FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Part 1

The end and new beginnings.

The Sun beat down on a parched strip of land, an area that once was so vibrant and colorful, and full of life. A highway overpass, on both ends, once stood a small town now only rotting ruins, at first folk gathered around a dinner, a gas station was constructed then houses, and soon two towns became one. this highway, this Interstate lead to each coast of the continent that once was called, America. a proud and prosperous nation, almost everyone who lived there had a home, a car, and more food and clean water than they knew what to do with. The people who once lived here so very long ago were wasteful, greedy, and cruel. They had so much water they bathed in it, swam in it, some people even refused to drink water, opting for sugar-filled drinks that caused obesity to become a near pandemic across the land. The majority of the people were so caught up with who had what, and who did what, what to believe in, and what was considered evil or wrong, that they forgot how to treat their fellow humans.

it was utter chaos for the longest of times, resources were in high demand and money was the sole driving force of everything. Though not all were like this, many groups of people tried for peace, for coexistence. And it worked, but only in pockets, many people focused on science and the advancement and betterment of their species, disease cures, drug addiction cures, even space travel. In laboratories in undisclosed locations, new experiments were being done on animals, attempts to make them into soldiers, into slaves, to grow them into upright, or near upright so they can be laborers, strong and lethal soldiers, fodder for mining uranium, no great loss if they died in a cave in, of course, the military wanted them for their ends, and paid handsomely for them, funding the scientist's research. Of course, they never got to put them in the field, save for once. When Alaska was under siege, the countries enemies had enough of American greed and not sharing the precious black gold. and invaded, for oil, for fuel. resources dwindled all over the country and even the world, even the new fuel source, nuclear power could not keep up.

Despite all of its flaws, the country of America was a good place to live, excess always, an overabundance of this and that, luxuries only dreamed of. And all the care and comforts you could imagine if you could afford them. Perhaps that was what caused the great war, the final battle, ignoring other countries' cries for help, for justice. No one knew who struck first or really as to why, that information was lost to the ages. when it happened, there was barely any warning, the jittery, beige suit-wearing salesmen knocking on the door gushing about vault tech and the great vault, did not seem like hogwash anymore. Many of the residents chosen barely had time to get into the massive underground shelters. Millions of lives were snuffed out, people in the hundreds, or even the thousands hunkered in their basements or the vaults, people did everything conceivable to try and survive the hell falling upon them.

then the world was silent, and for a long time it remained as such, many more lives were lost in the fallout, prevailing winds washed the land with the deathly poison, a kind of cleansing, but not by the hand of any vengeful gods, but by human hand. Mutations occurred rampantly, some areas, especially regions where the bombs fell, remained incredibly irradiated, causing a new kind of weather phenomena, radiation storms. Eventually, hundreds of years later people began to emerge from their vaults, some to escape the dying structures and a massive tomb. others to trade with other survivors who lived on the surface for materials to repair their dying vaults. Factions rose and fell all across the country, caravans traveled this way and that, eventually as with all things Life found a way. Factions formed from the ashes of the American military, using technology, and guarding it greedily. It was all anyone could do but to survive every day, people became scavengers, raiders, most became farmers or craftsmen.

From one such vault not far from the west coast, somewhere in Nevada, emerged a group of upright animal-like people, they had been placed in the vault with their human masters, said humans could not help but to make more, to help work in the vaults dangerous areas, exposing them to lethal radiation or mutated monsters that burrowed into the lower halls. Some were made to caretake the human young and elderly, some of these animal people were used to cook and clean, allowing the humans a lazy, comfortable stress-free life. eventually, there was an uprising, as with all empires built on the backs of slaves, the slaves rebelled. the humanoid animals attacked their human masters and won by the sheer number and the advantage of attacking a complacent, lazy foe. It was the cost of giving them increased, advanced brain growth so they could perform tasks better, and learn. this allowed them to become human-like, evolving and developing until, the only difference between them and Homo sapiens, was the appearance, and most importantly, strength and number.

