FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

130 years have passed since the globe shattering Climax of WW3. In those years, settlements on pure land have developed into a snapshot of prewar civilization. These safe-zones produce a variety of supplies with some names well known around the wasteland, but none more than Parker Weapon Systems. Their 19 year old owner Issac Parker is known for wanting nothing more than wanting to make sure honest animals are adequately armed against the horrors of the wasteland. Despite his best intentions, some of Issac's best work has fallen into the wrong hands.

The wastelands were of few sounds other than old, weakened steel structures swaying under their own weight, bound to collapse soon. Perhaps, if one had taken care of his hearing, he might hear the sounds of typical wasteland vermin, such as the sloshing of a Biomass Example, the pat pat pat of bare paws on sand as a Rabid stalked them from afar, or faint whispering as Bandits plotted against him. Wildlife? The sound of trees swaying in the wind? Forget it. The barren, dead landscape was home to nothing more than puddles of liquid sunlight and rusted cars with the occasional blistered crow descending from the sky to pluck a piece of glass or chrome from the bleached sands. Dust stirred around with even the slightest gust of wind and it assailed any who dared to walk the roads with particles so fine that they could penetrate even military grade gas masks. Heat mirage lifted in the distance off the broiling, cracked asphalt, taking on the appearance of giant puddles of water that could fool even the hardest of survivors into thinking water was a mere forty yard sprint straight ahead. Sunglasses and goggles helped to counter the sun's weaponized light rays a little bit, but just a little bit of the great ball of fire in a survivors peripherals could cause blindness. Today, however, was different from a normal day in the wastelands. There was no light, no risk of being attacked and mauled by wasteland vermin. Today, there was a new sound, one this area hadn't heard in a long time. The sound of an engine.

Vehicles in the wastelands were rare things, even today. Most animals didn't like the idea of straying outside of their safe-zones, and those that didn't have a problem with leaving still didn't want to drive because of the absolutely gigantic target that a vehicle painted on your forehead. The general rule was the more capable the vehicle, the bigger the target. To that rule, the MkVI Landship I was riding in was certainly not the exception. To begin, it's engine painted the bullseye. A modified IDI Design, the entirety of the MkVII was powered by like three wires and when given free reign of it's powerband, 16.8 liters of W16 fury sent every bit 5700 horsepower straight to the rear axle via a 10 speed manual transmission capable of launching the 95 ton main battle tank from a standstill to 70 miles an hour in under 20 seconds. Two side mounted 111mm cannons and 155mm main gun made quick work of even the toughest bandit vehicles and mounted Azbats Shotguns loaded with wicked slug rounds was sufficient to punch a hole in even the largest Biomass, they painted the circles. Now, despite that, the one draw back these behemoths had was that they weren't known to be the most comfortable things in the world, with most of that being due to the fact that they had overly stiff springs and suspension, making every bump concussion inducingly obnoxious. There was also the fact that, even with 5 inches of kinetic strike armor on all sides I still felt like I was a target, given that might also have to do with the fact I was in a suit and tie, and everyone around me was in full combat gear. Aside from the growl and gurgle in the rear of the tank, and Shoot To Thrill playing on an old burned up stereo on the engine cover, the cabin was deathly quiet.

"Are you guys always like this?", I asked breaking the silence, "I feel like you're driving me to a death camp. This is crazy what I do?"

No one answered.

"Come on, I feel like you're pull over and snuff me. What? No one allowed to talk?"

The soldier next to me was clad from the tip of his horns to the pads of his paws in multicam fabrics and hard plate body armor without so much as a single scale showing. His gold and red goggles made him look more like a machine than a living animal.

"Hey robo cop."

"We're allowed to talk sir", the driver said, "she's just not the talkative type."

"Dear god Robo Cop is female?", I asked, "Honestly I couldn't have called that. I mean I'd apologize but isn't that what we're going for here? I thought of you as a soldier first."

"Shut your mouth kid", the female snapped, shifting her head just enough that I could see my reflection in her goggles.

"Hey why the hostility?", I asked.

"You intimidate her", the driver of the Landship called back, "Hey Mr Parker, I have a question."

"Of course shoot."

"Which would you rather have as a fuel in a Flamethrower, Chemical 99 or standard Napalm?"

"That is the perfect question", I said sipping my drink, "if you're dealing with the Biomass, Chemical 99 all day long, Napalm for whatever else is bugging you."

"You only said that because my gunner's a Mahogany wasp", the tank commander said.

