FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1

Lou

I stared into the reflection on the dirty store window, tilting my head so I could see what I was doing between the rusted security gate. With the tip of my pocket knife I was trying to carve another star in my horns. It was the trendy thing to do with goats in my social class. Plus it made me look kinda badass, in my humble opinion.

Over my right shoulder I could see two wolves making their way towards me tentatively. Fuck. I only scratched out enough to make a V. Now my horns looked lopsided. A roll of the eyes, a flick to close the knife, and I spun on my heel to affect a more laidback demeanor leaning on the closed store front. My job is all about appearances.

The wolves were carrying backpacks, obviously from the high school a couple blocks away. Seniors if their height is anything to go by. Damn wolves being so tall.

They got closer and I watched them through my dark shades. I recognized one. Tyler. Easy mark.

"E-excuse me? Moon?" Tyler sounded intimidated. I wish I could say it was because of my badass star carvings, but that was how all suburban furs acted downtown.

I turned my head to look right at him... well, right at his chin, but it wouldn't do to look up at him. I'd lose my edge.

He cleared his throat. "Moon, this is Garry-"

The other wolf smacked his arm and growled something.

"I mean, John. His name is John."

Amatures.

"This is the goat I was telling you about," Tyler says to Garry/John. "Moon can hook us up with anything we need."

True.

"Moon," Tyler likes useing my street name. Probably makes him feel cool. "We're having some girls over tonight and, uh, we were looking for something to loosen them up... if you know what I mean, heh."

"How much do you have?" I deepen my voice a little.

Now Tyler smacks Garry/John and the two whip out more money than I've seen in weeks. Thank God for small favors and gullible wolves.

"O-one hundred and twenty," Tyler said.

I nod and reach into my pocket before remembering. "What kind of girls?"

Tyler grins and holds his hands out. "Stacked like-" he mimes an unlikely pair of mammary glands. "Vixens too! So you know they're good lays."

I take my hand out of my one pocket and dig into the other. Not to be speciesist, but carnivores can rarely tell the difference between weed and oregano, so I always keep a few baggies of cut product on me.

"What is that? Four grams?" Garry/John asks. "Aren't you over charging us?"

Ok, Garry/John is officially an asshole. I look at Tyler. "You said you wanted to party. If you want the weaker shit I sell to everyone else," I shrug and start to put the bags back.

"No!" Tyler gets excited. "Garry, be cool! Moon knows his stuff."

"That's John," the other wolf snarls. He gives me a look. I don't let him know that a jock wolf with a temper is scary no matter who you are. My bluff works and he relents. "Fine. But it better be good."

"Trust your friend, John," I say with a snort.

"Yeah," Tyler adds, "I buy from Moon all the time."

The asshole sighed and handed his share of the money over to Tyler and stalked away muttering. Sales is sales, whether it's cars or pot.

"Thanks, Moon," Tyler shoves his purchases into his backpack. "Hey, uh, there's going to be this party Saturday. Y'know, kicking off spring break and all. And I was wondering-"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'll have some E Friday. Be here early." I hate carrying anything harder than weed and prescription painkillers. Too risky.

"Cool. bro. I'll be here," Tyler nods. "But I was wondering if you want to, y'know, come party. It's gonna be at Garry's parents' lake house, out in Pinegrove. We've got a DJ, and all the chicks are getting fucked up, if you know what I mean." He raised and eyebrow and started thrusting his hips as if he knew what subtlety meant.

Like sampling the merchandise, mixing business with pleasure was not something that ended well in my line of work. Not to mention that if I was going to take advantage of a helpless drunk idiot, my tastes lean more towards a fur like Tyler than the dumb bimbos he brags about.

"I'll see if I can find the time," I lie.

"Cool."

Garry/John started yelling from halfway down the block. "Let's go, dude!"

Tyler shrugged. "See you around, Moon."

"Later," I nod. My hands were already fondling the loose wad of bills in my pocket. My day was going better than I'd hoped. Only Wednesday and I'd already sold half my product.

"Excuse me?"

I was startled out of my thoughts. A raccoon was standing a few yards away, his arms wrapped around himself and his eyes glancing everywhere but mine.

