FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The dream begins with an overview of my location, as though I were incorporeal. Though I can’t say with certainty, it appears to be a combination of levels from Dead Space 1 & 2. It’s a semi-futuristic looking structure, possibly a space craft or some kind of subterranean base; unlike the levels of Dead Space, there’s no alien gunk anywhere. It is, however, very abandoned. The view flies over a multitier structure that appears to be an indoor garden, and I mean that in the truest sense. Dirt has green grass, or at the very least AstroTurf, covering it like a carpet, and trees and ferns grow like a forest. The overhead lights are dim, as if to simulate a sunset.

Floating through a hall, the view focuses on a door. At this point, it almost instantly cuts to a view of a bunk above my head as I lay on my back. I’m now in first-person, and apparently inside the quarters. It’s as if I were lying awake and trying to sleep, or had recently woken up and didn’t want to get out of bed yet. Suddenly, a familiar alarm sounds and I’m startled from the bunk. The alarm is the same from Half-Life 1; YouTube “Half-Life Siren” and it’s one of the first videos. Wearing only underwear, I quickly find some nearby clothes and pull them on. Black BDU style cargo pants, a black BDU long-sleeved top, brown and black hiking boots and some military style gear. I attach a two-inch military pistol belt and drape a heavy tactical vest over my body.

It’s then that I notice the word “Security” over a strange symbol on the back of the vest. Though my memory is now a bit fuzzy, I recall it as being a traditional circular patch. The design looked like an upside-down flame icon, with what was either diamonds or stars on either side, and third symbol that I can no longer recall. This same patch was on both upper arms of my BDU top. Taking Vetra, my real-life Glock 22 which I’ve both named and thoroughly customized, I holster my weapon. Heading for the door, which appears to slide upon activation with a thumbprint scanner, the alarm suddenly stops. I look up at the ceiling and pause, wondering why the alarm stopped. Using a shoulder mounted radio, I call out for others in my unit.

I ask for my superior officer, but I receive no reply. I’m unsure what to make of the situation, so I call out for anyone. I now hesitate to exit the room, as I wonder what could be going on. Is this a horrible prank by my fellow security officers? Is this some sort of incursion or similar calamity? After taking a moment to collect myself, I open the door and step into an empty hall. It’s eerily silent inside, so I clear my throat and call out, just to break the stillness in the air. I hear no response. Moreover, I don’t hear much of anything. No machinery, no conversations by other people; it’s as quiet as a tomb, or a morgue at night. Keeping my weapon holstered, I rest my hand on the backstrap of the grip and walk slowly through the corridor.

I feel myself growing fearful as the overhead lights flicker in the hallway. I reach up for a vest mounted flashlight with a head angled at ninety-degrees. No sooner than I touch the flashlight, the lights shut down. I’m in pitch darkness for all of a second before I can turn the flashlight on. I internally panic in the darkness, fumbling for the button that only seconds early my thumb was hovering over. One the light activates, a beam of amber illuminates my path. I gasp in horror at what appears to be glowing red eyes, sitting vertically and near waist-height as something peers at me from around a corner. The head looks to be green in color and I reach for Vetra, but the creatures pulls away and flees; I can hear the scurrying of clawed feet.

Unsure of what to do, I call out on the radio again, only to hear myself as I’m speaking. Someone else is nearby. Using my radio and the sound of my voice, I home in on whoever it is, finding a sliding door that’s about twenty feet away from me and near the end of the hall, where the strange creature was peeking at me. The door is opposite the corner from the creature, so I know for a fact that it isn’t inside, but I worry about two things. One, a creature like it or worse might be inside, and two, what if it attacks me while my back is turned? It takes me a moment before I figure out what to do, and I’m somewhat proud of myself for it; I rest my back against the wall, draw my pistol and watch the corner where the creature was before reaching across from me to open the door to my left.

Nothing races at me from around the corner, and nothing comes out of the room after a few seconds. Taking Vetra in both hands, I round the corner and flip on Vetra’s tactical light, using that to scan the room since my torso is obviously not turning in every direction that my head and arms are. Inside the room, I find the radio. A man in a uniform identical to my own sits on the floor, head hanging forward and what looks like a pool of blood beneath him. He’s a feline anthro, a Voeldahn, if this were a story in my macro universe. In retrospect, I find it amusing how many anthropomorphic people show up in my dreams; other furries I’ve talked to claim to never dream about anthros, but I digress.

