FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

>You slide the cleaning cloth over the metal again, watching the bluing shine in the light.

>The 1901 that you have isn't the most stunning example you've seen of the shotgun, but you love it regardless.

>The finish, if plain, is in comparatively great shape, and more importantly, it can handle smokeless powder.

>You still make sure to feed it shells that are on the lighter side, but as long as you do that, it's not picky about what you feed it.

>Neither is Talia.

>She didn't care what it was that you got her from the sub shop when she giddily texted you all those months ago, telling you that Patricia was sulking around the range and that you should come by on lunch break.

>You got her a turkey club and a bottle of Citri-Soft, and she dug in without a second thought when you arrived at the RSO shack.

>It was hot that day, and the little building has no AC, so it wasn't surprising to see the she-wolf press the cool bottle against her forehead, her arms, her neck.

>What did surprise you was the way she put an arm around you, pulling you close -- nearly out of your chair -- and letting you feel just how warm she was.

>Even in just the tanktop, you could feel her heat through the fur, her flannel around her waist.

>'Thanks, babe,' she said to you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before taking a bite.

>Later, you could taste the turkey club when she grabbed you and kissed you, lingering there until you heard Patricia grunt and stomp off.

>It wasn't the first kiss you two had shared, but it still wasn't... normal.

>She was the first to speak when the two of you separated, a slight chuckle still in her voice as the ATF officer left.

>'You know, turkey is my favorite.'

>You sigh, setting the barrel down.

>A little harder than you intend.

>You look over the half-disassembled gun that's taken up your meager kitchen table, forcing your mind back to work.

>You've already cleaned the Vetterli, the LeMat, and the Tokarev, your apartment having smelled like CLP and oil since you got up this morning.

>You started off with a normal field-strip and wipe-down, but at some point while polishing the LeMat's cylinder you looked at the oil-rag and swore you were taking off bluing.

>A complete teardown of each turned out to be a much better idea; you haven't done a deep-clean on everything in a while, either.

>The Winchester is proving a little more difficult to completely disassemble, but you know you'll get there. Getting it apart at all is a feat on its own.

>You try again at some of the more tight screws and friction fits, having to be delicate and forceful at the same time.

>Like that one winter day that Talia shuffled over to you on the range, kicking through the snow.

>She had left you to get your fill of black-powder shooting on an empty range, staying in the little shack with the space heater, but she now grabbed at your shoulder, hunched over.

>'The fucking zipper tried to eat me,' she said.

>Sure enough, the zipper of the coat she wore, only halfway-closed, had bound itself up in her flannel underneath.

>'Just rip it out.'

>'It was fucking expensive!'

>'Well... what do you expect me to do?'

>'You're not trapped in it, Anon! And you've got those deft little human fingers. Fix it for me, eh?'

>You remember agonizing about that little exchange for days -- this was relatively early into your 'relationship,' and you couldn't tell if you'd overstepped, been too harsh.

>It didn't help matters that she was just a bit harsh back to you when you insisted on carefully de-priming the LeMat before putting it back in its case under the shelter, popping the unspent nipples off into another little box.

>She grabbed your hand when you were done, half-dragging you back to the RSO shack.

>When you pulled out your knife, she yelled at you again.

>'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

>'Cutting you out, what's it look like?'

>'You put one hole in my flannel, Anon, and I'm putting five in you.'

>You felt confident enough to snort at the little flick she did with her claws, but you didn't feel confident enough to actually test her.

>So out the utility knife came, and you pried at the plastic teeth and fabric.

>Carefully but firmly.

>Delicately but forcefully.

>When you finished, managing to pry loose the flannel at the cost of the zipper, she --

>"Shit!"

>You just barely manage to dodge the flat spring that comes flying out from the trigger assembly, hearing it clatter faintly on the floor.

>Shakily, you set your pry-tool down, looking in the receiver with bated breath.

>When it appears that was the only piece of the intricate, ancient weapon to get flung across the room, you let out a long sigh.

>"...I fucking hate springs..."

>You find the small flat spring and set it back on the table before flopping onto the couch, sighing once more.

>Cleaning and disassembly is what you do to unwind. It's what you do to relax. Feeling those old actions work smooth as the day they were first made is rewarding to you, same as watching them glimmer in the light.

>So why the fuck isn't it working now?

>You stand, making it halfway to the kitchen for the fifth time today before you stop yourself with a groan.

>No, you can't drink. There's a half-disassembled shotgun on your table, and you've already proved you can hardly handle the small parts sober.

