FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I am being dragged somewhere. Rough hands are holding my arms above my head. It hurts, but I can't protest. My mouth muscles aren't working properly. The hallway is made of stone, I can tell that much. Details are hard to discern in my current state. Old fashioned bulb lights shine down from the ceiling. I hear a metal door open and the sound sends shockwaves of pain through my aching head. They throw me roughly into the room, then pick me up again and sit me in a chair. My unbroken arm is pulled back behind me and tied down. The rope is brought up over my chest to secure my other arm from moving. I can't feel my gun under my coat and it leaves me feeling naked. They tie my feet to the legs of the wooden chair. My vision starts to focus slowly and then one of them slaps me.

"Wakey, wakey, inspector."

My ears are still ringing, but my vision focuses finally. The room is small and made of stone like the hallway. Barrels of presumably wine line the wall to my right and a large series of wine racks line the wall to my left. Two muscled henchmen are in the room with me. They are both wearing black suits that label them as Domingo's men. One of them is leaning close to my face and grinning at me. He smells terrible. I wrinkle my nose at him and he slaps me again. I shake my head, trying to clear it. Another old fashioned bulb light hangs above me. It looks like it is the only light in the room. The door we came through is large and made of solid steel. It looks like the floor of this place hasn't been swept in years.

"Where-"

"Aw, the puppy wants to know where he is," the henchman near me says. "Isn't that cute?"

The other henchman near the door says nothing. The first one slaps me again.

"We're not going to tell you anything, silly puppy." He stood up and lit a cigarette. "We're just going to wait here and watch you."

"Why-"

"You don't get to ask questions, Wesson."

The voice sends chills down my spine. My mouth falls open as Karl walks into my view from behind me. His face and left arm are badly burned and are wrapped in bandages. They just made him even more creepy.

"You are surprised no doubt. I was lucky to get out of that gas station with only burns. And now I am lucky enough to be here to see you squirm."

The metal door creaks as the handle turns. Both henchmen quickly take positions next to the door and stand there obediently as the metal door makes a high pitched screeching sound when it opens. I cringe at the sound. Karl stands upright next to me. Anthony Domingo walks into the room and my blood runs cold. He is carrying a tray of various nasty looking medical tools. I can only guess what each is used for. Domingo hands the tray to the loudmouth henchman next to the door who takes it reverently. The mob boss is also dressed in black, but he holds himself with a much more regal air. We must be in his house for him to act like that. His face is chubby, but not fat. His eyes are green and fierce, but there is a touch of paranoia in them. He has long brown hair that falls behind his head in a pony tail. He also has a pistol at his hip. I gulp as the mob boss approaches me and gives me an appraising glance.

"Has he said anything?" Domingo asks.

"He just asked where he is and why he's here, boss," loudmouth replies.

"Well answer the man, idiot. We are a business of hospitality, remember? Even if we must extend that hospitality to common dogs."

Domingo grins at me after saying that. If I had any energy I would growl.

"Er... right, of course, boss. You're in the home of Don Anthony Domingo, gumshoe and you're here because Mr. Domingo has some things to say to you."

Domingo claps.

"Very good. Now, how bad are his injuries, Karl."

"Not as bad as mine," Karl says with disgust. "He'll live, but he might be a bit dazed for a while."

"Excellent. I want him coherent for this discussion."

Why is Domingo being nice to me? Is he playing some messed up version of good cop, bad cop? Good gangster, bad gangster?

"Now, Nate, is it?" Domingo asks.

I nod. I don't want to press my luck by being a douche bag.

"Well, Nate. Welcome to my home. I'm afraid that the help here is a little rough around the edges, but you will have to excuse that fact. They aren't used to showing hospitality."

I stay silent, unsure where he is heading.

"As I recall, you used to work for me, yes? Forgive me if I don't remember your face, you animalized humans all look so similar to me."

"He was a hit man," Karl says. "Worked with me on a few jobs if I remember. Great shot with a pistol."

"Oh of course, that would explain how you have killed so many of my men, wouldn't it."