"What?" He was nervous and looking to buy. My favorite combination.

"I- I saw you talking to Tyler, and, well, I was wondering if..."

"You're a friend of Tyler's?"

The raccoon gave a short, sharp bitter laugh. "I wouldn't say that. At all."

I get it. A small raccoon would make an easy target for bigger furs. I mean, I'd still bang the wolf, but he was a prick. "Alright, what're you looking for?"

The raccoon's tail was as thick as his leg and there was no hiding its nervous twitch. "Marijuana," he says quietly.

"How much?"

His eyes widened in his black mask of fur. "Uh... m-maybe just enough to get high? I'm sorry, I don't really-" his voice hitches and he starts to back away.

"Wait," I soften my voice. "Come here. I don't bite." The raccoon obeys slowly and I can see the way he swishes his hips. No wonder Tyler picks on him. "They call me Moon," I offer my hand. His paws are soft, moisturized, and the grip is soft.

"My name is David." His voice is still shaky and his eyes sparkle.

"Well, David, ten dollars will get you what you're looking for." A temporary escape from the shithole of reality.

His ears sink. "Oh."

"What? How much do you have?"

"Seven dollars," he frowns.

"Don't pout," I said. "Not that it doesn't look cute on you."

He gives me a look like I slapped him. Suddenly he's defensive. "I'm not pouting!"

"Chill," I held up my hands. "It's alright. I'm not like Tyler."

His eyes lose some of their steel. "Y-you mean..."

"I mean, I think you're cute and I think we could come to some sort of arrangement on your first purchase."

"I- I don't want to just," his body tenses.

Am I an asshole? Probably. I don't even follow my own rules, as loose as they are. Here I am, corrupting the young furs and trying to spin it like I'm doing the guy a favor. "Relax. It's not like I'm gonna rape you or anything. How about just a kiss?" He's not running and I take it as a good sign. "Do you find me attractive?"

It's hard to tell in my baggy coat, but I've got a fairly good physique for the life I lead. David goes back to avoiding eye contact, but he nods, almost imperceptibly, like he's sure I'm laying a trap for him. I want him to relax.

"I'm going to walk across the street," I point toward the back of an out of business laundromat. "That alleyway. It's out of the way, but you could call out if you wanted. Just follow me."

"A-all you want is a kiss?" I don't blame him for being skeptical.

"Mhmm," I hum. "But it has to be a good one."

"Oh."

I have experience with David's type. Hell, I was David's type. They can't exactly come out in this kind of environment, but if you give them a chance, all that built up passion will blow your fucking mind. I get around six paces before I here him start to follow.

I've become a sort of connoisseur of back alleys in my time as a drug dealer. You want to avoid the ones behind bars and restaurants. But a nice dry one like this, perfect for almost anything. I do a quick scan for bums or feral dogs. There's a pile of cardboard under a decrepit fence in the back. A pair of legs sticking out. Probably a drunk sleeping one off until nightfall when he and the rest of this dying city's vermin come to life. David won't notice.

David's breathing hard when he catches up, and not from the short walk. He really does look cute when he's nervous. I walk up to him, he's about a head shorter than me and he's gripping the strap on his backpack like it's a parachute.

"Have you ever kissed another dude?" I ask.

"N-no," he shakes his head.

"But you want to, don't you?"

He nods slowly and inches closer. "Y-you won't tell anyone, will you?"

I cross out my heart and shake my head no. I'm not that big of an asshole. David steps closer until his coat rubs against mine. I heard him drop his back backpack as he lifts his muzzle towards mine.

The kiss is fast, almost like test if a coffee's too hot to drink. His lips smack and he pulls away. I'd barely felt anything.

"There. I did it." He's blushing all the way up to his black mask.

I raise an eyebrow over my shades and let him work out the meaning.

He starts to fiddle with his thumbs. "I- I think I can do better." Fast movements, he's on his tiptoes, hands gripping my upper arms for leverage. His lips slam against mine. There's a want consuming him as he tries to suck the approval from my face.

I kiss back. Kisses are a specialty of mine, not that I get to practice much. David's lips are soft and full. I take advantage of this and catch his lower one between mine. I give it a soft nibble and he moans into my mouth. Fuck me, I'm getting hard.