>You go back to the couch, sitting and putting your head in your hands.

>You need to de-stress.

>You want to feel her hands on you again, like you did after you saved her shirt from her coat.

>'Finally,' she said when it came free, 'Thanks, Anon.'

>She patted your head with a smirk, her fingers curling slightly in your hair.

>'Good boy.'

>At the time you told her to fuck off, but now?

>Now you wouldn't mind it. Even if it was teasing.

>Which is a problem, because that's all it was, just acting and teasing.

>Actually, it's not your fault, it's hers.

>She's the one that tackled you to the couch.

>She's the one that kissed you so hard, so deep.

>Stuck her tongue in and scraped her teeth against your cheeks in a way that made you feel it down in your toes.

>You groan again, this time at the uncomfortable hardness between your legs.

>'To make sure there's nothing between us,' she said.

>Your dick sure fucking was, whether you wanted it to be or not.

>Why would she do that?

>There is nothing between the two of you! Nothing like that!

>You both made that clear day fucking one!

>You remember that day in the fall. It was just you and her again on the range, the weird hours your library job afforded you giving you plenty of time alone.

>You'd met each other some time before in the summer, when you figured out she was that one employee from FF Supply, and she figured out you were the one guy under 65 buying black powder supplies.

>You weren't using black powder that day. That'd mean the she-wolf would be as far from you as possible.

>But instead she was right beside you, looking through the spotting scope as you made long shots with the Vetterli-Vitali.

>The two of you had gotten to know each other well enough in those few months that you knew you both hated the State, hated assignment, and were on the cusp of the unspoken grace period before your yearly check-ins would start recommending it.

>'Talia?' you eventually asked. 'I've got a proposition.'

>'A proposition, huh?'

>You fired, a spray of dirt flashing from the berm some 200 yards away.

>'A foot down and to the right.'

>You grunted, racking the bolt, careful to catch the copper cartridge case. They were extinct, after all.

>'You ever hear of the courtship clause?'

>She was quiet for a moment as you realigned your irons; there would be no way to adjust the elevation subtly enough, but you might do something about the windage.

>'Yeah,' she said as you tweaked the back sight, 'you comin' on to me?'

>'Not necessarily. I was just thinking of a way we could solve both our issues with assignment, and what not.'

>The she-wolf grunted. You gave her a moment to reply, but shot when she didn't.

>'Half-foot left, about on for elevation,' she said.

>'So? What do you think?'

>'...Take another shot. Give me a minute.'

>You glanced over, finding the she-wolf still staring through the scope. Racking the bolt again, you adjusted the windage the tiniest bit you could before emptying your lungs, staring out across at the target you could barely see.

>The steel rang clearly, right at the end of the echoing boom of the cartridge.

>You shifted, turning to face Talia expectantly. She pulled back from the scope, crossing her arms.

>'We'll have to work out the details,' she said, turning to you with a slight glare, 'but just so we're clear, this is an act. Key word in our relationship is that 'friend' part, got it?'

>'Of course,' you said.

>'Good. Don't want things getting weird.'

>And now, two years later, they are.

>You get up, walking towards the kitchen again. This time, you don't stop.

>With a tumbler in hand, you give the half-assembled mess on the table a side-eye.

>The slug of whiskey burns as it goes down, and you feel it on your breath when you finish.

>You set the glass down, flip the stubborn gun off, and go lie in bed.

>By the time the booze has burned through your system, you've written and deleted about 50 different messages.

>Most were to Talia, though you considered sending a few to her close friends, like coworkers.

>One you almost wrote to her mother.

>You didn't send a single one, though. And as much as you waited and prayed, neither she nor her friends texted you out of the blue to make things easy.

>In all that time, you've come around to accepting that the she-wolf didn't do it for show.

>What happened yesterday, on her couch.

>Fucking hell, maybe what happened in the car, too.

>And the hugging the day before that, but she did just get shot in the face, so that one might not have been entirely...

>...nebulous?

>That's the word you think you've decided on for what's going on.

>No, that's not it.

>She does feel something for you. Clearly.

>She wouldn't do what she did if she didn't, you don't think, making out with you like a drunk sorority girl.

>What's funny is that she didn't do it when she was drunk at a college party.

>It was around when the two of you first struck your deal, when the two of you thought that college-level 'evidence of a relationship' -- showing up together at things and being handsy -- would hold up in court.

>...If you're being honest, looking back on it now, it feels a little closer to high-school level.

