FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Start small, cautious. Play it safe. Just try it out.

Get complacent. Ramp it up. Can't hurt, right?

That's good. Go bigger.

Bigger.

Bigger.

Lose everything. Swear it off.

Go again.

This was the life of an addict. Jex knew it well. He knew how fucked up he was. He knew how lucky he was.

Caffeine, then porn, then sex. Then meth, viagra, steroids, alcohol. Rehab. Relapse. After that, trading, then gambling, and back to sex again. He liked to joke that he was collecting them.

The first one had started with a string of sleepless nights, but caffeine addiction was legal, and it was nothing next to the others. The first real one had been a website link, shared in a high school group chat, as a "prank". He was curious, and clicked it.

That was always where it started. The curiosity.

His tastes became expensive, almost ruined him, but he began to consider being more than a consumer. He couldn't make meth, he couldn't brew beer, he couldn't start a casino. But he had a camera, his soft, sleek white fur, big blue eyes, and buff figure, and that was enough to make him go viral. An insatiable lust and the adaptability of a pansexual switch didn't hurt either. Within six years, he was an investor, shareholder, and billionaire, retired before he was thirty.

He was under no delusion that it was all skill. He knew he'd gotten lucky. A lot. Good genes, for one. The shit he'd filled himself with would've killed most people years ago. He wanted to blame the porn link from high school, but he'd had plenty of chances to get out. Hangovers, withdrawals, angry fights that ended bloody and cost friendships. He'd just moved from these to stock market crashes and casino debts. Higher highs and lower lows.

It was the thrill. That was what had done him in. And it was what led to the next turn.

Of all things, he'd never expected to become addicted to love. His first was a brown fox, a fellow addict. Then was a fan, a devoted watcher of his adult videos, a grey and white she-wolf. Most couldn't make it past the rising thrill in the start; they'd always hit a plateau of normalcy that they decided wasn't for them. A few others came and went, and he gave up the drugs and steroids when Jess almost died–another addict, a black cat. She was the last one he'd dated.

These days, when he wasn't in his penthouse with someone he'd found at the bar, he found himself taking up space at the high-limit tables, losing or winning millions at a time, going from the satisfying sound of shuffling cards, talons idly tapping tables, to the moans and groans of good partners and squeaking beds.

And he'd become complacent again. He felt that emptiness. There were so many songs and stories about it, that void inside, the aching loneliness, but words didn't cover it. He needed more. He needed something.

The next turn in his path came one night when he was drowning his mind in over-priced booze. He overheard a rough-looking pinscher with dark fur, a golden chain around his neck. Through the elongated words that ran together, after a gulp, hiccup, belch, and a tap of the shot glass, Jex made out two words: Liar's Bar.

He didn't know how this was the one thing he'd remembered before the drunken blackout, but after a few cups of coffee and a dangerous amount of ibuprofen, he managed to find the place. He had to go to some shady corners of the internet, but he found it.

A seedy little bar where vagabonds bet their lives? He was interested. He'd always thought he'd gamble away his fortune at the tables, his life savings keeping the Predator and Prey Casino in business for another few years, or maybe a stock market crash would get him, and he'd have to get back in the trade or resign himself to just die in a gutter. Worst case, maybe an old dealer would find him and tie him up in their basement until he gave up his bank information.

But this… to bet with existence itself… To die quick and easy, by his own finger on the trigger… To stare death itself in the face... For the first time in years, he felt that thrill. The game was on.

It was exactly the kind of place you'd expect to play games like this. A buzzing red neon sign lit the cracked grey bricks of an alley that smelled of piss and beer.

The sleeveless vest and faded, hole-ridden jeans of the rat bouncer made Jex feel out of place in his custom suit. The guy was scrawny, with a shotgun in his paws, and looked like he'd take as much damage being on the back end of the thing as anyone he shot it at just from recoil alone. But Jex wasn't about to tell him that.

"Ya lost, wolfy?" the rat asked in a two-pack-a-day rasp.

Jex glanced up at the sign.

"Nope."

The rat scoffed.

"'Kay. Just seems a shame to get blood on that suit."

