FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The alarm blared with blinking red lights of 04:30 just for a moment, silenced by the thwack of a swift white paw. Piki slipped their running attire over their lithe cheetah body, tapped their fitness band and headed outside. This was just a loosener for the weekend's marathon. 8km might as well be a lap around the block at this point, but it was important to keep the legs and mind feeling prepared.

The air was as crisp and the temperature as brisk as you'd expect from an early winter's day. Morning droplets of dew clung to the suburban lawns that Piki jogged past, exhaling puffs of fog like a discount dragon. Despite the chill, the cheetah had worked up a sweat, alarmingly for him so early into his stint. Had he mismanaged his fluids?

Upon spying a small grocery store with a light on, Piki detoured in for his go-to sports drink. As he moved his slender wrist to pay with his latest-tech wristband, he noticed some travel size knicknacks and medications behind the counter.

"Can I get one of those anti-perspirants too please?" he asked the clerk behind the counter, who nodded and added it to the order. The branding was a strange crossover: Lynx XBOX. 48 hour protection. Seemed like the kind of thing that would sell in Bali. Piki shrugged as he left the store and sprayed his underarms with the sweet green cordial scent, then tucked it away in the runner's pocket at the back of his shorts. A few deep swigs of his drink, a few deep breaths and he was back into a steady running rhythm. He felt that pure freedom of breeze at his face and pavement disappearing underfoot. He was ready for the marathon.

Emerging from his post-run shower, the sleek cheetah felt fairly blissful with the morning's progress. Satisfied, confident, but almost lighter than usual. He floated into the comfortable sheets and quilt of his bed for a nap to let his body heal up before a complete breakfast.

A triplet of door knocks startled Piki awake. He wasn't expecting a visitor. As he peeled back the heavy quilt, he uncovered something else unexpected. He was fat. Huge. He sported a tremendous round and spotted belly that jiggled as he heaved himself out of bed. Chunky thighs slid against each other and the partially worn fabric on the inside of his boxerbriefs. A meaty hand that turned the knob of the front door. What was all this?

"Enjoy your breakfast, Piki. Take it easy!" the jovial delivery boy chirped as he passed across two bags with one hand and two drinks in a cupholder in the other. Piki stuttered a thanks and turned back inside, holding the delivery contents cluelessly.

This was his beautiful house, all of the essentials in the same places and the overall layout. It felt the same too, it felt homely and comfortable. But there were a few things that stood out to him, the first of which was a larger TV, positioned right in front of a visibly sinking centrepoint of the couch. Which he promptly made good use of. The couch cupped the wide heft of his buttocks like it was Cinderella's slipper.

He sipped the ridiculously large coffee and rifled through the bags. All manner of breakfasty foods greeted him: savoury and sweet muffins, breakfast burritos and stacks of hotcakes with dozens of little containers of syrup, butter and honey. Everyone's gotta eat, he reasoned, especially since he has a marathon to prepare for. One that, as he prodded the paunch attached to what was apparently his body, was seeming increasingly unlikely. He snacked on a muffin, feeling a gentle pleasure in the warmth of the greasy delight. Something to quell and distract his racing, befuddled mind. He let it sink into him like he sank into the couch.

Piki was well into the second bag before his phone vibrated at him. "Dude, get on discord chat, scrims in 15." A wave of dissonance crashed over the formerly svelte cheetah. Understanding the message entirely, even though he'd never used discord before, nor been in a "scrim". Knowing that the drawers underneath the coffee table held his headset, xbox controllers... and several bottles of maple syrup. Wiping the grease from his hands onto the bulging sides of his underwear, which already had discoloured fingermarks on it from meals past. Feeling the smooth plastic of the controller in his hands like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers.

Considering the natural success he found in slaying enemies and commanding tactical manoeuvres to his teammates, he'd say he was possessed... if only he didn't feel such pride in his feats. As instant as this change was for him this morning, there was something here that had been building. Piki proved that suspicion via the gamer profile on his console. Hundreds of hours for a player named Pancaki. He instinctively extended his tongue out to the side of his mouth, and found a hint of sweet, caramelly syrup left in his fur. He knew what to call this version of his body now. Pancaki.

He wasn't the only one trawling through his profile either. One of the old guard of clans was having an internal spat, ushering in a splinter team that was fishing for new blood for its founding roster. Their leaders "ColonelHSanders", "TacoTacoKisses" and "RunsOnDunkins" found his "Pancaki" gamertag to be a serendipitous match for their food themed names, and Piki found it equally fortuitous to compete with them in a tournament that weekend: The Winter Marathon.

Piki fell further into his gamerlife, absorbed into the couch for match after match, supplementing some long-standing repeating delivery orders with some additional late-night specials as his clan battled through to sunrise. Each scoreboard provided suggestions for another order of fried chicken, tacos, donuts and more. He grew increasingly comfortable with the added padding across his frame, feeling the weight and softness as delivering the safety and security like wearing his thick heavy quilt on winter nights.

Their squad fought tooth and nail and fell short of ultimate glory, but the tubby cheetah had a thoroughly fulfilling time for those two days, laughing, joking and slaying noobs. The couch warrior gamer rocked back and forth to get the momentum to extract his bulk from the couch, drank the last of the chip crumbs from the bottom of the bag and trundled towards his bed to retire for the night.

As the clock ticked over 5am, Piki rolled into his queen bed and fondled his flab. A wild 48 hours for the former marathon trainer. He wondered if his friends or fellow competitors would wonder why he missed the race, or even if he was ok. Nothing had come through to his phone. Maybe he was destined for life as Pancaki.

Half-dozing, the spotty cat was struck by a strange, warm sensation. He felt light-headed, floaty and ... sweaty. He threw back the covers of the quilt for air, only to realise that his body was shrinking. Fat dissolving into thin air, skin tightening into bony limbs, underwear hanging pointlessly loose as his midsection slimmed in all directions. He prodded at the definition of ab muscles around his stomach from being so skinny, with fingers that suddenly felt pointy and jarring. The body he had inhabited for basically his whole life was returning, but to touch it now felt like he was touching a robot. He was a running machine again, not a jolly happy-go-lucky funbag.

Still confused, he wiped the moisture from his brow and peeped out into the living room. It was littered with boxes, bags and cups, xbox controllers on the coffee table, big sinky spot on the couch. It wasn't all some kind of dream. Whatever happened certainly seemed to have happened. Then why did he have to lose all his weight and still have the tools of a gamer in his house?

In his light-headed floaty daze, he resisted testing his gaming skills and canvassed the bedroom floor. Ah! Something different! Stinky running gear, his singlet, his shorts, his socks. He picked them up to throw in the washing machine, noticing his skeletal fingers bumping against the pocket containing the anti-perspirant he bought on his run two mornings ago. "Lynx XBOX. 48 hour protection," he repeated the label to himself.

He placed the little deodorant can on his bedside table next to his keys, glancing at it before turning his gaze to the roof, and then to closed eyes. It was extremely late, and he was tired. He might even have work in the morning to get to. But as he dreamed of peaceful cloudy skies, puffed up like fairy floss and stacks of fluffy pancakes, his mind pondered only over one consideration. Should he use the xbox spray to get "in shape" for next weekend's competition, or use it straightaway?