FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The dragon sighed as he tossed the bag into the dumpster. There had not been much 'work' for him as of late. Even though he had been prepared for a drop in income, living modestly for the money he made. People paid well for his skills, as were others with his rare skillset. He was one of the few that did 'work' above the table, which was a selling point for some but quite limited the jobs he could find. Such work was rare already, but the dragons dealings and his connections kept him out of jail and allowed for far more freedom, provided he could justify his actions. It also allowed freelance and personal work as well. But there had not been much work since his last contract an his cover job, exotic dancing, had to pay the bills. The dragons savings had started to drain past uncomfortable levels.

Even with all the popularity that the unique selling point of having a dragon able to be collared and tied- the symbol of the proteleriat helpless on the ground with as much cock as could be fit in his mouth- the dragon did not make as much as he would have liked at the club. His needs, housing and food and such were covered well enough by the steady income, but his other work brought in other expenses. The dragon sighed softly as he thought, shutting the lid on the full dumpster as he kept an eye on the car that had just pulled up alongside the alleyway. A bit of paranoia struck the dragon; he had a great many enemies, some of which were regulars at the club. At least his talents meant that he only needed to clean blood from the carpet instead of being hauled out in a zippered black bag.

His concealed handgun pressed against his side as he watched the door open. Ah, just some neighbors in a new car. They were a nice couple, at least. She was a nurse, and the bull was...hm. Something or another, a manager at an electronics firm. He respected his wife more than most, though, the city had few enough nurses and doctors win the overcrowded ER's. He always felt a bit bad, as his work caused those innocents to have a bad, or worse day at the hospital. The dragon knew it was worthwhile, though.

His last mark had been the kingpin of one of the local gang's black market operations. It was easy, clean. A heavy round, right through the skull fired from the 7th floor drapes of a cheap motel with too many illegal connections to have cameras on when they should. The timing had been spot on, the seedy pair in the next room doing the very coke that the dragon cut the future supply of. They'd not even heard the shot, between the supressor and the passing train. He was far enough away that the bullet dumped enough energy into the mark that the motrtician would have to look at the inside of his skull. The assassin usually tried to give them open casket funerals, but it was secondary to the kill.

He accepted his bounty, a large check from an official, bought a steak and some time off to do some pruning of his own, assuring the decapitation of the suits economic branch and preventative measures from the other, smaller gangs to capitalize on the new market opening. Long story short, the dragon had shot someone a bit higher on the totem pole than intel had suggested from a place not quite where he should have been and he may or may not have acquired a massive bounty on Sheepdog's body. They'd already tried for just the head, succeeded too, but that didn't work out too well.

But it was a living testament to his dedication to his double life that he'd watched higher ranks from the same gang walk into the club and skip over him. One had even chosen him out and den tipped well. Even better kept than his second identity was the ability that made his capture more important than his head. The stripper simply could not die. He'd been shot, stabbed, broken, choked and each time he'd wake up in a puddle of his own blood, in the mourge or in his bed. There were a handful of people thatknew about his talents- his half-dead old clan, his boss, the mortician, his Sensei, and three co-workers. No, only two now. Jakerth had been forced to take a fall a month back. The dragon had taken up his arms and dealt revenge out for his friend. So, sheepdog had resurfaced for a day or two and expended a few too many rounds to send enough of the rapping warriors for the mourge to make it a rather busy day. He took a shot through the shoulder and left too many of the wrong people alive to preserve the right power balance. In retrospect, kicking a wasp hive out of spite would get you stung, especially if it allowed another bunch of hives to move in and start generating turf wars and cocaine and that is where the analogy breaks down somewhat.

But that rampage had weakened that gang enough. They had almost become an incredibly powerful mafia. His connections inside the police forces had helped keep largely corrupted officials out of there, at least. The sheepdog's paid and pro bono work had been knocking down kingpins to keep the power down, but his rampage had hit at just the right time to decapitate the gang. The suits had almost fallen entirely fallen, creating an unintentional power vaccuum that drew in a large number of smaller gangs, enough that the dragon had a hard time keeping track of them all. None of them were a direct threat for the time being. So, there had not been any real bounty work for the mercenary to 'work' an the dragons savings were being slowly drained by the upkeep of his double life. Information was not cheap, and keeping up to date took a lot of money and work. Perhaps that was another reason he chose stripping as a cover job. It was always suprising what people told their whores. He'd considered bartendering, but his informants in that field often had less information than the dragon. Though, he may have just been rationalizing the other reason he chose stripping- the dragon may just be a slut.

