FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Since humans first walked across Old Earth, we’ve been racing.

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The desire to compete; to beat the best of the best to the finish line… It’s built into us.

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This inherent competition pushed us forward, our society constantly advancing in an effort to outdo itself. To win.

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From foot to horseback. To carriage to car. From plane to cruiser. We raced.

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The checkered finish line always moved farther and farther away. And soon enough? We were looking up to the stars. Hell, we started charting courses before we could even make our way up there at all. And guess what? Even that became a race.

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A race that would turn the Empire of Old Earth into the Pan-Galactic Republic it is today.

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I follow in the footsteps of those before me.

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I… Did. What all have done.

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…

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And yet...

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The Post-Game

"I miss racing." The machine rumbled, visor trained on the monitor across the room.

A single black claw tapped against the cold ground below it in a rhythmic pattern. The paw it was connected to hung lazily off the side of a massive mattress, mechanical paw idly bobbing up and down. Impatient. Sick of being cooped up.

The monitor opposite him continued on at its own pace. A woman with short, orange hair sat front and center on the screen, makeup drawing stark contours across her face. Hands folded in front of her, the suited newswoman took a deep breath as her eyes traced the prompter in front of her.

“Now for our top story for the night, GUNNR racer Renn Callawoy reported dead, and then alive? The resulting conflicts of this pilot’s tragic fate, unveiled live, right here on USBF.”

The dangerous claw came to a sudden halt, letting out one final tap as the neural rig twisted his attention towards the report. The screen before him was the only source of light within Jag's den. The heavy machine sat splayed out on its side, black visor reflecting the woman's face as the mechanical beast lay perfectly still. The low hum of its machinery was the only sign that it was still on, body motionless as it basked in the cold light of the holo-screen.

“Over the past few months the Galactic Union of Neural Rig Racing has come under heavy scrutiny after a shocking mech failure resulted in the reported death of racer Renn Callawoy. The GUNNR pilot’s JA-9 suit detailed massive spikes in stress while competing, resulting in his collapse shortly after winning his race atop the Monolith track. His body inside? Limp. But the machine itself, still operating. And the news does not stop there. While Renn Callawoy’s body remained catatonic, reports came in a month later that the pilot had successfully grafted into his neural frame, marking a first in GUNNR history.”

The mecha’s paws tensed, metal claws lazily pushing out from its shifting plates. Slowly, the Jag’s tail curled upwards, lifting off the floor before thudding back down onto the padded mattress below.

“Incidents of grafting come few and far between, as the Pan-Galactic Republic’s Transhumanist Act strictly states that grafting is, quote, ‘beyond the morality of any man to commit’. Many are calling for GUNNR’s end, using Callawoy’s grafting to further protest this violent sport. Others still, protest neural rigs in their entirety.”

“Idiots.” The Jag spoke at last, stirring in place as the mech arched its back. Powerful joints pressed and turned, back plates lifting up in ripples down the mech’s spine. The ‘empty’ suit tried his best to relax on the bedding, visor still trained on the screen before him.

The news anchor was no longer on screen. In her stead, a bearded gentleman with a green digi-eye sat before a crowd. Several microphones had been placed around him, brow furrowed as he continued to glance at the speech he’d written down.

“GUNNR has taken nine lives so far, and now it has stripped a man of his humanity. This new ‘death’, is more egregious, and terrifying, than any that this harrowing bloodsport has already-”

“But I'm fine!” The Jag spoke, speakers projecting his voice far too loudly. A gargle of static erupted from the mecha as his tail thumped against the mattress once more. “Shut up! You’re acting like I'm dead! I'm not dead!”

“-and without resolution on this matter, without the proper precautions to ensure that this does not happen again, I cannot sanction GUNNR on the planet I represent. I ask all of you here at the Republic, to consider joining my efforts to-”

“Give it a rest, already!” Jag huffed, claws sinking into the mattress as the mecha let out another rumble of static. “You can't ban an entire sport because of one little-”

Jag shuddered as he felt his claws forcibly retract back into his paws. The auto-response only triggered on proximity, and the mech instantly knew what was about to happen. Reaching for the holo-pad in front of him, the Jag’s paw shifted and condensed around his wrist, revealing the skeletal framework of the digits beneath. Tapping quickly to dismiss the news, the mecha let out another auditory gasp as the tab below the news became center screen. The porn he’d been browsing was suddenly splayed out across the holo-screen, prominently displaying a lithe man straddling a much-larger drone. The robot was sleek and black, programmed to do a single task. The mid-frame was blurred, and admittedly appealing to the Jag. Shame and panic sent Jag’s stress spiking, tiny beeping against the side of his neck erupting as his large hand fumbled with the holo-pad.

