FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

They always say your first shift comes during puberty, if they tell you about werewolves at all. As if it was some mundane affliction like acne, activated by the hormonal influx. I was 30 when it happened. I had settled down and had a spouse waiting for me at home. It's an absurd mental image, the thirty-year old businessman struck with the were-curse. I knew better now, of course; the idea that it wasn't transmittable was a lie. The one about some people being born werewolves was an even bigger one, made up by the werewolves themselves to hide their true nature from the few that knew about them to begin with. I am writing this so that you may know the truth, even though I'll be far gone, consumed by lunar lust. There are only hours left until the full moon will rise and I'll be gone again, and I can already feel the beast raging inside me, so if my story sounds too lurid, I can only apologize. Onwards.

The day that it happened, I had spent the better part of the day presenting a project to my co-workers, hour after hour in an increasingly boring room, improvising impressive bullshit to the best of my ability. They liked it. They bought the idea. I'd get another raise, and maybe get a slightly more polished office with a slightly better view. It was life. Or if not life, at least existence. The everyday, the boring, the mundane existence we all face in the day-to-day. I worked for a company that worked for another company that worked for another company. We made advertisements. Slogans, catchphrases, campaigns. Today we were creating them for a new line of toys, called Wolf Slayers, about a bunch of colourful teenagers fighting evil werewolves. There was a cartoon, a videogame and everything.

What is that I hear you say? Too much of a coincidence? It wasn't. I'll get to that.

Of course, I was the leader for this project. That's specifically the kind of impressive bullshit I'd been spinning all day, trying to figure out what exactly the kids liked these days. Violence, surely. That was always cool with the kids. It was the rest that was difficult. I presented ideas that my generation had thought were totally radical, but it turned out I was stuck in the last decade, and everything had changed since then. My supervisors loved the violence, though, and they wanted as much of it as possible in the ads. Fair enough. A little morbid, but fair.

That's what I did. Who was I? By all accounts, an anonymous suit. Paunchy, married, settled down, no great ambitions, rubbed my thinning hair with ointments to keep it from falling off, that kind of suit. Slowly approaching my 40s and terrified of it. Really, I was nobody; a cog in the machine. That's one thing that improved, at least. But why tell you about all that? It's something you're already intimately familiar with. I write this to tell of the other side of life. The terrifying one, the one behind the veil, the one lurking in the shadows to engulf and devour the unsuspecting. Like myself. I suppose I've shared some of this to gain your trust, so to speak. Make myself seem familiar, because it's important that you know I was - and still am, by some metrics - a real person.

But let's get to the meat of things: how it happened. It was, as I said, a boring old day at work, the same thing I did every day. Go to meetings, brainstorm, hold presentations, try to convince my boss to give us more time and money for our projects. I was fairly exhausted after that, but that's how modern society goes. You might only work eight hours, but they make sure it sucks you dry, so you have no energy to get engaged with anything on your time off and instead end up frittering away the hours. Being a passive consumer. But I digress.

I was in the garage after that meeting. It was already late, a dark February night. My shoulders were slumped, and I was barely aware of my surroundings, and all I wanted to do was get home, have a few shots of rum, maybe watch an episode or two of whatever TV shows were on, and then sleep and dream of better worlds. Instead, I found my way blockaded by several figures. They were dressed in black with mostly covered faces, and I turned around instinctively, but not before seeing one point at me. It didn't take a genius to figure out there was nothing good in store for me, so I ran back towards the elevator, mashing the button for my company's floor and the one to close the door. Slowly, agonizingly slowly they slid shut, and the elevator only began its slow upward climb as I heard someone slam into the doors.

What the fuck was this? Were they trying to rob me? My heart was doing a million beats per minute and I felt high on adrenaline. I weighed my options; emergency stop the elevator in the shaft and sit here until morning, or let it reach my floor and hope the gang wasn't following me. They couldn't be, right? They had cameras all over the inside of the building. Security guards too. They wouldn't be dumb enough for that.

I used the half minute or so in the elevator to catch my breath. The music playing in the background turned from unnoticeable to extremely irritating in far less time than it took to reach my floor. Then, it dinged, and the doors slid open. I stepped out, and the doors immediately closed again, the elevator beginning its descent. This couldn't be good.