Jex arched an eyebrow.

"Who said I'm going to get blood on it?" he asked, with a bit of indignance in his tone. One lost game of cards meant Russian Roulette, a 1/6 chance of death, so it was more likely than not that he'd win. And besides, even if he did lose, getting his suit dirty wouldn't matter to him with a bullet in his brain.

"You're gonna get blood on it," the rat said matter-of-factly. "Never said it'd be yours."

Oh. He hadn't considered...

Oh, well. No turning back now. He could always ditch the jacket if it got too bad, and he had cleaners who'd happily clean and dry anyone else's brain matter out of his clothes. They had before.

He grabbed the grimy handle and pushed the door open. His nose was assaulted by the smell of gun smoke, the acrid odor of burnt gunpowder, and the metallic scent of blood that made the inside of his mouth taste like copper. There were two dogs at the bar, a golden retriever and a shiba, slumped atop their stools. Other species sat around tables, pheromones mixing in the air, but never more than four people at a time. The air was tense and hot. Players called bets, taking turns, voices laced with suspicion and masked with deception.

"Four fives." From the right.

"Two aces." From the left.

"Five threes." On the right again.

"One ace." On the left.

Silence. Tension.

"First time?" This one was louder, directed at him. Jex looked up and saw the bartender, a dark brown stallion, casually flipping a sharpened, shining carving knife. He beckoned with a nod and Jex stepped up.

"Liar's Deck or Liar's Dice," the horse said, plucking four long cards from a stand nearby. Jex's heart skipped, thinking the bartender was challenging him to a game right here and now, but no. These cards were too tall to be playing cards, each describing the rules of a game.

"Pick a game, pick a ruleset, pick a table. You lose Liar's Deck, you play Russian Roulette. Lose Liar's Dice, and you drink one of two bottles of poison."

Jex nodded; he'd learned as much from what he found about the bar online, though there wasn't much. Still, he gave the cards a glance. The rules were simple enough.

"LIAR!"

His ear twitched as the rough voice shouted out the accusation and a heavy fist pounded one of the tables. He looked up and saw a heavyset brown bear grin across the table at a timid-looking sheep, basically a tiny ball of white wool. Her hands shook as she lifted the card she had played, showing a single ace.

"Damn it!" the bear snarled, grabbing the revolver from his side of the table. His thick fingers fumbled with the hammer, pulled it back with a click, and put the barrel under his chin. He didn't hesitate, squeezing the trigger.

BANG!

Jex jumped. The bear hit the table with a heavy thud. The little sheep recoiled, huddled in her seat. Jex wondered why she was even here. The scent of blood in the air thickened. A pair of muscled cats came forward, but they ended up needing another two to lift the bear.

"Fill this out," the bartender said, sliding over a yellowed page stained with rings of brown liquid. It was a… consent form? He'd thought this place operated illegally, staying under the radar, but this seemed to indicate it was all above board, at least technically.

He sighed and looked it over— he knew enough to read the fine print. He'd skimmed plenty of legal documents in his time, but this one…

There was a section asking him to detail what he wanted done with his body, stating that if he left it blank, his remains would simply be incinerated, but that the bar's staff would do everything in their power to fulfill his request in accordance with his religious/spiritual rights, within the bounds of the law and only so long as the request didn't endanger the staff or the bar itself.

Another section specified that he'd be kicked out if he got caught cheating, including using his own cards, dice, guns, bullets, or poison. He'd also be banned from playing Liar's Dice if he proved to be immune to the poison, but that on the incredibly rare chance one of the guns jammed when there was a bullet in the chamber, he'd be given a free drink.

The section titled "Quitting Policy" discussed how and when a player was allowed to leave a game, if need be. The bar had an on-site medical team for emergencies, and players who wanted to leave for other reasons did so at the discretion of other players. Quitting more than three in-progress games incurred a penalty of $500, up to $2,000 for six skipped games. Skipping more than six was not allowed, and the penalty for attempting to flee an in-progress game was death. He cringed, thinking of the bouncer outside.