The doors to Jag’s den opened, the figure entering only getting a few steps into the padded domicile before pausing. There was a look of disappointment on the mechanic’s face, glancing between the porn and his mech.

“Really?” Mark asked, brow raised as he gestured to the screen. “This?”

“What? I like this stuff.” The mech began, quickly moving a hind leg to cover his synthetic groin. “Just getting to know my, uh, robotic counterparts.”

“I'm shocked, Renn. Porn? Did you really think that’d work?” The mechanic huffed, crossing his arms as he walked closer towards the JA-9.

“Well it sure as hell works for you, buddy. I've always wondered where you keep getting the parts from, and E-synths are surprisingly-” Renn continued, watching as the mechanic pulled the holo-pad towards him. With a simple press of a few keys, the last tab Renn had closed popped back up.

“Reports show that GUNNR approval is down 32% across the entire Pan-Galactic Republic, and many have begun to speculate what-”

The feed of the anchor’s face was suddenly paused, leaving the two sitting in silence.

“How did you do that?” Renn asked at last, the Jag’s head tilting to look back at Mark. “I thought I closed that tab. Is it some key-combination? Or was it-”

“I heard your shouting from the garage.” Mark said with a sigh. “To think that you’d try to cover up by throwing on some porn.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes. Darn. My cover-up didn't work, huh.” The Jag stated flatly, synthetic vocals warbling as he spoke. “Look, I get that we decided it was best to lay low when this hit the public eye, but isn't this all a bit… one sided?”

“One sided?” Mark scoffed, folding the holopad beneath one arm as he glared down at the prized racing machine. “What do you think the alternative is? Speaking publicly? You are aware that your newest batch of enhancements break the Transhumanist Acts in about fifty different ways, right?”

“But I'm exempt from all that. You said so yourself!” The jag rumbled, casually glancing down at his paws as he gently pressed them against the heated mattress. It’d taken quite a bit of time, just getting used to receiving so much sensory information again. “And I could, you know, maybe show everyone that I'm not some sort of abomination.”

Mark just stood there, arms crossed, as he stared down at the mecha. He gripped the holo-pad a little tighter as he glanced around at the Jag’s den.

“Renn. I'm probably the only person in the galaxy equipped enough to tell you that I really don't think a public appearance is a good idea. You saw me eating cereal yesterday and your sync rate did a nose dive. I'm worried that you're not ready yet, Renn. And-”

“That's because it was my cereal!” The Jag unit rumbled, paws pushing down against the heated mattress as his stadium amplifiers queued up. “And I'm not about to let some-!!”

The Jag’s neck flashed red for a moment, beeping irregularly as his systems reported another spike. The racing mech quickly dropped back down onto the bed with a huff, crossing his paws as he let his tail thump against the floor once more.

“This is bullshit. So what if I miss having a throat. And… taste buds.” The mech rumbled, shifting in place. “I get that you're working on it, but it’d be a helluva lot better if we had more to work with y’know? The sponsorships are probably all just waiting for the ‘responsible’ amount of time before dropping me, and we’re not earning an income with me sitting on a stupid therapy bed. If I'm gonna race again-”

“Renn.” The mechanic said with a sigh. “They're never going to let you race again. Not in a GUNNR sanctioned-”

“Then fuck GUNNR! You've been saying the same things for years, haven't you? Don't you want to get back at Wan? Are you really going to let this speedbump slow us down? I'm not going to let it be over Mark.” The mech shuddered as he pushed himself up off the bedding. His visor turned as he looked his mechanic in the eyes, synthetic muscles tensing as he padded towards the man on all fours. “Please. When have we ever decided to follow along with what others were doing?”

Mark caught sight of his sullen expression in the reflection of his friend’s faceplate. The mechanic took a deep breath as the hulking mech came to a stop, their gaze level with one another. The mechanic reached out, running a hand along the Jag’s sleek jaw.

“I’m worried, Renn.” Mark said with a sigh, feeling his pilot tilt his head against his palm. “Your sync rate is relatively stable here, but we can't just open the doors to the public and expect similar results. This is a slow process, but ultimately one I’m doing for you. Not because some politicians are all riled up, but because-”

“Then get me an interview.” The Jag interrupted, stepping closer towards his friend. The mecha’s panels tensed and relaxed as he let the side of his head drag along the man’s shoulder, sensors tingling as his sleek frame rubbed against the man’s soft jacket. “I'll even let you choose who. Just-”

The racing unit rumbled as he pushed himself up. His hindquarters shifted about as he eased into bipedal mode, before suddenly relaxing in an inbetween state. His lower half tensed as his slung heavy arms around the engineer’s neck. Renn made sure to keep his weight off of the mechanic as he leaned forward, sleek visor rubbing up against the mechanic’s face.

