FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Lloyd liked to walk downtown during his lunches, just so he could imagine himself sweeping one giant paw through that entire part of the city and starting over. It wasn't a bad little spot, but it was clear there wasn't a grand design behind it - just a patchwork of opportunities and initiatives taken over a long period of time.

He parked on the corner of Grant and 10th St, in an old parking garage that was in the heart of downtown before it moved closer to the river. To his left (at the east) walking down 10th St, there were a row of townhouses that probably would have had a great view of the sunset before taller buildings had robbed them of the view. Their fronts were still painted in the pastel shades inspired by the way the dying lights caught the clouds and turned them salmon pink or a soft butter yellow. Lloyd imagined a condo community going up there instead - luxury apartments that would house young professionals or families just starting out.

Across the street to his right, there were a series of small businesses still clinging to life with whatever traffic managed to get down this way. A payday loan store with a big gaudy sign blasted the illusion of success from behind crumbling, dirty brick store front. A taqueria without a name called to foot traffic with the smell of grilled meat and Mexican spices. A liquor store had windows plastered over with what seemed like half a century of advertisements, preventing you from seeing anything inside. A dive bar on the corner, with no windows and a big rusted sign that might have lit up twenty years ago and been brand new three decades before that. All of those would go down to make a parking lot.

Downtown had moved when the city changed from being an industrial town to a corporate one. All of the old factories were knocked down to make room for tourist spots, and the old worker neighborhoods that had been abandoned were revitalized with varying degrees of success over the years. Different mayors had different ideas for what the heart of the city should look like; the results were a series of half-finished projects that never quite set out to do what they wanted to do before they ran out of money or the political winds shifted.

Lloyd walked down 10th until he hit Applebaum, then turned west towards the new downtown. The dive bars and greasy spoons slowly gave way to cupcake shops and boutiques, local health stores (mostly populated by herbivores) and restaurants trying desperately to be hip nightspots. There were more animals on the sidewalks here; some in business suits grabbing a quick bite before ducking back into air-conditioned complexes, some pushing strollers as they ran errands or window-shopped.

The restaurants gave way to buildings that now held offices but once were something else, perhaps an ice cream parlor or a speakeasy or a laundromat with apartments on top. With each block, Lloyd imagined a specific set of buildings each with their own distinctive feel and purpose, yet complementary of everything around it; he thought about what a truly unified downtown could be.

Converted small businesses gave way to larger corporate complexes, the part of town that was deserted after 6 PM. Here, the only animals on the street were security guards or those trying to get from the tourist traps to places "off the beaten path". Lloyd stopped at a sandwich shop at the end of Applebaum and 14th; they knew him there and the pretty young fox immediately went in on making his usual when the bell rung. Italian meats with double salami, banana peppers, olives. He grabbed a bag of jalapeno chips and flirted with her as she rung him up. He doubted it would go anywhere; if foxes dated outside of their species, they tended to go for wolves rather than coyotes. Still, it was nice to hone his skills in a low-risk environment.

Lloyd took his lunch out to the small park that marked the edge of the corporate neighborhood. If he walked further west, the plain high-rises would have given way to "modern" buildings that housed chain restaurants, way too many bars, overpriced condos and museums dedicated to things way too specific to ever be more than a niche attraction. He hated that part of downtown; it was too busy, everything designed to grab your attention and never let go. Here was about as good as it got - a natural space in the middle of urban sprawl that served as a melting pot of sorts.

He sat down at a fountain with a kangaroo; a skateboard was between them, and the marsupial was too busy texting to even acknowledge the encroachment of his space. Lloyd didn't mind that - he liked the idea that two people could be comfortably close and do their own thing. He took a big bite of sandwich, chewed noisily and watched the animals milling about.

The vibe of the park wasn't ideal, but it was better than the chaos of the tourist's neighborhood. Animals weren't here because the park was great; it was just a chance to get outside and do something else beyond what they had been doing all day. Even a crappy oasis is an oasis, he supposed.

He watched a polar bear who must have been baking in his business suit talking on his cell and carrying an iced Frappuccino; a gazelle and lynx pushing strollers with a hip-slamming gait that made them think they were exercising harder than they were; another coyote crouched over a duffel bag. He lingered on the canine, his attention pulled by the instinctive bond he shared with another member of his species.

The coyote rifled through the open duffel bag, though it was fairly obvious he was trying to be discreet. Every once in a while, he glanced up and around, then went back to working. He had a kind of feverish focus about him, like he needed to get something important done very quickly.