The vault was vast and full to the brim with advanced technology, so much so it would put the Institute of Technology in Boston to shame. And this only made them smarter, beasts were allowed to become scientists, engineers, welders, every job a human would have had was eventually given to the beast folk, even security jobs, the hubris of these rich and wealthy military families knew no bounds. And for their Hubris, every human was slain, no mercy, no quarter. This, however, as with most vaults made them a target once word got out after the first few residents ventured forth to explore and find supplies. A wolf and a coyote were chosen to venture out, they brought back with them Supermutants, and then the Brotherhood of Steel started to take an interest. The first assault nearly wiped them out, but due to the level of tech, the sheer size of the vault, and the numbers these animals had.

They were able to repel not only the super mutants but the Brotherhood as well. Having lost dozens, and ten or so being abducted, they shored up their defenses, more concrete, steel, guns, even taking the felled brotherhood soldiers armor, weapons, and vehicles. They reverse-engineered these 'gifts' for themselves. A few more attacks occurred, but all that came from it was more material, more weapons for the Animal humanoids, they created a second institute, an enclave of power-armored Beastfolk, before the Brotherhood splintered into the enclave and outcasts. The Animals multiplied many litters, though un foreseen effect of the force mutations and growth, allowed these animal people to birth anthropomorphic children, a dread was spread to the mothers, who feared they would not be as intelligent, but to their surprise and joy, the children grew and developed advanced minds no different than their Human creators. They bred and multiplied to the point when they began to fill out their Vault, they took over a nearby ruined town, raising it, repairing the houses and stores, the factories, and to the joy of the militarist among them, an old airfield and ammo cache. though now with aircraft, vehicles, and enough space and room to farm and grow crops, to fish and to make ammo and guns, they needed defenses, and so this settlement was built into a structured fortress town, high concrete walls reinforced with steel, artillery guns protected the walls and their new vertibird fleet. and lo there they stood today, flying their own flag and colors, a fortress town and vault, now and then the Brotherhood attempts to contact and offers an alliance, but ever cautious and untrusting of humans, they refuse, but a non aggression pact was agreed upon.

Though humans were prohibited from even getting close to this area on pain of death by the automated guns and guards boasting launchers and rifles, the beast people suffered from wanderlust and often would venture out on their own, on foot, or with a vehicle. becoming wanderers, adventurers, exploring the wasteland. Some still would go on convoys to trade with other animal men settlements, vertibirds were used off and on, over the years they were being used more and more, due to these peoples ability to learn and repair them, a forge works allowed them to produce more parts and tools. and so it was, they stayed with their own and protected their own, surviving.

Atop the overpass, under a squat canopy of an olive drab tarp, atop the rusting trailer of an old cargo truck. A living critter lay, a red seemingly pupil less eye peered through a medium scope, down the wooden barrel of an old, worn-out Mosin Nagant. Sweat rolled down his whiskers, he steadied his breathing, focusing, his dark as pitch fur glistening under the tarp, beaten by the heat and the sun's glare. the barrel of his gun slowly moved to the left, his vision locked on something moving five hundred yards away. a canine, moving with four others, rummaging through a blasted outline of cars, his focus was on the one with the most fur, a mongrel dog. once it stopped to sniff around, lifting its head and looking in the sniper's direction, his gloved, clawed, furless finger squeezed the trigger.

A sharp sudden sound echoed across the blasted-out landscape, decaying as it propagated like an echo. The Sniper watched through his scope as the four other canines scattered, the bullet hit its mark knocking the mongrel he targeted down hard, having hit it in the side. the Sniper rose a bit and pushed the tarp back sitting on one knee, he tugged the bolt back, smoking, spent brass 7.62 shells clattered across the top of the trailer. Pushing the bolt back in, he rose and slung the rifle, flicking his long furless tail. turning he hastily jumped off the trailer onto the roof of a car next to the cargo truck, bending the roof with his mechanical feet. he would have descended via the cab, but the tractor fell to the ground below the bridge when that bit collapsed, some unknown years ago. Setting his synthetic leather padded feet on the cracked and broken concrete, jogging to the end of the bridge and around a faded, worn-out billboard sign, he yanked the door of a vehicle ajar. tossing in his rifle, he climbed in after, slamming the door with a groan of worn metal, he knew someone had to of heard his shot, and he wasn't about to let his dinner be stolen away.