“Do this for me.” Renn urged, paws relaxing against his mechanic’s back. “Please, I'm ready. I just… Don't want to let a bunch of people who don't know me at all, decide what I am.”

“One interview isn't going to be enough to-” Mark began, only to be interrupted by the Jag’s muzzle pressing against his lips.

“Do this for me,” Renn continued, muzzle tingling as he pressed his visor closer. “And I'll let you try out the vent.”

“The vent?!” Mark jerked his head back with a scoff, cheeks red as he tried to shimmy the mech off of him. “Okay, okay. That's- Bribery, for one. And I'm pretty sure we decided to keep a sense of professionalism between the two of us.”

“Fine.” The Jag huffed as he dropped to the floor, shoulders rounding as he relaxed back into a quadrupedal form. “Have it your way, Fallahue. I'll take ‘sex with the mech you designed’ off the table, because we’re both professionals and definitely-nothing-more.”

“Good.” Mark huffed, wiping off his jacket as he turned his attention away from the mech. He really didn't need to look at Jag to know his pilot was showboating right now. “I'll, uh…”

Mark’s eyes strayed back to the bedding for just a moment, catching sight of Jag as he hugged a pillow close to his chest. Legs splayed, tail curled, the mech had its hindquarters arched up slightly, the pilot’s visor turned to look back at the mechanic.

“Damnit, Ren.” Mark cursed, tossing the holopad back at the mech. “This interview better go well, or it'll be our first and last shot at redemption.”

“Your call on who we talk to, Mark.” The beast rumbled, gently pressing his hips down against the bedding. Smugness rolled off the mech in waves as he reached towards the holopad, watching in earnest as his mechanic stormed towards the doorway. “Just make it count.”

Now then… About that porn...

---

The Interview

“Are you sure about this?” Mark whispered, leaning in towards the hefty mech next to him.

“You’ve asked me that, twenty times, in the last ten minutes.” The Jag responded, shaking one of his legs as he bounced in place. The screens around them shuddered as the bulky mech moved, causing several stage associates to glance nervously about.

Whether the talk show host felt the commotion or not, he continued on with whatever diatribe he was currently on. The audience seemed quite bemused by the tale, applause and laughter making its way through the thin walls separating their backstage viewing.

“I’ve asked you twenty times because your answer might have changed.” Mark huffed, arms crossed as he gave a short glance away from the enormous mech. Many of the attendants around them kept stealing glances at Ren as they moved about their tasks. “Has it? By any chance? Changed?”

“Mark.” The Jag said with a synthetic exhale, shaking his head as his chest mount began to decompress. “We’re here. I’m doing this. You said so yourself, this was the best guy for the job.”

“We could have gone with that documentary crew.” Mark muttered, watching as Ren tugged at the custom-made hoodie slung around his frame. “But no, you wanted something immediate.”

“We can still do the crew. I didn’t say no to the crew. Hell, I even liked the crew.” The frame Muttered dejectedly, letting go of his hoodie to look at the man below him. Standing at full height, the Jag towered over the mechanic at his side.

“I thought we weren’t going to go on some sort of media parade. What happened to ‘short and succinct’, hm?” The man whispered, reaching up to fix his earpiece. The charismatic host was just beginning to move onto GUNNR, which meant Ren would be up soon.

“They gave you one of those, but not me?” The mech muttered, pointing a metal finger at the mechanic. “How am I supposed to know when I’m going on if I can barely hear the stage from here?”

“There are three people whose very job is just that.” Mark began, gesturing to the two women that clearly stood within earshot of the bickering duo.

“Three?” The pilot began, cocking his head as he glanced between the two. “Who's the third?”

“Really? You can’t think of who the third is?” Mark tutted, sticking out his neck to glare up at the Jag unit.

…

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Ren spoke, watching as the mechanic shuffled away in a fit of annoyance. The two ladies opposite glanced at one another, smiling as they both turned towards the curtain.

—

“And really, we get interesting folks in here all the time. Just last year we had GUNNR’s very own She’wen Wan on the couch, talking about his stunning performance on the track. And with so much ‘spotlight’ on GUNNR recently, we only thought it right that we bring in a… bigger couch…”

The host of Your Galaxy Today paused, letting the camera in front of him pull backwards to reveal the absurdly disproportioned seat by his desk.

“Please welcome a very important guest.” Zhan Hajel began, glancing about at the audience before him in anticipation. “Pilot of the custom JA-9 GUNNR model: Renn Callawoy!”

The host’s eyes never lingered for too long as he paced over to the side of the stage. Zhan’s movements were calculated as he positioned himself just so, the curtain backstage moving aside as the Jaguar came trudging through.

Mark paced nervously behind the scenes as attendees flitted about their tasks, watching as his rider disappeared onto the main stage. The end of his shirt was gripped in both hands, wrists wringing tightly as he watched the mech take a seat on the many screens before him.