The duffel bag was underneath a bench about sixty feet away, near a statue commemorating some war hero. There were a few animals there, sitting on the grass and reading a book or milling about and chatting with each other. The coyote only stopped his work when someone came within a few steps; sometimes he nodded, gave a loping smile, then went back to his business as soon as they were gone.

Lloyd watched in fascination for several minutes with no idea why he did so. Maybe it gave his brain something to do as he wolfed down his sandwich and chips. He wasn't surprised when he saw the coyote get up, give one last look around and walk quickly towards the edge of the park with his hands in his pockets. He only got the sense that something was wrong once the nameless canine started running once he got to the sidewalk.

His eyes darted back to the bench, where the duffel bag sat on the ground. A sinking feeling landed in the pit of his stomach. Should he run, too? Should he scream out a warning?

A popping noise came from the bag. Some concussive force ripped it apart at the seams, revealing a metal box that was immediately obscured by some sort of steam or fog shooting out of it. Flecks of foam landed on the sidewalk around it that immediately began to roil in the open air, creating more smoke. The wind caught it, and suddenly the air was saturated.

Lloyd caught the scent of something chemical before the fog came close enough to obscure the edge of the fountain. Somewhere across the growing fog bank he heard someone scream, then gargle, then fall silent. He got up and ran.

Animals were beginning to catch on that something was happening, and followed suit. So many of them weren't quick enough, though; the fog would overwhelm them, obscuring them from view. All that could be heard were disembodied screams that grew higher and more panicked, or thick and throaty, or into something else that couldn't be readily described. Not being able to see what was happening to the animals trapped by the fog only spurred him to run faster.

He was on the other side of the park near the exit when the fog caught up to him. He could feel the rush of cool mist on his tail and against his back, and he couldn't tell if the tingling sensation that raced up his spine was adrenaline or the effects of the fog. It instilled an instinctive panic in him, though, encouraged him to leap over and on top of animals that had fallen, to scratch and scrabble over the bottleneck that had formed in the narrow exit. His ears were filled with the screams of animals who had been caught, his hackles raised as they grew closer. Suddenly, they were right over his shoulder. Then they were right under his feet. Then they were all around him.

The fog burned his eyes and nose as it closed in around him, settled in his throat in a way that made him start coughing and not stop. His body was rejecting whatever this was violently, so forcefully that he couldn't breathe. He gasped for split seconds before another coughing fit racked his body.

He fell over, on top of a squirming carpet of other animals who were all coughing and screaming with what air they had left. A sensation that felt hot and cold at the same time sprung up in patches all over his body, growing in intensity from curious, to biting, to searing within the span of a few seconds.

Lloyd was in a blind panic now. He couldn't open his eyes to see where to go, and if he could the fog would have been far too thick anyway. He couldn't breathe to sniff his way out. He couldn't even crawl; every movement of his arm felt like it would split his pelt wide open. He could only curl up and try to breathe.

The sounds of screaming grew faint as his stomach lurched. He couldn't tell if he had ejected his lunch, or if he was on his back or side. His consciousness faded, shrunk to a pinpoint, then mercifully became non-existent.

He woke up to a feeling of mild but all-encompassing discomfort, as if his body had been replaced by a different one that didn't fit as well. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest and cool, sticky spots that tugged against his skin when he moved.

Lloyd opened his eyes. He was indoors; a tiled ceiling with fluorescent lights greeted him. He tried to move, and the bed under him creaked. His limbs felt strange and heavy. His mother suddenly appeared, floating above him, seemingly small and distant.

"Lloyd?" She sounded small and quiet. The fur around her eyes were darkened with wet streaks. Her hands shook as she reached out for him. Lloyd tried to say something, but his tongue felt swollen; an unnatural moan was all he could produce.

His mother looked to her left, then back at him. "Hold on, sweetie. I'm going to get the doctor. Don't move."

Lloyd struggled to rise, but as soon as he lifted his head it felt like his brain had swollen inside his skull. The room spun, and he had to lie back down. He squinted against the pain, heard the steady series of beeps in the background grow louder, faster. He forced himself to take deep breaths, stretched himself out.

His feet hung over the bed and the mattress beneath him complained louder. It felt strange, but he didn't have much time to think about it. The doctor arrived a moment after he noticed.

"Hello, Mr. Featherstone." A tall stag ducked in, followed closely by his mother. "I'm Dr. Johns. I need to ask you a few questions."

Lloyd tried to sit up, but his head protested immediately. He peeled his tongue away from the roof of his mouth. Words were hard to come by. His mind kept blanking. Everything felt wrong.

"You've been through something of a shock, so I'll be brief. I'll ask a series of yes or no questions, so you don't have to speak. Just nod or shake your head. If you can't do that, blink once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?"