David has to feel me poking his stomach. The kiss lingers another beat before he breaks it off. His lips are red from the exertion. He wipes with the back of his hand and tells me, breathlessly, "I- I could take care of that for you. If you want."

I'm like an oasis in his dessert of strict social protocol. He needs this as much as he thinks he needs the weed. I motion him and back into the growing shadows to be safe. Nothing kills a mood faster than a public indecency charge.

David follows like an eager pup until I'm backed to the dilapidated fence. He's never done this but I can tell he's lived it in fantasies and porn. He drops to his knees and those fast raccoon hands are cupping me.

My breathing quickens. There's something about a backalley blow job that just gets me going. David's got my fly down, I feel the cool air stroke my cock before it's pressed against his muzzle. He's murmuring something, I'm tempted to think it's a prayer of thanks. Whatever it is it feels great. I grab the fence behind me, my fingers wiggling through the narrow slots in the wood.

"Fuck!" I hiss. He's sucking me like a lollipop. The fence clatters as I bump against it, bucking rhythmically.

David dosen't deepthroat me. I don't think he knows how. But it doesn't matter. He lets me shoot my load in his mouth. That's when the wave of postcoital regret hits me.

I like this raccoon. Or at least I like the idea of him. But I'm not the kind of fur you have a relationship with. I'll sell him drugs every now and then, he might even suck my cock again, but that's as far as it'll ever go. I sink to the ground, ignoring the way my coat scrapes the fence.

David's spitting out a mouthful of cum while I take out a gram. "Your talents are wasted around uptight fucks like Tyler," I laugh. "Here," I hold out the baggie. It's more than I should be giving away, but David's got it rough. Consider this my yearly good deed. "You need a pipe?" I've got this cool one with a coyote skull hooked to my keychain. It'll give me an excuse to see this fur again. "You can borrow mine, but I'll want it back."

He's gone quiet. I rub my eyes and call to him again. "David, you hear me?" He lifts up a loose sheet of cardboard and screams.

I'm on my feet in an instant, the raccoon is running past me still screaming at the top of his lungs. I palm my forehead. That homeless fuck! I was so horny I'd completely forgotten.

"Damn it. Fucking drunk ass," I growl as well as a goat can and stomp over to the jutting legs. "You hear me?" I'm not going to kick the crap out of a fur while they're asleep. A fur ought to know when he's got a beating coming.

I reach down and fling off the covering of debris. Great, I touched something sticky. "I swear to God, if you've been jerking off-" Oh hell. "Oh hell!"

Dead! Very dead. I spin away, trying to hold down my lunch. He- he was... I can't even be sure of what species I was looking at. Butchered was the only word I could think of.

***

Chapter 2

Casey

I am the Reckoning. The vengeance this city - my city - needs. New Abalon isn't just my home, it's home to six-hundred thousand other furs, give or take a few thou. And ninety nine percent of them just want to live their lives in peace. Yet my city has become the posterchild for urban blight and societal decay. It hurts to see mothers afraid to let their pups play in the park, see the bars on the windows of the elderly, or read the nightly crime statistics. There's always a story about a wayward young fur who's life gets cut short. I, like any socially conscious sociology major, feel my heart break at the state of things.

But unlike my fellow inteligencia, I choose to do something.

There are two kind of furs, the way I see it. The furs that like the Super Wolf comics, and the ones that like Dark Bat comics.

Super Wolf is a great role model, don't get me wrong. He fights for truth, justice, and the wellbeing of every fur on earth. Not to mention how hot he looks in a skintight pair of tights! Many an afternoon I've spent drooling of some of the more risque fanart on the web... But I digress. See, Super Wolf can also fly, shoot lasers from his eyes, and is nigh on indestructible.

Do you see the problem? Super Wolf is a great role model, but you can't imitate him.

