FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The surroundings were eerily quiet.

It wasn't the kind of silence that comes from the absence of sound, but rather the kind where the air itself seemed to have solidified into a stifling stillness. I could clearly hear the rapid breathing and anxious heartbeats of those beside me.

The square was close to the warehouse where fertilizer was stored, so the peculiar stench—mixed with the fermenting sweat—created a subtle yet distinct atmosphere. Most of the time, it symbolized hard work and the earthy scent of the soil, rarely bothering me. But today was different.

I looked up, the scorching sun was mostly obscured by the hazy sky, but even the remaining sunlight was still oppressive. The weather forecast predicted a thunderstorm in the afternoon, and when it came, the ashes drifting in from afar would fall with the rain, bringing the metallic stench typical of the city and industrial areas into the fields. It would take months for the smell to dissipate, but if you sniffed carefully, you'd always be able to catch a faint trace.

Just like this scene that would soon seep into my memory.

I could have, like the others, chosen to lower my head, close my eyes, or employ any other strategy to make myself feel a little better. But I knew I couldn't.

This was my responsibility.

So, I refocused my gaze and looked at the wooden platform in the square, bearing witness to what was unfolding.

"...These people are ungrateful, greedy, and selfish!" The Earl of Texas paced back and forth at the edge of the platform, his golden fur gleaming brilliantly. His voice echoed through the speakers connected to his personal terminal, ensuring that every one of us could clearly hear his every word.

"They claim they haven't received enough and want to take what rightfully belongs to the good, honest, law-abiding masses!" He waved his arms dramatically as if to emphasize his point. "And that's not even the worst part—they incite, instigate, and manipulate others, using every possible means to demand others sacrifice and take risks just to fulfill their imagined 'rights!'"

The Earl usually didn't make public appearances before us. The trivial matters of serfs were more than adequately handled by the steward, befitting his status. So when did the serfs of the Golden House ever get the chance to glimpse their noble lord?

"In the name of fairness, we must mete out the appropriate punishment to those harboring such presumptuous desires, so as not to let down the many ordinary people who remain obedient and law-abiding." The Earl gestured to someone, then returned to his luxurious seat on the viewing platform. The Labrador butler stood nearby, occasionally wiping his sweat-drenched face with a handkerchief, clearly aware that this was also a warning directed at him.

The sound of something heavy crashing onto the wooden platform signaled the arrival of a red fox, dumped there. His naked fur was covered in dried blood and filth, with numerous gruesome wounds tearing open the skin, exposing festering flesh. The fox lay face down, limp on the ground, his hands bound behind him, twitching faintly now and then.

A coyote walked over, crouched beside the fox, and injected a syringe into the latter's neck. Then, pressing on the fur nearby, he seemed to be checking for a pulse.

Coyotes were even lower in social status than foxes. It was said that the pedigreed dogs' noble families wouldn't allow them to be involved in food production processes, so they couldn't even become serfs, relegated instead to jobs everyone else avoided at all costs. Still, perhaps I envied their freedom to roam.

A pained gasp pulled me back to the present. The fox, half-kneeling on the platform, trembled as he instinctively adjusted his breathing.

The sound, hoarse and ragged, echoed across the square due to the unnerving silence.

I suspected that the repeated hangings had damaged his throat or vocal cords, or perhaps it was simply the result of suffocating too many times, leaving his voice sounding like that.

The coyote waited a moment longer, until the fox could breathe more steadily, then tapped a few buttons on his terminal. The rope attached to the fox's collar began to rise again, hoisting him up. This was the fifth time. In the first few rounds, the fox had kicked wildly before suffocating, making the scene even more disturbing. But by now, he clearly didn't have the strength left to struggle.

In a way, it was almost a relief. This would probably be the last time—the rope only lifted him high enough for his toes to barely scrape the floor, keeping him conscious a bit longer. The coyote returned with some items from a nearby table. We had been forced to witness this process many times before, and we all knew the full procedure.

The fox, now suspended by the collar, seemed to understand as well. Though trembling uncontrollably, he still tried to stand tall, quickly swiveling his one good eye as if searching for something in the crowd.

Most of those present probably recognized the fox, though they didn't know the real reason for his fate. He was 76123, a red fox from the third production team. Many years ago, he had proudly reintroduced himself to me as "Adam," declaring that it was the name he had chosen, that "Adam" was no longer just a number he had been assigned.

Finally, our eyes met.

I prayed to some distant, listening entity that the smile Adam gave me wasn't a hallucination brought on by my overwhelming guilt, nor the broken remnants of his shattered mind mocking the world. Instead, I hoped it was because he had seen me—knew that I was watching and would not turn away in his final moment.

Even from this distance, I could see that all of his teeth and nails were gone, and each of his fingers had been twisted out of shape. And the fact that I was still standing here watching, instead of hanging beside him on that platform, told me that Adam hadn't betrayed me, not until the very end.

And, more importantly, he nodded ever so slightly toward me.

I knew what that meant—he was using the last of his strength to tell me that the changes we had made to the system hadn't been discovered, that they could still be used.

