FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The cold bit beneath the feathers of the young puffin, his cracked beak aching as it always did during the winter. He stood in an obscure alleyway, one of the throbbing veins of crime in the heart of Los Angeles. He shifted around uncomfortably and looked closely at his watch, quickly shifting his gaze to either end of the alley. His ride was getting late.

Despite not having committed any crimes himself, the puffin was a wanted man by many. It made him regret at times being born into his family, the biggest of them all in the underground, but the money was good and the family loving. That still didn't excuse him having to stand all alone in the cold, he thought.

A deep rumbling coming from the distant end of the alley startled the puffin, causing him to whip his head towards the noise to see what had come for him. A sleek blue Pontiac Firebird crawled through the alley towards the bird before coming to a stop. He froze as he tried to stare through the deeply tinted glass, expecting the worst to appear. The driver side window rolled down to reveal a stoic dingo.

He said nothing as he stared at the puffin, taking in their whole appearance. Finally, he met the puffin's eyes again. "You Miggy?" he asked in a deadpan tone.

"I'm uh... yes, but some people call me Miguel-" replied the puffin.

"Get in," interrupted the driver, indicating with his head to the door on the other side of the car. Miggy cautiously shuffled around the car, never letting his eyes leave the driver who now silently stared ahead. He slowly opened the door and slid into the seat next to them and struggled for a moment to close the door, his eyes not leaving the dingo.

The moment the door slammed shut the car began to move at a steady pace, travelling along the agreed route. The steady rumble of the car did little to calm Miggy's nerves as he skittishly looked through the windows at the few other cars on the road and the rare occasional pedestrian. He snuck a few glances at the driver, finding that the only thing that moved was their arms and feet. The length of his glances increased until he found that he was fully staring at the stoic dingo and perplexed at how much they resembled a lifeless machine.

Eventually the silence began to instil boredom rather than anxiety within Miggy, prompting him to think of something to say. "So uh, people call you The Driver, right?" he asked. The driver didn't respond, not a single part of him indicating interest. "They say that you're an absolute legend, the best of the best when it comes to driving. That's why my dad hired you, but I wasn't so sure that you'd live up to it all." Miggy paused, waiting for some response. "I wouldn't say I've seen anything fancy yet, but I guess it's better that way since that means we're safe, right?" He let out a nervous laugh, looking away for a moment towards the street behind them.

"It's quite some car that you're driving," he started again. "It's a Pontiac, right? I'm not the biggest on cars to be honest with you, but it looks like it can go fast! But you have to be if someone is tailing you, after all. So, if you're so good at driving, how often do you do it? They say practice makes perfect, but talent can take you very far, but then they also say that talent can only take you _so_far. Not that I'm questioning your abilities! I'm sure that you can deal with any trouble that comes our way. Right?"

The complete silence that met his every prompt and question made him doubt asking any more. With nothing else left to do, Miggy sat in total silence fidgeting with his fingers. Soon enough his fidgeting grew into shifting around in his seat, constantly trying to find the most comfortable position, and soon after that he was looking for anything of interest outside the car. The only thing of interest he could find was a Ford Galaxie behind them.

He stared at the car for a while before that bored him as well. He waited for a while, staring at the road ahead, before looking for anything of interest again. And behind them was nothing except the same Ford. Miggy couldn't tell how long it had been since he last looked at that car, but he knew it was long enough that the car still being behind them was of concern. "Um, driver?" he spoke softly. "I think someone's tailing us." He broke his stare for a moment to see if the driver had responded, but they were still a complete statue of a man.

Miggy rubbed the crack in his beak and looked back towards the Ford, the same Ford that had now started to speed up. "D-do something!" Miggy shouted. "Do something you stupid mut!" For once the driver responded in the slightest way possible, a smirk slowly spreading across his maw. The Ford's own growl became audible amidst the Pontaic's rumble as it sped-up right next to the car. Miggy squinted at the windows of the Ford, waiting with bated breath as he saw pair of well-dressed Doberman's rolling down their windows.

This wasn't the first time a gun had been pointed at Miggy and certainly wasn't going to be the last, but that still didn't quell the fear that he felt when it happened. Especially when it was a whole car full of rival Doberman mafioso who were pointing their guns at him. Miggy choked and sputtered on his own spit for a moment before he could squeak out, "We're gonna die!" A million thoughts raced through his head, yet all he could do was shout in the driver's ear. His shouts only increased in volume when he noticed the driver turned the wheel towards the mafioso, the two cars violently colliding a second later.

Miggy couldn't decide what was louder, the sounds of the cars scraping against each other, the barrage of gun shots, or the sound of the driver side window shattering as a bullet tore through it. For a moment everything slowed down. Miggy became acutely aware of a strong force starting to push him back into his seat and the driver's smirk grow into a wide grin. Worst of all he also became intensely aware that he needed to use the bathroom.