This is where Dark Bat comes in. Dark Bat comics are about a bat who does everything Super Wolf does, but without the deus ex machina powers. Granted, he's the richest fur in the world, with all sorts of really cool gadgets, but he's more real to me. I'm just a normal fox, I can't fly or lift a building, or punch a hole in the moon (Super Wolf issue 732, Super Wolf vs. the Moon Raptors). But Dark Bat doesn't do those things either. He's a small fur, like me, he uses his intellect more than his fists. He can't just travel to his secret arctic castle when he needs a break. No, Dark Bat has to live in the world he's fighting for.

Maybe I was a bit of a geek growing up... maybe I still am, but I wanted- needed to do something. That is why mild mannered red fox, Casey Jiggs, sociology major at Caledonia U., put on the mask and cape and became The Reckoning!

Ok, so I might have bought the cape at a costume store, and my mask is black sock that I cut holes in for my ears, eyes, and muzzle, but damn it, I'm still pretty intimidating.

Wednesday evening I went downtown to start my usual patrol. I rode around in my plain white van - I call it the Reckoning Wagon - until I found a deserted side street where I could leave it while I got to work.

I slipped into the back, tugging on my mask and thick pair of racing goggles. I was dressed all in black with my flowing cape. God, I looked cool! A couple deep breaths to psych myself up and I hopped onto my black electric moped I'd bought with a generous birthday check from my uncle. I could almost get it up to forty miles per hour and it was almost silent. Perfect for zipping around the inner city.

I rigged the van's doors to shut after I race out. Foxy ingenuity and a repurposed garage door opener.

I've almost memorized the area right down to which streetlights are burned out. I ride dark and silent, avoiding the pothole at the corner.

Typically, I keep to the back streets, sometimes waiting all night for something to happen. I like to think the mere presence of a citizen unafraid of what lurks in the shadows is enough to keep the criminal element off the streets. But there are still times when action is called for. My arsenal changes night to night, adaptive and experimental like Dark Bat. Tonight, in addition to my improvised utility belt full of goodies, I have pepper spray, a telescoping baton, and a sawed off shotgun. But don't worry! It's loaded with beanbag rounds. Comicbook ideal or not, I hope I never have to use lethal force.

I'm in the middle of my mental monologue when I hear the screams. Usually I try to wait for it to get a little darker, maybe find a perch on one of the abandoned buildings, before I begin my work. But when duty calls, she screams it out loud.

I swing my moped around and head toward the disturbance. I guess it's only a block or two away from me and when the the raccoon runs flailing into the street I realize it's even closer. I deftly avoid running him down, and try to shout over him, "fear not, citizen! I am here to save you." My assurances aren't effective and the hysterical raccoon keeps running. But I skid to a stop at the mouth of the alley the raccoon fled. There's someone standing there.

"Back off!" the fur yells. He sounds scared, guilty if I had to guess. "I- I didn't see anything. Just drive your little scooter away and we can forget I was ever here."

Oh, he's definitely guilty of something. "I'm afraid I can't do that." He's cornered. The alley dead ends and I'm blocking his only exit. I drive in slowly and he back peddles.

"Don't make me hurt you!" He reaches into his pocket and flashes a pocket knife.

A cop would try to deescalate the situation. But I'm no cop. I am the Reckoning! A fluid, gymnastic quality spin and I've dismounted my moped and flicked out my baton.

"Fuckfuckfuck," he mutters. "I- I mean it! Get the hell away from me!"

"Drop the knife and put your hands behind your head. Make this easy on yourself."

He is a goat I can see now, and he's cocking an eyebrow. I haven't quite perfected my deep menacing growl and I'm getting the vibe that he's not respecting my authority.

"Are... you wearing a cape?"

I take advantage of the goat's momentary confusion. A well practiced dash, a spin to flutter my cape, and I bring my baton down on the wrist of the hand that's holding the knife. It clatters to the ground.

The goat yells in pain and I sweep his legs. He falls hard and I notice what had him so on edge. The pavement's stained red at the end of the alley.

"Motherf-" he grits his teeth and clutches his hand.

Oh my God! There's a dead body! Long nights of studying crime scene photos have left me jaded enough not to freak out. The carnage, I've seen this kind of depravity before, almost the exact same scene. Twice. I'm now convinced the city is dealing with a serial killer, and so are the police according to the radio traffic I've been intercepting. The murders have too many similarities to be coincidence.

