FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

There it was, right in front of me, the Arena, headquarters of Ultra Aug-Fights LLC. Built like the Roman Colosseum was made out of steel and glass with a 30-meter bronze statue of Mammazon, last season's champion, out in front. The statue would be replaced with the next season's champion soon, and I intended that to be me.

I started towards the automatic doors between the five-meter tall gates when they slid open, a hulking punk with steroid-filled muscles under his leather jacket and a glowing green mohawk storming out. “Corporate furry fuckers," he grumbled. He turned towards me, glaring with artificially orange eyes. “Hey you. Going in for tryouts?"

“Yes," I answered hesitatingly. “Is that a problem?"

“If you don't mind letting the corpos rebuild you in their focus-group image," the punk growled. He flexed, showing off the light-up tattoos covering his muscles. “I ain't letting no one but me decide what I look like."

I crept to the side around the punk, letting him pass me. As he huffed off I looked back down to my scrawny little arms. Half the reason I wanted to sign up was for the free augs they promised, there was no way I could afford muscles like that on an AI-checker's salary. I strode through the doors, trying to look confident.

Inside the lobby was a high vaulted ceiling with holograms replaying highlights from previous fights on a loop. A four-armed muscle-man grappled with a chromed cyborg, A pair of catgirls, one with leopard spots and the other with tiger stripes, swiped at each other. A rubbery man tried to wrap his tentacle-like arms around a werewolf. And a blinking neon sign read “Try-Outs" with an arrow pointing down a hallway.

I followed the sign, which led me to a series of doors marked “pre-screening." Most of the doors had a red light labeled “in use" on, but there were a few with green “vacant" lights. I entered the nearest “vacant" room and closed the door behind me. Inside was an old-fashioned computer terminal on a desk. When I sat down on the chair the terminal started up automatically.

“Please place your multi-phone in the slot to your left," I noticed a hole in the desk shaped like a phone. With a little hesitation I took my phone out of my pocket and laid it in the slot, clamps rose out from the slot and pulled the phone in.

The terminal showed a progress bar, “analyzing multi-phone." It jumped to 100% rather quickly, I thought. Not too surprising considering how little was stored on it. Once it was finished it didn't return my phone but the screen showed a series of questions. All of them were multiple choice.

Some of the questions were fairly standard, “why do you want to work for Ultra Aug-Fights LLC? How favorable is your opinion of physiological augmentation? Etc." But some of them were a little more esoteric. “How favorable is your opinion of the furry fandom? How comfortable are you with your presented gender?" What could those have to do with fighting?

And then there came the final question. “Do you consent to having your physiology altered by Ultra Aug-Fights LLC in order to better fit your assigned role?" There were only two options, “yes," and “no."

I probably should have given it more thought before clicking “yes."

No sooner had I clicked on “yes" than the door behind me burst open and a pair of security guards came in. “Hey you," one of them pointed to me. “Come with us."

“Did I do something wrong?" I objected.

“You don't need to know," the guard replied, yanking my chair out from under me. “Just come."

I scrambled to my feet and went with them, forgetting to grab my phone. They led me down a long and winding series of repetitive corridors. I was wondering if they had a map on their sunglasses or something because there was no way I could find my way out. Eventually they brought me through a heavy steel door marked with yellow caution stripes and into an even larger room than the lobby.

Instead of holograms of fight scenes though, this room was filled with large glass tubes big enough to fit people inside. White-coated individuals moved from tube to tube, checking on the contents. As they led me inside I could see figures in the tubes, people floating in clear fluid, twitching occasionally. One figure, their back to me but with a somewhat feminine shape, twitched and their naked back was covered in a spreading orange patch.

The guards shoved me past the orange woman in the tank and up to an androgynous person in a lab coat with a pair of catlike ears covered in black fur sprouting out of their head. “Ah!" they exclaimed, showing a pair of elongated canines as they smiled. “You must be Harlequin."

“Uh," in confusion I gasped like a fish yanked out of the water. “What?"

“That's your new name," the cat-scientist replied. They held up a tablet displaying a 3d model of a humanoid figure, colored black on one side and white on the other, with long thin ears, a short muzzle with buck teeth, and a large pair of breasts.

“I…" I tried to figure out what they were trying to tell me. “Wait, is that what you're turning me into?"

“I know it's a little much for your first augmentation," they said. “But it's what marketing wanted. It's part of the new “furry season" coming up in spring."

“Don't I have any say in this?" I asked.

“Well," the cat-person pretended to think about it. “You could just leave." They flipped the tablet into a pocket on their coat and turned to an empty tube. “But you would give up your one and only chance of becoming a star." They turned back to face me, shooting me a slit-pupiled look. “Isn't that why you're here?"