The dragon shook his head, closing the dumpster as he headed back in. Strange things had been happening lately in the city, too. His clients had been getting kinkier and the city seemed to be following suit. Kore alley rapes than murders, more gangs with sexual themes...Hell, the public indecency laws had been outright repealed by the citizens initiative last election. The dragon had chalked up He increasingly lax attitude to sex to social change, but this was happening too fast. Though, the slut had never really thought about it, as it was more than commonplace for him already, considering his profession.

The drake shook his head as he opened the door, half-consumed in his thoughts as he stepped inside...But something was wrong. The lock on the back door was open- he could see it from there. As he silently shut the door, he kept a close eye on the entryway corners. A quick shift of one of the seemingly decorative wooden panels on the wall revealed a shotgun. A smooth click-chunk pumped the first round into the chamber, a nice buckshot surprise. He shouldered the smoothbore, taking slow, silent steps to clear out the flat. There was no noise, meaning he wasn't being robbed. His profession demanded he know how to clear a room, and it was a skill that had literal lifetimes of experince behind it for the dragon. Nothing upstairs, nothing through the kitchen...

He knew the floor plan perfectly. All the angles, all the cover, all the things behind the drywall, what was just plaster and what could stop a round. Every corner he spun, every doorway was empty, every hallway silent. As the barrel slowly looked over the point room, finding nothing to tip the trigger on, it slowly lowered. Perhaps he was getting careless and had left the lock on the door open by mistake. It would not be a good thing for him to be getting that sloppy after only a few months with no action.

The dragon sighed lightly, shaking his head before the closet door slammed open. He was halfway through his turn before the rope tightened around his throat, halting his rotation as the rope steadied his neck. The surprised dragon gurgled and hissed before those noises were cut off as well. God, whatever it was it was strong. The elbow digging into his spine drove that home nicely. A huge needle jammed roughly into his shoulder as he struggled. A huge hand drove the new fluid into him as he struggled against the one hand keeping the rope tight. His assailant had missed the artery and poured it into the muscle- good, a little more time before it affected him, whatever it was.

It was a bad choice, anyway. With only one hand on the garrote, the butt of the shotgun swung back into the crotch of the brute. Now it was their turn to howl as the drake felt the stranglehold momentarily weaken. A quick twist and he was out of the rope, staring info the open white lab coat of an otherwise nude woulsf. She was a good foot on his 6, too muscular to be lean and quite the strange combination of hybrid parts.

He'd heard of the eccentric race before. They were usually brilliant, insane inventors. One had been the scientest of his old clan; twice as rare as dragons and half as immortal as he was. Highly paid, they often invested heavily into cloning technology and body modding. It was not uncommon to see a woulsf with different races as part of their gene makeup from day to day. They were much like the dragon in that they would often be seen walking unharmed shortly after a terrible accident.

This one had on mainly mouse and wolf genes, though he saw at least some dragon and a bit of bear. She wasn't brutish by any means, but he muscles were certainly rippling as that massive fist swung towards the dragon. He ducked under it, his trained strikes slamming into the solar plexus of the agressor. Her naked tits bounced with the impact- she was resilient, the dragon had popped hearts on bugger brutes with fewer strikes. Her breath was long gone, however, and the dragon followed through with a hip throw, slamming the huge creature into the ground, following through with a powerful, rib-popping strike. He stood, backing off quickly as blood rushed to his head.

Ok. Gun out, gotta go under the shirt to get it out, draw, point and...questions? Who sent...Rapist? "Who...Are..." his tongue really wasn't moving right.

The gun was swaying, too. Not steady like it should be. What was that noise? Kinda like a plane. Whoosh. But he was at home! Home was not a plane...

The woulsf groaned, prodding at her broken lower rib, looking over at the face-down, passed out dragon. Well, he certainly fought like Sheepdog. She thought she had been on the right track, though it was hard to watch the dragon get throat-fucked by the treasurer of Maximilian's army and really believe that he was the gangbangers' angel of death. He'd not been active as of late; it would make sense, if he had really been behind the decimation of the Suits. It could have been someone else, though. Sure, a handful of survivors had placed him there, but signs pointed to a massive, botched power struggle or a copycat. It wasn't like his work, though. Too messy. But who knew? The police wouldn't give out the information they hadn't destroyed. The woulsf had tried, been sent to the police chief (the only one she was sure knew what she needed to know), a massive kodiak that gave her a strange look and a polite order to go fuck herself. No wonder he was a ghost. With this much support in the police force, it would be easy to stay low.