With black and white fur in a tuxedo pattern, the cat man has Leon Kennedy’s hairstyle, albeit black in color. Beside him is a Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun. Having handled a SPAS-12 in person a few times, I can safely say that I’m unsurprised he’s dead. For whatever reason, the security officer had loaded underpowered practice shells in and left the selector button set for semi-automatic. In short, his shotgun jammed after the first shot and left him defenseless. For whatever reason, the cat man wasn’t wearing a pistol. I take the shotgun, which is insanely heavy in real life (I would guess about nine or ten pounds) and search him. All of his ammo is low-brass birdshot. I promptly discard the weapon as useless and carry on.

Walking through the hall and around the corner, I’m in another corridor. This one is covered with blood and bodies. When I first began dreaming and the camera flew through this hall, none of that was there. Somehow, I remember that and wonder how all of this happened without waking me up or me knowing of it. I wander by a few dead humans, a dead dog man, and what I think was a bunny or a bear man; their face and head was horribly mangled, replicating a picture I once saw in a criminal justice course of a man who killed himself with a .30-06 rifle. I stop to check their bodies, but all of them appear to be scientists or technicians of some sort; none of them are armed, and most are wearing laminated ID badges around their necks.

The lights begin to flicker and a glow reveals the extent of their horrific wounds. I’m more than anxious to leave that hallway, and I hate to admit that I’m genuinely fearful of whatever did that to them. I press on, turning off my lights to preserve battery life before sprinting down the hall as if I were being chased. Entering a massive set of double doors at the end of that hall, I enter the indoor garden. Now below most of the trees, I can see that there are stone walkways through the room, as if it were a park. Walking through this indoor park, I look around and admire the pristine nature of the wilderness inside this massive room. I’m heading for what I believe to be a central control area, which as a security officer I have access too.

Stepping around a tree, I hear a his and then jump back as something takes a swing at me. Moving slowly and menacingly from around a corner, what looks like a giant preying mantis but with six legs and a humanesque head with piercing red eyes stands before me. Its short snout opens to reveal razor-sharp teeth, and it holds up its claws as it screams. I draw Vetra and shoot two .40 S&W rounds into the torso from all of ten feet away. It reels in pain and shrieks again, bleeding a strange bluish ooze. Though it isn’t dead, it turns and flees with blistering speed. If I had just tried to run away, it would have caught me in seconds.

I jump to my feet and give chase as it races into a thick fern. I fire several more shots, only to hear it shrieking again. The ferns shake and I look toward a door about thirty feet to my left. I begin to run. I look back to see three more of these creatures emerging from behind the fern, racing toward me. As the bush shakes, I see that the creature I shot is lying dead on the ground. I open the doors with my thumb and turn to shoot at the three beasts as the metal barriers slide open. As a double door, one half retracts to my left and the other half to my right. I step backward into the darkened hall, firing at the creatures and scoring a few hits, using my thumb to close the doors before it can even finish opening.

Though the door seems to close faster than it opens, I fall backwards when a mantis-like creature shoves a claw through the crack to grab me, only for the doors to crush it. I can hear it shrieking and banging on the door as the claw it severed and falls to the ground. Turning on my flashlights, I look at the claw, which is stained with someone else’s blood. Now certain that these are the creatures responsible for the carnage, I’m more determined to reach the central control room. I notice that Vetra’s slide is locked back, so I reload, save my empty magazine, and head down the hall. As I come to a T junction, mantis creatures emerge.

I’m about to panic and figure out where to go when hands grab me. I bring up my pistol, only for a hand to cover my mouth. I feel soft fur under my nose and realize that it’s just a survivor. The doors close as a second person urges me to be quiet. I can now see who is aiding me. Both are anthro females and look fairly young, certainly in their mid-twenties. The one with her hand over my mouth backs away. She’s a black furred bunny girl with black hair in a high ponytail, about five feet and four inches tall, and has an excellent figure. Ample, probably C-cup breasts are stuffed into a tightly fitting black tank top, and she wears black cargo pants that are decidedly more conventional than my uniform; she looks like a civilian who’s cosplaying a tough girl.