"Oh, another rule," the bartender noted, "if you don't want folks looking at you when you pull the trigger or take a second dose, wear one of these."

He slapped down a red patch with a plastic clip, showing an image of an eye with an X over it. He arched his eyebrows. He hadn't expected this kind of place to have the courtesy to grant its patrons a tiny modicum of privacy like this, but when he considered it, every little bit helped when it came to your final moments. Having someone stare you down when you were that close to the end would've been uncomfortable.

The rest was all the usual legal covering of asses, ensuring he understood and accepted the risks involved. He nodded and signed the form.

He glanced around the tables, saw a beaver give a seizing gasp as a glass vial rolled from his hand and across the floor before he went limp, eyes bulging and bloodshot. This time, only one of the big cats came forward, carrying him away, and the other players carried on.

"Can I get a drink first?" he asked. The bartender nodded.

He was setting the beer bottle down and watching the droplets of condensation roll down the sides when there was a creak from the stool beside him. He turned and saw a rugged-looking raccoon guy sit with a grin, a black spiked collar around his neck, fingerless gloves on his hands.

"My usual," he said to the horse, who nodded and casually hurled the knife in his hand into the dart board across the room.

Jex took another swill and set down the bottle just as the coon did the same.

"Man, I dunno what it is," the raccoon said with a deeply relaxed sigh. "I just can't quit. Love this place. Love the game. I love finding blowhard players and pushing 'til they call out others, finding shy ones and letting 'em spend their hand 'til I can call them. I love figuring people out, and being rewarded with an earned win. It's not just the gambling or the lying, it's the learning. Something about the thrill. Mmm."

"The thrill," Jex agreed. He locked eyes with the coon, who smirked. "Don't play the game, play the players."

The raccoon tilted his bottle forward, clinking against the neck of Jex's when he did the same.

"Let's get a table," he said. "I gotta play you."

Jex chuckled and stood, following the raccoon to an open table, but instead of sitting down, Jex nodded toward the table with the sheep. The cats were dragging away a bloody ferret with a hole in his head, another with a fresh towel coming forward to clean the table and floor.

"What, you wanna play her?" the raccoon scoffed. "Seems kinda cruel betting against such a cute little thing."

"I thought the same at first," Jex said in a low voice. "But she's been through at least three games. Four players each game? At a certain point, it's not luck."

The raccoon's brown eyes sparkled, looking over at the apparently shell shocked sheep.

"You think she's a pro?" he asked. "The whole shy amateur thing's an act?"

Jex arched his eyebrows. The raccoon looked from him to the sheep, to him, to the sheep again. He shrugged.

"Why not?"

They sat.

"Deal 'em," Jex said.

***

"The deck has six queens, six kings, six aces, and two jokers," the racoon said. "Check your revolver, give the chamber a spin."

They all did, the chambers clicking.

"Jokers are wild?" Jex asked. He thought he remembered right, but he wanted to be sure. His life was on the line.

"Jokers are wild," the raccoon confirmed with a nod. He shuffled, the cards riffling.

"King's table," the raccoon announced, turning over the first card in the deck. He delt and Jex looked at his hand, fanning his cards.

An ace, a queen, two kings, and another ace. He looked up at the others. The sheep was nervously glancing between her cards, eyes wide, and the raccoon was looking from his cards to the sheep. He looked at Jex once, but they both knew they weren't going to get anything out of each other.

"Two kings," the racoon said, setting two cards down.

But were they? Jex decided to play it safe and not call him out, for now. Just play.

"One king," he said, setting down an ace.

Whether the shyness was an act or not, the sheep wouldn't call him out on the first one. She was still nervously looking between her cards and the table, like the backside of his face-down cards on the tabletop would tell her anything.

"O-one king," the sheep said, laying down her single card.

"Two kings," the raccoon said, setting two down.

Only six in the deck. If Jex hadn't lied about the first ace he put down, that would be the last of the kings. And he still had two in his hand. There was an off chance the raccoon had one or both of the jokers, but…

"Liar," he said, smirking at the raccoon.

The raccoon reached out to the cards he'd just played and turned over two queens.

