FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Feedback is welcome, if you like the story and would like to hear more about Kitty and her greater struggles, let me know. This is just a teaser/introish. It starts about 1/3 of the way into the story, after the event. After the faction escape.

From the memory frames of;(GM number; unknown)(Nickname; Kitty.) Specifics; a female canine 7 type GM Naked Dalmatian who survived the meltdown.White fur plain semi-gloss with sun resistance and IR resistances of 5, and BIO resistances of 9 with special respiration as all the 7 class.

Can survive toxic and heated environments up to level 3, and specific toxicity environments to her class level and special project_. (Has shown marked resilience to radioactive atmosphere, sustenance and hydration as well as radioactivity in her living environments.)_

[Hypothesis of Dr. Canter]; Developed by the nuclear industry; purpose unknown.

Frame size; slender female.

Make out;

Built for speed, lacks in brute strength. Blue eyes. Average height for female GM in the canine classes of 5'7''

Like all GM hybrid-sapian beings she is of questionable high intelligence... with scores that ensured she was not to be for public release. How she escaped her original containment alive is unknown. Her Identification chip was also removed by a blacklist surgeon.

We don't know why she has an MF interface, if she's aware of it

Or her current whereabouts or objectives. Please report all information on the subject of "Kitty" not yet known or discovered. If you find anything within these frames that could help us locate her, report it to your base supervisior IMMEDIATELY.

SUBFrame 107 (Extracted and recorded by a theorized accidental activation of the memory feature of the chip or malfunction of memory frame.)

Frame inlet; content ;

The year was lost 5 turns ago (The new system for years, 350 days edited for the nuclear shifted winter (complements of the Russian GM's.))

The blast missed florida at a graze, fall out has mostly settled and the modified are appearing as so far immune to its lasting after effects as far as what concerns the levels in the food. The compound founded by thirty nine survivors now houses fifteen. Ten left to seek better shelter and are all presumed dead. All of the seven humans who survived the looting, shootings, fires, explosions, and aftershock quakes caused by the deep 952 missile died post exposure to radiation inside the compound. The food rations are running low and after a forging mission twelve of the others were lost to the streets carrying most of their weapons, and the remains of the small armory pathetic, to put it lightly.

Frame 2994a; content;

Subject thinking pattern starting..

I'd spent the day dodging the figures on the streets. Many of them had edged or blunted weapons. Though not very hard to run from, a baseball bat to the jaw can really ruin your day.

I made it back to the compound in one piece, with everything I needed shortly before sundown.

"Where have you been all day?" The slit in the door could only be marv.

I smile. "Collecting cigarette butts."

"That's stupid as fuck, it's already been served. You're too late. We thought you were dead kitty. You didn't check in. We split the rations."

I open my muzzle and click my teeth in his face sharply. Figures. I had found a half rotten orange and the remains of some moldy-ish chips that were stomped on but still in a bag so I could really care less. It's was above the quality of most of the grains and occasional lettuce of the compound anyway.

"Whatever, idiot. You'll hold your tongue when I'm done with my project."

"Yeah yeah, you and your brilliant projects."

"Dick face, when I'm done with this we'll be able to walk down the street safely with an armed team of five. Now let me in before someone comes."

The door slides open and a dingy looking wolf scowls at me.

"Girl you ought to stop going out before you track something back here we can't control."

"So I'm a careless bitch now? Devon said I could go out. Devon has the word on it.", I say.

He slides open the door with a screech and I walk inside the entrance way,

Jack walks in with a regretful look. "Tried to tell em, kit." he looks genuine. We like each other enough. "Sorry bout it, your bread was like d- tonight anyways. If that helps at all.."

I put on a small smile for the fox. "No problem jack. I get to keep my standards" I wink. Humph.. What standards left would those be I wonder?

"Thanks."

We've all been losing weight, for someone to skip a meal it's a pretty big deal. But we do want everything fair to prevent violence in the compound, and the last thing we need is a drop dead from starvation. Moral is already a sickly low. Motivation is less abundant than water. Hope more scarce than the sunlight of our compound. No, Our cage.

I don't tell them I forged. It's best not to, having not found anything to bring back to the supply closet.

Marv continues to lay on. "The last thing we need is psychos on our perimeter. You know that as well as I do. We have half an axe and a shiv that's ready to break left of the fucking "armory." "

I turn my back on him and take up the stairs to the loft of my workshop. "Funny, I'm getting shit for trying to add some." I turn the corner right and his gruff voice is muffled by the grace of the concrete.