I thought back to my life up to this point, they were right, I had come here because it was the one way I could make something of my pathetic little life. Everything I went to college to do had been automated by the time I graduated, all that was left was making sure the machines didn't screw up too badly for a pittance of a wage. If I went through with this I'd be known by millions of people, even if it was a face other than my own. “Okay, fine," I gave in. “What do we do next?"

“Oh, that's easy," the scientist gave another fanged smile. “Just strip down and step inside here."

They touched a panel on the side of the tube and a hatch in the metal frame it was attached to opened up. I looked anxiously to the guards to either side of me as I started pulling my shirt off, feeling more than a bit intimidated by the two burly men and self-conscious about my plain little body.

“No need to be shy," the cat-scientist said. “It's not like you'll look like that for much longer."

Realizing that they were right, I dropped my pants, and with a little more hesitation my underwear. Yanking my socks off I stepped onto the cold grating that made up the floor and towards the open tube. The bottom of the tube was a smooth metal surface, save for a drain in the middle of the floor. I looked up, and saw another grate similar to the drain on top. I looked over to one of the other tubes, trying to figure out what was in store for me.

That was when the water started streaming out of the ceiling. I felt it flow down through my hair and over my body. As it pooled around my ankles I remembered that the others had been floating in their tubes, as if they were specimens in formaldehyde jars.

“Wait!" I shouted, turning around and banging on the door. “Let me out! I don't wanna drown!"

“Relax," a gentle feminine voice sounded from somewhere above me. “You won't drown. Perfluorocarbon contains enough oxygen for your lungs to absorb it."

“What?!" I felt the liquid climb up my legs and body, it didn't quite feel like water, not as cold and was it a bit sticky?

“The fluid medium is required for full nanobot penetration," the voice continued. “You will not be harmed."

I didn't listen, I began to panic and thrash about as the fluid climbed up to my chest. I banged my fists against the glass, but it refused to yield to my pathetic strength. I gagged as my mouth filled with disgustingly sweet liquid, but it continued streaming down my throat against my will. I tried holding my breath, which didn't seem to help. Instead I began to feel faint as the air pressure in my lungs became unbearable.

When I couldn't hold it any longer I gasped and a stream of bubbles came out of my mouth. The liquid, perfluorocarbon or whatever they said it was, flowed in the gap left by the bubbles. I felt the fluid stream down my throat and into my lungs. I feared that my life was soon to end, I stopped struggling and let myself float limply in the tube.

But I didn't die, I could still breathe, but it was harder than before, my throat felt rough like I was running in the steam tunnels. I began to rub my arms idly, noticing a faint tingling all over my skin. Then I felt something sprouting under my idling fingers, curious I raised my right arm to my eye level, and saw the rapidly thickening hair covering it. I looked down at my other arm, which was sprouting black hair.

Oh, right, that was the character, wasn't it? White on one side, black on the other, Harlequin? Yes, that sounded right. What else did she have again?

I remembered when I felt a shooting pain in my tailbone, and another pair on top of my head. My ears burned, I reached up to feel them and found that my ears were shrinking back into my head. My pelvis warped and rearranged itself, letting my spine shoot out of my butt. I tried to look behind me and spotted a foot-long length of skin sticking out of my behind, fortunately it was rapidly growing black and white fur. Though I thought it seemed a little long for a bunny's little nub, wasn' it?

My face began to stretch out, mouth and nose merging into a single elongated muzzle. My incisors grew into a hard chisel, while my canines shrank and smoothed themselves out. Something waved over my head, I reached up and felt two velvety strips flapping in the fluid. As I was reaching around feeling my new anatomy I noticed that something was blocking me from bringing my arms across my chest, and looked down.

Two rounded spheres bulged out under my skin. Realizing what it meant I reached between my legs and confirmed that yes, something had inverted itself down there.

The tips of my elongated ears felt air and I heard a bubbling gurgle from underneath me. I began to sink back down to the floor as the perfluorocarbon level around me descended and was replaced by sweet, merciful air. By the time my feet were back on the floor I was heaving liquid out of my mouth and nose.

Eventually, the fluid finished draining out and the door to the tube opened back up. “How are you feeling now, Harlequin?" I spun around and saw the cat-person in their lab coat again.

“Mirror," I coughed up a glob of perfluorocarbon. “Please."

The scientist tapped something on their tablet and flipped it around to face me. The screen displayed a rabbit woman with white fur on her left side and a red heart-shaped mark highlighting her cheek. While her right side had black fur and a diamond-shaped cheek mark. Quizzically I raised my left eyebrow and the bunny on the screen raised her black right brow. I raised my right index finger to my cheek and the bunny tapped her heart mark.