Inside the vehicle, the air was dusty, hazy. the driver tugged up a steel sheet blinder protecting the windshield, locking it in place. taking a shaking breath, he rubbed his hand over his muzzle wiping away sweat, his red eyes peered out across the hood, through the grated window, protected by parts ripped off of a shopping cart. In the center of the faded, worn and rusting hood was a large engine blower. The Rodent reached under the steering column, one hand on the wheel decorated with rope and some welded on chains, he flipped a switch causing a shrill buzzing to permeate, then he quickly pushed on a big red engine start button. the car jolted and rumbled angrily to life. he pressed his foot on the gas a few times to pump fuel into the engine, the very ground shook from the overpowered machine. reaching to his side he tugged down the steel blinder guarding the door window. he pushed up a locking mechanism and let fall a panel of steel, opening fully the side window of the car, it of course was without glass. gripping the wheel, he pressed on the clutch and pulled the shotgun gear shifter back and to the side. the car jolted again and off he went, what was once a 70's gran Torino emerged from its hiding spot, rumbling along.

It was everything a wandering wastelander needed in a car, lifted, big deep treaded tires, a small dozer scoop on the front. reinforcing metal pipes on the outside. two large exhaust stacks on either side of the car, rising over its trunk at an angle backward. grating and bolted steel all around protecting the car, carved tire rubber over the wheel arches, and a large, blown, supercharged eight-cylinder engine. outside the car sitting behind the driver's side in a protective, welded steel box was a jerry can, housing extra fuel. The Car was the work of years of collecting and maintenance, it was not perfect, but it got the job done as both combat vehicle and home. The car rumbled along, turning off the road and down the slope to the interstate, threading through the burnt-out cars, the driver pulled the car off the side and into the dirt and dead grass. he sat there for a moment, feet from his dinner, laying there dead as can be, blood glistening off the side of a car hull behind it.

something did not feel right, resting his arm on the wheel, the rodent stared through the windshield slit, it was like the car had a helmet on, and the eye slit was protected by mesh. Pressing the clutch in, the rodent put the car in park, reaching to the passenger seat he scooped up his rifle, shoving the door open with a creak and a groan of worn-out metal he set metallic foot to dirt. Holding his rifle close, he scanned the area. it was flat and open here, he did not like it. he sighed and covered his brow looking up scornfully at the blazing sun, it was also very hot. in the distance, a few kilometers away were some raised hills, and steel electrical wire towers. scratching under his chin where the neck wrap he wore stopped, getting those claws into that sweet spot, eyeing those hills suspiciously. Too hungry to be paranoid, he would turn to inspect his kill, it was a mongrel dog alright, patchwork fur and everything, something still felt off, that old nagging in the back of his head, the kind only prey species tend to have. he slung his rifle and knelt to grab the canine's legs, he would stow it and drive to a building or some cliff and eat it. Suddenly a snap rang out, then a thunk of lead hitting metal, the rat immediately hit the ground as a decaying ring of gunfire sang out across the parched landscape.

rolling on his back the rodent moved quickly to brace his back against a car hull, he panted hard, looking around to see where the bullet hit, but everything was so rusty and worn out, he could not determine the direction of the bullet. so, he tugging his stitched hood over his head rose a bit, then ducked swiftly, sure enough, it worked, another snap and wizz, this time he saw where the bullet hit. it was coming from the damn hill and tower!. he hissed and grit his teeth, he dropped his rifle when he ducked for cover, shuddering and hungry as all hell, the rat reached out for the wood and steel weapon with his tail, wrapping the tip around its barrel and tugging it slowly towards himself. Suddenly a whizz, then an agonizing pain shot up from his tail, a font of blood splattered across the asphalt, luckily he had yanked the gun towards himself just when the other sniper hit his tail.

the rodent groaned and held his limb close, it seeped blood, but it was luckily not a lethal hit, there was a sizable hole in that worm, nothing a few stitches and a bit of cauterization couldn't cure. But he was angry now, grasping his rifle close, he rests the barrel slowly on the top of the old car's hood peering through the scope. Gritting his teeth, he scanned the area by the tower, then up the tower, then down to its base, and there, in front of an old van that looked reinforced was his attacker. a human with spiked green hair. He had no time to determine the range or consider the wind, he just lined up a shot and took it, tugging the trigger hard, the rifle kicked his shoulder, jerking back a bit. he ducked down behind the car hull, scooting to where the engine was, it was still there but would never run again. he put the most amount of metal between him and his attacker, another round whizzed by and hit the car he hid behind.