"Damn you," he said, smirking back at Jex.

He took the gun, fingering the trigger. The hammer clicked. Nothing.

Jex let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The raccoon grinned and shuffled up again.

"Ace's table," he said, turning over the first card. "Your go, wolfy."

"Three aces," Jex said with a grin, putting down two kings and a queen.

"Oh, bullshit," the raccoon scoffed. He looked at the sheep expectantly. "C'mon."

The sheep looked from her cards to Jex, eyes darting back and forth.

"U-um…" she stammered. "Uh…"

The silence gripped him.

"L-Liar?" the sheep squeaked.

Jex growled. He took the gun quickly. His hand trembled. The odds were with him, but…

He pulled the trigger.

BANG.

He almost jumped out of his fur. A body hit the table to his left.

He set the gun down, his breath shaking now. The sheep was trembling violently, and the raccoon snorted.

"Shiiit, dude, I thought you were dead!" he laughed.

"Just go," Jex sighed.

They played again, but this time Jex was distracted by a player at another table, a short, goth fox girl with a tight black dress and a gold cross around her neck. She was cute. Jex would've asked for her number, but he saw soon enough that she was into someone else. He hadn't gotten this far without being perceptive.

The third round ended with Jex being called out again. And again, the chamber was empty.

One more game.

***

The raccoon was shuffling again when it happened. The door squeaked open and the bar dropped to total silence. The laughter of a victorious lion halted abruptly, bottles and glasses came down on tabletops, even the soft metal ring of the bartender's flipping knife stopped.

The raccoon's eyes were wide, and Jex turned toward the door to see a gorgeous, resplendent red fox, fiery orange fur contrasting with her open-collared blue button down shirt and tight blue jeans, just like her big blue eyes, sparkling like crystals. She was rich, but didn't show it off with glittering necklaces or shiny bracelets, letting it come through in her lush fur and the cloud of expensive perfume that followed her, carrying the smell of exotic spice, her clothes all brand new. Her shirt had the top few buttons undone, showing off a tuft of white fur beneath her neck. She looked around with a smirk, a gaze of calm familiarity–she'd been here before.

"Who is that?" Jex whispered.

"That," the raccoon said, not taking his eyes off the vixen, "is Lucky. And believe me, she lives up to the name."

The bar was still hushed, players trading whispers as the fox stepped up to the counter and the bartender fetched her a drink without a word.

"I wasn't here for it, but stories say she just strolled in one day, sat down, and won three games in a row–the last one, she jammed the gun when she should've blown her brains out," the raccoon said, raising a finger gun to his head, the other hand mimicking a spray of blood. "So, the bartender gets her a free drink. Next day, she comes in, does the same thing again. They checked the gun inside and out, then gave her another drink. Next day–"

"Again?" Jex blurted, eyebrows up. The raccoon nodded.

"They took that gun apart and put it back together like five times, tested it each time. Worked exactly like it should. I heard they even did an x-ray to look for magnets and shit embedded in her wrist or a metal plate in her head. Nothing. No sign of foul play."

"So she just got really–" He stopped as it hit him.

"Lucky," the raccoon chuckled. "Exactly."

Jex looked up at the vixen, expecting at least an ear twitch at the mention of her name, and saw her polishing off a white wine, not giving even so much as a glance at their table. He heard the same story being passed around other tables.

"Nah, I heard it was three games on the same day," said a lanky cheetah guy.

"I heard she did it six times in a row," whispered a brown and white rabbit.

"Six?" said a grey wolf. "I thought it was five."

A shadow fell over their table, followed by a cloud of her scent, and Jex looked up to see the vixen herself standing there.

"You three mind if I join?"

"Alright, reset the revolvers, give ‘em a spin," the raccoon said. "Let's at least give ourselves a fair chance."

***

There was a certain amount of satisfaction to the small things that lent toward the final product; the riffle of cards, the clatter of dice, even the click of a revolver's hammer cocking back.