Well, the drugs would be wearing off in an hour or two. She ought to bring along a couple of his guns and get him back to the lab. This was a nice rug, too. A quick rearrangement of limbs and weapons, the woulsf hoisted the dragon over her shoulder, walking out of the apartment. A friendly wave at a handful of heavily tattooed and armed thugs on the way out and she was home free as she turned the corner with her large load of rolled rug on her shoulder. A crash and yell of, "We got you now, motherfucker!" announced the entrance of the gang's hit squad. Damn, they'd all have been dead already if the Woulsf had not gotten there first. At least gangbangers were cordial about one thing- they always had the decency to tell you exactly where they were. Well, the mad scientest thought as she dumped the rug in the trunk of her car, a hand hanging out of the roll, it was about time to get back to the lab.

****

Sheepdog groaned as his eyes opened to the harsh light, immediately clamping shut again as it sent a bright shock of pain through his skull, all the way into his teeth. Damn, it felt like his head was stuffed full of incredibly painful cotton. Did he drink so much he was back in time to the clan? That would be terrible, he'd have to kill everyone to get out again. He could feel his heart thudding in the back of his head. Wait, he had memories of his escape. He didn't think that he had a stripping job then... He groaned again as the hard thinking made his skull pulse again. He'd think about it in the morning, he needed to sleep and let his liver work. He tried to roll over, hissing as the blankets wouldn't quite let him move. He tried to kick them off, but he couldn't even pull his legs back. They were even really rather cold, too.

His bloodshot eyes jerked open, ignoring the pain that drove through his skull as he took in his surroundings. Whatever had been in that shot had seriously fucked him up. He was laid out on a cold aluminum table in what looked much like an experimentation room. Beakers and busses burners littered the counters, jousting with bottles of chemicals for space on the counters. His clothes were folded on top of a few of his guns on the counter. No wonder he was cold. He was very much naked on the table. As he watched, the door slid open to reveal the woulsf he'd fought in the apartment, a bandage around her middle her only piece of clothing outside of a strange gauntlet. "So, you're Sheepdog?"

The dragon groaned lightly. If she was an enemy, she already knew. He didn't feel like talking, though. The woulsf hmm'd, padding over the the supine dragon. "Oh, that's probably still bothering you. I didn't know what it would take, so I used elephant tranqs."

Her glove gave a few clicks, a familiar sound to the dragon, almost as if it was loading a round. The woulsf raised the glove, poking the dragons thigh. A soft hiss shot another chemical cocktail into his body. The dragon groaned, though on the next beat of his heart the cloud started to fade...And his pricks started to immediately erect. "Side effect, it'll tear all of the toxins from your bloodstream, but that boner's gonna last 5 hours."

The dragon almost start to reply, but he was interrupted by his liver screaming at him - shooting pain through his body as punishment as the organ wondered why, oh why he decided that an elephant tranq binge was a good idea. He certainly didn't decide that it was going to be a good idea - but his liver didn't know that.

The dragon gave a groan. It wasn't like he cared that he was going erect in front of his captor. It felt rather nice, actually, as if he was flicking her off with his 11th and 12th fingers. Not that the slutty stripper minded at all, as much as he enjoyed his own erections. It was not often that a captor would be so kind as to let the drake's large, ebony shafts rise up unrestrained. It was not long before his more-than-modest members were throbbing, pointed spades just a touch squishier than the rest of his painfully hard shafts. They were engorged with more blood than they ought to be from whatever chemical cocktail the creature had jammed into him, the usually pliable ridges and veins tougher along the big pair, the dragon's knots forced out at his bases. Even his huge sac was loosened by the head from the influx of blood, the dragon's large, smooth orbs nearly touching the metal table. "Yes, I guess I am." He groaned out, in response to the woulsf's previous question.

Even with the pleasure from his new erection, his head and liver were yelling as toxins slammed into those processing facilities. It was more than a hell of an ache, forcing him to tense up on the table, straining against his bindings. "Well, I'm glad I found you before Maximilian's men got to you."

The drake groaned as his side gave another twinge of pain. He didn't even know he'd injured that. Damn, he'd been out of it for too long. His liver still complained, the dragon breathing deep to force more blood to and through the organ. He blinked, though, fighting through the fog in his head. The name was familiar. It had kept popping up, again and again, in almost all of his more recent intel. It was always tangential, though. Something about arms dealing, too. Nothing substantial, a name carved in an kalashnikov here, a receipt for a custom pistol, a word-of-mouth recommendation from one mob manager to another, painted on a flashlight mount with a dildo in it, but always from known dealers. His head gave another sharp, throbbing stab of pain as his head tried to work out what he'd been trying for weeks. Thinking didn't seem to be the best plan right now. "Maximilian?"

"Maximilian LeBonheur. He's been running quietly for the past year or so." The wouslf nodded, slowly pacing around the table.