Domingo puts a finger on his chin for a moment as if in thought.

"Well someone has to pay for those losses and I highly doubt that you alone can replace them all, Nate. So how are we going to deal with this dilemma?"

I shrug. I knew it was going to come to this sooner or later.

"How many do you reckon he has killed, Karl?"

"Ace and Garth, two of the men we sent to take out that snooping cop, the four men in that car that crashed off of the causeway, one drug scientist, Harris, and Kurbin. That makes ten, boss. Plus he gave me these disgusting burns!"

"Oh of course, how could we forget those? Now that we know his crimes, let's give him a way to repent a little bit. Nate, if you bring us that little punk ferret who corrupted my son, then I will fully pardon you of all ten deaths. Karl, however may still want to take a pound of flesh for the one he lost to those flames."

Why do they want Rocky? He must know something.

"Why Rocky?" I ask.

"Oh so that's the little shit's name? I had grown quite fond of calling him 'little shit,'" Domingo said. "Rocky has turned my son Ronnie against me and also has stuck his nose where it shouldn't belong. He must die. So Nate, Rocky's life for the ten you've taken from me and you and I will be even."

I might be able to get out of this completely if I agreed to this wild proposition. Karl would be watching me like a hawk, though. I would have to be careful.

"Where is The Wolf?" I ask.

"You mean my son, don't you? Please stop using that disgusting moniker. He is safe and locked in his room as a naughty child should be. I should never have given him his own district. It has caused me no end of trouble. Don't worry, though, he will be completely cured of his condition in a matter of months if all goes well at the SEL lab. I could even extend the same courtesy to you if Karl's revenge doesn't kill you."

"You're offering to make me human again?"

"Yes. But I will need Rocky first."

I shrug even though agreeing to this kills me inside.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"If you value your own life? No. Not really." Domingo says.

I nod.

"I'll do it."

"Excellent! Boys, untie him, please." Domingo says as he strides from the room.

I have to get into the same room as him again. It's the only way I'll be able to kill him and end this. Loudmouth hands the tray to the silent henchman and unties me from the chair; hoisting me out of it by my good arm. Karl walks out of the room, disgusted. Loudmouth pushes me towards the door, but I take advantage of it; slipping on purpose. I fall towards the silent guard who tries to put down the tray and catch me at the same time. I manage to palm one of the scalpels as he balances the tray in one hand and steadies me with the other. I wince in pain from the cut the scalpel blade leaves on my hand as I push the handle up my sleeve, but I ignore it for now.

"Watch your step, puppy!" Loudmouth says as he walks me from the room. Domingo and Karl have already left the hallway for the first floor presumably. Perfect. Knives are messy and much more personal, but they're also silent if you know where to put them. I hate knives. There is no separation when you use a knife. It's you making the kill, not a machine. Guilt is layered on with knives and spread thick. I would have to deal with it. I think back to my military training, remembering to separate myself from the kill as much as I can. Using a blade makes it more difficult. I slip the scalpel back into my hand from my sleeve and spin around fast; jabbing it roughly into loudmouth's neck. He gurgles in surprise as his suit is bathed crimson. Some of the blood sprays onto my sleeve. His eyes are wide in shock as he slumps against the wall and then down to the floor. I quickly press my back up against the wall as the silent guard sticks his head out of the door. The scalpel comes down into his temple; causing the same explosion of red. He too looks surprised. I drag both bodies into the room and search them. Thank god one of them has a regular, un-modified pistol. I quietly start making my way towards the stairs. Stealth is probably the best choice here. The stairs are empty and I wonder where Domingo and Karl went. As I reach the top of the stairs I hear voices outside of the door. One of them is Karl's.

"Boss, are you sure it's wise to make Wesson retrieve this kid for us? He thinks of the boy like his son."

"That may be, but if that option fails, then there are other ways to break into a police station."

"I just think we should have killed Wesson when we had the chance..."

"Karl, I don't pay you to think, I pay you to follow my instructions. Wesson is useful to us for as long as he is kept under control."