"You sick bastard!" I shout.

The goat yelps and tries to scuttled on his back. "IswearIdidn'tseenothing!" He's frantic.

"Your reckoning is at hand!" I try out my prospective catchphrase.

"Don't kill me! I won't tell anyone! Y-y-you can trust me, I never tell the cops anything. I-in fact, I'm a drug dealer, s-so I can't! J-just don't hurt me."

I straddle him and pull out my sawed-off from the strap under my cape and thrust the barrel into his stomach. The goat starts whimpering. "Did you kill that fur?"

"I'll say whatever you want, dude," he mewls.

There's literally blood on his hands I see... but not enough, given the state of the victim. And his knife was barely big enough to open a letter, much less an adult male fur (possibly a canine, but it was hard to tell from the condition of the poor fur). Still, I can't take chances. I zip tie his wrists together with one of the restraints from my belt.

Somehow he's managed to keep a pair of sunglasses on during all of this. I yank them off so he can fully see his reflection in my goggles. "One chance," my lips curl in a snarl. "Did you kill that fur?"

He nods fast enough to give himself whiplash, but I suspect he's just telling me what I want to hear. I've learned that furs get very agreeable when they have a gun barrel pressed to them.

"Name," I demand.

"Moon."

I cock the gun and he hastily reconsiders.

"Lou! Lou Tanner!"

"The other body. Where did you leave him?" If he killed this fur, he'd had to have kill the others.

His eyes find a way to widen further. He's genuinely confused. Damn it! He's not the killer. I take the gun off him and he starts swearing to me that he'll confess to whatever I tell him.

"Shut it, Lou. I'm not going to shoot you." I grab him by his tied wrists and pull him off the ground. Lou cowers against the brick wall, taller than me even when he's hunched over. He doesn't resist when I start going through his pockets. Sure enough, he's got drugs on him but no ID.

"T-take my money, just don't kill me."

"I'm not a killer," my ears tilt forward in annoyance.

"Anything you say."

Alright, maybe the mask and cape don't exactly lend themselves to credibility, but I'll deal with that later. The fact that Lou has blood on his fingers means the body must be fresh. Given the weather, I estimate less than six hours or it would have been to cloted to leave the... mess. The murder happened in broad daylight.

"Where were you today?"

"I, uh, I got up and, uh hung around the corner over there. Th-that was it." He lifts his hands to point.

"Times, Lou, I need times. And be specific."

He starts sputtering incoherently. Just as I'm about to try and calm him down, the most inconvenient thing happens.

"Freeze! Get your hands where I can see them!"

Two officers, a wolf and a stallion, have their guns aimed at us, their flashlights illuminate that body behind me. I really hate to be at odds with the law. We're on the same side. But I'm not done questioning Lou, and it would really be bad for my image to get arrested.

"Close your eyes, hold your breath, and do exactly what I say," I whisper to Lou.

"Wha-" is all the goat can get out before the shit hits the fan.

I toss my gun high to get the officer's eyes off me. It's a fraction of a fraction of a second but it's all i need. I thumb a small thermite tab onto my can of pepper spray, something I normally use to get through locks in a hurry. I send the can rolling, a small spark of light fizzes.

The loud pop of the can exploding is like a starting pistol. I grab the goat by his wrists and run toward the alley entrance, right at the cops and my unfortunately parked moped.

A gunshot goes off, but I'm fairly sure it was out of surprise at the small explosion. The bullet goes wide and right on cue the officers start coughing and choking. I keep my breath held and the goggles protect my eyes, but of course, Lou starts to join in in the wheezing.

"Hold out your arms!" I yell at the goat once we're past the cops.

"What?" he gasps. His eyes are shut tightly, watering profusely.

"Arms out," I help him, then shimmy under him, yanking them down so his cuffed wrists are around my waist.

"Um?" Lou starts.

I don't give him a chance to finish that thought, taking a quick hop forward until we're both astride my moped's single occupancy seat, and, heh, I'm kind of sitting on Lou's lap.

"Hold tight, goat!" I twist my wrist and if the electric motor would have been a gas one, this is where it would have roared.