He tugged the steel bolt back and slammed it home, a spent shell casing clattered on the asphalt, taking a breath the rodent took his position again. Aiming through his scope, this time he took consideration of wind and distance. He could see his opponent lining up a shot they wore military fatigues and were accompanied by another man, both humans. the other man was a Spotter. Feeling confident with his shot, the rodent took it, squeezing the trigger and sending the 7.76 round across a range of 300 yards. he watched through the scope as his round struck the enemy sniper right in the head. The spotter panicked and was getting up to grab the rifle, the Rodent sniper loaded another round and fired again, watching as the spotter took it in the chest, falling hard. he watched and waited, no movements, sighing he tossed the spent casing and checked the ammo left, there were only two rounds left. rising slowly from where he took cover, the rat would sling the rifle. Taking a breath he would rub his hands together, he hated how easy it was getting for him to dispatch humans like that, or anyone who attacked him, which was ninety percent of the time humans.

It still left him feeling a little sick, but he knew the law out here, kill or be killed, sighing the rodent would turn and retrieve his meal, tying its legs together and dragging it over and stowed the mongrel on the back of the car, tying it down to one of the metal poles. grumbling a bit he tried to ignore the stinging pain throbbing from his tail, stomping over he slid into the driver seat and slammed the door shut, getting blood all over the floor and side of his worn-out, patched, leather seat. The car rumbled as he guided the machine towards the hill and electrical towers, it took a few minutes, but following a short winding rise of the road up and onto the overlook he made it. he let out a wince and soft squeaked after accidentally running over a picnic table and the bones of a human wearing a faded polka dot dress, crushing her under the wheels of his reinforced car." whoops." he muttered.

His name was Sketch, he wasn't born in the vault of his people, nor was he born in the town they lived in. He was born in a run-down shack under a bridge next to a river. They weren't far from a place where ghouls lived and grew fields of Mutfruit where once a pool had been, it was still there, merely repurposed to be used as a farm. just up the road from their shack was a car manufacturing plant, of course, it was infested by raiders who constantly harassed them and those of the farm. One day, when Sketch was very young, a group of men in black armor came on vertibirds, they slaughtered everyone at the farm and then turned their sights on the shack, two soldiers knocked the plank board door down, wearing power armor and armed with plasma weapons, they killed Sketches parents in front of him, blessedly quick deaths, they took Sketch hostage, locking him in cuffs and a muzzle, tossing him on their vertibird. Taking him to their compound out off the coast of California. An oil rig of some sort, he was taken far below the surface into labs, joining several other beast folks, locked in glass cages. for what seemed an eternity Sketch was experimented on, exposed to increasing doses of radiation, force-fed drugs, and then made to endure the withdrawals. Eventually, his limbs were removed, tumors grew on his legs after two years of this torment, his legs were severed and replaced with experimental, military-grade mechanical legs, custom-built for a canine, but they assumed it did not matter. wire connections were spidered into his bones and nervous system, allowing an advanced connection to the prosthetics. then the stress training, the combat simulations, the hand-to-hand combat, forced to run through several different types of weapons. made to work in a shop and repair engines and small machines.

He tried to resist at first, crying and in a stage of grief, not wishing to do anything, he was beaten, tasered, deprived of food privileges. eventually, he focused his mind, he just did what he was told and learned what he could, planning an escape, plotting to build a functional gun or bomb. He worked alongside a sheepdog, they fed off of each other. learning from one another as he worked in the cabs of different vehicles. it was not long before the tests stopped, the trips to the shop ceased, the training came to an end. Apparently they had all the data they needed, that or someone had a better idea, a staff member was entering his cell with an injection needle, flanked by a pair of guards wielding stun batons, anesthesia they were going to put him down, there had been rumors among the beast folk on the station, less and less of them were being seen. Sketch was ready to fight, he had smuggled in a shiv, he would make them earn the right to kill him, but then something happened, an attack. Someone in power armor was assaulting the compound, alarms went off, voices shouted over loudspeakers, and an explosion rocked the rig. Sketch took advantage of the moment of confusion, and turned shiv and needle on his attacker, shoving it in her neck. using the skills they so generously taught him to dispatch the guards in their little uniforms. Taking their guns and batons, he freed those he could and made his way up to the top platform and stole a vertibird.