Finally it sank in that I was looking at myself, my new body. I flexed my arms, then bent and extended my legs experimentally. I felt much stronger than I had before, especially in my legs. I crouched and sprang, launching myself five meters up into the air.

Two security guards drew their weapons and tracked me as I sailed up and came back down, shaking the metal grating of the floor when I landed. “I feel amazing!" I exclaimed, forgetting instantly about my change in species and gender.

“Excellent!" they said. They waved and a door at the far end of the hallway opened up. “Go on down to the gym and we can put that new body of yours through its paces."

I strode through the door and to the gym. In the lockers I was given a towel and athletic clothes and in the main gym I went through a series of tests. I could bench almost 200 kilos, run at 60 kph, and leap 15 meters with a running start. Then they brought me out a punching bag and told me to punch and kick it as hard and fast as I could.

After beating the shit out of that bag they told me that I was a natural kickboxer. Or at least as natural as I could be after all the body mods they'd given me. Then they told me to relax for a couple days while my debut was written.

“Shouldn't I be training or something?" I asked. “I didn't exactly have much time to learn how to fight at my old job."

“Don't worry about it," they told me. “It'll all be in the script."

The next couple days passed by in a blur, watching old seasons of Ultra Aug-Fights, working out, figuring out how to use the toilet with my new anatomy. When they were finally ready for me I was directed into something that looked like a VR chair, with straps to hold my arms and legs down and a visor on an armature.

“What's this for?" I remember asking. “I thought the fights were real?"

“Oh, the final fight will be filmed live," a voice said over the intercom. “This is just for rehearsal. Please, sit down."

Tentatively I sat down in the chair. No sooner had my tail touched the cushion than clamps closed around my wrists and ankles. A cable shot out and pulled my chest back so I was held tight against the chair. Then the visor descended over my eyes…

And rose back up. My restraints had released themselves and I staggered stiffly back to my feet. “What just happened?" I asked. “Shouldn't there be some kind of VR program to train me?"

“You've completed the training. Your script is implanted in your subconscious."

“But," I replied. “I just sat down."

“You sat down two hours and thirteen minutes ago."

I shook the stiffness out of my legs, now that I thought about it, it did feel like I had been sitting still for two hours. Not to mention that I needed to piss. “What happens next?" I inquired.

“You have fifteen minutes before the fight begins," the intercom said. “Take care of whatever you need to and report to ring 3."

I returned to my room and found a leotard with a reddish-orange and yellow pattern of patches and stars that reminded me of a medieval jester's outfit or something. Once I'd taken care of business I pulled the leotard on and ran down to the ring. Despite never going down there before I knew the way like I'd been there a dozen times.

The ring was in the Grand Arena, one of a dozen small rings surrounding the central ring where the championship bout would be fought at the end of the season. Walls lined with bleachers separated most of the secondary rings so that spectators could only see the fight they'd paid for, but they could hear the adjacent fights.

I climbed the stairs to the ring at the same time that a leopard-spotted catgirl entered from the opposite corner. She aimed a fanged snarl my way and pointed with a clawed finger. “This is all you got?!" she shouted. “This little snack?"

On hearing that taunt I found myself snickering like a mischievous little imp. “Oh, kitty isn't the only one here with claws." Where did I get that line from?

The catgirl leapt into the air and I leapt to meet her, leg extended. My foot collided with her head and I jackknifed mid-air to send her tumbling down. She bounced on the padded floor of the ring and I landed next to her, feet spread out with one hand impacting the padding. “Guess cats don't always land on their feet," I quipped.

She hissed and swiped at me, I felt her claws dig into my calf as she pulled me to the ground. I slammed my other leg into her shoulder, forcing her to retract her claws and rolled away. The catgirl rose up in a feral crouch, tail flicking angrily. I sprang back to my feet and braced myself in a fighting stance, one leg in front and fists raised ready to strike.

The catgirl pounced, I got in a couple good punches before she slammed into me and forced me down to the floor. She raked my chest and belly with her claws before I managed to get my legs underneath her and kicked her off with enough force to send her flying into the ropes on the far side of the ring. As I got back to my feet I noticed that I wasn't the only one bleeding now, my own toe claws had sliced long rents across her stomach.

I dashed towards her, she raced to meet me halfway, and at the last second I veered to the side. As I passed I extended my leg and caught her off balance, then spun around and decked her in the back twice. The trip and punches combined knocked her prone and I took advantage of her momentary vulnerability to press my knee into her back and hold down her arms with my hands.