"Nah he's good boss", another female said, "I stung a Biomass once, long time ago, almost lost my tail because of it."

"How'd you manage that?", I asked.

"Okay, so I was scavenging in a rundown ass mall right? I can hear the biomass sloshing around on the floors above me and I'm making it a point to tip toe all around this place to be as quiet as I can because all I had with me was my PPS-43. I'm looking in an old designer store for a nice dress and this thing comes oozing through what's left of the windows. It's leaking puss and nasty shit, slurring together threats about how it's gonna do all sorts of awful things to me. I shoot it about 12 times before I spear it with my stinger and give it everything I have. In all honesty, it was probably dead before I was down a quarter of my venom reserve, but I gave it everything anyway. When I yanked my stinger out, I almost cut it off on a piece of shattered glass in the window."

There was a round of laughter from the tank's crew.

"Can I ask a stupid question?", the commander asked.

"No such thing as a stupid question sir", I said sipping my drink.

"Were you aware that some have started calling you the "Merchant Of Death?"

"I haven't heard that one before", I said.

"The Arachnids started it from what I understand", the commander said.

"Makes sense", I agreed, "I've spent the better part of my 19 years coming up with ways to ensure that their would be targets can make Swiss cheese out of them. How long till we're due at the testing grounds?", I checked my watch, "by now, they should be done setting up."

"Three minutes sir!", the driver said.

"Sweet", I said sipping my drink, "cheers all! Make sure you have fun at the demo."

Before too long, the Landship lurched to a stop and the rear hatch opened. I climbed out over the hot engine case and out into the scorching midday sun, my glasses automatically adjusting to the bright light, tinting everything orange. About ten or eleven vehicles were gathered in a semi circle around a large, armored semi-trailer with a big white "Parker Weapons Systems" logo across the windshield. The trailer was serving as a display case for several, single animal portable weapons systems, ranging from common variants of the AR-15 and AKM to new production Gewher 98's and PPS-43's, which was the core of today's presentation. Gathered around the truck were several male and female animals in various states of dress attire, conversing in languages ranging from English and Russian to German and Serbian. I buttoned up the upper buttons of my navy blue suit , straightened my tie and took a deep breath as a dark red and black dragon stepped up.

He was the most casually dressed of all of them. He wore a pair of worn out steel toed combat boots with the top covered by the frayed edges of a pair of loose fitting black jeans. A Colt M1911 rested in a holster on his waist and his white polo shirt had been bleached to the point where it was evident that the bleach wasn't doing a very great job any more. His head was covered by an old, ripped and oil stained blue hat with a Mazda logo on it.

"Hello Issac, nice to see you again", he said.

"You as well Khen", I smiled, accepting.

"Mr. Parker", a German wolf said in heavily accented English, "I'm looking forward to your presentation."

"I'm happy you could make it Ms. Hinrichs", I said.

I greeted several other Animals, then stepped up to the front of the display, took a deep breath in such away that no one would see me do it and turned around, standing straight as I could and putting my hands behind my back.

"There are many problems that plague the honest Animals of the wastelands today", I began, "Of the top of my head, safe food and water, where they're going to put their heads down to sleep tonight, and the nagging question of how much the next vendor they'll run across will be charging for infusion kits. Then, there's a question that most animals ask themselves the second a threat presents itself, "will my firearm do it's job?" The Armalite Rifle, Avtomaticheskaya Kalashnikov have been the go to combat rifles of the world for the last 180 years with multiple weapons systems emerging since the conclusion of the Final War to fill in the roles that they can not. The Winchester 1200 and M30 Luftwaffe Drilling shotguns have answered the call to duty when Rabids swarm homes at night, the Kriss Vector and Mp5 when locked doors creak open while variants of the Armalite and Kalashnikov serve alongside some of the oldest manual action rifles as dedicated long range rigs and the MG-42 and M249 SAW keep muzzles downrange and protect the few places of true safety left in a world growing ever more dangerous. These firearms have served in three wars that engulfed the world, multiple smaller conflicts and today they fight a war for which no weapon system has ever been designed. They point their muzzles at unconventional enemies in which fractions of a second can spell doom for their owner in conditions worse than has been found in any organized war. For situations like these, a firearm must have two things, accuracy and reliability, and the firearms you see behind me are renowned for both."

There was a nod of agreement.