Lloyd nodded. A vague sense of alarm started to take hold. What was this? Where was he? What had happened?

"Good. Do you recognize this woman?" The stag gestured to his mother. He nodded.

"Is she your mother?" He nodded again.

"Are you a student at Hardvark University?" He blinked. Hardvark? No, he was a student at...at...Fitzgibbons College. He shook his head, though he furrowed his brow. Why were things so slow in coming?

"Very good, Mr. Featherstone." The stag wrote something on his clipboard, which seemed smaller than it should have been. "I know you must be confused about what's happening. I'll explain a bit, but after that I'll leave you to your rest. That's the best thing for you to do right now."

Lloyd followed his mother as she moved to his side. He felt her hands press through the fur of his forearm. She felt so small and frail, and his heart ached for her. She must be worried sick; that's why she looks so thin.

"There was...a biological attack downtown yesterday that you were caught in. The agent that was used kills 95% of the animals who come into contact with it, but you're one of the lucky few who survived. That's the good news. The bad news is...even the survivors have to make certain adjustments. The agent is reacting with your body in a manner that's causing...well, the easiest thing we can call it is a mutation. You're going to change in some fairly drastic and complex ways over the next several weeks, but don't worry. We've learned a lot about this condition from the first wave of attacks..."

A ringing in Lloyd's ears drowned out the rest of what the doctor was saying. He felt his claws ripping the sheets of the bed, heard his breathing quicken, felt a whimper in his chest. An attack? Was it Agent Kaiju? Images flashed in his mind, of aerial shots of smoked-out neighborhoods, of evacuation orders in cities that shifted with the wind, of scenes of unimaginable death. The media did its best to avoid showing anything too graphic, but the descriptions were enough; bodies that had been disfigured horrifically, with bones growing through skin, organs crushed by their own size inside rib cages, of people literally melting into some kind of genetic soup. Those that survived grew to impossible sizes over weeks and months; sometimes, the pain and disorientation drove them mad and they were killed anyway to prevent them from becoming a danger to themselves and others.

Lloyd's heart pounded in his chest. He bolted upright, ignoring the way his brain felt like it would thump out of his skull. The bed made an alarming snap and he felt something give beneath him; the wires that had been stuck to him tugged and equipment rattled beyond the edge of his vision.

He heard his mother cry out, and the stag rushed to the bedside. He looked at something to his right, outside of his field of vision, and punched a button or two. Suddenly, Lloyd felt something cool racing into his forearm. The chill went up his arm and straight to his head, where a fog replaced that naked panic. He felt his heartbeat slow even though he didn't want it to. The whimper in his chest died in his throat, and his heavy head fell against the headboard. His limbs grew too heavy to move. It was far easier to just ease back and let this peace take him.

"I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Featherstone." He heard the stag begin speaking again, his rich baritone filling his consciousness through the fog. "I know you wanted me to tell him as soon as possible and keep him away from painkillers, but I've found it's best to transition victims of bio-agent XE24 back into---"

Lloyd's eyes closed, and there was nothing more.

Over the next several months, Lloyd had to shift through the wreckage of his life and discard the bits that no longer fit. He hoped that in time some new landscape would reveal itself to him. Some days, it felt like something was taking shape; some days, it felt like any stable form he had conjured was simply a mirage. The ground shifted constantly under his feet. It was almost impossible to regain his bearings.

He learned that he had been a victim of Agent Kaiju, and that more than a thousand people lost their lives in the immediate attack. He was one of fifty survivors so far. That number was sure to go down over time as the changes took hold - for some, the shock would simply be too severe and either their bodies or their minds would fail them.

The first time he was able to get out of bed he had already grown to thirteen feet tall. He nearly crunched through the hospital ceiling in his room before he ducked down again, flattening his ears and trying not to feel too exposed. He towered over everyone - his mother, his father, the doctor looming behind them. It felt impossible to be this big; the floor creaked whenever he shifted his weight. He could feel how heavy his limbs were. His voice had changed as well, growing deeper and louder. He had to learn how to mumble clearly enough that he could keep his voice low and be understood.

Lloyd could no longer fit in a bed, so furniture had been moved out of his room and several mattresses were arranged on the floor. His parents were allowed to sleep with him sometimes; Dr. Johns believed it would help him to be surrounded by people who supported him. They were there through his dizzy spells, and when his brain felt like it was baking inside of his skull. They helped him through the days when his senses went haywire - when his hearing became far too sensitive, when his vision blurred enough that everyone around him were little more than brown blobs. They didn't cringe when he lashed out angrily; they comforted him when he broke down in tears. Dr. Johns told him what was known about each new symptom, told him the things they learned through his ordeal would help many others. It only partially loosened the knots in his stomach.