"What happens if we lose control?"

"I trust you won't let that happen. Now get yourself cleaned up. You're oozing on my hardwood floors."

Domingo walks away and Karl stomps off in the opposite direction. I open the door slowly and peer out into what looks like a connecting hallway between the kitchen and the dining room. The walls are old fashioned sheetrock and wood. The floors look like pine or maple. I quietly emerge from the stairwell of the basement. It was so nice of Domingo to bring me to his home where I could stalk and kill him much more easily. I move in the direction that the crime boss did. The lack of guards surprises me in the kitchen, though I guess that Domingo really doesn't put forth much effort to guarding his food. It is a large kitchen, the kind that should have been in a restaurant. The place is practically empty save for one of the staff who is washing the dishes. I sneak through the room to the other side quietly. The kitchen staff either doesn't care or doesn't notice me, but it wouldn't matter if they did. The next room is the living room. Three henchmen are inside playing cards. A sinking feeling suddenly assails my gut, as if someone is following me.

Whirling around, I look back down the hallway from which I came. It is empty, but that feeling still gnaws at me. My tail twitches behind me in aggravation. I'm just being paranoid. I need to relax. Maybe that car crash did more to me mentally than I thought. I rub my head where the dull throb from the impact was still coming from. My fur there is matted down and sticky from the blood I had lost. I shake myself, trying to get my thoughts back on track. The gun in my hand twitches as I peer back into the living room. One of the henchmen has left the card table. The gun would make too much noise and I don't want the whole house to know I'm here just yet. I place the gun on the floor at my feet and slowly remove a carving knife from the knife rack next to me. I raise my hand to throw the sharp weapon when an alarm goes off. Someone must have found the bodies I had left downstairs. Heavy footsteps come rushing up the stairs from the basement. Luckily it sounds like only one set. Turning around, I aim down the hallway I came from. The door flies open and the knife sails from my hand down the hallway towards the basement door. As the henchman coming from the basement closes the door behind him he catches the knife in his chest. He falls backwards coughing and gurgling; his white dress shirt turning splotchy red. I must have hit his lung. The two henchmen leap up from the table and run out of the room; luckily away from me. I slip into the living room quietly and make my way across it. The alarms would be an advantage as long as they kept the goons confused and frightened, though they would probably make Domingo fortify himself somewhere. At least he won't be moving around now. I made my way to the exit the guards hadn't taken and gingerly open it a crack. Unlike the rest of the house, the far wall of the hallway beyond is made of metal. The floor is still hardwood, but this looks like a much newer addition. There are two guards standing in front of a door obediently. There are also various construction tools scattered about. I notice a few hydrogen tanks as well; wondering what those are used for. I go for broke; throwing the door open and picking off both guards with my pistol. It is much louder than I want it to be.

In the hallway, I strip the two of their ammunition and open the door they had been guarding. Gunfire greets me and I step to the side of the door to avoid it.

"Don't let that fucker get through!" A henchman says.

I risk a quick peek around the corner to count how many guards I have to deal with. Their guns erupt at the sight of my head and I pull back; narrowly missed by the metal balls of death. Seven guards are in the room beyond and from the sounds of the building around me, more are on their way. I have to act fast. Diving across the entrance of the door I grab one of the hydrogen tanks with my gun arm; throwing it into the room.

"Don't shoot!" says the leader.

It looks like I'll have to take the initiative, then. The tank is rolling towards them when I emerge from the cover of the doorway; firing.

"Son of a bi-!"

Two slugs puncture the side of the tank and it erupts in a fireball on the other side of the room. I drag the other tank into the doorway as I enter the room; leaving it there. I lay on the ground, face down in the middle of the sprawled guards; keeping an eye on the door and the tank as the smoke from the explosion fills the room. As soon as the first guard from the hallway passes the tank; I light it up. The explosion in the door makes the sheetrock and wooden wall on the other side of the hallway fall inward. I hadn't expected to make a barricade, but I'll take what I can get. I reload and take a few deep breaths. Adrenaline is pumping through me furiously, but I need to be calm. I need to focus. Concentrate on the goal, I tell myself. Concentrate on the target. Nothing else matters. I have no doubt that Domingo is expecting me now. I want him to be scared. I want him to make a mistake. My pounding heart returned to a more calm rhythm and I stood up off of the floor. The carnage around me makes the room look like a warzone. This whole house is a warzone. Some of the guards on the floor are still moving groggily after the first blast. I have to get out of here fast. Karl's voice is shouting from beyond the collapsed doorway.