“Come on, rider.” The mechanic whispered under his breath, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip. “All eyes are on you, now.”

The heavy mech lifted a paw-like hand to acknowledge the audience, falling onto the expansive couch behind him with as much grace as his bipedal form could afford. Renn adjusted at his jacket as he turned, watching the host take his seat.

“Wow.” Hajel began, flashing his signature smile towards the looming mech. He cranes his neck upwards slowly, the audience chuckling at his exaggerated effort. “You’re by far the tallest person I’ve ever interviewed.”

“Tall is an understatement, Hajal.” Renn rasped, a synthetic chuckle rolling from his speaker. “And you’re not the only one shocked by my height either. Not everyday you see a GUNNR mech wearing clothes and sitting on a couch.”

“Not everyday, indeed!” The host began, quickly carrying the comment into a light chuckle. Craning forward, the man made a show of picking up his cards before setting them down once more. “Callawoy I’ve got to be honest. I don’t think I, nor anyone here, was expecting to see you making a public appearance anytime soon. From the reports and debates happening around the pangalactic, there’s this sense of… Of chaos. Yet here you are, at the center of it all.”

“Uh… Wow. Cutting right to the thick of it, aren’t you?” Renn chuckled nervously, reaching up behind his head to run a claw against his carbon mesh. “But you’re not wrong. All of this is pretty chaotic. You’ve got GUNNR out there, doing damage control. Then you’ve got it’s critics, going full blast on my accident. And then there’s me, you know? Just sitting there, in bed, in a mech, just watching everything blow up!”

Zhan Hajal shook his head as he let out a chuckle, the audience chiming in with their own surprised amusement.

“You sound surprisingly calm about everything going on in your life. If I was in your shoes, hoh!” Hajal exclaimed, slapping his desk lightly before rolling back in his chair. “It takes an iron will to race like you do, but to live your life day in and day out like that? That’s got to be a massive change.”

“I mean, I’m in a mech designed for racing, and I’m a pilot who spent my life learning how to be comfortable in here. What with sync rates and all.” Renn began, relaxing a bit into his seat. The Jaguar lifted a heavy leg up before crossing it over the other, leaning closer towards the host. “In other words, it’s a body I’m already familiar with, and my mechanic and coach Mark Fallahue is entirely to thank for that.”

Mark’s brow furrowed at the mention of his name. He tutted loudly, nose inches away from one of the monitors as he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, come on you big lug, don’t start going off script now. Talk about sync rates.” The mechanic whispered, tapping one boot nervously as he watched his racer recline on the big screen.

“GUNNR pilots train their sync rates to reach astronomically high values, right? Not many people know this, but my mother’s got a prosthetic eye.” Hajal continued, marching the mech’s body language by leaning forward. “It can take someone up to a year before a single prosthetic is operating at 90%. And you GUNNRs are…”

The host trailed off as he waved a hand towards the Jaguar. The faceplate of the hefty mech simply stared back for a moment, metal paw tugging at the zipper to his jacket.

“Operating as high as we can, for as long as we can. It gets a bit harder when you start wiring in stuff that isn’t analogous to the body you’re used to.” Renn explained, awkwardly fumbling with his zipper as he talked. “You’ve got to work the body up to understanding that it can receive signals from different things. An extra finger, or in our case, various thrusters and new uses for muscles.”

“But your case is even more extreme than that. I’m sure plenty of us have been following your story, but to see you like this. It’s incredible.” The host continued, extending a hand out towards the mech opposite him.

“My mind made the jump, yeah. And it’s… scary, I won’t lie. The theory out there, that we have evidence to back, is that…” Renn paused, pulling on the zipper to his jacket as he searched for the right words. “At some point, whether it be some sort of physical or chemical stress... The neural rig that emulates my brain stopped needing the input. I was hitting 100% sync out there, and my consciousness was no longer in my body. I grafted into my neural rig, Hajal. And that isn’t something that we as a society allow to happen in the first place.”

“And now GUNNR is facing criticism for exactly that.” Hajal added, nodding solemnly as he stared at the mech before him. “What are your thoughts, Callawoy, on all this GUNNR controversy?”

“That’s… That’s a tricky one, Hajal. GUNNR gets a lot of heat about the risks and consequences involved. It’s a dangerous sport. All it could take is one bad crash, or one wrong calibration, and that can spell disaster. It’s scary, for sure. But for me, and everyone out there that I race with, I can guarantee that we already know the stakes. We know what can happen to us when we get into those rigs.” Renn continued, his jacket now completely unzipped as he shuffled about in his seat. “Now that’s not to say that we’re fine with the sport being dangerous. If my mechanic came up to me, and proposed new claws and traction that would help me grip wet rock, then I’d be all for hearing him out. I can assure you, that GUNNR is constantly working on improving its standards of safety.”