They moved him to the first floor when he grew to sixteen feet tall a week later. By then, it had gotten out that a new kaiju was "developing" at the hospital; the grounds were quickly mobbed by federal agents, security guards and a small but growing town of media. Lloyd split his time between physical therapy, intensive counseling and interviews with Homeland Security agents to go over every detail of the attack he could remember. That week was grueling; there were multiple people around him all the time, measuring him, probing him, staring at him. The feeling of hands on him became almost unbearable; they were so small and light, it felt like the fluttering of some insect trying to burrow through his fur. Dr. Johns said that was a sensation reported in around 63% of survivors, and that most of them learned to accept it.

His expansion was steady, and picking up speed. One week later, he was 23 feet tall; the week after that, 35. He was moved from the main hospital to a large garage that had housed ambulances. The media had a field day. Helicopters buzzed overhead, the crowd erupted into a din of excitement, the security detail tried and failed to hold everyone back. Lloyd didn't quite care. It simply felt good to stand again, and the feeling of the sun on his fur was incredible.

The pain medications failed completely by the time he reached 50 feet tall. The growing pains in his joints were incredible, and no amount of ice or heat seemed to help. A specialist was flown in from Washington to discuss alternative pain management options; most of them amounted to "learning to deal with it". He received a phone call from his advising professor breaking the news that he wouldn't be allowed to continue his studies at Fitzgibbons; the grounds and buildings were simply not equipped to handle someone of his new stature.

Depression set in six weeks after the attack, when he had reached 70 feet tall. As far as he knew it, his life was over. He would never be a civil engineer; he didn't even know if he would be allowed to live inside the city. His weight was immense enough to shatter the concrete beneath him whenever he moved, and the foundation of the hangar he was in quickly became a pocked landscape of craters and fine-ground sand. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to go outside. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He simply wanted to curl up and shrink until he disappeared. His own body was betraying him.

A week later, he was approaching 100 feet tall. Dr. Johns had told him the effects would start to slow in six to eight weeks, but he was still growing faster. His joints ached constantly and his senses would do something frightening every other day. When they adjusted, though, they would perform that much better; he would be able to pick out the finer details of his mother's clothing for example, or the voices of the increasingly-tiny people around him weren't quite so strange. He could modulate his own voice a little better, so that whispering didn't seem so weird or taxing. The mind exercises he had been taught to manage his pain were beginning to take hold; while still ever-present, it had faded to a tolerable background level.

Bit by bit, Lloyd emerged from his withdrawal. His new senses were fascinating enough to draw him out of his black mood, and the constant, curious presence of Dr. Johns gave him an outlet to talk about it. They compared his experiences to what had been already documented and the stag shared some of his theories about what was happening and how it happened. The more Lloyd learned about his condition, the more fascinated he became; something inside of him had basically reduced his genetic code to rubble and was rebuilding it from the pieces. He was being engineered into something new, something that shouldn't have worked but did.

His expansion began to slow after two more weeks; two months after the attack, he was 170 feet tall. The pain in his joints was intense but was finally beginning to lessen, and his sense of equilibrium was starting to stabilize. He was incredibly sensitive, able to hear the voices of people thirty times smaller as if they were talking in his ear, feel their touch under his fur, pick them up with focus and care. None of this, he knew, should be scientifically possible, but he was here doing it. He felt incredibly lucky to be one coyote out of a thousand victims to not only live, but experience something like this.

Lloyd finally stopped growing after five months. His transformation was significantly longer than most of the newly-minted kaiju who had come before him, but was average for many of the others who had survived his attack. He was told this was a good data point; it meant whoever was doing this might be getting more sophisticated, changing the biological agent to be more effective. He was one of the largest kaiju on record though, standing at 260 feet tall by the time Dr. Johns had declared the transformation complete.

The coyote was far, far too large to remain in the city. A route was cleared from the hospital to its outskirts, and a week later he was escorted to a national park that had been declared a "reservation" of sorts for kaiju. This, he was told, would be his new home. The federal government would work with him and his new neighbors to make sure they were productive members of society, that they had all they needed, that they would be happy.

As Lloyd stepped through the waist-high trees that formed the border of his new home, he took a look around. He imagined rustic buildings towering over the forest, built from trees that had been cleared already. Here would be a simple barracks. There would be a cafeteria. Perhaps in the distance, built into one of the rolling hills to the west, could be a meeting area.

He took a deep breath and put his paws on his hips. This could be his home, a place he designed and built with his own two oversized hands.