Her friend by the door is a cream-colored mouse girl with blonde hair, her wavy locks reaching just beyond her shoulders. She has an equally appearing figure, but is more voluptuous. About the same height as the bunny, if not an inch or two shorter, she has an even large bust (I would assume she has full D-cups) atop a curvy, hourglass figure, and a plump buttocks. Looking her over as she stands by the door which promptly slides closed, I gaze at her form. I’ve never really considered myself a “boob guy”, but for some reason all of my fantasy girls throughout the past several years have had noticeably large breasts. Again, I digress. As the bunny girl backs away, she clears her throat; she obviously noticed my lustful stares. I suddenly feel badly for looking at either of them in such a manner, given the circumstances.

“So, which detail are you?” The bunny asks me in a rather demanding, almost entitled voice.

“Icarus Unit. Officer 941, at your service.” I answer.

“Oh wow!” The mouse exclaims in a dainty and adorable voice.

Her cuteness and expression make me want to either pinch her cheeks or smack her ass; probably both. The bunny looks briefly impressed. She quickly crosses her arms and shakes it off.

“Well, I hope you’re better than those other Icarus Unit losers who failed to get us out of here.” The bunny snaps.

“I’m alive so far.” I quip.

The mouse approaches me, wearing a tightly fitting, dark purple top, black pants and shoes that fit her digitigrade, paw-like feet. I can’t help but eye her again, right in front of her. The bunny girl sees this and visibly rolls her amber eyes before turning away.

“Ah-are you really from Icarus Unit?” The mouse sheepishly asks.

I turn and reveal the arm patch.

“Officer 941, at your service.” I reiterate.

It’s at this point that I should mention my obsession with that number; I don’t even remember when it started, but at some point I discovered a love of that specific number. It might have something to do with its numerical value in regards to my birth-name, or something else entirely. In any case, the number 941 and the M1936 style musette bag (of which I have about six of, in various sizes and colors by Rothco) are prominent watermarks in many of my more longwinded works. Still, I was surprised that it cropped up in a dream the way that it did. Now, back to the dream…

The mouse looks so grateful and suddenly gives me a hug. I can feel her plump breasts against my chest. I raise my brow in surprise, but that doesn’t stop me from returning the affection. I softly tell her that it’s going to be alright and that I’ll help her and her friend escape. The mouse girl sniffles and nods; I feel her snout against my chest. Her pink, fleshy tail sways quite gleefully.

“You’re going to be alright.” I say softly into her ear.

“We damn well better, or I’m going to be pissed.” The bunny snarls.

The black rabbit girl then pushes the mouse aside; she merely slides over, beneath my left arm. Pointing a clawed finger at me, the bunny girl pokes my chest quite demandingly.

“Wherever you’re going, you’re taking us with you.” She insists.

“Relax.” I begin, a somewhat amused smirk on my face. “I was going to anyway.”

“You… You were?” She asks with visible surprise.

“Of course. I could use your help.” I say, looking down at her chest.

I do that because I was actually hoping to see her ID badge, but she isn’t wearing one.

“Hey!” She snaps, immediately offended. “My eyes are up here!”

“I’m sorry. I was looking for your tags. I didn’t want to ask for your name.” I calmly reply.

“Oh… Well, I’m Jessie, and she’s Trish.” The bunny answers.

“I see. Well I’m …” I speak my birth-name, but we’ll just pretend I said something much cooler, like Mantrid. :3

Heading for the door, Jessie takes a pistol from her waistband, which was stuck at the small of her back. Trish is unarmed and stands near us. Looking Jessie over, I feel like she has a decided Michelle Rodriguez vibe to her. If I ever had a celebrity crush, that’s who it would be, as she’s my go-to example for the kind of woman I’d want to date in virtually every movie she’s been in. It’s then that I realize that Trish is the polar opposite; she’s the kind of adorable girl who just needs to be rescued and looked after, also something that I often find appealing. Admittedly, I’m far more attracted to Jessie’s personality than Trish’s, but once again, I digress.

“So… What unit were you in?” I quietly ask them as we slowly walk down the hallway, guns drawn as we approach the T junction.

“We both work at the Ixchel Center.” Trish answers.

“Not anymore.” Jessie quietly snickers.

“I heard about that branch. That’s weapons testing, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well-”

“That’s classified.” Jessies swiftly interrupts Trish.