From the sidelines, Mark was still busily muttering under his breath.

“For the love of everything that is right in this republic, please Renn. Please. Just. Zip up your jacket.” Mark whispered to himself, watching as the Jag continued on, the black meshwork of his synthetic chest on full display.

“But, Callawoy. Surely you can see the flaw in this.” The host began, frowning as he glanced at his notecards. While the two may have been so completely off script that the prompts needn’t matter, it was important to ensure a standard pacing to his questions, scripted or otherwise. “You say that your other racers knew the risks. But this is something new for everyone. Grafting wasn’t a possibility, until your accident. Does that change the risk for you? For the other pilots?”

“Look, I can’t speak for others, Hajal. If Wan has moral quandaries, then those are his to bare. But me and She’wen? We train differently. His frames don’t require as high of a sync rate, allowing him to switch in and out or upgrade as need be. Not me, though. I’ve stuck with Jag since the beginning of my career. I trained to heighten my sensibilities in this frame until it’s an extension of myself. I could see how someone like Wan would assume I’m stuck, but to me, I’m right where I’ve trained to be.”

“And that transition has been…?” The host asked, raising one brow as he glanced over the Jag’s frame.

“Awful. Incredibly limiting, like I’ve lost a part of myself.” Renn answered, speaking rather humbly as he lowered his head. “But I chose to take this risk. It wasn’t that grafting had never been a possibility to me, I just… never assumed someone would reach as far as I’ve climbed. Maybe that’s just hindsight speaking, but it’s how I feel now.”

“Big words, coming from a big mech.” The host chuckled, the crowd easing into a soft bit of laughter as the tension began to dissipate.

“Big’s an understatement, Hajal.” Renn quipped, letting out another raspy laugh as he adjusted atop the couch.

“The pulse on this topic at large seems to be that you’ve flipped the rules on their head. That you’ve opened a can of worms. Some are even calling on GUNNR to take ownership with the Transhumanist Act. What’s your take on that, Renn?”

“Well, to those people, I guess I’d say that…”

Mark’s eyes were wide as he watched the mech ponder on screen, camera zooming in close to his visor atop the frame’s expansive body.

“Come on, you big lug. Just talk about something safe. Talk about valid concerns. Pull the scope away from yourself.” The mechanic whispered, knuckles white as he shuffled in place.

“I guess I’d say that I, personally, am fine. The history of grafting is rather scary. People just weren’t ready, or were pushed into it, or didn’t understand the ramifications. But I’m not suffering, Hajal. In fact, I’ve trained my entire career to be comfortable in this body. And sure, I’m a bit nervous, sitting on your couch in this set. And, yeah, the transition hasn’t been an entirely smooth ride.” Renn paused with a rumbling chuckle, leaning back as he propped his visor up with one hand. His posture was relaxed, splayed out on the couch as he stared at the man opposite him. “But this isn’t a tragedy. I won’t let it be. And… in time… maybe we will stop seeing grafting as such a harmful thing. I don’t know. Just a thought.”

“What in god's name are you doing out there Renn?!” Mark hissed to himself, wringing his hands as he paced about the back of the set. “You were supposed to stay on script! And now you’re talking about moral borders?!”

The mechanic jostled up and down in a fit of frustration, cursing under his breath as his headset slipped from his ear. Grabbing it out of the air, he quickly pulled the headset back to his chest, fingers fumbling as he pulled it up to one ear.

“-with that wonderful regard, we’re so grateful to have your public debut here on the show. Renn Callawoy, everyone! Give it up for the pilot!”

The audience’s cheers could be heard through the walls, Mark’s eyes turning up to watch the opening like a hawk. The frame came lumbering through, paw running across the back of his head as he rumbled something at low frequency.

---

The two stood in a glass elevator, still as could be, as the Comm 9 tower whipped past them. The glittering city below was slowly shrinking as they were carried up to the departure bay. Mark glanced away from the neon buildings below and turned his attention towards Renn. The mech was pressed against the glass, faceplate gazing out at the city beyond.

The two hadn’t said much since the interview, choosing to sit in the imposing quiet as they made their way back to the ship. Mark just watched the Jag from behind, taking a moment to consider what was going on inside of Renn’s processing.

“You said a lot more than we’d planned on saying.” Mark spoke up, speaking his mind with such surprising bluntness that even he was taken aback.

“... Yeah. I did, huh?” The Jag rumbled back after a moment’s pause, headset still trained on the massive media center below them. “I kind of goaded him into talking about that stuff, didn’t I?”