"You idiots! Go around from upstairs! Don't let him get to the boss!"

He can kill me after I kill Domingo, but not before. I need to see this through. I wonder where Doming's other sons are? I suppose it would make sense to separate them if they thought there would be an attack; like splitting the president and the vice president up in the event of an emergency. Wolf will have his work cut out for him if he wants to rise to the top. Footsteps ran across the room above me. It was time to move. Two doors were set into the wall on the opposite side I had entered from. I kick open the one on the left and bolt across the room through a hail of gunfire from the guards there; shoulder checking my way through another door on the far wall. I found myself in a metal stairwell. There are two staircases, one going up and the other going down. I assume that down is probably the most secure place to be in this house. Sharp pain suddenly reared its head in my broken arm. The sling has been ripped; the white fabric turning deep red as my blood flows from the fresh wound. I turn and fire several shots back into the room as I charge down the stairs. All that matters is getting to Domingo and killing him. It seems strange to me how little muscle Domingo has in his house. I wonder if most of them are preoccupied with something else. Lucky for me, I guess.

The floor below the first is metal as well and has the feel of a bunker to it. Domingo must be here somewhere. If he isn't, I will be in serious trouble. There is no where else to go. A long hallway stretched out before me, like the one at SEL. It looks as though the staircase I came down is the only way to get here. I start to run. Henchmen will be pouring down that staircase like water from a faucet soon and I want to be as hard to hit in this straightaway as I can. My heart pounds as I hear them reach the bottom of the stairs behind me. I can see a door in the distance. It must be beyond the house, like a bomb shelter. I push myself harder. Karl is with them.

"Easy picking, boys, how can you miss?" He says.

I can hear the guns go off behind me. The door is only several feet away. Just a little bit further! Bullets ricochet off of the walls, ceiling, and floor as I touch the handle. A stab of pain shoots up my right leg as I pull the door open. Another stab digs into the back of my torso on the left side. I hobble through and shut the door; panting heavily. My hand slaps the lock button and the door clicks in response. I am safe for now. But where is Domingo? The room I am in looks like an office. Book cases line the walls, a desk filled with papers sits in the center of the room, the floor is covered it a short carpet. There is a spare dress shirt hanging on the back of the chair. What the fuck? I must have screwed up. Domingo is no where to be found in this room. I limp over to the desk and sit down; idly looking at the papers as I reload my gun. Some of them catch my eye including the insurance claim receipts that Rocky had told me about and campaign notes for both Taylor and Sweeney's campaign. I think I understood now. Domingo had been playing both sides. He had been trying to make sure that no matter who won, he would still have control. No wonder he was so upset at Kurbin for trying to slander Taylor. I bet the candidates didn't have any clue Domingo was pulling for both of them. The detective in me, makes me take the campaign notes and the insurance claim receipts; stuffing them into my coat pocket. More gunfire erupts from outside of the room. I wonder if they are trying to break the door down with their weapons. I grab the dress shirt from behind me and tear a strip of the cloth from it; wrapping it in a makeshift bandage around my leg. I wince as it stings like rubbing alcohol. Why would it do that? I sniff the rest of the shirt curiously. Sweat. Doming had been in here! He must have changed his shirt after he left the basement. I still have a chance, then. I tear the rest of the shirt up and wrap my other wounds tightly with the cleaner strips. I stand from the chair and hobble around the room looking for a way out besides the door. I would have seen Domingo if he had left the same way. I open the drawers of the desk and find nothing but blank forms and shotgun shells. Great. He has a shotgun. I try tilting the chair forward, thinking that there might be a secret passage or something. I push all of the books back into their proper places as well, but nothing happens. I sit back down in the chair dejected. It seems as though Domingo had gotten away. And Karl and his goons would be breaking that door down any second the way they were banging on it. I pace back and forth in the room; trying to figure out the best way to defend myself in it. I could try to catch them by surprise and stand in the center of the room, but that would leave me open to whatever shots they managed to squeeze off before I could get out of the way. I kick the carpet in frustration. The corner of it folds up as I do. A trap door maybe? I fold the carpet back quickly revealing a metal hatch set into the floor. Ah ha! I grab the handle and throw it open; closing it behind me.