>Under that logic, though, it all made perfect sense. It was a college farewell party for someone that was graduating mid-year, which was ironic since you were already graduated and Talia never went.

>What mattered was that some of her friends did, and she got invited. You'd be her plus one, and she'd get to show you off to all her friends. The two of you would make the rounds, ensuring you got introduced to enough people, maybe have a few drinks, then go home.

>You weren't a fan of parties, and neither was she.

>The she-wolf's hobby was fucking-off into the woods on her own; big surprise there.

>What happened in actuality was a little different.

>Talia ferried you around, but at some point she had to use the bathroom.

>You hung out in some circle or another, blending in fairly well -- it was a fairly mixed crowd -- when someone shoved a drink in your hand.

>The fox girl's eyes glinted as she introduced herself.

>You chuckle a little in bed, looking at the tumbler: you forget her name now, but you remember her nickname.

>'JB,' she told you, 'like Jim Bean.'

>The stuff in the cup was significantly stronger than that, some sort of vodka-based abomination that only a college party could create.

>That was what you downed while you talked with her -- Jannet? Jennifer, maybe?

>Nah, her eyes were hazel, not purple.

>...probably...

>She smiled and laughed; she minored in history, so she got some of the bad jokes you were telling.

>The vixen took your arm and guided you to a different group, one you were new to.

>Pretty soon, the clear concoction hit your stomach, and hit it hard.

>The room was fuzzy; JB's arm was soft.

>You distinctly remember wondering how soft her tail was, and it smelled as good as whatever stuff she had on, like honey.

>You didn't resist when she told the rest of the group that she'd tuck you in for the night as you leaned heavily on her -- you don't know if they were in on it or not, but the vixen said it innocuously enough.

>Vaguely, as she guided you upstairs, you remember making some witty joke about her not needing to be coy about things; in reality, you probably slurred something about foxes and fucking.

>She gekkered, tossing you in bed. It was only when she started toying with your belt that the reality of things began to hit you, things that were obvious the day after.

>To this day, you still feel a fool.

>You're no lightweight, but the others in JB's circle of friends were downing cups left and right.

>You weren't a liquor connoisseur back then, but even you realized the reason the vodka burned so bad was likely because it wasn't actually vodka.

>It smelled, and only one other thing tastes like nothing but fire: everclear.

>But oddly, the most pressing realization to you at the time was about what it'd mean for you and Talia.

>Talia wasn't your real 'girlfriend,' sure, but if you got caught sleeping around, it wouldn't be good for the act.

>Finding someone, an actual someone that you wanted to spend your life with, hadn't come up between the two of you yet, but the problem was that it'd leave the other party high and dry.

>And even through your stupor, you figured that a drink-spiking fox wasn't the person worth throwing Talia to the wolves for.

>JB slapped you when you started grabbing at her hands; first it was your hands, but then she did it to your face.

>You couldn't tell how much of the difficulty was from her strength and how much was from the paint thinner she gave you; either way, you couldn't manage much resistance as she tied your hands to a bedpost with your own belt.

>She cooed when you shivered at her salacious licks to your face, that sensation still sticking to you today.

>She said something about how she'd gotten the mix just right, just enough for you to still feel it.

>She was about to go on when there was a loud noise.

>The fox straightened up, stiffening against you.

>God, you can still hear the she-wolf's words...

>"Unlock this goddamn door you swiffer-tailed skank!"

>Said swiffer-tailed skank did not unlock the door, instead pulling away from you to do something as the pounding continued.

>Furniture scraped against the floor out of sight; you turned, but found it hard to focus on the orange blob as it appeared to barricade the door.

>There was a muffled snarl, and then the cracking of wood.

>JB crossed the room in a flash then, too fast for you to track.

>You knew she opened the window when the cold air rushed in.

>The door and whatever chair was blocking it splintered away with a roar, a blur of gray and red streaking to the window. You could see her tail wagging furiously as the she-wolf stuck her head out the window.

>Even then, your ears still rang from the howl she let out, a ragged edge to it.

>You gasp; you were holding your breath.

>You get up, shaking your head.

>Your body moves to go get a glass of water, to try and distract you, but you can't escape this memory that easily.

>The haze was slightly clearer at that point -- you're sure the howl is what did it.

>She sat there at the window for a few panting, ragged breaths, before she turned back to you, coming to your side. She tried not to let on how drunk she was, but looking back you know she was a bit fucked up.

>Not nearly as much as you were.

>The she-wolf ran her hands over you, asking if you were okay.