I dug out my key card and made a dash for the company doors, a new surge of adrenaline carrying me. I heard someone running up the stairwell, but they had to be far away still, the company was on the 20th floor, and nobody was that fast. The second the card reader beeped, however, the first of them sprang into the corridor and then quickly set off towards me.

I crashed through the doors, stumbled and fell. It occurred to me that I'd probably also set off the silent alarm; after hours it would be needed to be manually disabled before entry. Small mercies, I suppose - a security guard would be here soon and then I'd be safe - but then I heard a deafening crash behind me. That fucker was trying to ram his way through the security door. Good luck with that. He must've been on several kinds of drugs though, because the amount of force he was hitting the doors with must've hurt him more than it hurt the metal. It was, however, incredibly loud.

That's when everything went to shit. He charged at the door again and the metal bent with a sickening groan, and a crack appeared in the armoured glass. How was that even possible? Even if he was wearing some kind of armour, an impact like that should shatter bones. I scrambled onto my feet while thinking about where to hide when I heard a muffled shout from the outside corridor. It must've been security, or better yet, police. My assailant stopped trying to force the door and faced to the left. He wasn't moving, so the other guy must've been pointing a gun at him.

I heard more shouting. The guy's friends must've reached the top of the stairs. A shot went off. Angry shouting. Then, through the cracked glass of the security doors, I saw the first guy stumble, fall and change. Watching it made my stomach turn and my sight glaze over, like my brain couldn't process what was happening. He convulsed on the floor, apparently bleeding, and his limbs began to grow, bursting through his black clothing, covered in... fur? Black claws sliced open his fingers as they extended from the tips. I felt panic rising in my throat. This wasn't possible. What I was seeing couldn't actually happen. I mean, I had heard of werewolves, but I never believed they actually existed.

When he raised his head again, so it was visible through the window, it wasn't a human head anymore, but that of a wolf, with glowing yellow eyes and a maw full of sharp teeth. It growled, and the sound chilled my very bones, but I couldn't stop looking. A few more convulsions shook his body, and then he pounced towards the unseen threat. I didn't hear anything after that, but I knew how that'd have gone. I crawled under a desk just in time to hear the door crack open, whatever metal it was made of no match for the monster. Or monsters.

I barely even realized I was holding my breath, pushing myself as far underneath the desk as I could. I closed my eyes; if they found me, there was nothing I could do. I tried to convince myself that this was only a nightmare, a waking dream or a night terror, because none of it was possible. The image of the leader's body morphing and twisting was already fading from my memory, fragmenting into pieces that my consciousness could process, pieces that were at least possible.

The wolf-man barked out orders. They were looking for something, and it didn't sound like they cared about me. Something about our projects, burning... oh no. They weren't going to burn the place, were they? I had thought they were just muggers, but this was more like terrorism. Why our company? All we did was make ad campaigns.

Soon, I could sense the sharp smell of gasoline. I realized very quickly that my options were to take my chances with the terrorists and their wolf-man, or get burned alive at work.

My body felt sluggish as I arose from my hiding spot, even though my heart was beating way too fast. I held my hands high, hoping that they'd recognize I wasn't a threat. The monster was already facing me, grinning that wolflike grin, as if he'd known where I was all along. Then again, he probably did know, having the nose of a canine. "I just- I surrender, I j-just work here, please..." I stammered, and the other terrorists turned to face me as well. Some of them chuckled.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," one of them said, raising the pistol he was holding. I wondered why this had to happen to me. Why was I that one casualty who'd get a brief mention in tomorrow's newspapers? The charred corpse found as the accidental victim of arson?

Then, the monster grabbed the young man's wrist and turned the weapon away from me. "No," it growled. "He clearly doesn't know." It continued, speaking with barely restrained fury, fangs bared.

"But he-" the youth protested.

The monster growled at him, making the young man flinch. "No. Torch the place. He comes with us," the wolf spoke, and effortlessly plucked the gun the man was clutching.

Two of the other terrorists approached me. I didn't move, not with a ton of muscle, fangs and claws staring at me.