The drake nodded slightly, blinking a few times to attempt to calm the pain pulsing in the back of his skull as the female padded around him. The dragon's liver was still complaining and cursing the dragon as it slogged through cleanup, bit by bit. The dragon tested the bindings again. The steel clamps were holding strong enough to keep him there as long as the wouslf wanted. Two inches of steel were more than enough to hold most things, and the dragon was not the exception to that rule. "And...Who the hell are you?"

The strangely clad creature gasped, her head shooting back a full half foot. "You don't know? Everyone knows! I'm the," She began, leaping forward in front of the table, her hands held up beside her head, splayed fingers shaking as she added her own flair to her grand reveal. Her hair flicked from side to side as well, her lab coat suddenly billowing out behind her. A high-pitched whir sounded from behind her, giving away the straight-out-of-China fan strapped to her back that made the magic work. "Sunshine," The jazz hands sped up to the point where her wrists were starting to flop, "Scientist!"

The dragon simply stared, an eye ridge slowly raising as his captor jubilantly introduced herself.

A bit of wind fled from the Scientist's sails, both from the complete lack of recognition of her 'fame', and the sharp electric crackle from the fan on her back let her coat flop unceremoniously back against her. She kept her fingers thrashin, though, explaining, "Scientist!" One more time.

The dragon shaked his head and gave as much of a shrug as he was able to. "Mn. Nope, sorry." He answered, an apologetic smirk on his lips.

The hybrid grumbled and looked off to the side, crossing her arms in front of herself, her lips pursing poutily. "That or Rachel. I guess."

The dragon nodded again, slowly. "Uh, alright then, Scientist. Why did you kidnap me?"

The wouslf glowed as the dragon called her by her chosen title, nearly leaping up onto the table to give another pose. "Well, my Batman needs a Robin, and you would be a great choice!"

The dragon blinked again as the wholly unexpected offer was extended. "What? you broke into my house, choked and beat me, shot me with goddamn elephant tranqs, bolted me down, slammed another compound into me that can't be anything resembling healthy, and my dicks are already starting to hurt. Why should I join you?" The drake hissed out, rattling off the current list of sins against him by the crazed creature.

"Because I'm the scientist!" She argued, her hands coming up to shake yet again.

Sheepdog only replied with a slow narrowing of his eyes. Rachel humphed, frowning a bit as she crossed her arms again, looking off the other way this time. "Well fine. You'll get almost full access to the bunker here, with one of the biggest labs and machine shops this side of the wouslf space stations, located in the scenic industrial district just across the tracks." She offered, crouching down to gently run a finger over the very tip of one of his shafts as she talked, forcing a small squirm out of her bound prisoner. "As well as all the glory that comes with fighting crime with the Sunshine Scientist!" She offered, the hand not molesting him coming up to jazz again.

The male shifted with the molestation, although not as much as he'd expected. He has also needed access to a good shop for months now, and it would be ideal to have a safehouse on the south side of town. Hell, it seemed like a good enough arrangement for the slutty dragon. He knew he could sneak out of it if he wanted to, and he didn't know what a refusal would entail in the position he was in. The scientist fought well enough to get him here, too.

"Well, those things and also your apartment is on fire. Pretty much a hundred percent on fire. Also there's a war going on up there at the moment." She said nonchalantly, her hand drifting down to slowly stroke up and down the dragon's dick, her other hand flicking on the news on a large television, mounted in the corner of the spartan room.

"-olice are fighting tooth and nail against a sudden army of criminals. Earlier today, a huge number of members of the otherwise unknown gang, "Maximilian's army" emerged and began to firing into buildings and the air after firebombing an apartment building on 38th and Westminster. Soon it developed into an all-out firefight with the police. Our field reporter, Rodders Williams, is currently on scene with the chief of police."

The dragon was wide-eyed, his jaw dropped a few inches as he took in the new information. The feed cut to show main street, the reporter and the huge kodiak commissioner, crouched down behind a cruiser. The flashing lights highlighted the full armor they were wearing, 'PRESS' emblazoned on the otter reporter's and "SWAT" on the bear's. Staccato bursts of gunfire were easy to hear in the distance, a few sharp cracks signalling the blistering passage of supersonic ammunition zipping by. The kodiak pausing for a few moments before shifting his stance, the rifle coming up to reply with his own rounds. Ear-throbbingly loud cracks peaked out the speakers as more smoking brass clinked off onto the asphalt behind the car, bouncing behind the "LIVE - HAPPENING NOW" watermark in the corner of the screen. He quickly ducked back as the rear window of the cruiser shattered, spilling white shards of safety glass over the asphalt behind the pair. The reporter, getting his first taste of battlefield journalism, held a trembling microphone up to the bear. "W-what's going on, Arctos?"

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End pt.1 ----