I climb the other set of stairs to the left again, and reach my door. Bashing it with my back, I open the cluttered place up and pour out my bag of cigarette butts onto the table I had prepared.

A hammer, shrink wrap machine, paper cutter from the art office, iron and rust shavings pulverized and mixed, two industrial cookie sheets I salvaged. Two heads for the machetes with handles, binding tape and some paper Mache I could mix with the office supplies to make a kindergarten concrete. It's hardly a workshop, but if I can get some glass out of it to reinforce I'll be like a kit again. And we can go outside more without being assumed KIA every four hours. But there's still the thermite to prepare, the paper to strip from the fiberglass of the cigarettes before melting and molding, and the metal to fatigue and weaken accurately enough to cut a good backing edge with the straight edge of the paper cutter.

I wonder if I should just snap it off the cutting table and try to whittle the cookie sheets down to their sickles. Fuck it. I prepare to light the thermite and in the smoke from the paper I light one of the intact cigarettes I found today. Finders keepers.

I take a thick inhale and enjoy the acrid product that Greg was so fond of before he turned green and started throwing up all his meals. So when he finally couldn't do anything but lie down and get sick he taught me to smoke, as I was assigned to take care of him. It was really something... us becoming friends.

Frame 2776b - Strong emotional flash back subject experiences within

Running memoir of Frame 2994a. Flashback purpose; accidental. [Standing Hypothesis; the subject is probably unaware of the MF interface at current frame point.]

"You know, you almost look sexy when you do that French thing with the smoke..." he smirks.

"Shut up!" I laugh, and punch his shoulder, but extremely lightly. He's dying now, and quickly.

"In another time in another place before we were all racists fucks and my mom told me not to fuck animals, I'd have asked you out for a time in a bar.", he laments.

"OH GEE thanks." I chuckle. But strangely enough the comment touches something... sensitive in me.

"A good time." he whispers.

I lean to him, curious at what he's going on about really. We weren't... that way really. Were we?

He cups the side of my maw and gently rubs.

"Before the meltdown we never knew. We called you freaks and abominations. If I could take back every negative thing I ever said..." his voice cracks. I'm looking right into his yellowed eyes.

"It's okay." I lie to him. "You wouldn't believe some of the things we called humans."

"It's not okay." He says. "You're not an animal any more than I am. Maybe less my dear." He reaches up to my face and cups it, I kneel down. "I'm dying, you know."

His face is full of pain, and there in the dark alone by his bed that smells of sick and vomit.

I can smell it all so well... even the pain. It's like my nose is smelling his pain. And all at once I realize what he's saying. What it really means. All my old friends are dead. Greg, my best friend, my only friend left. Is going to die. Given a horrible death sentence. It washes over me, tidal, complete and at once.

"Kitty?" He sits up as my shoulders start to bounce and I huff with silent sobs.

"Oh kitty, no, its okay.." he leans up and pulls me onto him, wrapping his arms around my back. "No no, don't. Honey." he says reaching down to pull my feet up into the bed as I'm crying now on top of his slimming frame. He takes his hands and turns my face to his. I will never forget those green haunting eyes as long as I live. "Everything will be okay for you some day. I promise." He wraps me in his arms and I cover him with my warmth and cling to him as if...

As if he was the last person on earth I loved. I sniffle a few times and whimper. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

And then we kiss.

Frame 2776b; flashback to end.

I miss him, the funny furless loving gentle soul. But I didn't let them see me shed a tear when he died. They'd label me soft, and a pig fucker. Racial tensions were high. We were good friends, but not in the others company. That would be stupid. Now it's wolves against dogs, considering the humans they constantly fought with all seem to have died. Stupid wolves always need to fight with someone.

I did produce two full sheets of glass from the cigarette butts that can withstand the tap of the hammer, a good sign. Tomorrow I'll melt them together and cover them with multiple layers of shrink wrap on both sides before fusing, with luck the blades will become somewhat shatterproof.

I cast my work away for the day and find my dirty corner of a bed. Everyone else beds into the main bunks, but I can't stand the sound of the others snoring and barking at squirrels in the dreams. Or whatever the fuck they dream. I sprawl out on the filthy cot, and dream about dreaming the perfect dreams, something I won't remember. But instead I lie there sleepless. Thinking about hardships. Tomorrow won't be better, can't be. Yet. What a last coherent thought to have before falling unconscious.

Frame 2994a; signal lost.