Sketch stared at the campfire, sitting on one of the benches poking at the dancing flames, the fires of the rig were still fresh in his mind. the sun was setting in the distance, the quiet of the wasteland closing in once more, as his mind went back to that chaotic night.

Turned out that twenty beastfolk crammed into a single vertibird was never a good idea, but the pilot, a human surprisingly. had the good sense to make a water landing, not far from where the rodents old home used to be. the man died on impact, a few of the animal folk jumped before the crash, a few died, but some lived, stubbornly. The survivors holed up in the pool establishment, but the rodent went home, kneeling where the goo piles of his parents once were, dried up and gone now.

The campfire reflected in the rats red eyes, he remembered the assault on the car depot, the flame thrower-wielding humans were no match for the full force of a dozen beastfolk, wielding plasma and laser weaponry. Sketch rose his gaze to stare at the car, it was where he got his machine, the thing sat on an old turntable, not exactly shimmering but it was there and other than flat tires it was in mostly good condition, the compound had everything he needed to repair the car, and thanks to the Enclave, he knew how.

He wore a simple outfit, a faded, worn-out long sleeve, and a pair of cut-off cargo shorts. He was always fond of those old tales of knights and brave barbarians rushing headlong into combat, and so, he did his best to craft some apparel to resemble such things. he did not want to be a heavy knight barely able to walk and to be heard for miles, he wanted to be a dashing rogue-like he read about in those gamebooks, the kind that used dice and character sheets.

Over his shoulders he wore a kind of gorget made of the neck of a bomber jacket, some cloth belts, a buckle, and a few bike tires for the pauldron, he even stuck some spark plugs into the tire as some form of decoration. under it was a short cape of tattered, worn-out cloth. it all was connected at the front using the seat buckle from a car. his back was protected by the brake disc of a car bolted and held onto the neck and shoulder armor. the excess of the belts dangled down his back and over that rump of his. the Jacket he wore under it was a one-sleeved leather get-up, something he sewed the studded panel from one of the raiders jackets onto the front of. he wore over his wrists bracers he stole from the raiders so long ago, plastic and cloth reinforced with dusty old tire bits and some metal. a knife was strapped to his left wrist. around his waist, he wore several belts, adorned with some tools, binoculars, a knife and pistole holster, even a flashlight hung off his belt. over his waist, he wore some form of wrap made from net and assorted cloth. this was choked full of more items of use for his travels.

He prodded at the dripping canine meat, ribs, and a few hunks from the legs, he hopped up and after a groan and a stretch, stomped over to the open passenger-side door of his car, leaned inside, wiggling his hips back and forth whilst flipping open the lid of an old plastic cooler, he retrieved a bottle of beer from his car, the container sitting in the back behind where the passenger seat would have been. the label was faded and unintelligible, but he flipped the cap off with a claw and guzzled the lukewarm brew down. he took another hearty drink before pulling free another bottle, hiding in a cubby hole on the passenger door, a square, tall glass bottle, filled with amber fluid. Whiskey. unscrewing the cap he took a hard swig, settling on the bench he lay his tail on his lap, taking a few sharp breaths the rat poured the liquor on his wounded tail. he tried to not scream, keeping his teeth clenched as he let one out. taking another pull of the wild turkey, he set it aside and grabbed a needle and thread from an ancient medical kit, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, he huffed and started to stitch up the giant hole in his tail. sipping whiskey while he did so.

He wobbled a bit, his vision blurred ever so slightly, he swayed and smiled some as his piss poor stitch job, blood ran down the pink flesh where he stabbed it with the needle. grumbling a bit he soaked a few strips of old tarry cloth in the whiskey and wrapped it around his wound, rising he downed what was left in the bottle before throwing it aside. Even buzzed, or very nearly drunk, he knew it was dark out, and he was aware his fire was going to attract trouble, so he quickly had a little picnic at what was once a nice recreational area. sloppily tearing off chunks of canine meat and swallowing it down, barely chewing, his meal lasted a whole five minutes, smacking and slurping the succulent meat, alas a small meal, when he finished the rodent tossed the bones aside and kicked dirt on the fire, dousing it, there was still a small pillar of smoke, but he was content, whipping his muzzle of the grease he let loose a wet belch.

