FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Location: Mana, New Castor

Police cars surrounded the facility, ready to shoot the moment the criminal inside exited. There were rumors of a gang war going down inside the repurposed office space that was the hideout; several gun shots heard, screams, lots of yelling, and stuff being broken. But strangest of all, were the details about the attacker.

"Twins..." One of the officers said, walking inside with his partner, a timid looking rabbit who was new on the force. He was nowhere near ready to see such a thing.

"Mmhm," his partner, a hawk, nodded, surveying the area with his flashlight. "It's a fucking bloodbath."

The place wasn't exactly the cleanest place to begin with; trash lying around, messy tables littered with ashtrays and magazines. But now, bodies laid around, blood pooled on the floor, and a few casings of spent ammunition rolled around, kicked by the feet of the officers. One man in particular, a six and a half foot tall, incredibly muscular gorilla, was found smashed through a glass table. Another man, whose species was impossible to tell, had his head smashed into the wall; the officer thought he was decapitated at first, but his head was simply inside the wall, broken straight through the wood and plaster. He looked to be alive at least.

"Sir, these people here," the rabbit said, stepping over a puddle of blood, leaking from a man's snapped arm. "They all look like the owners of the place, judging by their dyes and their uniforms. But I don't see a single member of the rival gang.

"That's the thing," the hawk said, "They didn't tell you? Thing is: The guy who did this, did it alone."

"Alone?!" The rabbit shouted, "Impossible! You're telling me this was all done by one guy?"

"Around here, there are rumors. Rumors from folks on the street. About a street thug who is just some punk ass in just about every way, but he's an absolute monster in a fight." He said, walking around a corner, "...Well, I'll be, there he is."

Sitting there, slumped against a wall, was the man of the hour.. Dressed in a purple leather jacket and tight leather pants, covered in enough blood that it was hard to tell how much of it was his own, was a young coati, couldn't be older than 25. He didn't look hostile, just lying there, breathing heavily, somehow still alive.

"Well, sir? Should we go get him?" the rabbit said, getting his cuffs out.

"Have your side arm ready, I'll do it." The hawk said, before his walkie talkie buzzed, "Hm?"

"Officer Bradford? We're sending someone in."

"What?" He furrowed his brow, "I didn't call for back up? Cancel!"

"Too late, already here," Said a white cat, who was suddenly between the two. She dressed in a black suit with a red shirt, the lapels, cuffs, and hem of the suit were lined with red.

"What?! Sir?" The rabbit said, stepping away from her. Wondering not just how she managed to sneak up on them both, but also got past the security line. That suit... She was most definitely not with the force.

"Ma'am," The hawk put a hand to the cat's shoulder, "I don't know who you are or why they sent you in, but I'm requesting you leave the area. It isn't safe."

The cat's monocle glinted, as she put her hand on top of the officer's hand. "I said I'll take it from here."

"Who gave you permission?" The hawk replied, trying to take his hand away, but found he couldn't. She was holding his hand in place.

"Permission? I have permission right here." She tapped the silver pin on her lapel, an orchid, a symbol every officer is taught to recognize after joining the force. The hawk, still trying to pull his hand away, let out a sharp gasp when he noticed it. "Also..." She began to squeeze the officer's hand, wrenching it away, the officer found his hand overwhelmed with tremendous pain, his knees buckling. "Don't touch me." She let go and the officer backed away.

Redliner

"Finger Breaker" Angela Von Carvana

"Yes... Take it from here." He nodded, seething in pain, holding his hand, motioning to the rookie to come with him, back outside.

Angela, smiling, went over to the man still lying against the wall. "Hello sir, you really messed this place up." She knelt down in from of him, no sign of fear. "You did this all by yourself?"

"Yeah..." The coati nodded, as he took a loose cigarette and lighter out of his pocket, placing the cigarette between his gritted teeth, he fumbled with the lighter, so Angela took it and lit the cigarette for him. "...Thanks."

"No problem." She adjusted her monocle. "Why'd you do it, I'm curious."