>When she got down to your waist, though, she grunted; she'd brushed up against your stiffened member, fighting valiantly against all the alcohol you'd had.

>She refused to look at you, frowning as she pulled your pants back up.

>'That was hot,' you slurred.

>She looked at you, eyes wide.

>'W-what you did. Do the, the howl thing again.'

>Her eyes were piercing for a moment, before she just shook her head with a grunt.

>'You're drunk,' she said, beginning to undo your hands.

>'So are you.'

>She only responded when you reached up and grabbed her when you were free, letting out a soft sound.

>You rubbed your face in her flannel, and slowly, she hugged you back.

>You told her you loved her then, when she pulled away.

>It's the only time you have.

>You sigh, leaning on the counter, debating if you should do another shot or not.

>When you said that to her, she'd dismissed it..

>In the moment it seemed drunken and appropriate, maybe. But looking back, the details stick out.

>How stiff her tail was.

>How her ears were just slightly back.

>How beneath her fur, she seemed a bit more flush than she'd get from just booze.

>She hauled you over her shoulder, telling you it was time to go.

>The few parties you went to after that, she always held you close. An arm around your shoulders, a hand on yours.

>To keep up appearances, of course, not for any other reason.

>Like trying to protect your dumb ass.

>After a moment, you put the shot glass away, returning to the table. The 1901 sits there, still half disassembled.

>You pick up the tools, and begin again.

>By your count, you've only almost worked up the courage to ask her three times.

>You sit there with the desk lamp, gently scraping at the grooves of the old gunmetal with a toothpick, gently clearing the channels.

>Once was at that party, though you're not sure if that counts since you were drunk and kind of did say how you felt.

>The second was when you met her parents and siblings for the first time, last summer.

>You'd met her sisters prior, since they both were going to NAU, but her brothers were staying on the farm.

>They all knew the two of you weren't really a thing, but they welcomed you like family anyway. Maybe that was just a consequence of them being a bunch of up-north yokels, but it still felt nice.

>Bob and Rosie even joked about it, putting the two of you in her old room since 'the dogs claimed the couch.'

>...and while they weren't lying, it was kind of funny.

>That first night is where you almost did it, Talia barging in like one of your old roommates as you read in her bed.

>'What are you doing?'

>'Reading?'

>She threw her flannel off with a slight huff, almost doing the same to her shirt before she seemed to remember you were right there.

>'Reading in my bed,' she said, opening the door to her closet and stepping behind it.

>'But we're together, moon munchkin,' you teased, shutting the book, 'it's our bed.'

>You heard her growl, though there was a little laughter to it as her shirt appeared over the door, her pants going next.

>'Very funny, you filthy little communist,' she teased, stepping around the door. 'Now off. I wanna go to bed.'

>You stared at her, and she stared at you; her sleeping pants were, of course, flannel, loose like the faded tanktop she wore.

>You remember that lump in your throat forming, your chest feeling light.

>The she-wolf stalked closer, until she towered over you with her hands on her hips, looking slightly impatient.

>'Talia --' was all you managed before you felt things close up inside, it taking all of your will to simply keep your cool.

>'What?'

>'W-where am I going to sleep?'

>That stopped her for a second, her expression softening.

>'You can use some of my camping gear,' she said, returning to her closet and pulling out a sleeping bag.

>It smelled like her, which made it easier to sleep than you'd like to admit.

>Her snoring, not so much...

>You can still hear it now; you can still smell her, even over the decades-old carbon and grit that you're swabbing out from the receiver with a q-tip.

>She smelled like -- smells like -- old wood and wet fields, like fresh grass and earth.

>You know you caught a whiff of it the third time you almost admitted that you liked her. On Monday, when she hugged you and left.

>And Tuesday, kind of.

>You're just going to count all those times that you thought of things you could have said, should have said, as time number three, because you'd lose track otherwise.

>Satisfied with the amount of blackened q-tips that now lay on your table, you hold the receiver to the light, looking for any other hidden deposits of carbon, only to find none.

>All that's left is dust, light bits that will be washed away with your wipes.

>As you begin, you decide that the trip to her parents' place was when you began to feel it for real. The party doesn't count.

>Sure, what she did made you like her more, but you'd probably like anyone if they saved you from getting raped.

>And that howl thing she did was pretty hot.

>But you never let her in on it, since you never could be sure she felt the same way.

>You didn't want to be the one to break that rule that the two of you set down day one, that what was between you was an act.