He was not far from the central Nevada region, he was trying to find his way to the fabled vault and town where his kind lived, he desired to be with his kind, to not be alone. Climbing inside his car, the vermin closed the passenger door tight and locked it. When he slept, he barely ever slept outside his car, he shut the doors, tucking everything away inside, locking the doors, and tugging down the steel blinders, locking them in place. the back of the car had no seat, and the panel between the hull and the trunk had been removed, the trunk no longer opened, and was part of the car's hold. this allowed him to place a small pallet of assorted pillows, blankets, feathers, plushies, and even a small mattress he came across in a factory, still in its plastic!, of course, he had to cut it a bit down to size to fit properly. he sat there, back against the wall of the car, tugging off his upper apparel and removing his many belts. tugging off his shirt and carefully Setting his items aside, he curled up in his little nest.

Curling up, he held a dragon plushy close, it was stitched together and missing a leg, but it was his, and here no one would judge him for having such items. Tomorrow he would loot the van, from the two snipers he got a new rifle, two carbines, some ammo, and more clothing, he was particularly fond of the army hat. Inside the car, all around him were cubby holes, holders, places that stored weapons, ammo, food, water, booze, clothes, and armor. The majority of the weapons tucked here and there were old. Some dating back to ww2. He had ransacked an old museum, a pity none of the other raiders who came through there had a v8 monster with a winch and scoop, the rat had his pick of the loot, and he took everything. For him, it was lonely, but he was used to it, any human he came across he killed. He never knew a human, never spoke to one, or knew what they were like. for years he had been on his own, the only humans he encountered shot at him.

Sleep was not always easy for him, but it eventually came, and with it, nightmares, of the past, of what could have been, the things he had done, the faces of those he killed. The sounds of the night buzzed and sang all around him, of life, packs of dogs howling and chasing down some wounded raider or traveler, distant gunfire. The world was alive still, and not all of that life was bad. not far from the Gran Torino on the overlook, across miles of asphalt, ruins, and broken parched landscape, a town was alit, walled and guarded, it had power, and people moved about inside, happy people, working people, even some were laughing and having a good time, a town full of nightlife.

Sketch was jolted awake, gasping and sitting up quickly, almost bumping his head at the sound of a loud banging on his car. furrowing his brow he stifled a yawn, tucking his ears as more banging occurred, then grinding, someone was trying to get into his vehicle. moving carefully the rat rummaged around in a coffee tin bolted to the upper wall of the car, he pulled out a little dentist mirror. Quietly as he possibly could, the rodent scooted to the front and tugged the window shutter down, gently letting it rest, he unlocked then opened the steel slit on the panel, and slowly stuck the mirror out. turning it a bit he managed to spot the grizzled, greasy visage of a Raider with a crowbar, pushing on the roof of the car, he paused turning to stare at the tiny mirror, for a moment he was confused, then." hey!." Quickly Sketch yanked the mirror back in and slammed the bolt shut." The fuck was that!?" exclaimed the raider, tugging on the windows steel plate, he banged on it with his jerry bar, "Hey, come on out here, give us all you got and we won't kill ya!."

The metal bolt opened again, causing the raider to pause, the second raider came to peek at the window slit in confusion, grinning, though his smile faded when a narrow, black barrel poked out and his companion fell dead after a sharp snap, A second gunshot felled him as well. Sketch tugged the gun inside and shut the bolt, sitting on his haunches, ears upright, letting the ringing in them die down before he was able to listen, trying to see if he heard any footsteps. was not footsteps he heard, gunshots, low caliber, and only from a single combatant, he winced as it rang off his car's reinforced metal hull. Not wishing to risk his neck, unable to determine where the gunfire was coming from, the rodent pulled the windshield blinder up and started the car, backing it up and turning down the hill, all the while gunshots rang off the car hull. The Rodent shifted into third and drove the car away from the area, pulling down the window blinders for each side, hissing a bit as a washing pain emanated from his tail, reminding him of the hole it wore. he rests it on his lap, looking down at it, the stitch job he did last night wasn't the best, and the cloth wrappings were damp with blood. he sighed and would leave his tail in his lap. One hand on the wheel he reached over and tugged a cloth off of a square object in the center of the dash, it was a tablet. he tapped it a few times, bringing it to life, the screen was cracked and flickered a bit. Shifting his gaze from the broken, dusty road and the tablet, he connected with a satellite, one of the several still buzzing around up there.