"Friend of mine was having dinner with his wife. These guys shot up the place. He's in the hospital now and his wife is panicking. She's pregnant so there is a chance that kid might not have a father growing up and she's could be a single mother." He looked over Angela to see the results of his rampage. "So I decided to pay evil onto evil."

"Justice, huh? I like that in a man." She laughed, "I love it... However,, instead of dying here, why don't you come with us. We've had our eyes on you for a while." She took out the Primal card from her coat pocket. The name on the card read Pocketknife.

"Who are you?"

"Just a group looking for the world's strongest fighters, no matter the background, no matter their morals. Primal." She said, planning on explaining more later, "It's that or death... Or jail. Whichever you think is worse."

Pocketknife took a drag on the cigarette, inhaling deeply, before blowing it down towards the floor. "What a hard choice..." Slowly, he grinned, "You know what, fuck it? I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

Fighter

Pocketknife "Love & Hate" Guavaro

Location: Cruiser Estate, New Castor

The manor was massive. Pictures and paintings lined the hallway, even a few trophies here and there, while a possum, dressed in a red and black suit, gazed up at them. His eyes transfixed by the pieces of history. Each of these trinkets were a treasure for any boxing enthusiast.

Redliner

Ezekiel "Stinkfist" James

Oh to meet the man himself. The boxing legend Cruiser. The man who, out of his 142 fights, had only lost thrice. For the past 30 years, Primal had come to him, with the invite, and every time they were rejected. That didn't stop them from trying. To have such a legendary figure fighting for Primal, well, it would mean so much for the company and its supporters.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," a saluki ran walked down the hall towards him. She dressed in a pair of boxing shorts and tanktop, it had CRUISER branding on it, "Admiring the pictures?"

"Absolutely. I was excited to come here, with the opportunity to meet him, but looks like he isn't here." He looked to the girl, smiling, "But, why cry, when I'm standing in front of the next best thing."

The girl sighed, annoyed. The man's title was proven true. He had a bit of a smell to him. "Flattering... But thank you." A pair of boxing gloves hung from her waist.

Fighter

Milly "Daughter of the Legend" Cruiser

Ezekiel laughed, holding up a pair of black boxing gloves of his own in one hand, the Primal Invitation in the other. "So this isn't required, you're already well known enough, but would you mind giving me a show of strength?" He raised his brow, "I'm told you're as strong as your father in his prime so..." He snickered, blushing, barely able to contain his excitement, "S-sorry! I'm just a huge fan! Both of you and your dad!"

"Very well." She said, putting on her gloves. "But just one thing, cut out that 'your father' stuff, please. I hear it all the time." With her mouth, she tightened her gloves. "I'm my own person, I am what I make of myself. I'm more than just his seed." She said, doing a few punches in the air, warming up. Each punch was quick, but powerful, Ezekiel could feel the air pressure from these few punches alone from where he was standing.

"Sorry then," he said, putting on his gloves, his legs trembling with excitement, "Just one more thing before we move on, it's bothering me. Your father rejected every invite we've sent him, yet you immediately took up our offer. Is this also part of being your own person?"

"Well, I wouldn't make any impact if I exclusively followed in his footsteps for my whole career." She said, now on the ready, "Plus, Primal sounds interesting."

"Amen to that, feel the same way about my dad. He's a furniture salesman."

"Now then," she said, holding her hands up, "I'm going to go easy on you. I'm going to fight you like this." She said, with a mischievous grin on her face. Her hands were up, her feet were side by side, and her legs were perfectly straight. The only thing she was allowing herself to move was her arms. "Come."

Ezekiel's looked baffled at her, caught off guard by the odd stance; A punch is not just arm strength. A simple punch is the combined effort of ones arms, shoulders, back, hips, and legs, all working together. To punch with just your arm would be like riding a bike with out any of the gears. So she was going easy on him?! He was one of the champion boxers in his home town. You didn't become a Redliner simply through being loyal. Strength and superior fighting skill was an absolute requirement. "Prideful, you'll fit right in." He said, getting pumped, doing a few warm up jabs of his own.