The MC started the countdown. “Ten, nine, eight…" I began to shift my position, splaying my legs to either side of my opponent. “Seven, six, five…" My ass slammed down on the catgirl's back, giving everyone behind us a view of our stacked rears. “Four, three, two…" she went limp in resignation. “One!"

I rose, showing off my torn and bloodstained leotard, raising my fist up high. The crowd cheered and clapped as I was gently escorted off the stage and out to another lab. There a robot sprayed my wounds with something that sealed them instantly, within ten minutes there was no sign of the marks whatsoever. My leotard was thrown in an incinerator and replaced with a fresh one.

A monitor showing the Ultra Aug-Fights logo turned on in front of me. “Excellent work Harlequin!" the monitor's speakers said in a loud and masculine voice. “You performed admirably for your first time."

“I just did what came naturally," I replied, trying to sound modest.

“Of course you did," the voice on the monitor replied. “Now, are you ready to do that again in an hour?"

I tried to find the claw marks that the catgirl had left, but there was nothing, even the fur had grown back. The spray had done its job well. I still had plenty of energy left, sure I could fight again. “Absolutely," I replied, clenching my fist aggressively.

“Excellent."

An hour later I returned to the ring, ready to fight whoever was up next in the tournament. Only to find the leopard-spotted catgirl again. My surprise and confusion faded as I stepped up and spoke the same words as last time.

I won again, she gave me the same openings, inflicted the same injuries, and went down the same way again. As I returned to the medic I started to wonder if I'd entered some kind of time loop. But then the monitor returned.

“Excellent work once more Harlequin."

My big floppy ears perked up. “Once more? So I actually fought the same battle again?"

“Of course," the voice behind the monitor replied. “We couldn't let our spectators miss out on the unique experience of a live battle between Harlequin and Cheetrah, not for the sums they pay for a live ticket at least."

“Wait," I tried to puzzle out. “I'm just going to keep fighting Cheetrah over and over again?"

“Oh no, you'll move up the bracket and fight Swampodile next week," the monitor assured me. “The act gets stale after too long."

—

So that was the routine for the next four days. I would go down to the ring and fight every couple hours from noon to midnight, then spend the rest of the day sleeping and indulging in the food and entertainment that the company stores provided. I lost track of time, it all blurred together into one long battle. A seemingly endless cycle.

Then one day, the cycle broke. We leapt at each other at the start of the battle as usual, but this time Cheetrah's leap was shallow and I sailed over her. I collided with the ropes on her side of the ring and before I could untangle myself I felt claws pierce my forearms and fangs sink into my shoulder.

Confused, I thrashed out wildly. This wasn't in the script! I felt my heel collide with flesh as I threw it back at her, but Cheetrah held on tight. I shoved off the ropes, managing to knock the both of us back, and she finally loosened her grip.

“I'm done with this!" she shouted in my enlarged ear. “Try to fix this injury!"

Cheetrah's fangs plunged into my neck, closing around my spine. I slammed my arms back to press her clawed hands into the floor, hoping to pressure her into releasing me, yet she continued to hold on. I heard the MC shouting something, I'd barely paid attention to his script in the past fights but it sounded like he was just as confused now as I was.

I felt blood flowing out of my shoulder and neck, her jaws clamping around my spine. I knew that if I didn't do something quick she would kill me. I had to break loose.

All I could flex with full strength were my legs, so I tried to get them below me again and pushed up with all my might!

I heard a cracking and tearing and realized that I'd made a horrible mistake as I saw my torso rise without me. Security guards swarmed the ring as Cheetrah scrambled back to her feet and attempted to run. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was a spotted face twisted in fury getting pressed into the floor by an augmented guard.

It wasn't the end though. I woke up sometime later in a bed similar to the bunk in my room at the arena, only it was wider, and I wasn't alone.

A figure rose to my left, clearly feminine, and black as midnight. At first I feared that they might have put me together with Cheetrah, but then I noticed the rabbit ears. “Who the Hell are you?!" I exclaimed.

She turned to face me, and I saw a pair of pink diamond patterns on her cheeks. “Who am I?" she asked. “I'm Harlequin, who are you?"

“What?" I retorted. “No, I'm Harlequin!"

“No way!" she objected. “You're solid white, I'm half and half."

“No," I raised my arms to grab her. “I'm…" I paused as I realized that both of my arms were covered in stark white fur.

My eyes wandered down to the blanket covering both our lower halves, and I noticed that the bulge seemed a bit oddly narrow. I grabbed hold of the sheet and yanked it off. Both of us gasped in shock and horror at what we saw.