As I descend into the dim light of the new passageway, something occurs to me. I would have been a dead duck if the door to that room above was locked. Why wasn't it? My gut rumbles in disapproval. It's a bad feeling. I don't like this new place. The ceiling is low and the walls are primarily dirt and wood. It looks like an old escape route. I limp through the passage as best I can. The floor tilts upward after a short distance and I can feel fresh, outside air on my face. Fuck. If Domingo had taken off running or had an escape vehicle waiting for me, there was no way I was going to catch him now. I keep moving. I have to try to catch him. I have to end this. A ladder awaits me on the other end of the tunnel and I can see the night sky through a grate above me. I climb the ladder as best I can with an injured leg and arm. Pushing the grate open, I crawl out onto the grass of Domingo's lawn. The cold air of the night blows through the shrubbery and trees out here. The fresh air feels good at least. The grounds before me look large. It would be easy to get lost in them. The driveway to the house stretches away from the elegant turn around at the front door towards the shining beacon of color that is Meridian City in the distance. In the turn around, I am surprised to see several cop cars sitting with officers surrounding them. That must have been why the guards inside seemed so distracted. I am even more surprised when a shotgun blast narrowly misses me. I turn quickly and charge Domingo as best I can. I grab the gun in his hand and point it away from us; trying to get him to let go of the damn thing. I manage to wrench it from his grip and throw it into the trees away from him. Something solid and blunt connects with the side of my skull and throws me to the ground. I really hate getting hit in the head. I shake myself and turn to see Domingo with a maniacal grin on his face; carrying an old fashioned bat. His suit is ripped in several places no doubt from crawling through the tunnel below.

"You want to kill me, Wesson?" He says. "I'm right here, you punk ass detective."

His pupils are immensely dilated and he looks like he is heavily juiced. The blow brought back the blur to my vision, but I shake my head as I stand again to clear it. I raise the pistol I am carrying towards Domingo, but he just laughs.

"Do you know how much work it takes to get a plan like this rolling, Wesson? Do you have any idea how many years of my life I've spent trying to discover a cost effective way to reverse animalization?"

Half of me doesn't care, but the other half wants to hear his motives. I let him keep talking for now.

"I wanted to have control, yes, power too, but I wanted to help people like you and my son with that power. The inoculations would be a fraction of the cost of reversal surgery you know. Think of it, Wesson. You wouldn't have to live as a dog anymore. People wouldn't stare at you when you walked down the street. You could be normal again."

I scoff.

"Normal for you, maybe. I can never be normal again. War changed me too much. How else do you think I can kill this many people without feeling it?"

"I think you feel it. You must feel it somewhere, deep down. You just lock it away and keep a tough guy exterior so the people around you won't get hurt. But they do get hurt anyway, don't they? They get hurt by you being who you are."

"That's not who I am."

"But it is, Wesson. Don't you see? The affects war has had on you are a part of you now. You can't undo that, but you can return to your original shape before the government messed with your genetics."

I shake my head and chuckle at him.

"They couldn't even reverse me with surgery, Domingo. You're trying to convince the wrong guy, which is a shame since I'm going to kill you."

Domingo's face softens slightly as if he has just realized his predicament. There are no sounds of any guards coming from the tunnel. We are alone. It's just him, me, and my gun. He throws the bat to the side and chuckles nervously.