>After you almost did at her parent's place, ever since it's always been limited to 'what ifs' and 'should haves.'

>She was keeping up the act perfectly fine. The two of you were friends, sure, but it wasn't ever more than that.

>Until yesterday.

>You set the receiver down, the gunmetal gleaming in the light.

>The rest of the parts do as well, each cleaned, detailed, and polished.

>You know how they all work together now, the spots of wear and suspect alignment fixed... hopefully.

>You let out an exhale through your nose, nodding slightly to yourself.

>All that's left is to put it back together.

>You can't help but keep chuckling to yourself as you drive along the Sector Mainway, fields of corn waving to either side of you in the dusk.

>You really are driving to the range with a lever-action shotgun and a rose-box.

>So-bad-its-good one-liners from decades ago fill your head, and you half think about wearing sunglasses, even if you don't have the leather to match.

>It all calms your nerves, somewhat. Not much more you can do on that front.

>You've thought things over, you've rehearsed what you're going to say -- even if you know it'll all go out the window when you see her -- and you got her flowers.

>...She'll probably laugh her ass off at that, but that'll make things easier, hopefully.

>Laughing would be one of the better reactions Talia could have.

>You try not to think about the others as you pull into the near-empty gravel lot of the range, only hearing one or two faint cracks of gunfire.

>The range closes at sunset, officially, but most of the staff would let you stay late if you asked them -- and knew them.

>But you're not actually here to play with the 1901, though you brought a box or two of shells along just in case.

>You're here for Talia.

>To fix things.

>And you know that she's probably still here, given that she took on the extra work at the range for the week.

>The she-wolf isn't the one that greets you at the gate, however; Sally does instead, the squirrel as easygoing as ever.

>"Hey A-non," she says, giving you a wave. "You're a bit late. Hope all you're plannin' on shootin' is that one gun, we close soon."

>"Yep, just this," you say, jostling the canvas case. It wasn't the most protective, not the normal hard-backed one you'd use, but the old surplus carrying case was the closest at hand when you finally managed to get the Winchester back together.

>You don't dare give the range bag the same treatment as you step away.

>There's roses in there, after all.

>"By the way," you ask, "where's Talia?"

>You watch the squirrel's face carefully, praying that the she-wolf didn't badmouth you or something, but Sally remains serene, that bucktooth smile still plastering her face.

>"She didn't come in today," she says instead. "Decided to take today and tomorrow off... or, I guess not to work like she said she was?"

>You stand there, frozen as the squirrel marshals her thoughts.

>"She wasn't scheduled for those days anyway, but she said she would come in for them Tuesday, but this morning she said she wouldn't, so it--"

>"Thanks, Sally," you say.

>"Yer welcome, Anon," she says, unperturbed by the way you turn tail. "Tell your girlfriend I say 'hi!'"

>The words have a sting she didn't likely intend.

>You get back in the truck, tossing the 1901 on the bench beside you, the bag with the roses going on top. Your wheels are back on old, cracked pavement before you actually begin thinking about what's going on.

>Considering she hasn't said anything to you all day, maybe Talia's in a funk. Hell, you almost were.

>Funny how fucking things up with a friend can hurt worse than the looming threat of a bad trial -- though, hopefully you've got nothing to worry about on that front.

>Perhaps she decided not to come in to work because she's confident the countersuit against Pat will give her enough to live comfortably for a long while.

>Hopefully her nose didn't somehow start getting worse, now that you're thinking about it.

>Either way, you need to talk to her. Not just about quitting her day job, either.

>You've got to fix things, because that's what you do.

>You come back out of your head, finding the Hilux cruising at 85 in what must be a 50 zone. After slowing down -- only a little -- you realize you're already on your way to the farmhouse.

>The sun is gone by the time you get there, a deep purple staining the sky to the west when you bump up into her driveway.

>It's with a bit of concern you note that her truck is gone, the gravel empty as the house appears to be. Anthros with good night vision like Talia sometimes leave most of their lights off, so you're not entirely worried.

>But growing dark presses in on you when you step out of the car. You just breathe for a moment, slowly glancing around.

>...what if it wasn't Talia's decision at all?

>You fling open the cab door, yanking out the shotgun and loading up with shaky fingers, trying to be fast and quiet.

>The two of you set Patricia up, an officer of the State.

>The noise of the rolling-block action echoes in Talia's yard.

>It wouldn't be too far a stretch for her and some three-letter buddies to take some kind of revenge.

