeter. A glass jar rests between her knees, filled with a variety of coloured marbles.

I pull the lower half of my body through the opening, and push against the floor to float up to her.

Her eyes open. Two deep blue orbs pierce my soul. She uncurls her lips, revealing a row of pointed white fangs curved in a sly grin. Her hands reach for the jar, and she begins shaking it. With a twist, the lid opens. The marbles escape their glass prison, and begin bouncing around the room. The noisy tapping of the spheres around the chamber hurt my ears. A yellow pearl hits my cheek. I grimace in annoyance, while the Hermit chuckles.

“Welcome. Please pick a marble. Choose wisely," she says.

An orange pellet in the corner of the room attracts my attention. After having lost most of its velocity from repeated impacts, it appears to be an easy target. I reach for a steel ladder welded into the rightmost wall, climb it downwards, and grasp the tiny jewel.

“Interesting decision," she comments. “Most of my visitors tend to select colder colours."

“What is this?" I ask. “I came here to seek your assistance, not to participate in some childish game of marbles."

“How inconvenient. I am afraid my assistance is not given, but rather earned through a game of marbles. However, it is anything but childish, as I imagine you will find the stakes to be… unlike any wager you may have ever taken part in."

The Hermit wraps her fingers around a white pearl passing in front of her head. The trinket's colour blends into the fur of her paw-hand.

“So, tell me. What is it you seek? Fortune? Influence? A ticket out of here? That last one seems to have increased in popularity lately," she reflects. “Perhaps releasing the station atmospheric logs to the public was a mistake. The ever-present threat of collapsing from asphyxia does not foster favorable working conditions."

“Times are changing, and I'm getting older," I answer. “Purchase me a high-end brain-computer interface, a twenty-year lifespan tritium battery, and the services of the finest neurosurgeon among your staff. Put my head in a life-support chamber, and send it out into space. I don't want to spend my final decades sweeping fur out of the air ducts. I want to meet my dog again, who walks on four legs and doesn't talk. I want to get to know my grandmother better, who died during the Mars space expedition. I miss the old world, where we each had something to fight for, and discoveries to be made. I used to work in software engineering. The program overseeing the coolant loop in the first industrial fusion reactor — I remember that feeling of fulfillment when I commented under the thousandth line of code “This is what the future looks like." Modern software may be efficient, but it lacks the creative spirit of the human experts who were once necessary to write algorithms. I do want a ticket out of here, but not just this station. I wish to return to a simpler time, or at least a recreation of it."

The Hermit closes her eyes, and remains silent for a few seconds.

“It saddens me to hear that the world I have taken part in building fails to suit you," she says. “Your wish is within my capabilities, although it would certainly require some effort on my end. I suppose you would not be surprised if I were to ask you to wager something… important in exchange. Your entire body, to be specific."

“What? How would my old, rotting body even be of use to you?" I ask.

“You are a broken machine. Some would dismantle it, and gather its parts. I would replace the rusted gears with sturdier counterparts, so its humming could be heard again."

I stare into the vulpine's eyes, puzzled. She waves the back of her hand dismissively.

“It doesn't matter right now," she explains. “Our wagers only become relevant once the winner is announced. Is this orange marble your final choice? You believe it stands a chance against my white pearl? Don't rush your decision. A human body and an escape from existence are at stake."

I twirl the trinket around my fingers. Its center encases a pink quartz core. The warm-coloured crystal shimmers in the glow of the fluorescent tubes.

“You haven't even told me the rules yet," I remind her. “How am I supposed to make a choice?"

“Listen to your instinct. Your intuition. Your gut feeling."

My heartbeat pulses in the veins of my palm. I squeeze the pearl in my fist, and send out a silent prayer to any higher being who would listen.

“I choose orange," I confirm.

“Very well. You lost," she announces.

I freeze in place. I open my mouth, but make no sound. The pearl leaves my hand, and drifts in the air above my arm.

“What kind of game is this? How was I supposed to know which marble to pick?" I snap at her.

“Do you really need me to explain something so simple? Fine," she retorts.

The Hermit reaches for a pocket inside her cape, and fidgets with a small device found within. Every marble in the room simultaneously open like flowers. Holographic projections float above each of them.

Above the orange marble, the shape of a snow-covered mountain appears. The white pearl held inside the vulpine hand displays a pine tree.

“You picked 'Mountains of Sun-Dried Rock Below the Sun,'" she says. “I chose 'Needles of Pine Covered in Droplets.' Trees grow on mountains, and fissure the stone with their roots. You should have picked 'Twines of Blazing Fire in the Forest.'"

The Hermit points towards a crimson marble floating above my head.

“Simple as that. Now, give me my reward," she demands.

“Your rock-paper-scissors forgery is rigged. I won't allow you to touch a single one of my hair strands," I warn her.

“Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way," the Hermit answers.

The vulpine reaches inside her pocket again, and pulls out a small digital tablet. She pulls back the cape around the shoulder, revealing a metallic socket embedded in her flesh. Her hand jams the device inside the port. The screen takes on a red hue, with the number “17" appearing at its center.

Each of the seventeen marbles moves across the room, and gathers around her hips in a ring formation. The pearls begin rotating until they transform into a mess of colours and motion.

“This isn't written in the rules, but it's still my favorite part of the game," she taunts.

A projectile fires from the marble hoop, and lodges itself inside my left thigh before I can react. The number on the screen decrements by one.

A wave of heat radiates around my wounded skin. Each of my toenails darkens, elongates, and finally curves downwards to form a set of claws similar to the Hermit's. The hairs on my leg multiply, until my member becomes covered in a lustrous coat of black fur. My tibia shatters, and folds backwards into a new digitigrade articulation.

“One shot, one life saved," she announces with a toothy smile.

“You draw in desperate lost souls into your chamber with promises of fixing everything, and use them to fuel your perverted desires? Your new form suits you well. You're nothing more than a traitorous dog," I lash out.

The fur continues climbing up my limb. I try to shake it off with my hands, as if it were a swarm of bees. The black hairs jump onto my fingers upon contact, and pursue the transformation from two regions at once. Fuzz spreads across my clenched fists. The nails atop my fingers receive a similar fate as the ones on my feet, becoming black, pointier and longer. Six pads of hardened keratin form at the center of my hands, and five of them spread out to cover the length of my fingers. The last one expands to cover my entire palm.

“There's something very interesting about the relationship humans have with their body, and the identity they attribute to it," the Hermit lectures. “Introverted individuals don't lack personality, they repress it. If their body changes, they receive the subconscious mission to prove that while their vessel may have changed, they are still 'themselves.' Their quirks, preferences, and mannerisms rise to the surface, becoming overexpressed. With this outgoing temper, it's no surprise my visitors begin finding solutions to their problems. Forcefully remove some human identity, and they will try to regain it by taking actions true to their own selves."

On each side of my hips, three horizontal red markings appear inside the dark fur. I scowl in disgust. The base of my spine pulses with heat. A fuzzy dark vulpine tail bursts out in a puff of red and black. A forest of hair covers my torso, arms and abdomen.

“Violate the fundamental possession of the individual and every tenet of bodily autonomy, just to create a happy paradise of fluffy extroverted animals? Dispel psychological trauma by inducing body dysphoria? It seems I was mistaken. You're not evil. You're completely insane. I understand why they locked you in here," I respond.

“A natural reaction. If you had asked me for advice, I'd have simply told you to wear a costume. Since you decided to come to my chamber and play my game, we might as well go the long way. You'll see, every patient becomes overjoyed with their new forms days after my intervention."

The waves of heat reach my neck. The black fur soon follows, and wraps around my jaw. My nose dampens, darkens, and pushes outwards. I clench my teeth in apprehension. Each of them shifts, taking on the pointier shapes of a carnivore's dentition. My vision blurs. I blink frenetically, before finally regaining focus. The once blood red and crimson marbles take on faded yellow hues. The green and lime pearls become uninteresting balls of gray glass.

“That's my favorite part - alteration of the senses," the Hermit rejoices. “Imagine a museum where each painter sees, hears and smells the world differently. Through my work, art will be reinvented. Canines will flock to scent vials of olfactory wonders. Others will scratch their heads as we will imagine ourselves in alpine forests, abandoned mansions, and serene beaches from a single puff of carefully engineered perfume."

“Typical ivory tower talk," I retort, my voice feeling coarser behind my muzzle. “You dream of lavish galleries and frivolous parties while your victims get their freedom taken away in the name of your delusions. Why do the people who obtain the big funds always end up to be narcissists with delusions of grandeur?"

“Perhaps because a spark of insanity is required to ignite the flames of progress," the vulpine answers.

My ears migrate to the summit of my head, growing pointier. I touch them with my padded fingers. Their final length exceeds the Hermit's.

“I think we're done here," she concludes. “Thank you for resorting to verbal attacks instead of punches and kicks, unlike some of my previous visitors. This kind of behaviour tends to force me to waste a few additional marbles. Instant cellular reprogramming doesn't come cheap."

“Hard to harbour violent thoughts when you imagine two rows of pointy teeth sinking into your skin. Even harder not to change your mind once you've been given some too," I answer.

I kick the wall, propelling my body towards her abdomen. The claws on my feet chime against the metal. The Hermit widens her eyes, and straightens her tail. She regains her composure, lifts her palm, and accelerates the speed of the spinning marbles.