The moment was short however, and the world came back to him in full force the moment the car swung into a wide drift, slamming him hard into the door. Miggy tried to sit back upright again but was flung to the side before he could recover. "Now this is what I'm talking about!" shouted the driver. It felt as if there was a completely different person in the car with Miggy now. The driver had come to life, his entire being wildly animated. With every turn taken at a higher speed than before, the dingo shouted with glee.

Despite the driver's nearly wild appearance, Miggy noticed that there was still some uncanny control to them. He moved in a steady rhythm, the car roaring and the gears turning to a beat only the driver could hear. Every move was perfectly calculated and precise, yet it all flowed naturally. The sudden wild nature of the driver melted away, revealing to Miggy a person more in tune with machine than humanity; some elegant extension of the car they were in. The thunderous roar of the car was their song and the shifting gears their beat.

"You should have told me we would see some action tonight!" the driver shouted, barely audible above the screeching tires as he took another corner at incredible speed. "Especially some action that can keep up!" Miggy snapped out of his stupor hearing this and saw that the Ford really was still on their tail. "Let's see how they handle this," the driver roared as he pulled out a revolver from his jacket.

In a single movement, the driver turned the wheel hard and shifted the gears, spinning the car a full 180 degrees to have it face the Ford. The engine whined as it was pushed to its utter limit of how fast it could reverse. The driver calmly took aim with his revolver out of the window and let off three shots, shattering the Ford's windshield and sending it swerving for a moment before it stabilized again. Doing the same as he did before, the driver swung the car back around and revved onward.

His grin barely faded as he shouted, "Gonna have to keep working on that one!" He looked at Miggy who now clung to his seat with one hand and braced himself against the dashboard with another. "Where'd that chatterbox of yours go off to? You just had so many questions to ask me before!" the driver laughed.

They now found themselves speeding through a long and empty road, the Ford slowly catching up. It quickly found its way next to their car and the mafioso looked to be ready to fire off another volley. "Nobody catches up to me!" growled the driver, swerving even harder into the Ford. "Nobody!" Miggy was surprised with how stable the driver had managed to keep he car as the Ford swerved trying to regain control.

The driver once again levelled his gun out of the window and fired the last of his shots, each clearly hitting their mark as Miggy saw two of the mafioso in the other car slump in their seats. Before the mafioso could even consider recovering, the driver slammed the brakes and maneuvered behind them. With the same mechanical accuracy that he controlled the car and his revolver still in hand, he reached past Miggy and flicked open the glove box, grabbing a speed loader before flicking the container closed again. He moved the loader to his hand carrying the revolver before taking a sharp turn with the Ford. With the very hand that he held both the speed loader and the revolver, he opened the cylinder and dumped the spent rounds, elegantly moving his fingers to flip the loader in place, filling the revolver with a fresh set of rounds.

As he snapped the revolver closed, the windshield burst as multiple bullets whizzed their way into the car, one sinking deep into the driver's seat just above his elbow. "And this is why you should always go for the tires," the driver mumbled to himself, his movements suddenly dulled and muted. With that he revved the engine, racing to catch up with the Ford.

He calmly rested his arm on the open window next to him and slightly tilted his head to keep an eye on the Ford. Without even slowing down or even making a sound, he shot twice, each bullet blowing out their own tire. The Ford spun out and was sent careening into a shopfront before the driver could even lift his arm back into the car. He turned his attention to the side view mirror only for a second, making sure he finished the job, before slowing the car down and once again becoming the stoic statue he was before.

In that moment a different dimension of the world came to Miggy, his senses no longer focused on trying to preserve some form of dignity. He noticed the wind gently blowing away at them as they cruised along, a sickening rattle taking place the prior comforting rumble. It felt uncanny for the car they were in to travel at a low and slow 25 miles per hour, the road no longer being a blur.

Miggy kept looking to the driver for a moment, desperate to ask him to go faster again or to relate the feeling speed gave them, but the once again stoic nature of the dingo discouraged any noise at all. Miggy no longer fidgeted, finding himself only able to stare at the road ahead and mentally map out their route as they re-joined their previously agreed path.

Finally, Miggy saw his destination, a dreary hotel in which his father waited for him. The driver stopped the car, yet Miggy could still hear the rattle echoing through the once beast of a machine. He slowly got out of the car, lingering in the door as he looked at all the dents and scratches that it now had. "Hey, I'm sorry about your car," he said meekly. "If there's anything I can-"

"It's just a car that used to go fast," the driver interrupted him. "This ain't the only one."

"Oh and, uh, I never caught your name," mentioned Miggy after he closed the door.

"It's Toby," they simply replied.

Without another word, a sickening snarl came from the depths of the car, Toby revving it one last time before speeding off to another job and another car.