>You keep the Winchester at a low ready as you approach the house, wishing desperately you actually had a rose-box version of the gun rather than the full length monstrosity.

>Might have been good for clearing out threats in the plains or the forest, but not rooms.

>The door's locked, quelling your fears somewhat. You look down at the shotgun in your hands, feeling like an idiot.

>Here you are, coming to try and mend things, and the tool you bring to the door is a goddamn 10 gauge!

>If Pat wanted to fuck with you and Talia, she wouldn't have to be subtle about it. And knowing the shepherdess, she wouldn't be.

>Quiet as you can, you return the shotgun to the car, exchanging it for the box of flowers.

>"Talia?"

>There's no response, even when you bang on the door.

>That unease returns as you go under her porch, finding the spare key where she always keeps it; you're not sure if it's because of the situation, or the fact you'll actually need to face her.

>"Talia? You here?"

>The house doesn't answer, the space the same state of slight mess that the she-wolf almost always keeps it in.

>You continue calling her name, being sure to make plenty of noise as you search the first floor, then the second.

>You were wishing for the shotgun again when you mounted the stairs, the only light switch at the top for whatever reason.

>When no grotesque monster leapt out from the darkness, you still found yourself uneasy.

>You sigh, closing the last door.

>The she-wolf isn't here.

>What about her stuff? Her car is gone, maybe if you knew what other things she --

>The blaring of a steel symphony makes you jump, an expletive escaping you; you're somewhat glad you didn't bring the shotgun, now.

>You pull the phone out, still swearing softly, to find that it's Lyons.

>"Hello?"

>"Hello, Mr. Anonerson. I'm glad I was able to reach you."

>You sigh away from the mic, sitting down in one of the chairs that dots the she-wolf's room.

>"I wanted to give you and Ms. Grilliz an update on your case, but she didn't pick up."

>Great; you suppress your groan, letting your head fall back.

>"Only good news, I hope?" you ask instead.

>"Yes, actually," the lion says. "I've contacted the various witnesses you and Ms. Grilliz informed me of, and I'm happy to say that the majority agreed to act as witnesses. And, from what Mr. Halbrooke has told me about his associates' progress, we should be good on that fro --"

>The lawyer's voice went a little quiet as your phone attempted to chime, letting you know you received a text. You let him go on about the details of how your ass was getting saved by a few of your idols as you check it.

>Your heart thuds a little when you see it's from her.

>It's a simple message, one that you've gotten from her before.

>'Woods outside look nice today.'

>You get up, rushing towards the stairs and try to get down them as quick as you can without breaking your neck.

>"Lyons, I'll need to call you back," you say into your phone, cursing as you fumble with the screen to bring the menu back down with the 'end call' button.

>You vaguely hear him before you manage to find it, but you don't care.

>The Hilux can't start fast enough as you slide in, gunning it backwards down her drive, spraying the road with gravel before you peel out.

>That phrase means much more than it seems.

>It's the signal that Talia would give you when she was going to go off in the woods for a few days, up north past her parents' farm.

>The engine roars; the loose shells in the 10 gauge box rattle beside you.

>The words she said earlier in the week come back to you, making your heart sink.

>'If it weren't for things like that, I don't know if I'd ever come back from those trips.'

>Your knuckles go white on the wheel, the accelerator as far down as it'll go.

>'I could do it, you know. Just stay out there in the woods forever.'

>The whole truck rattles when you slam on the breaks, just managing to spot the stop sign ahead, the darkened crops obscuring the intersection.

>'I'm sure of it.'

>You pant slightly, finding that you've miraculously not skidded into the center, and the truck is still together.

>You wipe your face; she's going to try and run. You have a good idea where, too, talking with her and her folks.

>And part of you wants to go with.

>"Fu-UHcK!" you exclaim, stomping on the gas again.

>All you know is that you've got to head north.

>You're not sure what you'll do, how you'll find her. Maybe her folks will know. Maybe she told them what happened, and maybe you'll get shot for telling them you're searching for their daughter with a 10 gauge.

>You grit your teeth, speeding towards the InterSector.

>All you know is that you're not stopping until you find her.

>Until you make things right.

Paths(Links under construction):

Resistance

Normal (Not started.)

Polls:

https://strawpoll.com/polls/YVyPmO2r3nN

Descriptions:

https://rentry.org/ndchoices

NEW

Because Talia won the poll above, here's the new one for resistance vs. normal:

https://strawpoll.com/polls/NMnQ5E1zYn6

Don't think I'll be doing this format for the poll again...