FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The agent and two of his men kicked in the door to find the two occupants of Apartment 1208 completely calm; Dr. James Hoffman standing awkwardly on the windowsill, left hand in his pants pocket, and the hybrid leaning against the adjacent wall, staring into the comforter of a bed bathed in the smell of mothballs and cigarettes, fingering a whole in the wall supporting him with his left paw. The agent had his pistol aimed at the doctor; the other two covered Daniel, nosing him with bull-pup rifles. Four men stood on call, just outside.

The agent, to Daniel was obviously an Accountant, so-called because these secret service men were rumored to be the best Eden could employ to protect investments while making sure all who interfered with Eden's masterwork were held accountable for their actions.

"Jennings will want the dog," the Accountant shouted briskly as he made his way to the doctor. He had found that hybrid specimen were harder to keep intact whenever the public authorities were involved. Hybrids were seen as recreational sport rather than for their value to Eden's research. The agent had stopped at arm's length from Hoffman to find that the doctor wasn't moving. He was breathing but oblivious to the gun pointed at his heart. His eyes were locked onto the mutt. The officer relaxed his weapon and waved a hand across the fugitive's eyes. "My God, what have you done to him?" He mused at the spectacle.

"He's in a suspended state. He was going to jump when you reached the tenth floor." Daniel's eyes left the doctor and met his rival's - ghostly grey irises rounded pupils razor thin against the moon.

"Ah! You've taken him hostage, haven't you?" the agent smiled, running long, bony fingers through greased black hair. He always found speaking to hybrids uncomfortable, but this one was particularly unsettling. Truly ghoulish and imbalanced, his eyes and voice struck him as formidable. He was admittedly intrigued, but more infuriated that a young mongrel such as this could possess a potential intelligence, or presence, so undeserved.

"You seem to forget that this man has committed high treason." His white teeth gleamed through plasticine lips. "He's a dead man whether he's dropped by you or us. Very bad negotiating on your part, I'm afraid."

"If you wanted him dead, he'd be dead," Daniel cocked his head slightly, not like the curious canine, but the calculating snake. "You still need something. His work. His research. Maybe you need him for those tacky collars you're wearing."

The agent nodded to his men and they stood back, aiming their weapons from the hip. Daniel was satisfied that the bait was taken. That confidence was dashed when the Accountant seized his last question to diverge from its predecessors. He chuckled, "I agree they do make a statement," gesturing at the bulky black collar that rested on his shoulders, "but that statement seems to have been made rather well. Progress. We've caught the telepath, haven't we?"

"They've served their purpose."

"You're a strange one. You're surrounded, your powers rendered useless, and yet you're so skeptical. Elaborate for us, dog. How did Eden's best and brightest fail to meet your expectations?"

"My expectations were met. The collars are obviously prototypes in development," he began slowly, trying to avoid glancing at the doctor, whose fingers twitched with some mechanism in his pocket. He was telling the truth and telling too much, but he had already begun, and there was no time or chance to risk dedicating mental width to lying. He continued, "The collar's only capacity seems to be to scramble the wearer's access points into the mind."

"Sir, we don't have time for this," one of the subordinates tightened his fingers around his trigger, other hand itching at his collar. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

The agent silenced the drone with a wave of his hand. "It's alright, Peterson. He's amusing." He motioned for the canine to continue. "Access points? I don't quite understand."

Daniel's mind was straining from almost bursting. He bit his tongue and let the pain backseat drive. "I'm sorry. I forgot there are no human telepaths, and it wouldn't be of any real use to ask an actual hybrid telepath how it actually works."

The shift in tone caused the interrogator to raise an eyebrow, though the smirk remained. Daniel was getting pissed, almost distracted in his explanations. The scientist continued to fumble with the metal ball in his pocket.

"Go on. Don't be shy."

Daniel sighed, "The physical and chemical aspects of brain function are irrelevant in the actual use of telepathy. It's all about abstract thought and reasoning. Every brain has the power to download, configure, encrypt, decrypt, create, delete, store, and edit pieces of information. Only telepaths have the power to connect brains in order to share that information without any other medium. It's the ability to connect to a wireless network from anywhere. Those collars serve as a primitive VPN or antiviral software."

"The scrambling is only an encryption?" the agent rubbed his neck. The collar seemed to burn for an instant. He was sweating under his black suit.

"It performs basic encryption, yes. Probably copied and pasted from any of the unfortunate but inept telepaths and others you've abducted and dissected. Admittedly, they worked on me, but that's only because I had to keep him under control while not having enough time to peak around the nooks and crannies of your collars."

"It sounds like an art." He said with an escaped air of admiration. He continued to scratch at his collar, as all the other guards seemed to do as well. He was lost in space, fearfully amazed. Daniel was digesting the practicality of the implications.

The doctor's hand had finally managed to twist the pin. He held tight and fast for the right moment. Daniel was satisfied so he thought he would seize the moment and end the wordplay on his terms.

"It's a profession. Decent telepaths are employed. And the best are the employers. The rest are yours."

"Where are you in the market then?" The agent was back on Earth and returned eye-contact.

"I'm a freelancer."

The Accountant laughed at this and spoke, "Oh, I'm sure I've caught plenty of freelancers. If you couldn't break these collars, then I believe I have you figured, which is a pity because I was genuinely interested in you."

"You'll take what I have to heart. I had less than five minutes. If you're in an extended firefight underground and unable to isolate the telepaths, your collars will be toilet seats when they're finished with you."

There was a long pause. With one hand, the agent scratched his neck, and with the other he rubbed his chin. He then pointed at Daniel with a wicked smile and asked, "Do you play chess?"

"Never had an opponent, and I don't play well with others."

"Neither do I," the Accountant walked forward, and, much to Daniel's discomfort, put a hand on his shoulder, almost affectionately. He relished, "but maybe I could persuade Jennings to let us go a few rounds before your untimely conclusion. How does that sound?" He slipped what appeared to be a business card into his right paw.

Daniel grimaced a little, "I have a few other engagements before then, but I'll pencil you in somewhere."

The agent was trying to act composed, but he and the guards were practically tearing at the collars at this point. "You're right about the collars," he choked a little, but then his eyes misted over and he added, "They're a beautiful thing, puzzles. Seeing the forest through the trees."

"Or the bullet down the barrel of a gun."

The agent's eyes widened when he saw the small pile of drywall accumulating on the floor and heard the Dalmatian's constant clawing into the wall for the first time. And then there was the small pop of the pin, the heavy thud, and then the slow spherical motion of metal across the tile floor.

The sonic grenade burst, deafening everyone in the room and the four policemen outside the door. The subordinates crumbled to the floor in soundless agony while the agent and the Dalmatian remained standing. Clasping his hears, the Accountant stood stupefied. The spotted Dalmatian howled above the white noise. He clasped the agent's hands at his ears and licked his face. The human spat in his eyes, but Daniel didn't care. In the inspired moments of that fever, the canine beamed unholy vengeance. He ejaculated a stream of words into his rival's face, words the man couldn't hear but equate them to the euphoria of speaking in tongues.

Then suddenly, without warning, the Dalmatian made a mad dash to the window, throwing himself at the doctor. The two plunged out the window together. If the agent had been able to hear, he would have shivered. Not at the dying screams of the middle-aged man, but the sublime animal roar from the stray whose figment now stained a picture of the streets below.

The forest came through the trees at last, and the meaning of the hybrid's monologue burst through his mind with the clarity of dissipating gunsmoke.

The hardware counts for nothing if the software's shit.

He would take those words to heart.