I wanted to throttle the part of me that felt a fleeting sense of relief, but now, this moment was about Adam.

So I pushed all other emotions aside and returned his nod in the same manner, letting him know I understood his message, that none of this would be in vain.

I swore I saw a single tear fall from his good eye, and I almost looked away. But I held firm, because bearing witness to Adam's final moment was the only thing I could do for him.

I would remember forever how, in his last stance, he was never defeated, not until the very end.

The coyote standing nearby waited for a while, and when Adam began to twitch violently because he was about to suffocate, he walked over, grabbed the fox's erect penis due to brain damage, and cut it off from the base with the knife in his hand.

Adam's shrill scream stung my eardrums. I gritted my teeth and continued to watch.

The coyote then cuts open the bottom of the scrotum, squeezes the testicles out of the incision, and then cuts the spermatic cord. Adam continued to scream, but probably because of the damage to his throat, it sounded like a malfunctioning internal combustion engine.

Then came the stab across the abdomen, which caused the intestines to fall out and land at Adam's feet. I heard someone next to me start to vomit, but I swallowed all the acid and tears in my mouth back into my stomach - I had to watch, I will remember it forever.

The coyote threw the cut parts into the small stove in front, raising some ashes. I pursed my lips and felt the fat in the air getting on me.

After Adam's liver was removed and burned, I was sure he was dead. But I don't know whether it was shock or numbness, or guilt over my own responsibility that made me continue to stare at the fox's corpse.

Finally, the coyote dug out the heart and threw it into the stove. The remaining part is still hung up by the collar, swaying slightly with the wind that smells of blood.

The splattering of liquid on the wood, paired with the creaking of the tightening rope, formed a rhythm of its own.

"The head of the traitor will be nailed to the gate as a warning to all those who harbor delusions, those who seek to destroy the order of our society!" The Earl rose at last, concluding his speech. "I hope everyone takes heed of this!"

The golden retriever waved his sleeve and descended from the platform, surrounded by his guards. The butler hurried after him, too shaken to even notice when his handkerchief fell to the ground. Meanwhile, the other foxes around began to move, as the fieldwork would not pause for something as minor as an execution.

And I continued to stand there, watching the coyote chop off Adam's head and then cut the fox's body into four pieces.

"76184, the hive drone is acting up again," the video feed of 86138 popped up on the right side of the terminal screen. A snow fox rubbed his eyes as he spoke, looking a bit tired. "Based on the last data received, it looks like it might have collided with something."

"Got it, boss." I attempted a remote access of the drone while getting up to grab my toolbox.

"76184..." The snow fox sighed, calling out my designation in a hesitant tone.

"Boss?" I had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to say, but I decided to play dumb, not wanting to deal with those deeper emotions at the moment.

"Are you okay?" His concern sounded genuine—at least I thought so. "I know you and 76123 were friends."

"Adam." Before I even realized it, his name slipped out of my mouth.

"What?" The snow fox didn't catch on, looking at me with a confused expression, waiting for further explanation.

"Nothing." I cleared my throat. "I meant, I'm fine."

The snow fox on the screen sighed, his ears drooping against his head, clearly not convinced by my words.

"Really, I'm fine." I indicated that I was busy, with no time to chat further or discuss my nonexistent troubles. "It happens sometimes. I think everyone's used to it by now."

86138 shrugged slightly, then cut off the communication. Whether he accepted my response or not, there wasn't much he could do about it.

I successfully located the problematic hive drone. It was a bit far, near the border of the field zone managed by the fourth production team. After issuing a few commands, I summoned the rail cart and tried to diagnose the drone while waiting for my transport.

"What the heck?" I muttered to myself, noticing someone editing the internal files of the drone. It was a local, physical access modification—something I couldn't stop remotely.

When the rail cart arrived at the workstation, I set aside my confusion and hopped on, letting it take me to the drone's location as fast as possible.

I didn't exactly hate my "job."

The monotonous routine could be soul-crushing, sure, but whether due to the original design or a lack of proper maintenance, I spent most of my time troubleshooting a never-ending stream of strange malfunctions. To be honest, I found it pretty interesting.

As the platform raced along the metal tracks, I held onto the central pole for balance, with the strong wind pressing my ears flat against my head. The towering herbaceous crops rushed by in a blur, forming a dark green fence occasionally dotted with small bright red spheres.

I wasn't in the mood to enjoy the somewhat tranquil scenery, though. I just adjusted the collar around my neck, trying to ease an itch that didn't really exist.

Some famous person once said something about the imprisoned body and the free spirit. I bet he never had to live with a collar around his neck all the time.

As the rail cart began to slow, I reached out and gently brushed my hand over the leaves of the crops. Their dark green surfaces were speckled with black spots, looking just as grim as the perpetually gray sky. The fallout had been worsening lately—perhaps something was off in the industrial district?

I sighed and reeled in my wandering thoughts before they went too far. Jumping off the platform, I grabbed my toolbox and made my way toward the signal from the drone.