But the true thrill was in the game. Figuring others out, risking it all, the rising uncertainty when his finger curled around the trigger. And to claim the win, outwit your opponent, it was a thrill he knew nothing else would match. Any other game in any other bar meant watching a distraught player walk home penniless. But this…

To watch an opponent put the barrel to their chin and fire, knowing he'd called them out, knowing he was the reason for it. It was sickening, but that twist of nausea came with the thrill. And he knew he'd chase it for as long as he could.

He hadn't realized how long he'd spent at upper-class high-limit tables until he returned to the dirty, grungy ones. The scent of soft felt and laminated, quality cardstock was replaced with the smell of blood and sweat. The taste of expensive champagne was replaced with the bitterness of cheap beer. But the game was the same. And the players…

They sat around the table, the sheep on Jex's right, the raccoon on his left, the vixen across from him. They played clockwise.

The raccoon had been called out three times, had a 2/3 chance of survival left; three chambers, one loaded. Jex had been called out twice, with four chambers remaining. A 3/4 chance. Lucky, the mysterious vixen, had definitely lived up to her name, with the raccoon only calling her bluff once. She still had five chambers. 4/5. The nervous little sheep was on her last legs. She'd hit a stroke of luck, after mistakenly calling out Jex once and the fox calling her bluff four times, she'd gotten an empty chamber each time. The sheep's next lie might be her last. But each of them had one bullet.

Lucky shuffled the deck with practiced ease, thin cards riffling as each caught a single talon.

"Queen's table," the fox said, her voice a soft but leering purr with an undertone of "come get me."

She dealt quick, the cards flicking through her fingers and landing exactly where they needed to go, five sliding straight across the table to Jex. He took his hand and looked.

An ace, a king, two queens, and another king. He glanced up, but her face was as charmingly unreadable as ever, her eyes sparkling at him, her smirk daring him to make a move like she was the literal embodiment of all his addictions. Daring him to take another hit.

But it was the sheep’s go. Her tiny hoofed hand hit the table, shaking as she set two cards down.

“T-two queens,” she said.

“Liar.”

The word rolled off the vixen’s velvet tongue, and for a heartbeat the table went quiet. Then the sheep’s shock ignited into rage.

”Fuck!” she hissed. She’d trusted in the shy act to keep her alive this long, betting no one would call her out on the first go. Apparently, she was wrong. Realizing the sheep wasn’t going to do it herself, Lucky reached out and turned over the cards that had been played, revealing the sheep’s two kings.

The sheep grabbed the revolver, her grip steady, thumbed the hammer, and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

And she was dead, barely a thud against the table.

A single member of the staff came forward to take her away, and the space between Jex and Lucky had gotten one seat shorter. Next turn was hers. She plucked two cards from her hand and turned them, setting them down.

“Two queens,” she stated, like it was an indisputable fact.

Jex’s eyes darted to the raccoon, who was eyeing Lucky carefully. A silence lingered, during which no one breathed. Someone called a bluff at another table. There was another bang, a thud, and the scent of blood and gun smoke. None of them flinched. Not even a twitch of an ear.

“Liar,” he said, eyes narrowing, tongue flicking behind his sneer.

Her expression didn’t change, the line of her closed mouth along her snout didn’t curve any more than it already was. Two of her fingers and a thumb took the face down cards and lifted them, turning them over. A queen and a joker.

“Fucking shit,” the raccoon breathed, but it was an excited breath, a smile forming on his face. Jex knew he was relishing that thrill. After a time, even losing could bring on the rush.

The raccoon took his revolver and the hammer slid back, clicked into place. He put the barrel to the side of his head, finger sliding over the trigger.

“Y’know, I’m starting to think this thing’s not even load—“

BANG!

He slumped, his head hitting the table. The revolver clattered to the floor. Jex’s gaze lingered on the raccoon’s dead eyes longer than he thought they would. They might have been friends. Hell, they had been. You didn’t always need ample time to get to friendship.

A pair of hands slid under the raccoon’s arms and carried him away, and Jex looked up into the eyes of the vixen. It’s your turn, they seemed to say. She didn't have a drop of blood on her.

The sheep had played two kings at a queen’s table and the fox had called her bluff. The raccoon had called the vixen out, assuming she’d done the same, and it had been his last mistake. Did he choose to make the sheep’s mistake, or the raccoon's?