He stepped forward and...

WHAM!

...quickly found himself falling to the floor, his head spinning. Didn't even have time to throw a punch, nor did his brain have time to register that he got hit until he was on the ground, ass up.

A punch so fast it could hit a fly in midflight.

Kneeling down, Milly took the invite from him. "Just tell me when the next fight is."

He gave a slow thumbs up, planning to not wash that side of his face ever again.

Location: Chessfield, Yisk

The invitation was for someone but after more than an hour of searching, the recipient was nowhere to be found. He had arrived at what was said to be her hometown, but still, she was nowhere. Such a pain. Outside a pub, a short capybara sipped his beer. Everyone was avoiding him. Those who knew who he worked for knew not to get on their bad side, even those who didn't know who he worked for instinctively knew to not mess with him; that was, despite his adorable, stout appearance.

Redliner

Winston "Foreign Object" Young

"I'm looking for a woman, a wolf, about 6 feet tall, goes by the name of Criva, no last name. I don't know if that is her real name but it's what she goes by." Was what he asked the pub owner, as well as the group of farmers a block over, as well as everyone who looked like they would know their way around town. Drinking the rest of his beer, he put a large stack of cash down on the table, feeling generous. He shivered, his usual red and black suit swapped out for a warm jacket.

"Fucking cold." It had to be -10 degrees out, even he wasn't use to it being this cold, despite being a proud Yiskin himself. He'd try tomorrow or send someone who is better at finding people. That was until he heard an alarm blaring over the loud speaker in the center of the village.

"Attention, do not panic!" A voice shouted, "A logging robot at the sawmill has gone berserk, currently it isn't in danger of reaching the village but in the event that it reaches, evacuation is in order!" The voice was trying to stay calm, but whoever was speak, was clearly trying to not panic himself.

This had to be good, he thought to himself, rushing down the street, towards the direction of the sawmill. He had to see this.

The sawmill was situated just a short walk away from the village, the workers and a few bystanders were watching as the aforementioned logging robot wandered about. A large mech that moved around on spider-like legs, sporting a heavily armored torso. Its arms, one a giant chainsaw for cutting the trees, the other a giant claw, for holding and moving them. It had already made work of the immediate area, having demolished a supply shed merely by walking into it, mindlessly destroying anything that was near, including a water tower, that it had sliced the supports of with one solid motion.

"I'm here! What's going on?" Winston said, not even winded from the run, as a matter of fact, it warmed him up.

"The machine just started attacking stuff!" The worker, a gorilla, pointed towards a computer console, situated inside of the sawmill. "The controls over there, they started glitching out, and it just started going berserk." He cursed, throwing his hat to the ground.

"I'm telling you, it's some sort of computer virus!" Another logger said, "You guys didn't listen when I warned you about that software upgrade!"

"Interesting... Anyway to stop it?" Winston said, watching as the robot began to tear apart the house where many of the workers slept. Hopefully there was nothing valuable in there, because the place was going to be a pile of wood and glass in a few minutes.

"Well..." The head worker said, rubbing his face. "The controls over there have a killswitch, it automatically shuts the machine down in the event that things like this happen. We could get someone over there, but that machine is just attacking anything that gets close, no matter what it is." He nodded over to a shirtless man with a bandages wrapping his arm, it was a miracle he was only grazed by the machine. "It's way faster than it looks too... I don't want to risk more lives because of this stupid thing."

"You said something about a software upgrade..." Winston rubbed his snout, "From the sound of things, it might've got its software crossed with a security or combat robot." He laughed, making light of the situation, "Just an observation."

"There is one option though." A woman said, holding a large shotgun, stroking the barrel. She was just a hunter in the area and happened to be in the woods nearby. "I don't know my machines very well, but my partner does. The AI is housed in the head there." She pointed to the large box at the top of the robot's torso, the size of a briefcase, ""If I can shoot it, the whole thing will be disabled."

"You're gonna kill it?!" The head worker said.