"However, the designs of many of the platforms behind me date to nearly 200 years, and with a changing world and the focus of firearms use shifting from two sided arm conflict to every day survival use, these weapon systems need a bit of fine tuning. With that in mind, I present the most expansive project by Parker Weapons Systems ever, Ladies and Gentleman, Project Update."

Panels on the rig pulled back, revealing a second copy of all of the firearms displayed behind me. These weapons were fitted with various accessories, from holographic sights and foregrips to high powered optics, MLOK and Keymod hand guards and more durable stocks.

"Project Pitfall aims to adapt current firearms design to work with a wider array of accessories and adapt to multiple rolls. For example."

I reached back and took the PPS-43 off the rack. Chambered in 7.62x25 Torkaev, it was a hugely popular firearm all around due to the simple fact that almost anyone could afford it and still have enough left over for a decent amount of ammunition. It's one draw back was that you couldn't fit it with hardly any accessories due to it's design.

"Take this PPS-43, the single most popular submachinegun in the wastelands, cheap, reliable and lightweight, this firearm has been a go to for those wanting to keep it light for the last 50 years. It's major downfall is that this weapon can't be fitted with any accessories, until today."

I put the Coastal PPS back, reached up and took my demo PPS down, "This PPS-43 was stamped from common sheet metal in the Coastal Safezone on the edge of Russia. It is equipped with our Pitfall Mk-1 Rail that attaches at several key points on the firearm in less than five minutes by means of seven commonly sized hex head screws. It is available in M1913 Quad rail, Keymod and MLOK and enables the firearm to support a wide array of aftermarket optics, grips and electronics. In no way does it interfere with the factory iron sights or heat dispersion."

I put the firearm back, explaining what I had done with the other firearms and really hammering home our fancy new, Dura-Finish coating, explaining that it was designed as a no glare, slick mate finish formulated to repel dirt, water, rust and radioactive material, a couple of new optic designs and then sealed up the rig stepping to the edge of the covered area where I was giving the demonstration. I pulled out my radio.

"Bring them out."

I turned back to the group of township leaders, watching with a growing smile as two of my guys brought out huge rifles that at first glance could be easily mistaken for Solothurn S18/1000's with some carbon fiber and cooling fins.

"I couldn't resist the urge to bring these out here today. What you are observing here on this table is the next generation of single Animal portable Anti-Material rifles, these firearms have been in development for the past 20 years, beginning before I was even born. On my right is the Diablo Mk1, a simple copy of the Solothurn S18/1000 but with a more modern twist. Constructed with titanium and carbon fiber, this 20x152mm Semi-Automatic Light Cannon cuts the weight of it's predecessor by 75 percent, down to 25 pounds from one hundred. The weapon is shipped with 5 10 round magazines, 5 20 round magazines, a variable power 1-35 optic, a muzzle brake and suppressor. A user manual, cleaning kit and all tools needed to service the weapon are included as well. At this time, Parker Weapon Systems is distributing 10 weapons for field testing on a first come first serve basis, after which we will be distributing them at a cost of nine thousand dollars a unit. In the old world, they said that the best weapon, is the one you never have to fire and I respectfully disagree. I prefer, the weapon you only have to fire once. That's how Dad did it, thats how the Wasteland does it, and it's worked out pretty well so far. With that in mind, I present the pinnacle of Light Cannon design. It's the only light cannon to abandon traditional smokeless powder in favor of Magnetic induction and the only Induction rifle to incorporate the Ionized Radio Arc Decay technology found within the P94 Plasma Rifle. Find an excuse to point either of these monsters down range and I personally guarantee you that whatever wasteland horror you put the cross hair on is going down the second that trigger lets the sear go."

I motioned for the Wolf to pick up the Induction variant. He loaded pointed depleted uranium spike into the magazine, ratchet the bolt back and let it go. The bolt shoved the spike into the chamber and the wolf hefted the rifle to his shoulder, focusing on a massive boulder the size of a house about 100 yards from our position.

"For your consideration Ladies and Gentlemen, the PWS Diablo Mk2."

The earth seemed to tremble on it's axis when the mighty cannon called out to the heavens in a magnificent roar of thunder. The muzzle blast alone knocked the hats off two Animal's heads and made me stumble forward. The rock the wolf was aiming at exploded into fragments of sizes from footballs all the way down to powder. Fragments and rocks fell on our heads and Khen just barely missed getting struck by one of those football sized chunks of granite. The dust cloud settled into everything, hair, clothes, crests, ears, noses, everything. When it finally cleared, I brushed off my suit.