“I think this qualifies for need-to-know status.” I retort.

“I didn’t know you Icarus boys could do that.” Jessie mockingly laughs.

“Look, bitch.” I growl, taking hold of her arm to gain her attention. “If I’m dragging dead weight, I need to know that so I can act accordingly. If you have skills besides running your mouth, I need to know that too. It’s tactically advantageous to understand what all of our abilities are. Mine is killing the shit out of whatever the fuck those things were… You’re turn.”

Trish looks nervous, but Jessie glances down at my hand on her arm. Her lips curl around her snout it a rather strange grin, as if she were somewhat turned on by my genuinely frustrated demands. Releasing her, I stand at attention and wait, glaring angrily.

“I am… Was an electrical technician. I also doubled as a tester, and was the best shot out of any of the staff at Ixchel.” Jessie explains, her smile ever present as she now looks me over quite methodically.

“It’s true. She is.” Trish nods.

“And you?” I turn to Trish.

“I was a research assistant. I soldered, bolted and molded new tech, programmed the CNC machines, and made the best Folgers.” She happily squeaked at me.

Jessies visibly facepalms, perhaps from her display as much for her list of rather unhelpful skills.

“Okay.” I say, struggling to hold back an amused grin. “With that out of the way, I’ll lead us to Central Control.”

“Anything you say, sir.” Jessie says while mockingly saluting.

Heading down the hall and making a left at the junction, we head toward a large set of doors at the end. I know that this isn’t our destination, but very close to it. Suddenly, mantis creatures appear from an opened door in front of us. I fire and kill one, while Jessie shoots her smaller Glock 19 or 23 (I’m not sure which) at the creatures. From the sounds of the ear-splittingly loud gunfire, I would guess she’s shooting 9x19mm Parabellum. After killing those two, I take a moment to look at their corpses, my ears adjusting.

“Now that they’re out of the way…” I begin.

Several more creatures emerge, followed by a large group of nearly a dozen.

“… Shit.” Jessie murmurs.

Trish takes off running, heading back the way we came as Jessie and I both fire round after round. We kill several more, distracting the creatures who are eager to feast on their own dead, but a couple of them come after us. Jessie and I both need to reload at the same time. We turn and sprint down the hall; Jessie’s a faster runner. She turns and sees an opened door, while I’m trying to grab another magazine. I stop and perform a tactical reload, turning to face the creatures. I’m temporarily frozen in shock when I see that nearly the entire horde have decided I’m more interesting than their fallen comrades.

Hands grab me and yank me into the room. I stumble and fall, landing right on top of Jessie as Trish closes the door. We can hear the creature futilely banging on the metal barrier with their claws and shrieking for several seconds. I look back at the door, over my shoulder. Suddenly, I feel something else. A fuzzy snout and flat nose brushes against my neck. As I turn my head to look, it happens again; it’s clearly not an accident. Looking down as I’m basically on my hands and knees over her, Jessie is gazing at me with narrowed eyes. It looks as if she’s quite intrigued by our position. Either that, or the fear of dying has made her pick me out as a partner for other activities.

Remembering that Trish is in the room and probably watching, I start to get up. As I do, Jessie grabs hold of my tactical vest. Looking back, she realizes what she’s doing and plays it off.

“W-well are you going to help me up or what?!” She growls.

“I will… After you let me up.” I reply.

“Right…” She says, letting go of me.

Rising to my feet, I extend a hand to her. No sooner than she takes it, I pull her up as hard as I can, though I don’t yank; I don’t want to hurt her. Drawing her to her feet like Dracula, her eyes grow wide and she falls against my chest. Jessie now looks less hardcore and more like a vulnerable, receptive female. Realizing that she’s uncomfortable by the drastic change, I step aside and retrieve my gun, nonchalantly commenting on how much fun this whole day is turning out to be. I then ask each girl if they’re alright. Jessie nods, still looking somewhat embarrassed from earlier, while Trish looks like she’s going to break down.

I give her a hug and softly shush her, telling her that we’re going to make it out alright. As if on cue, the monsters start beating on the door again. It obviously does nothing except startle and frighten everyone inside. Jessie looks at the door as she reloads and then turns back to me, her frame and cute face illuminated by my flashlight.

“Are we?” She asks.

Then I woke up… :[