"Don't worry," one of them whispered. A woman. "You won't be harmed". I could feel her breath on my ear, but I didn't dare turn to face her.

Then, she jabbed me in the neck with something sharp, and before I had time to process anything, the world went black.

At some point, I came to. The world was still black. I tried to move, and realized I couldn't. The next thing I realized was I wasn't blind or dead, but that there was a burlap sack over my head. I focused on listening, and could vaguely hear people somewhere, like in a different room, but I couldn't tell what they were talking about. Should I shout for them? Am I being held prisoner? Are they going to kill me? That woman said I wouldn't be harmed. The thoughts flew through my head. The place smelled like an old factory or cellar, mouldy and musty. Must be wherever the terrorists had their headquarters. Maybe in the abandoned industrial area in town?

A door slammed. Footsteps, coming closer. Someone yanked the bag off my head. It was the man who has turned into that monster, but now he looked like a human. I wasn't buying it.

"What do you know about werewolves?" he asked. He had that look again, like he was barely containing his urge to punch my teeth out. I didn't want to antagonize him, but what could I answer to a ridiculous question like that?

"They don't exist?" I replied, bracing myself.

"Even if you hadn't seen me earlier-" he began, then stopped, and stared into my eyes. "You know, let's cut to the chase. You work for one of the most evil corporations of earth, one that personally contributes to the genocide of wereanimals and the suppression of our nature in the newborn. Did you know any of this?" he growled. It was ridiculous.

"I- I work for a fucking ad agency!" I answered. I knew nothing good would come from getting angry, but I couldn't help it. This man was absolutely delusional.

"And what do you make ads for, human?" he roared back, even louder than before. "Toys that brainwash children into thinking werewolves are evil! And before that? Remember those antipsychotics?"

I did remember them. One of the greatest new drugs of the 21st century. We did an excellent job of advertising them too, the campaign was a roaring success and use of that medicine was now widespread for anything from depression to actual psychosis. "Yes, they were-"

"Wrong," he growled, reaching for my face but then stopping himself. "They're specifically synthesized to make people suppress their animal nature. In particular, they stop werewolves from ever shifting."

"Do you have any kind of proof at all?" I asked. Instant regret.

"No," he answered slowly. "We're only a small group who fight against your international megacorporation."

"Well, even if- if what you say is true, how do you hope to have any chance? Wouldn't it-" I replied and got interrupted.

"How we hope to stand a chance?" he repeated. I could see the change in his eyes, first. They turned bloodshot and then yellow, narrowing into the evil eyes of a wolf. The change was more controlled this time, but it still made my blood run cold, as if witnessing this simply wasn't possible for a normal mind.

"For one, did you notice that we- grrh-" he continued, stopping only as his face began to morph unnaturally, bones shifting and restructuring into something fierce and bestial. A muzzle pushed forth. "RrrrGH- we're far stronger than you puny humans, and-"

His body spasmed and I heard the cracking of bones as he grew, soon towering over me, simultaneously bending and twisting to become more like a wolf on two legs. I felt like I was falling, watching my impending demise but unable to do anything about it.

"And you -ggrh - know what the best part is, obedient little pup?" he asked, inching closer to my face even as he shifted.

"We can make more of us."

What, like werewolves? He looked like one again, now, with that hunched-over and impossibly muscular, sinewy appearance. A thick black pelt covered most of his body, still stained in places with the blood from the skin it had replaced. I could see his breath in the air in the cold warehouse, and I felt those hungry yellow eyes staring right into my soul, as if trying to strip away my sanity one layer at a time.

Trying to avoid his gaze, my eyes fell to his crotch, and I got an accidental eyeful of his engorged bestial maleness, jutting out of his sheath and bobbing in the chilly air, copious precum glistening in the dim warehouse lighting.

I looked away. Then I realized what they wanted to do to me. I strained as hard as I could against the ropes tying me to the chair. I had to get out, and it didn't matter if they killed me. I vaguely heard someone yelling at me, but I managed to get the chair rocking back and forth before the wolf could do anything. I fell backwards and felt the chair shatter just as my head impacted with the concrete, snuffing out my consciousness.