"Why do you want to kill me so badly? I was just trying to help your kind."

"My kind?" I ask. "We're still human, you dumbass! If you paid even the slightest attention to who the Wolf was as a child, then none of the shit he's done would be a surprise! But I bet you were so stuck on your plan of country domination that you ignored all of your sons. How many of The Wolf's brothers have fucked up? He's the only one who got himself animalized with your money, though, am I right? And you couldn't stand that, could you?"

"Shut up!" Domingo yells. He has clearly run out of ways to push my buttons. I try pushing a little harder on his.

My nose twitches in the cold air and my tail starts to wag in spite of myself. Getting him angry is fun.

"You're a sad man, Domingo."

"Think what I could do with the whole country in my control!" He howls. "I could fix everything! All of the problems people have would vanish under my power!"

"You have very grandiose delusions," I laugh. "You couldn't control Harris and Kurbin when they were just running for vice president, what makes you think that controlling them when they actually have office would be any easier? I'm done talking, Domingo. It's time you paid for killing a good cop and one of my best friends."

"What? What cop?" He asks.

My heart sinks slightly; my gun arm drooping a little, but I regain my composure quickly and growl at him. The gun aims at his head now. It feels different from my own pistol. It's heavier and it doesn't give off the same signals. I push the notion to the back of my mind.

"Officer Stephen Germaine was just checking out the Kurbin Law Offices and you sent three thugs to follow him and take him out. Now you're going to pay for his death."

"Oh that cop," Domingo says. His indifference makes my blood boil. "He was snooping. My men asked what should be done and I did what I thought was necessary to preserve my plans. I have no regrets. Just as you will have no regrets for killing me."

I nod in resolution. Domingo seems to be coming down from his drug high. There is a rustle in some of the nearby bushes and I glance over to them as The Wolf emerges. He is pretty battered up from the crash too, but at least his wounds have been bandaged by a professional. His legs and head have white gauze wrapped around them and he limps slightly like me. Otherwise, though he seems perfectly alright. Good. I didn't want to have to tell Rocky that his boyfriend had been seriously injured because of me.

"Please Wesson, don't kill my dad!" he pleads. Son of a bitch.

"I have to. He killed Germaine. He has to die," I say. I should have known this wasn't going to be easy.

"He might be an asshole, but you don't have to kill him! I've got enough information to put him away. I could testify!"

"You little shit!" Domingo says. "If you testify against me you'll regret it!"

"See, Wolf? There's no reasoning with him. He has to go."

The wolf pulls one of the uzis from his waste and points it at me. That god damn hypocrite.

"Please don't make me shoot you, Wesson..." He says.

"Wolf, you don't want to shoot me. You would be put away for a very long time if you do."

Domingo laughs.

"So we come to an impasse, the prodigal son defends his father. Go ahead, Ronnie, shoot him. I'll make sure one of my men takes the fall for it. What will you do now, Wesson? If you shoot, so will he. My offer still stands, though. If you bring me what I want, then I will forgive this transgression and all of the lives that you have ended tonight."

"Domingo, you're full of shit and you know it. What does the kid know that's so important?"

"It isn't what he knows, it's what he's done. He has ruined my family by turning my son against me."

"All of this because you're upset with who your son is? Didn't you say that war made me who I am? If that's true then the people we know do the same thing. Your son has become who he is because of the people he associates with. Why are you upset about that?"

It's weird talking about The Wolf when he is standing next to me. I try to keep one eye on The Wolf's gun and I can tell he is getting angry that we're talking about him.

"His decisions are bad ones-"

"Hello! I'm right fucking here!" The Wolf says, visibly angry.

"Of course," Domingo nods to his son; completely back in business mode.

I can't stand the way he carefully chooses his words; like a slug trying to tiptoe around landmines. Each word he says is coated with his gangster slime. I don't want to hear any more of it.

"My offer is still open, Wesson," he says. "I'm just trying to be fair. I'm being reasonable. I'm unarmed-"

"I know." I say sadly as I fire the pistol.