An overhead map of the united states was brought up, he tapped it a few times again and stared at the map, slowing down a bit. humming and scratched beneath his chin, coming to a stop. His red eyes scanning over the map shown, it was a real-time image of the area, one of those gadgets he managed to salvage and keep when he escaped the enclave. leaning over he scrolled across the map a few times but kept coming to settle over a town due north at least fifteen miles away. Staring at it for a long moment then to the wounded tail, he drew a long sigh and rubbed his pink nose idly."fine." he hissed. grumbling a bit, he shut the tablet off to save power, turning the wheel to the north, pushing his foot on the peddle the car roared and sped off down the long, lonesome road.

He left a prevailing dust trail for the next ten minutes, driving more than seventy miles an hour, slowing now and then to go across rough terrain and around a deep washout. he drove over a small rise and stopped his car under a broken bridge, it was no highway or interstate, merely a two-lane crossing. the car sat there, rumbling. Sketch had no encounters with other people for almost five years, he was barely ten years old when the enclave came. and for six years he was tormented, tested on, and put through hell. and after?, he had his interactions with his fellow beastfolk back when they raided the car depot, but after that?. the odd Beast trader here and there, his last encounter was six years ago. For each time he aged a year, the rodent celebrated by himself, eating the biggest hunk of meat he could get his claws on, downing a bottle of hard liquor, and masturbating. He had combat skills, he could use a rifle, repair an engine, change a tire, use small arms and even use a sword or bow. He was good at sneaking about, he could endure much more now with his mechanical legs that never seemed to need anything or malfunction. and even then, he had spare enclave parts he managed to get away with from the labs, and found armors across the landscape. When it came to medical, or healing, he was not adept, at all. He needed help, his tail could get infected, fester and he could die from it. Sighing the rodent reached behind him and produced an advanced scope from behind the seat, it once sat on a laser rifle, but he used the weapon to smash open a metal door, bending the stock and cracking the barrel. he kept the scope though.

Raising it to his eye the rodent stared along the road, close to a mile or two away, he spotted the high walls of a settlement, someplace called 'Foundation.' it had walls made of wood and metal. Outside was a bit of farmland, the town was built around some pre-war ruins, Sketch did not know the name of the old place they were built upon. he watched a human male wandering along the sidewalk and then passing by a pair of guards standing outside at their little posts with automated turrets sitting, waiting to fire on someone. setting the scope down on the dash the rodent would lean back and pushed onwards, driving his car forward, towards the town. It sat a bit off the road in a dusty patch of land, the buildings weren't tall but there were a few that went beyond three stories high, from what he could see over the gates. He did not drive right up to the wall, about halfway there he pulled his car off to the side, driving beneath the overhang of an old dive.

Taking a breath he would shut off the car, tugging the blinders down and locking them in place, crawling into the back of the car, he flipped open a squat footlocker and rummaged around, until he found what he was after, an old, brown, dusty cloak and deep hood. holding it under his arm, he vacated the car, groaning loudly he stretched, even splaying those mechanical toes. Shaking a bit he yawned wide before turning and pulling on his long sleeve, clipping on his belts and a second gunbelt just in case, slipping a sword in place, and a few other weapons hidden on his person here and there, donning his armor, he pulled on the cloak. tying the string around his neck, he rolled his shoulders a few times. Turning to lean into the car again, wiggling his rump this way and that, he tugged out a hikers backpack, patch worked and held together by duct tape and hope. inside was his stash of this world's currency, caps. slinging the bag over his shoulder he shut the door and locked it with something no one ever really used anymore keys!. tugging the deep hood up and over his head, he started to walk the rest of the way there, tucking his tail in close to himself and hunching over a bit, hoping to slip inside without any trouble.