“Well. It’s your risk to take, I guess. They definitely got what they wanted.” Mark shrugged, turning his holopad on for a quick moment. Everything was blowing up. The algorithm he’d made to gauge Renn’s media presence was destroyed. People far outside of the GUNNR sphere were searching him up, paling the spike of popularity he’d already received from the initial accident. “There’s definitely going to be more people trying to get in touch with us. Maybe stirring the pot wasn’t the best idea.”

“Oh c’mon, Mark. We’ve already committed. Either they love us, or they hate us, but at least they saw me. The real me. Not some sort of… broken machine. Or abomination.” Renn rumbled, glancing at the mechanic behind him. The mech rolled his broad shoulders, plates flexing as he adjusted in place. The elevator was nearing the docking bay.

Mark was quiet for a moment, refreshing his inbox for the twentieth time. So many contacts… So quickly. Everyone and anyone was reaching out. Mark had always tried to keep the team small, and tight. Renn and him could do most everything. He’d made outsourcing to reliable people a skill of his, but this was a task unto itself.

“Mark? You okay?” The Jag spoke, walking towards his mechanic.

Mark’s eyes were slightly glazed over as he refreshed once more. A new contact caught his attention.

_ Damen R. - ‘You’re about to be overwhelmed. Your media presence is lacking. I can help.’ _

A nudge at his side made Mark jump. He looked up from his phone, turning to stare up at the hefty mech. The Jag looked surprisingly good in clothes, his plated torso peeking through the unzipped jacket.

“Hi.” Mark exhaled, dismissing his holopad to lean against the mech.

“Hi.” Renn rumbled, placing a padded paw atop Mark’s head.

The two stayed like that for a moment, as the elevator continued to push into the sky. The city beneath their feet felt so much smaller, yet the weight of the interview hung on their shoulders.

“Damn.” Mark began, exhaling as he let himself press against the Jag’s midsection. The mechanic smiled to himself, arms wrapped around the frame’s waist. “I have to admit. You handled yourself a lot better than I thought you would.”

“Excuse me?” Renn chuckled, prying the mechanic off of him with one hand. “I? Don’t handle myself well? You think all that confidence and performance on a race track doesn’t carry over onto talk shows?”

The jag lifted up an arm and flexed, tail swishing as he watched Mark break into laughter.

“You have no idea how glad I am you didn’t open with something like that.” The mechanic sighed, watching as the elevator began to slowly come to a stop.

“All in due time, Mark. All in due time.” The Jag rumbled, standing tall behind his racing partner. The elevator chimed, as its glass doors hissed open.

….

“Where the hell did we dock again?”

---

The After-Party

Heavy synthetic balls knocked about as the Jag slowly crawled his way onto the mattress, visor locked on the blushing mechanic below him.

Trickles of lube dripped from his induction port, dropping onto Mark’s bare waist. The mechanic had already had his fun calibrating and testing the mech’s new faculties, leaving the Jag impatient. Ready.

Tail twitching, hiking higher, Renn slowly clambered on top of his mate. Steadying his powerful haunches, the machine let out another shudder of anticipation. His spinal plating lifted in waves, sending ripples down his back.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” The Jag asked, body aching to press against the mechanic below him.

Mark simply stared back at the jag, his face now positioned below the center mass of his machine. The mech atop him was quite gentle, his weight carefully positioned onto the bedding. The heated vent was already slick with lubricant as it pressed down against the mechanic’s arousal. The beast above rumbled in delight as he was opened up, heavy hind legs digging into the bedding as he allowed himself to sink deeper.

Mark’s fingers grasped at the Jag’s midsection, hips bucking instinctively into the mech as Renn lowered himself down. The soft, newly installed mesh of the Jag’s underside stretched and relaxed beneath his touch, the machine’s powerful body tensing before Mark’s very eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” Mark whispered, reaching out to pull the mech closer with both arms. The tightness around his arousal clenched at the words, Renn’s mighty frame slowly lowering down atop the mechanic.

“What happened to keeping things professional, Fallahue?” The Jag rasped, speakers hissing with delight as he felt the cock inside him bottom out. Synthetic haunches ground up against bare hips, the two shuddering in delight.

Mark didn’t respond, choosing to lean in and kiss at the heavy mech’s gut. Hands rubbing at the sides of the overly sensitive neural frame, Mark delighted in the feeling of his machine pushing back against him. The two needn’t say it aloud, but they could both feel it. This was the most carnal and alive the Jag had ever felt. Clenching. Bucking. Every inch of the Jag felt alert, his systems focused on the intense pleasures coursing through his vent. It didn’t matter if such pleasures had been simulated, or if the numbers could be tweaked. The two were grinding. Touching. Feeling.

The Jag clenched tightly, milking the length of the shaft buried deep within him. Renn slowly pressed his haunches down, relishing in the sensation of Mark’s cock plunging in and out of his depths. He could keep the mechanic pinned under him for hours, lusting over each strained noise he could elicit from the guy.

