FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bacey, bitch."

Hooper's eyes fluttered open slightly to a stark glaring lamp shone brightly in his face. It cast off intense heat that nearly singed his eyebrows down to burnt swirls of ash. The scent of freshly-forged metal and steel purged in his nostrils, causing him to gag and cough profusely. His eyes watered and stung like hell, then he exhaled a firm gasping breath and saw tiny flakes of metal swirl from the small gust of air he exerted. He was on the ground of a welding factory, so it seemed. His knee throbbed with a dull pain and his guts felt churned beyond reason. Once more, the voice, muffled and reserved, whispered into his ear.

"Wake the fuck up, kiddo. C'mon, nap-time's over."

Hooper glanced up slightly to see a brief silhouette appear before the lamp, drowning out the glare and the heat all at once. He could just distinguish what looked like a tail waving nonchalantly from behind this figure... this mysterious... whatever the hell. Then he felt a brisk pain upon his cheek and realized he'd been slapped repeatedly, forced to awaken.

"W-Where am I?" Hooper asked, preceded by another strained round of gagging coughs.

"Exactly where I need you to be, fucker."

In the glow of the flood-lamp, cast forth like a miasma from behind the unknown captor, Hooper noticed rings in the tail, swaying and waving; so he was a raccoon... or at least in part, perhaps. Not a moment sooner, it hit him all at once.

"M... Maxwell?" Hooper whispered aloud.

"Bingo!" Max said. The shep-coon chuckled and knelt down over Hooper, placing a hand-paw on one shoulder and cupping the other over his own fur-thickened nape, rubbing assertively. "I was beginning to think you'd never wake up. After the beating I gave your ass, at least. Good to know I didn't fuck you up too severely, though. You've got answers, I've got questions. Let's make music, yes?"

"Where the hell are we?"

"Robard's Steel Refinery. If you play your cards right and tell me what I need to know, I won't have to undergo extreme measures to get what I want. Ready to cooperate, little bitch?"

"Once a punk, always a fucking punk, eh shep-coon?"

"You'd best be grateful I don't fucking kill your ass right here and now, pig-whore."

"Or what? You'll let me go and we can just forget all about this ugliness? I promise I won't send some hard-hitting negros over to your place to cave your fucking skull in with aluminum bats and crowbars, pinky-promise."

"'Negros'? Bitch, you don't even know a single Black person, so go fuck yourself."

Maxwell slapped Hooper's face with resounding force, enough to cause the wolf's head to bounce back up from the cemented surface of the ground upon which he now laid, tied up and held captive. A squirt of blood shot forth from Hooper's mouth and he felt a tiny piece of broken tooth in his mouth. He spat it out and grinned at Max, sinister as a devilish wolf in sheep's clothing. His face screamed of ill will and homicidal intent.

"I'll have your nuts in a jar for that shit, faggot." Hooper said. His demeanor suggested joy and excitement, but his heart had all at once insisted upon fear and uncertainty.

"Sure you'd fetch a pretty penny in a silent auction for such a piece of memorabilia. Now," Maxwell knelt down beside Hooper close enough to smell the iron-penny scent of blood festering from his dirt-tattered lips, "tell me where I can find Sciorrenzo. Don't fuck with me on this one either, or so help me-"

"Sciorrenzo?! That's what this is all about? Oh for fuck's sake, you're out of luck pal."

Max cocked his head in confusion, brow furrowed and mouth agape in mid-sentence.

"What'chu mean, 'out of luck'?" Max asked. Overhead in the distance, a warning alarm brayed aloud. Most likely a shout-out to the factory workers; lunch break ahoy!

"I mean exactly that - out of fucking luck. Your man jumped ship weeks ago. He heard through the wire somehow - don't ask me how exactly - that you were on the prowl, hunting him down. He packed up all his wares and abandoned the entire operation altogether, just to get the fuck away from what he deemed 'an untimely and gruesome death'. So as much as it pains me to admit this to you, shep-coon, it seems as if you simply won't be getting more out of me than that. Do what you will to me, fucker."

Maxwell tapped into Hooper's subconscious.

He won't ever find out... that warehouse is all but abandoned. Lumber comes cheaper from other regions in the area, he won't think twice before checking there for the fat fuck. Last place he'd ever imagine checking. I'm going to kill this prick and rape every fur he ever cared about if I can somehow free myself from these fucking bonds, so tight on my wrist... cutting off my damn circulation, this inconsiderate fuck...

"Want me to loosen the slack on your wrists a bit, pal? If it pains you so, that is."

Hooper stared at Max's good eye with awestruck wonder, then settled back into an expression of bereft and bitter resentment.

"They told me about your ability to read minds. You won't get any more out of me than that, fucker."

"We'll see." Max said. He grabbed a handful of metallic fibers and sprinkled a tiny bit upon Hooper's wet canine nose, then clamped his hand-paws over the wolf's exposed neck and began to choke him. As Hooper gasped for breath, he inhaled through his nose - bad move amigo - and collected a substantial wad of metal shavings in his lungs. This caused pain levels to spike above his own tolerance and he screamed aloud, wriggling and struggling with brute force upon the newly-adapted killing floor of Robard's refinery. Blood seeped from his nostrils and his eyes became horribly blood-shot.