"Well, I'm a hunter, killing things is my livelihood. Plus, it's a robot, I know it often seems like it's alive, but it isn't. Just code." Robots had yet to advance to the point of sentience. Even when they appeared intelligent and alive, it was simply the Qestian mind projecting life and personality to something that truly wasn't alive.

The worker continued to protest though. "Even so, it's expensive to replace that-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a gray blur rushed past the group. So fast that Winston was almost knocked down. It was a woman, a large, well built wolf, dressed only in a loincloth, chest wrappings, and a hand carved mask made of bone. Dressed so lightly, even in the 15 degree weather... Fahrenheit, that is. The woman sprinted at the machine, at break neck speed, a cloud of loose snow being kicked up behind her. Detecting her, the robot rotated to face her, its chainsaw revving, burning so hot that mist was coming off of it. It swung, but the woman leaped over it, leaping high enough that she was at level with the robot's head. Winston was in complete awe, his mouth hanging low.

Then, with one kick, she struck the hard metal of the robot and...

CRUNCH

The sickening crunch wasn't her leg, but the robot's head. It flew straight off, with a massive dent in it. The robot, as predicted, shut down, slumping over like an animal killed.

Fighter

Criva "Feast" ???

The workers were screaming, all of them impressed, relieved their problem was fixed, some of them upset at how much those onboard AIs cost.

Winston nodded, taking out the invitation from his pocket. If only everything else could be that easy.

Location: Pleasure Club, Xiva

The Pleasure Club, a large bar and strip club, with dancers of all genders and builds. Good drinks, good food, and most importantly, good women and men. A group of men had rented the place out for themselves, but not just ordinary men. They were a small, but highly skilled mercenary group. PMC groups were out of style and rare, with war ended years ago, but there were some that still took on odd jobs. Weapons dealing, assassination, negotiation, and other operations that required a bunch of guys with guns who don't ask many questions. Their leader, a large muscular wolf hound, sat in front of the stage, watching a particular dancer.

PMC Leader

Milo "Ghost" Kisling

He was enraptured with the beauty of the dancer, a tall secretary bird, who swayed and with the elegance that he had never believed was possible. Her lovely hips, her calm but bewitching expression, and those long long legs. She dressed in only a short skirt and halter top.

He needed her. He pointed his cigar at one of the staff members, a Greyhound waiter serving drinks to the others. "Hey, come here."

"Is everything good, sir?"

"It's all wonderful," he said, "That dancer, the bird, what's her name? I must know."

"That would be Rosemary, sir," he smiled, setting a drink down in front of Milo, "She is new, but I see you've taken a liking to her."

"Rosemary..." he growled, "Let me go backstage, send her to me." He said, holding a large bundle of cash to the waiter. He had never done it with a bird before, but tonight he was going to learn.

The waiter though, frowned, "Sorry sir, but we have a 'look but don't touch' policy with our dancers." They were erotic dancers and strippers, after all, not prostitutes.

"No, it's okay," Rosemary said, overhearing the conversation, moving to the edge of the stage. She got down, with the same grace that she danced with. Putting her hand to her chest, she introduced herself proper. "Please to meet you, but we do have dressing rooms, if you wish to join me there, I am at your beck and call." She looked to the waiter, "It's fine to break policy for one night, no?"

The waiter paused, looking to her, then slowly smiled, "Yes, ma'am. I believe it's okay, just this once."

Milo stood up, putting his cigar in his mouth, and an arm around Rosemary, "Brilliant, now come, let's go somewhere private." He said, walking off with Rosemary, to the rooms. Her height was made very apparent standing next to him; he stood at about 6 feet tall, and she was nearly a head over him, with most of that being her slender legs.

The rest of the PMC laughed and smiled as they watched their boss walk off with one of the dancers.

"Boss scored!"

"Hah! Should've invited me!"

"My turn next!"

They didn't plan on leaving for a while, they paid good money to be here after all. So just a minute or two passed, the gang relaxing and drinking. Then, the lights flickered, catching them off guard and interrupting their conversation.

Then, flickering one last time, the lights completely shut out, leaving the group in darkness. No music, no lights, complete darkness and silence, prompting the soldiers to shout and complain, not scared, but annoyed at their fun being halted.

