FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Robert Jackson, Los Angeles Times, " the reporter says, and holds out his hand for a shake. It takes all his courage to do it.

"Unit 2," says the creature he's here to interview. Gently he grips the reporter's hand in his much larger one, careful to keep his sharp, black-lacquered claws from digging in.

The werewolf looks the reporter over. Amber eyes in their black rims focus on a man only two-thirds his height. The wolf doesn't have to smell fear to know the man is terrified. The stiff posture and tremor in the gripped hand is enough. A werewolf cop is still a cop and cops live and die by reading people.

The wolf lets go the handshake and backs up as far as the room allows. Even from that far away he towers over the reporter. He hooks a thick-legged chair over to him and sits. The chair is backless to accommodate his four-foot-long furry tail.

The reporter exhales shakily. Unit Two is not going to hurt him. He knew that going in. But he's never been this close to one of the LAPD werewolves. The penetrating yellow-eyed predatory gaze, the sharp claws, the sheer size of the nine foot tall, six hundred pound werewolf. Bob doesn't even trust big dogs after that bad teenage experience with a neighbor's German Shepherd and this "dog" could, quite literally, swallow him in one gulp.

The werewolves do that sometimes, usually when they are badly hurt and need a lot of food to regenerate their wounds. There's an anecdote about it. "Shoot a cop, he'll shoot you. Shoot a werewolf cop and he'll digest you in self defense."

Unit 2, says the label on the werewolf's vest. Here in the police station he isn't wearing the tactical armor they upsized for the wolves once it was realized that they actually could be killed by gunfire. It takes a lot of bullets, but it can be done. The original Unit Seven proved that, blown apart by automatic weapons as he killed the terrorists besieging LAX. Seven ended up in almost as many pieces as his prey.

Unit Two has black fur and the startling amber eyes that shocked on first glance. He's muscular and lanky, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and long arms that let him run on all fours if he chooses. The wolves are built like basketball players, tall, long-limbed. Muscular, yet wiry. Almost skinny. You wouldn't suspect their shocking strength and inhuman speed. Not until you saw them fight.

Police-blue shorts and vest are all Unit 2 wears under his harness. That harness and its attached padding is there in case the werewolf needs to armor up. They even make steel-and-kevlar helmets for the wolves.

Robert has seen it all on screen, seen Unit One in his massive armor, other werewolves in lighter gear. He's seen them smash through cinderblock walls and hurl a perp thirty feet out through the hole. He's just never been this close to a werewolf. Unit Two's feet - footpaws? - are each the size of a man's head and the claws on one of his huge hands would meet each other on the back side of a basketball.

Despite Unit Two's size he moves with smooth grace, powerful and fast. The werewolves look strong, and they are a lot stronger than they look. They can run on all fours at forty-plus miles per hour, jump at least twenty feet from a standing start and pull a man apart like a cooked chicken.

Or bolt their meal down whole. Robert shivers even though he knows better. The werewolves are the good guys. It's just...he doesn't even like dogs and this "dog" is much, much scarier than the snarling German Shepherd that gave him all those stitches when he was thirteen.

"Not everyone is comfortable around us, Bob," the werewolf growls diplomatically. "We could do this interview remotely. The audience won't see us both at the same time except the handshake, we could be in different rooms."

Bob shakes his head and glances at his cameraman. Raoul shoots a rueful look back. The two of them have interviewed bank robbers on scene and more than once they've been in a hostage situation -as- hostages. They can do this.

"That's all right." Bob nods to Raoul and he nods back, checking his cameras. This is all being recorded and they'll edit it later.

"Unit Two," he starts. "Do you have another name?"

The werewolf shakes his head. "Unit Two is fine. Since we started with the LAPD, we've gotten comfortable with just a title."