A pearl leaves the ring, and fires towards my head at bullet speed. A hiss traverses the air. My ears twitch. I bend my neck, and the projectile slams against the wall of steel. A deep note resounds.

“Right. Fennec model. Enhanced hearing. Let's increase the tempo," the Hermit comments.

With a flick of her fingers, the vulpine unleashes a barrage of marbles. I close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the pearls zipping through the air.

I move my arm my right arm seventy-two degrees north. I tilt my head six degrees west. I lift my tail and place it against my spine. I spread my legs, keeping an eighty-one degrees angle between. I wait.

No impact. All shots missed.

My elbow slams into the Hermit's stomach. She yelps, and bends her neck and arms towards the impact zone. Her body begins recoiling towards the northern wall. I grab the digital pad stuck to her shoulder, and pull it out.

All the rotating marbles exit their dance, and scatter in random directions.

“Stop," the Hermit says between two heavy breaths. “Listen."

The pearls' collision against the wall grows imminent. I draw my hands up to the sides of my head, as to cover my ears to avoid the pain of the repetitive metallic taps. I yap upon realizing my hearing now resides on the top of my skull.

Too late. One of the gray marbles hits the chamber's surface.

A sorrowful, long note of a choir of violins echoes through the room upon impact.

Three more spheres crash against the walls, emitting three deep cello tones.

I freeze in confusion. The Hermit grins. Her wagging tail betrays her amusement.

The symphony continues, soon joined by woodwinds, brass instruments, and percussions. Between the melodies, a strange rhythm soon picks up. Its extremely high pitch brings back a long-lost memory.

Headphones wrapped around my ears, Beethoven's Sixteenth Symphony put me in a state of bliss. An algorithm I wrote invented the notes as the music played, taking inspiration from the composer's past works to create something new.

The marbles' song continues. Alien soundscapes mesh with classical instruments. Within my mind, images of a forgotten childhood appear besides natural landscapes. As unusual as the music sounds, not a single note could be removed without ruining the entire piece. Every vibration reaching my ears possesses a clear purpose — to lift my spirit beyond what human music ever could achieve.

A purple pearl plays the final chord. Silence returns as the marbles stop their motion. A constellation of yellow, gray and blue drifts in the air.

“Music of the spheres," says the Hermit.

“That was beautiful," I commend her. “I've never heard anything like this before."

“You said you had grown tired of this world. That you wanted to remove yourself from it. Instead of stuffing you in a brain jar, I reengineered your senses. Existence may still be the same, but you will see, feel, smell and hear it from a different perspective. I hope this will be enough to rekindle your thirst for discovery."

“Thank you. I'm still never forgiving you from tricking me into your schemes, no matter their intent. The choices an individual makes may hurt them, but you must respect their decisions. You can't violate bodily autonomy. It simply isn't your property."

“In that case, spread the word. Tell your crewmates about how wonderful it feels to open yourself to experiences they couldn't even imagine. To picture by scent the hand that picked up the coffee beans as you bring the cup to your lips. To compose music humankind could never understand. Some live for these feelings. Show others how my work is so much more than vanity body modifications. Then, I won't have to resort to underhanded games."

“I will never get to admire diversity of colours ever again. The murals in the station atrium will appear like disgusting blobs of scattered paint."

“Some of the greatest art has stemmed from being limiting one's options. Appreciate what I have given you. Some have paid a high price to receive that same gift."

“You have a vision of the world which you consider beautiful. You wish to share it, even if others do not see the wonder within. I despise your methods, but am awed by your motives."

“And I will take your comments at heart. Perhaps I've been too rash in my operations."

The Hermit pushes against the wall, and drifts towards my body, still floating in the center of the room. She squeezes my right palm, and gives a firm handshake.

“Here comes the next visitor. I'll try to be more gentle with them. Now, farewell," she says.

Her arms shove me towards the hatch at the bottom. I bump my muzzle against the steel edge. I try fitting through the opening again, this time with my head raised and my tail wrapped under my crotch. I pass through.

A human crewmember stands at the bottom of the pipe, awaiting her turn inside the Hermit's chamber.

I crawl out of the transit tube. For a moment, I hesitate to ask her what her wish is.

Instead, I show her a wide toothy grin. She immediately jumps inside the pipe, her legs swaying back and forth to get away from me as quickly as possible.

“Don't pick the orange marble!" I advise her.

The gate closes behind her feet. I exit through the hallway, and stop besides a coffee machine.

Curious, I insert a coin, and pick up a silvery pouch connected to a straw. I squeeze the container, and release an orb of brown liquid. Before it floats away, I inhale its aroma.

The image of a solar greenhouse materializes in my mind. The discrete scent of iron lingers, revealing the shape of the robotic hand which harvested the beans.

I jump, and try to suck the drink inside my throat. The coffee splashes all over my muzzle.

This may require some practice.