He had four chambers left in the gun, one with a bullet. A 3/4 chance of life, even if she called him on a lie. But that was still a 25% chance of death. Not insignificant.

Fuck it. If he did die, at least she’d be the last thing he saw. A good way to go.

“One queen,” he said, putting down a single ace.

She studied him and he didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. After an eternity, she pulled one of her cards and set it down. He didn't know if she'd really missed the lie or if she caught his bluff and let it slide to keep playing, but he didn't care.

“One queen,” she said.

A heart beat passed.

"Liar," he said, holding her gaze.

Her smile curved. It was the smallest, slightest curve, but he saw it. And now it was her who was holding his gaze as she turned over an ace.

Even with only a 1/5 chance of death, there was still the lingering possibility that he’d have to watch the bullet go through her, see the light go out in her eyes.

"Look at me," she said with those eyes.

And for the longest and shortest time, she sat there, finger on the trigger, silently daring him to watch her die. It was the most singularly intimate thing he’d ever experienced.

Click.

She was alive. She was still alive. He cherished it, knowing that one way or another, her company wouldn't last.

Lucky set down her revolver with the same fluid elegance, but as the barrel hit the table, he could've sworn he saw her paw shake. Just a little. Was she feeling that same thrill? The mere thought that she could have been made his heart jump.

His go again. He set down his two queens and called them what they were. She didn't call him out, just put down what she said were two queens. He didn't call her either, putting down one of his two remaining kings. He wanted it to last, but the thrill was fading already.

"One queen," she said, also setting down one of two, leaving both of them holding one last card.

He had no more queens. Just a king. He grinned and set it down, happy to lose to her.

"One queen."

"Liar." There was no dramatic pounding fist against the table, no accusatory shout. Just a statement. And goddamn, he loved how that word slipped off her tongue.

He closed a hand around the cold gunmetal, lifted it, and found the trigger, his eyes never leaving hers. He squeezed.

Ca-click.

His ears flicked. So did Lucky's.

That was new—not the same 'click' the guns usually made when the chamber was empty. And the trigger didn't go down as far as it normally did. He lowered the gun and looked at it, and sure enough, every chamber was empty except the one aligned with the barrel. The one that should have shot him.

"Holy shit." The words tumbled from his mouth before he even knew he was saying them.

"You got a jam?"

Jex looked up and saw one of the big cat guards, a hulking panther with black fur and icy blue eyes.

"Think so," he said, holding up the gun and reaching toward the cylinder, but the panther's huge paw grabbed his.

"Don't mess with it," the guard said. "We'll check it. Make sure."

Jex looked across at Lucky.

"Right," he said, letting go of the gun.

The guard went into a back room and suddenly the entire bar was filled with silence. The raccoon would've laughed.

***

There were about a dozen pairs of eyes on them, and the hush gave way to whispers. Jex was relishing in the familiar thrill, the electricity in his veins that told him he was alive. Lucky was just smiling at him—it was that same damned smirk, and her eyes were brighter than ever. Like she'd planned this whole thing. Had she?

"I'll be honest," she said. "I didn't know how you were gonna get out of this."

He arched a brow. It sounded true.

"I wasn't expecting to," he said. Her smile didn't change. He waited for a response. She didn't give him one.

"Looks like someone gets a free drink."

Jex looked back over his shoulder to see the big leopard guard stepping out of the back room. He dropped the gun on the table.

"Not that I'm surprised, given who you were playin'," he said, eyeing Lucky, who just gave him that smile. "You two better get. Some players don't take kindly to those who hog all the luck."

For the first time, Jex saw Lucky's smirk widen into a real smile, bright and brilliant.

"You heard him," she said, standing and sweeping past Jex's chair, her tail brushing up under his chin—a classic 'follow me' gesture. God, her fur was so soft.

He stood and followed, walking out into the seedy dark alley where the entrance was.

"Heh," came the rat's raspy chuckle. "Guess you got really lucky."

Jex snorted and resisted the obvious "You have no idea" response.