"Memo", I sighed, "9500 tons of muzzle energy may be a little.."

A rock thunked me on my helmet, "excessive."

The Township Leaders exchanged glances, then broke into a round of applause. I answered a few questions over some drinks and wrapped everything up, heading back to the Landship I had rode in. It would be a two hour ride home, so there'd be nothing to do but shoot the shit with the crew, and trust me there'd be plenty of that. I was about to climb abroad when Khen stopped me.

"Hey Issac", he said.

"Yeah Khen?", I asked.

"That was a damn impressive demo, best I think I've seen from you", he leaned up against the Landship, peering at me from underneath his old, ripped up Mazda hat, "you doing okay?"

"I'm great Khen", I smiled, "I've been waiting to demo the Diablos for months now."

He put his paw on my shoulder, "good to hear kid. You know your Dad's watching you with a big, shit eating grin right now, bragging to all the Arc Angles that your his kid and probably taking pre-orders for the Diablos from them as well."

I laughed, I couldn't help it. It was hard not to think about all the stupid shit my Dad and I used to do together. I missed him more when I did the Demos than any other time. He always took me with him to the Field Weapons Demos, it was what I was good at. He and Khen had always been good friends, sometimes it was hard to believe that he had passed almost 10 years ago.

"I wouldn't be surprised", I smiled.

"Put Lake Eire down for 15 of the conventional Diablos, I know several Animals who will want one", Khen said, "and I want another 10 of the Mk2's for the town. I'll get you a more detailed order form once I'm back in my office."

"Consider it done", I answered shaking his paw.

A couple more township leaders approached me, expressing a desire to order several Diablo rifles and higher quantities of the regular infantry arms. I took everything down in a small note pad and climbed abroad, taking my seat beside Robo Cop and pulling out my ringing Sat Phone.

"Hello?", I asked.

"Issac", a familiar voice asked.

"Tucker aren't you supposed to be resting."

"Yeah yeah", Tucker said, "I'm more worried about you. Your nerves were killing you when you left here, I couldn't rest till I knew how it went, so how'd it go?"

"Christmas is coming early this year Tuck, I just sold almost 70 Diablos between the Townships and over 250 smaller guns."

"Hey!", Tucker laughed, "way to go kiddo! I'll have drinks waiting when you get home yeah?"

"See you then Tuck", I hung up the phone, putting ear buds in and turning on some music. Before too long, the Landship got moving again. I leaned back, closing my eyes, listening to E-Dubble and it didn't seem like that long before I was jolted awake by a single sentence.

"Firing Primary battery!', the Landships gunner shouted.

The Landship shook on it's suspension when it let it's side cannons go. I could hear small arms pinging helplessly off it's exterior. I was wide awake now, my own shouting drowned out by the shouting of the crew through their helmet coms.

"What's goin on!?", I asked, my heart rate increasing, "what we got!?"

"We're surrounded boss!", the driver shouted, "there's no way out of this valley!"

"Bullshit!", the commander shouted, "we're armored! If there's no road we'll build one! Gunners! You are cleared for weapons at will! Driver! Put all 16 into it!"

"Rodger that!", the tank crew shouted.

"Hello!?", I squeaked, "someone answer me please!?"

I was ignored. The Landships engine groaned for a second or two before the tank took off like, the driver rocket shifting through all 10 gears in a matter of seconds, the engine screaming even over the chatter of the battlefield outside.

"Brace!", the driver shouted.

The Landship crashed against something with the deafening sound of deforming metal, the shockwave going straight through my brain like someone driving nails into the very middle of my ear drums. My heart was pounding against my rib cage, to the point where I felt each beat and it was causing me some pretty serious physical pain. I couldn't cover my ears and reach for my shots at the same time, but none the less, I tried anyway. My bag was just out of my reach, as I had set it underneath the seat because I didn't think I'd need it. I tried to get it with my tail, and would have succeeded, but as soon as I had a hold on it, the Landship lurched again, it flew across the cabin, crashing with a really audible broken glass sound, the bright tan turned dark brown.

"Oh fuck!", I squeaked.

The Landship crashed to a halt, lurching so hard forward I thought the harness was going to cut me in half.

"Son of a bitch!", The driver bellowed, "Boss! I just lost the transmission! We're stuck here!"

"Gah!", the commander shouted, "turn these hills to rubble! Fire everything!"