"Hey, hey! What the hell?!" One shouted, "Waiter!"

One of them flipped on his flashlight. Their weapons, if they had any, were left at the door, even the flashlight required a bit of convincing in order to be brought in. "The hell...?" He said, looking at the others.

"Probably just a power outage," one said, taking it easy.

"Why don't I hear any one else?" The flashlight holder said, looking around, scanning the area. He was right. No one else was saying anything. None of the waiters, none of the dancers. It was just the 5 of them and silence.

"Boss..." Another one said, standing up quickly, looking to the others. "We got to check him on him."

The lights slowly came back on, as the emergency power went on, causing them to sigh in relief. But, as the lights were fully on and the soldier's eyes adjusted once more, their fears were realized. The reason for the silence from before.

All the dancers were gone. Even the waiters were the bartender had disappeared. Only the soldiers remained in the building. Silently, they mutually agree: we need to get to the dressing rooms now.

"Guys, I'm trying to call him," One soldier said, holding his walkie talkie, "He isn't picking up." What is going on?!"

"Fuck," Another swore, suddenly taking on the role of leader in the absence of their boss. "Well try again! After that, if he doesn't pick up, you try again! Got it!?"

Pretty soon, they made it to the changing room, a surprisingly boring looking hallway, as customers weren't normally allowed to be back here. The sterile appearance of the hall was made more apparent by the lack of life. Not a single worker, dancer, or customer. As if everyone suddenly disappeared in the blink of an eye. There was, however, a sign that someone was here; one of the doors was partially open.

"There!" One of the men shouted, him and the four others running over, to the door, "Boss!" They shouted, smashing open the door all the way, to be met with their boss.

Rather, what was left of their boss. Slumped over in the chair, dressed only in his underwear, was Milo, bleeding from his throat, a red waterfall creating a pool of blood around him.

Boss...?" One of them said, more afraid than sad.

"What the fuck is happening?! What's going on!?" Another shouted, looking around. His eyes locked with the first person that they have seen since the lights went out, just standing there in the hallway, suddenly appearing as if out of nowhere. The dancer, Rosemary. She stood there, hands in front of her, quietly staring at them. "Shit!" He stumbled back, "Oh, it's you... You scared me..."

One of the mercenaries stepped forward, towards her, holding a hand out. "Ma'am, you need to get out of here! There is a killer!" As he stepped forward, he didn't notice the sharp blade fixed to the talons on her foot. "We'll protect you."

Rosemary, without a word, stepped forward, with the elegance of a dancer, and the precision of an assassin. She spun on her foot, like a deadly ballerina, and swung a powerful kick at the soldier's neck. So fast, so precise, that as the man's head fell to the floor, his body remained standing, only falling a second after his head landed. A fountain of blood gushed from the stump where his head use to be.

The rest of the PMC group screamed, many of them stumbling away, some of them terrified but ready to fight back

But the door was locked. There was no escape.

Her mission: Leave none alive.

Outside the Pleasure Club, a man waited, cars were parked outside in the event any did somehow escape. The "waiter" from before, out of his disguise and back in his normal uniform, adjusted his tie, cigarette in his mouth.

Redliner

"10,000 Fists" Ro Moto

Ro watched as Rosemary and Rosemary alone walked out of the bar, still dressed in her dance uniform. Her white feathers and blue dress were now crimson with blood. He smiled, holding her invite out to her, "Beautiful. I expected nothing less of you. As promised, here's your reward."

She took the invite, quickly pocketing it, "I do erotic dancing as a day job. So this wasn't anything new to me. I merely combined my two jobs."

"Now you have three. Sounds like a lot."

"Not really," She said, as she was handed a jacket from another Primal staff member. "I'll be leaving now. I will come when I am called."

Ro nodded, smiling, as he watched her leave. Her legs really were beautiful. It's just like his dad said, the most dangerous demons are the ones with the faces of angels.

Fighter

Rosemary "Cry of the Moon" Scarborough