“You sound like you’re enjoying yourself, Mark.” The Jag growled, craning in closer as he teased his plaything. “How’s it feel to finally be buried in your own creation?”

The mechanic gasped as he felt the mech push down against him, synthetic muscles tensing in rhythm as Renn found his pace. Mark reached out, gripping for a handhold along the mech’s hips. Fingers curling, he tugged at the lively frame.

“Stop holding back.” Mark hissed, cock throbbing within the teasing folds of his friend’s vent.

“Oh I will. Eventually.” Renn responded, lifting a front paw to gently slide along his mate’s chin. “But I’m not done teasing you yet.”

“You’re. Insatiable.” The mechanic grunted, bucking beneath his neural frame, desperate to have himself buried deeper.

“Speaking of.” The Jag began, slowly pulling his hips away. He watched as Renn moaned beneath him, inch after inch of the mechanic’s shaft spilling out of his slick passage.”I was thinking about our current… Trajectory.”

Only the head of his cock was nestled within the soft warmth of Renn’s vent. Mark kept his grip on the frame’s hips, suddenly grateful for the moment of reprieve. Blinking, he shook his head.

“You mean… You want more changes?” Mark asked, peering back into the visor above. “Renn, are you sure about that?”

“I was talking about us, Mark.” Renn stated bluntly, vent gently squeezing around the tip of the mechanic’s cock. “You’re literally in me right now. We’re fucking. I think it’s about time we dropped the act.”

“W-What are you talking about.” Mark huffed, shutting his eyes as he felt his mech gently rock forward once more. Inch after inch of his shaft, sinking back into those synthetic depths.

“I’m telling you that I think it’s about time we admitted to ourselves that this isn’t about business anymore.” Renn began, hips gently nestling down against Mark’s. “This is about us.”

“I thought you were focused on racing again?” The mechanic began, shaking his head as he tried to focus on something other than the sensation of Renn atop him. “Isn’t that what you’re after?”

“I’m not so sure anymore.” Renn muttered, suddenly arching his hips forward, vent smearing along Mark’s hips. “Maybe I just want to prove myself.”

“To GUNNR?”

“What? No.” Renn looked down at Mark, cocking his head. Tail twitching, he slowly locked his hips against the man’s groin. “To everyone.”

“Fuck me, Renn.” Mark panted, fingers squeezing tightly around his mate. “Is now really the right time for this?”

“Well.” The Jag began, pressing both of his front paws down on either side of Mark. It’s the only time I can get you breathless enough to listen without interrupting me. So… yeah.”

Mark let out a huff of annoyance at that. There was probably some retort he could throw back at the heavy frame, but honestly, he didn’t have it in him.

“Fine.” The mechanic huffed, gently loosening his grip on the Jag. “What changed, Renn? Ever since the talk show, something clicked in you.”

“Do you know why I started racing? Why I stuck with the Jag unit?” Renn asked, not bothering to wait for an out of breath answer to continue. “It’s because when you’re racing, everyone there is trying to see who can make it to the end first. Only one can, and they’re all pushing themselves to be that person. That victor. And everyone on that track has got their own style of doing it. You’ve got all those onlookers are out there, taking their own best guess at figuring out whose actually gonna do it.”

“Where is this going, Renn?” Mark huffed, idly running a hand along the underside of his Jag.

“What I’m saying is. Racing is just meeting expectations. Pushing yourself harder and harder to get first place, until people in the crowd start to recognize you. Rooting for you, because they want you to win.” Renn continued, gently pushing back against Mark’s hand as he spoke. “I raced because I wanted to prove that my way could beat Wan’s way. One frame, my frame, could excel if I put my heart and soul into racing.”

“Uh, phrasing?” Mark paused, raising a brow as he glanced up at the frame.

“Sorry. It’s just. That’s got to be why you chose me too, right? Because we both had something to prove? Or maybe it was because everyone seemed to have made up their minds that what we’re doing couldn’t work?” Renn asked, craning down to get a better look at the mechanic beneath him. “Surely you see where I’m coming from.”

“I do, Renn.” Mark huffed, nodding slowly. “But a race has a clear victor, and it’s going to be a lot harder trying to win over the support of-“

“Fuck the odds, Mark. Since when have we ever let the difficulty of something stop us?” Renn rasped, synthetic voice crackling as he shook his head. “I want to live. And thrive. Screw the people who say we can’t. We’ll prove them wrong.”

The mechanic took a deep breath as he thought over his racer’s words. He’d always feared the public to some extent, which is why he shied away. But Renn wanted to take on everything, and he’d need Mark by his side in order to do so.

“This is all very transhumanistic of you. People are going to be afraid of that, Renn.” Mark whispered, craning his head forward to press it against the mech’s underside. “We aren’t going to be able to do this alone.”