The Landship let loose a volley of rounds, the gunners reloading and firing as quickly as they could move shells, it went on for roughly 20 seconds before the driver shouted out again.

"Shit! There's another tank coming over the hill!"

"I see it staff Sargent! Let's give it a proper welcome!"

I never actually saw the enemy tank, I just know that it was quicker on the trigger than these Animals were. There was about five minutes I think of just straight combat between my Landship and whatever tank the Animals attacking us had. It seemed like we would lose until I heard the driver finally muscle the Landship back into gear.

"Got the clutch! We can move again!", the driver said.

"Get us outta here Staff..."

The driver was unable to finish his sentence when the front of the Landship exploded off, flipping the entire tank around so that I was now facing the opposite way. Dust, exhaust, heat and the merciless light of the day poured into the cabin of the ship, blinding me immediately. Everything had gone quiet. I couldn't see, couldn't hear anything but a distant ring and some nearly unintelligible shouting. A very large animal shook me from my stupor and unstrapped my harness. Barely conscious, I heard someone shout.

"I got Parker! Move!"

The animal dragged me out of the ruined Landship into the cloud of chaos. Before long, I regained enough composure to realize he was trying to carry me while attempting to run and shoot with a handgun. We ducked behind a rather large boulder and he set me down, putting his pistol in his holster and getting his rifle up, a rattle-caned MG-42 with a rather pricey looking optical set up.

"Get down and stay down!", the big Horse shouted, popping up above the rock to shoot at whoever was giving chase. Now, 4 more animals had shown up, one of them was Doyle, the Wolf who had always handled the weapons for my Dad, he came straight over.

"Issac!", he shouted over the gunfire, "you okay bud!?"

I couldn't manage more of an answer than just shaking my head.

"Stay down buddy! We'll get through this!"

One by one, the animals that had joined us started to drop in a pile around us, eventually, only the Horse with the MG42, Robo Cop and Doyle were left. For about five minutes there was noting but straight gun fighting between them and the enemies, then, the horse dropped. A sniper or someone with a shotgun had gotten him, taken his head clean off. Chunks of bone and brain peppered my face and the blood sprayed me like someone had their thumb over the end of a garden hose. To that...I wasn't entirely sure how to react, other than just stare. I...I had never been in a situation like this before. Now, robo cop, Doyle and I were the only one's left. She was successfully returning fire with a FN FAL, at least, she was, until a bullet tore straight through her neck and sent her to the ground. She landed on her back and tried to right herself, seeming like she was unable to bring her paws up to her neck to stunt the bleeding. I clamored over the body of the dead horse and tried to help stop up the hole, when a rather large stick grenade landed right beside us. I felt an arm close around my neck and pull me away just as the grenade detonated. With another ring in my ears, I found myself staring at the skies, completely out of breath with no feeling in my legs. My head felt like someone had struck me with a sledgehammer. Managing to open my eyes, Doyle was still shooting back at the hostile contacts with the horse's MG42. Everything around us seemed to be flying in a flurry of suffocatingly black smoke and blood orange fire. Shouting was everywhere, I couldn't make anything out. Bullets fell around Doyle and I like a rain of molten lead, kicking up clouds of sand and throwing splinters of rock every which way.

I sat up against the rock, close to him as I could, soon as I did, I realized my chest felt warm. I was really beginning to question myself in that moment and was wishing that I had been too much of a coward to look down. My white shirt had turned crimson red. In pure panic, I pulled it open, ripping the buttons off in the process. There was hardly anything left of my chest. Barbs of metal were embedded god only knew how far into my skin and my torso was littered with grisly fibers rising around pea sized exit holes from what could have been a blast of Rat Shot from a fair range that had gone straight through and unnoticed. A piece of steel about the size of my middle finger was stuck right in the middle of my chest with blood oozing out of it uncontrollably. Another spike was stuck between two ribs on my left side and must have punctured my lung, given the way the blood around that spike was bubbling. I could taste my own blood mixing with spit in the back of my mouth, a disgusting, septic feeling like catching a whiff of some rotting creature in the wastelands had been shoved into the back of my mouth. I blinked a few times, reaching out to pull on Doyle's pant's leg to get his attention, grasping at air for god only knew how long before my paw finally felt Kevlar. Doyle shifted his position and I heard him shout something unintelligible. I slumped over to the ground, no longer able to support my own weight. Eventually, I was back on my back staring up to the sky, the afternoon heat began to fade into bitter cold as the blackness washed over me.