The Furre Archive Project - Part 2: Fragments
#2 of F.A.P. - The Furre Archive Project
"These people have a tale to tell, and by God, I'm going to tell it."
Of course, that was the last we ever heard of Him.
It seems that there's some strange rule in life, that whenever anyone begins to say anything big and dramatic like that, they're always cut off in mid-sentence.
We're not sure what happened. Maybe they cut His transmission. Maybe they pumped gas into the air vents. Maybe they broke down the door and dragged Him away. We're not sure if He's alive or dead, all we know is what He started.
You couldn't call it a rebellion, not really. Back then, Furres were mostly just dumb, half-human animals. They weren't meant for much more then slave labor, mining for ore, planting fields, that sort of thing. Despite what you may think, the "Sex-slave" styled Furre wasn't even a tenth of the total Furre workforce. Well, at least, not back then.
When's back then? Ten years ago. I don't really remember much of how things were, back then. I was only 7, and I think my parents tried to keep me away from it, away from the reality of what we were doing with Furres. It wasn't pleasant. The whole thing was never pleasant, I mean, come on, mixing and matching DNA to create a human-like-but-mindless animal? Whose sick idea was that? You'd think after everything we'd been through, we would have learned.
"They're not real people," some said. "They were born from a test tube, not a womb. They don't have souls." People always liked that last bit. It made everyone feel better, even the ones who weren't religious. ..but I'm getting off track.
What happened, back then, after the airwaves went silent.. was a sort of quiet chaos. Everyone felt it. It was if something had suddenly shifted, suddenly changed. The world was a different place.
People tried to forget it. "It was a hoax," they said. "Just a human, some discontented employee blowing off steam." Oh, how we all wished that were true. But somehow, we knew that it wasn't. Somehow, we knew what we had just heard. A Furre, a hybrid, a soulless, stupid beast had just spoken to us all, and we had understood him. He had made sense. And what he was trying to tell us was something that was important, something that we all needed to take notice of. Our world was about to change, and we needed to be ready.
There was one last scrap, one last transmission that came from "Him". It was buried deep in a coded, corrupted file that suddenly appeared on various Furre Owner related websites about a month after His transmission was cut. It was a poem. Some think it was a mistake, a ghost in the Furre Archive Project's code. Others said that He'd had to have written it recently, that it proved that He was still alive. But no matter how it came to us, by a glitch or by design, we all read it, and we all knew what it meant.
Make me cringe, make me cry
Make me laugh, make me lie
Make me live, make me die
Just don't make me be me.
Make me swoon, make me sigh
Make me laugh, make me fly
Make me live, make me die
Just don't make me be me.