“Fine. Bring in more people. We’ll find a way to make a living. Be it racing, or something else. But I’m not going to be able to do this if I can’t even convince my boyfriend.” Renn huffed, synthetic voice calming down as he gently clenched around his mate. “So how about it, Mark? Are you in?”

“I’m not a big fan of the ‘b’ word, Renn. You know that.” Mark huffed, blushing bright red beneath the Jag. “But… Yeah. I’m in.”

“Good.” The Jag rumbled, paws digging into the floor as he angled his hips. “Because I’m going to need a mechanic with an eye for mechs.”

“You s-sure you don’t want someone who isn’t extremely attracted to his own creations?” Mark asked, shuddering as he felt the Jag slowly rock back and forth. The steady thrusts were building momentum, Renn’s heavy cock thudding against his with each rut forward.

“You kidding? We’re going to make Jag even sleeker. This is a new kind of race, Mark. And I need the best in the business.” Renn growled, arching his hips before spearing himself around Mark’s cock once more. “Now hold on tight. I’m claiming what’s mine.”

“A-Absolute dork.” The mechanic huffed, toes curling as his slickened cock plunged in and out of his mate’s warm folds. Gripping tighter, he found his hips pistoning into the Jag, teeth clenching as he felt his cock twitch and shudder.

“You’re… Already beautiful.” Mark huffed, cock throbbing as the large mech continued to grind against him.”We don’t need-“

“Aw, c’mon Mark.” The Jag unit rumbled, suddenly jilting himself atop his boyfriend. “Don’t tell me you don’t have ideas.”

The engineer was quiet, bottom lip trembling as his mate slowly ground against him. Mechanical, powerful hips, carefully grinding back and forth, his shaft nestled deep within the beautiful mech.

He could… Give Jag an ass. Work on a proper silhouette, no longer confined to aerodynamic forms. Could make him grippable, too. Soft, and firm to the touch. Proper handles.

“You’re… dangerous. You know that right?” Mark asked, gasping as his cock lurched against Renn’s depths. He was achingly close, the heavy mech grinding back and forth.

Thick, synthetic thighs held the jag steady as he felt his hips give out. A slick, heavy sensation spilt forth from his hips, heavy cock sliding along Mark’s torso. He’d held it in for as long as he could, the thick synthetic shaft now happily slapping against the man below him.

“Fuck.” Renn hissed, feeling his own pulsing member slide about. The synthetic groin, slick with lubricant, was spiking his stimulus far quicker than expected. The threshold was giving way, cock twitching. Balls knocking about, as his thrusts grew impatient. The shaft buried in him, spurring him over the edge. Each thrust and twitch of the man below him, proving too much to handle.

“Oh. Gosh. R-Renn!” Mark moaned beneath the Jag, hips twitching. Jerking. He clutched at the mech as he let out a wanton moan, body spasming as Renn’s vent clenched around his arousal.

The warmth flooding into Jag sent him over the edge. Cock throbbing with a wet slap, as he felt his hips pump. Thick bouts of cum flooded the mechanic beneath him, vent clenching with need around Mark’s shaft. The mech relished the sensation, rumbling as he ground his groin against the man below him.

“That…” Renn rasped, hips still bucking as he kept his hips pinned above Mark’s. “That was… amazing.”

The mechanic’s hands were running across the underside of his creation, listening to each shift and twitch of his pilot’s body. Craning forward, kissing gently, he closed his eyes.

“If you’re serious about this.” Mark began, shuddering as he felt Renn clench around his spent shaft once more. “Then we’re going to need help. And find revenue.”

“Sounds… Difficult.” The mech rumbled, grinding forward at a slow and steady pace.

“Which is why I was thinking, that… We should hire someone else. To help out. Someone with more experience in this networking thing, than us.” Mark mumbled, slowly pulling out of his mate.

The two lay there, trying to regain their senses. Happy, in this moment, to press against the other. Relaxed, and comfortable.

. . .

“Okay, but. I’m not keeping this a secret.” Renn muttered, cock throbbing once more. “You find someone. That doesn’t flip. When he knows what we do in the night.”

“Why do you have to make everything infinitely harder.” Mark groaned, putting a hand to his head.

“Because I’m not aiming for second place, Mark.” The Jag rumbled, craning against his mate. “And neither are you.”

---

To be continued?

Well met, mortal. This part was in many ways, a buildup and promise of things to come. Writing this story feels so keenly different than the others that have come before it, and I find myself taking extra time with it. I assume the final part will be no different. For now, enjoy the thought of Mark busying himself with the hundreds of designs he could never get approved by GUNNR. Where next might we find this mech?

See you next time.

Cambions

If you like this story, make sure to check out all of my other ‘Making Of’ stories! I’m sure there’s something else out there that will catch your fancy~

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