"But you do have a name." Bob's getting his courage back. He's interviewed plenty of dangerous people and the werewolf is a lot less likely to hurt you than even a human cop. That's the thing about the wolves. They are so tough they can go into dangerous situations and not need to kill unless it's necessary to protect someone else.

Human cops have to worry about their own well-being. You pull a gun on a cop, he's going to kill you. You pull a gun on a werewolf and he'll take it away. Getting shot a couple of times is just an annoyance to them.

Shoot them a few more times...well, that anecdote exists for a reason. When they do need to kill, sometimes the encounter ends in a burp. Then they have to fill out paperwork explaining why they ate someone. They have special forms just for that purpose.

"Robert," the werewolf growls, perfectly polite. But it's still a growl. "The LAPD granted this interview because it's time for the public to know more about us and I'm going to tell you a lot of things that were secret. But there are still some things I won't talk about. I have a name, we all have names, but you'll understand soon why that isn't as important as you think."

Robert nods and waits for the wolf to go on. Unit Two has the best English of any wolf. Most have a thick, growling accent. It's hard to talk through an oversized wolf's muzzle, past a lolling canine tongue and sharp yellowed fangs. Unit Two manages it well. It's one reason he's the public face of the Lupine Units. Unit Six is on camera more, Four is regarded almost as a big friendly dog, but Two does the interviews. He's the "face" of the Lupine Corps.

"The first thing you need to know," he growls, "Is that we are not werewolves."

Robert blinks. He wasn't sure what Two was going to say, but that wasn't it.

"But," he says, cognizant of Raoul to the side recording his reaction, "You sure look like a werewolf. I mean, you're just..." you gesture at Two helplessly. Nine feet and six hundred pounds of...werewolf.

Two smiles a carefully fangs-hidden smile. "Fair enough. We used to be werewolves. Just not any more."

He leans back against the wall and scratches his cheek with a sharp claw. Do werewolves get fleas? Ticks? Do they take flea dips, wear flea collars off duty?

Robert decides that not every question needs to be asked and waits for him to on.

"There is a place," Two growls, "Where magic works. We are from there. There are wizards, and dragons, and ghosts, and every manner of sorcerous thing. We lived there, and each of us became a werewolf. The details vary, but we were all bitten...most of us were adults when we changed. Unit Four was just a baby. He turned early and stayed a wolf. It's why he is...different."

Unit Four. "Dogcatcher." Tallest of the wolves when he stands up, which is rarely. Most often he trots along on all fours. He doesn't talk much. Maybe not at all. But he's still smart, and he's so good at running down feral dogs and other problem animals that Animal Control asked for, and got him assigned that as his primary duty. He probably burns more calories than any other werewolf with that running. Luckily, stray dogs are a plentiful food source.

Two scratches his cheek again. Yellow eyes go vacant. For moment, he's far away. "In that place, when you become a werewolf, you change during the full moon. At first I didn't know what was happening. I just woke up one morning covered in blood. Pieces of bodies, the parts the wolf didn't eat. And then again, and again...you turn feral, violent. Even in human form, there is the wolf. Some people give in to it. Even if you don't...for a while you're just a monster, uncontrollable, savage. Most are hunted down and killed before they manage to control their were-side. Eventually you get control, are able to change at will. If you survive."

"We are the ones who did. But we still weren't accepted. There was a war and we were conscripted. Fight for the Empire or die. Collared, little more than slaves, a platoon of werewolf soldiers. Most of us died, the nine of us...we got lucky. We found a way to your world."

He holds up a hand as you open your mouth to ask a question. "But here, the magic is different, or doesn't work at all. Here, we aren't werewolves. Or only partly. We are still strong and tough, and we heal fast, but we can't change shape and we can't make other people into werewolves. We don't turn back into humans. And if I bite someone, it's just a bite."

Aha. Robert nods. The point of the interview has appeared. While the public by and large loves the werewolves, there is still that lurking fear.

"And you already know it doesn't take silver to hurt us. Nor does it hurt us more than any other weapon. Not here."