"Now you can tell me what I really want to know, at least before your lungs are pulverized into fucking jelly. WHERE IS SCIORRENZO HOLED UP!? FUCKING TALK!!"

"Blow me, queer." Hooper muttered. His voice became watery, even croupy.

Max clamped his grip over Hooper's muzzle and pulled upward, staring face-to-face with the wolf.

"Where. Is. Sciorrenzo." Max said through grating-shut teeth. His empty eye socket glowed with a fiery-red phosphorescence, sweltering with its own intense heat.

"Fuck your mother, cunt-wad."

Maxwell laughed aloud and Hooper joined him sardonically. The shep-coon stood up and reached his arms above his head, cracking tendons and joints. Hooper coughed up blood and chuckled aloud, nodding his head and smiling, blood-drenched enamel reflecting the light from the flood-lamp shone upon his face. When he returned, Maxwell held up a mid-sized hatchet with a sharpened blade and a hammer-headed fulcrum point. Hooper's smile flipped a total one-eighty at this particularly unsettling sight. Before he could crack another chuckle, Maxwell charged upon Hooper and swung the hatchet down with relentless speed. The blade carved through his wrist and lobbed off the wolf's hand-paw with a single walloping strike. A fresh stream of crimson jettisoned from the newly-formed stump at the tip of his forearm. Hooper wailed like an infant baby receiving its annual medicinal shots. The hand-paw twitched briefly upon the concrete surface before going limp. A substantially large puddle of blood began to form and escalate under Hooper's body.

"Guess what, Hoop? My mother suffered from an overdose as a result of Sciorrenzo's fucking heroin. My mother nearly died from your man's goddamn product. So if you're to fuck anyone's mother, it sure as shit ain't gonna be mine. Capische?" Maxwell asked, holding the hatchet's iron-clad surface against Hooper's cheek, cool to the touch.

"Kill you... gonna... kill... fucking kill you... kill you..." Hooper muttered, short on breath and nerve, ready to pass out from excessive blood loss.

"Not the answer I was seeking out!" Maxwell raised the hatchet above Hooper's other wrist, now pinned down by Max's knee. Hooper screamed aloud and shook his head, red-colored spittle flinging from his lips.

"ALRIGHT GODDAMMIT I'LL TALK, I'LL TALK, PLEASE NO MORE!!!!!"

"There! See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Maxwell said with a joyfully enthusiastic overtone. He swung the hatchet down and impaled it into Hooper's amputated hand-paw, holding the makeshift weapon in place. Max then dragged Hooper's limp body over to a nearby vat of fresh steel, churning and swirling in a vast pool burrowed at ground level. Warning placards and signs circulated the pool, heavily chained off for safety purposes. Maxwell grabbed Hooper's injured forearm and dunked the tip of his limb into fresh steel, cauterizing the wound. The wolf's eyes swirled with disillusioned insanity in his sockets and all the devils and angels of heaven and hell combined had engaged in an orgy-fueled masquerade ball within the deepest recesses of his mind, now teeming with absolute pain beyond anything he'd ever felt before. The very best alternative to the pain he now felt was nothing short of death itself.

"Where is Sciorrenzo?" Maxwell asked once more, impatiently.

"Lumber mill... Oregon..." Hooper said, stuttering with a jerky chin and lower lip.

"The old one down by the corner of Lobotsco and Farmington?"

Hooper nodded.

"Fuck you very much, Hoop. Say hello to my old man for me, would you?"

"Maxwell..."

Max leaned in closer to Hooper's muzzle to hear what he had to say. Instead, Hooper spat a wad of coagulated blood upon Max's cheek. Max licked it off and spat it back into Hooper's face, smiling sympathetically. He then kicked Hooper over the edge of the steel vat, right into the mix. The wolf fell butt-first into the molten steel, dredging and floating briefly as if rolling on a tarpit or over fresh Kiluaean magma. His fur caught fire immediately, igniting like a match-head. As he sunk deeper into the steel, Max saw rivulets of flesh and bone seeping from the edges of the wolf's body as he sank inward, melting like the wicked witch of the west. Hooper would've screamed his ass off by then, had he not died outright of shock upon first contact of the material. His substantial loss of blood did him no small favors either.

Maxwell nodded, arms anchored upon both his hips, thinking heavily about what moves he now had to make to establish a plan of action upon entering his old nemesis' domain, located right in the shep-coon's very own home state. Before he settled on an explosive resolution to end all his problems, Max blew a kiss to the dismembered, bloody, scorching head of Hooper, who seemed to stare back at Max with flame-drenched eyes, molten and gelatinous.

Now was the time to act swiftly. Max knew he'd have to infiltrate with swift caution, for Sciorrenzo wasn't exactly known to be a stupid man. The thought of a drug exchange came to mind, seeking out Bradley's help to gain some back-up support... the rest, as they say, became history.