The good news was, our legs still had the same color scheme as before. The bad news was, we had the same legs. We were literally joined at the hip! Our spines bifurcated out from a single pelvis, but everything below that, we shared.

“How did this happen?" my black-furred twin asked.

I tried to think, “the last thing I remember Cheetrah had gone off-script and…"

“Torn my head off," the other me continued.

We stared at each other. It was uncanny, gazing into my own eyes without a mirror. Was I the same person who had walked through the front door less than a week ago? Was I just a copy and this one the real me? Had we changed too much to really call ourselves that person?

“It was a close one wasn't it?" Our heads spun around to find the scientist who had performed our initial mods. “Good thing our medical center was so close by to retrieve your pattern before total brain death could occur."

“My what?" I shouted.

“What are you talking about?" my twin added.

“Well," the scientist attempted to explain. “You were decapitated but we acted quickly enough to keep you alive. During reconstruction the marketing department had an idea on how to capitalize on this tragedy."

“Capitalize?" I exclaimed. “There's two of me!"

“You see," they started to explain. “Cheetrah almost ripped you in half. It was very messy. And apparently your ratings weren't as high as they expected. Seeing how you were already split down the middle in regards to your fur pattern, they thought that it would make sense to reconstruct you in a somewhat different way."

“We're conjoined twins?" my black-furred sister exclaimed. “How are we supposed to move with just one pair of legs between the two of us? Much less fight?"

“You've already been programmed with the ability to coordinate your steps," the scientist replied. They gestured towards our legs with a sweeping motion towards the floor. “As for fighting, that's already covered by the hypnotic script. Go ahead and try walking now."

I swung my legs to the side, hauling my twin with me, and stepped on the floor as easily as the day I was decanted from the tank. “Uh," she whispered in my ear. “Would you mind if I tried now?"

I shrugged and our legs carried us to the left, I didn't even think about moving in the slightest. “This is weird," I commented.

“You're telling me," the other me added. “Wait," her ears perked up in alarm. “Does this mean that one of us is a clone? Which one of us is the original?"

I tensed up in horror. How was I supposed to know which one I was? Hadn't I just been wondering whether I was the same person as before the augmentations? If I was a clone then just what was I?

“Oh don't worry about that," the cat-scientist said. “You're equally Harlequin. It's not productive to think about it more."

“But we are different people," I retorted.

“What do we call each other?" my twin asked.

“That's already been decided by marketing," they said. The catperson studied their tablet closely and pointed at me, “you're Neige." They pointed to the other me, “and you're Cendre."

“Cendre?" she said incredulously.

“And Neige?" I repeated. “What does that mean?"

“Heck if I know," the cat-scientist shrugged. “I'm a genetic reprogrammer, not a linguist."

We walked over to a set of clothes that were sitting on a small table next to the bed. Each of us picked up a few items of clothing to examine them. There was one pair of leggings, one leg reddish and the other more orange-colored, two identical tops, and a large frilly tutu that seemed large enough to wrap around both of our waists. Cendre turned to face me, “so we get a two-piece now?"

“More like a three-piece I'd say," I replied. “I guess it was impractical to design a leotard that would fit someone with our body plan."

“True enough," Cendre conceded.

I waved the tutu around, watching the gossamer material drift lazily about in the air. “I could do without this though. Seems like it would get caught on stuff during fights."

“Considering everything else we've been through," my twin replied. “Does it really matter that much?"

I remembered how I'd fought the same fight dozens of times without variation, before Cheetrah went off script and nearly killed us. I turned back to the scientist. “We're not fighting her again are we?"

They pressed a few things on their tablet. “No, not Cheetrah. She's been sent back for retraining. Rest assured, they won't let her try something like that again."

“So," Cendre asked. “Who are we fighting?"

—

“In the left corner," the MC shouted. “The monster from the bayou, Swampodile!" The emerald-green reptile man slid under the ropes and rose up with a deep-throated bellow.

“Ready?" I asked my sister.

“Neige, we've done this a dozen times already this week," Cendre mumbled.

“And in the right corner," the spotlights pointed in the direction of our entrance. “I would have loved to tell you that Harlequin made a full recovery from Cheetrah's treachery." The audience “booed" loudly at the mention of the show's new heel. “But something strange happened during her regeneration. So let me introduce…"

I grabbed one of the curtains, and Cendre grabbed the other. “Neige!" I threw my curtain to the side. “And Cendre!" my sister tossed the other.

As we strode forwards I raised my right fist up high. Cendre raised hers halfway, and I grabbed it with my left hand and pulled her right fist as high up as my own. Just as written in the script.