Bob nods. Two weeks ago a pair of bank robbers loaded their guns with silver bullets, anticipating a wolf would be sent in when the siege started. One was. They put a dozen rounds into Unit Six despite his armor and the werewolf didn't die. One of the robbers is in traction in a hospital. The other got a short trip through an aggravated werewolf's guts. That anecdote is there for a reason.

"You're not werewolves."

"No."

"And you can't infect people with," the reporter looked at his note cards, "Lycanthropy. By bite or...other ways." Some of the werewolves have human..."fans" and in the absence of other werewolves beyond their own comrades, well, things happened. There are whole websites devoted to stories, some supposedly based on real sexual encounters, some just fantasy. There are even some pictures, and adult toys modeled on what then pictures show. He had to look at them to get ready for this interview.

They weren't werewolves. That was the point. He didn't need to delve into all the squalid details in his report.

"You're not werewolves."

"No."

"And you can't turn human. What about Unit Nine?"

Unit Nine, if rumors are true, is the 'undercover' werewolf. Or werefox. The stories vary. Supposedly she becomes human to lure in human traffickers and other scum. A few blurry pictures is all you've seen of her, something big and inhumanly fast. She's not as big as the others but one of the pictures has a kicking set of legs protruding from her jaws. Unit Nine doesn't like human traffickers at all, except perhaps as lunch.

Unit Two shakes his head. "She didn't arrive with us and I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

What the reporter has learned so far raises other questions. "If you came here from this magic world, could others?"

"The gate we came through is closed," Unit Two growls. "Worlds touch from time to time. Some of your legends may be because of such contacts. Sea monsters, yetis...werewolves. Eventually it will happen again. I am not worried. Where we come from, a good sharp sword is the peak of non-magical weapons development. Without magic, anyone coming through to cause trouble would have a very bad time of it."

"You did okay."

"Because we work with people. Anyone or anything that came through and just wanted to make trouble wouldn't last long. And some things probably couldn't survive at all. I'm not sure a dragon would be able to fly here, for instance."

Back to the wolves. "You came here as...refugees?"

"We were running," Unit Two growls. "We didn't know where the gate led. Just that we didn't want to be where we were. We ended up in the mountains north of here. The Sierras, near Devil's Postpile. We were stuck in our werewolf shapes. We lived by hunting, and soon found there are humans here. By lurking in the shadows near campgrounds I managed to learn enough English to talk to people. I talked to a park ranger and eventually showed myself. He contacted a friend in the LAPD and here we are."

He pauses, and goes on. "People didn't trust us at first. I don't blame them. But we aren't beasts. We were soldiers. We know discipline. Unit Seven showed that at LAX and that changed things."

"We are police officers." His ears go down and for the first time his black lips draw back to expose fangs. "And we are wolves. Yes, we eat people sometimes. But we eat bad people."

And that's all you can ask from a cop, really. Only hurt the bad people. Protect everyone else.

The reporter rises, sensing the interview is over. Despite the display of fangs a moment before he shakes Unit Two's hand. He knows Two could rip his arm off with one tug. He shakes the wolf's hand anyway.

Nine werewolves came to this world. Eight are left, plus whatever Unit Nine is. Unable to blend in to the crowd, they faced the choice of hiding in the wilderness or contributing. And what did they choose? They chose to chip in. They chose to be people.

Robert helped Raoul pack up his cameras. They'd worked together to ten years now and had it done in moments.

A while back Unit One and Seven went into a hostage situation. They got every single hostage out. Some of the kidnappers...Bob saw the photos of the scenes. They never did find all the pieces of two of the perps. Unit One got shot up despite his assault armor. He got peckish and some loose bits of perp disappeared. Sometimes whole perps did. Sometimes whole perps ended up inside a wolf still alive, if briefly.

The werewolves wanted to be people. But they were still monsters. Luckily, they were our monsters.