FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter One

A feeling which pulsed like electricity washed over the fur of the young man, the pressure of the cold, black space crushing against him, making it impossible to breath. It was as if a powerful wave kept pushing him below the surface of some great ocean, the current grabbing at his metallic toes as it did everything in its power to pull him deeper and drown him in an inescapable prison of darkness. The void reaching up towards him would be the end of everything he had ever held dear and the fear of that encroaching demise jolted life into his humanoid form. Taking a deep, harsh breath, he muttered the simple phrase: "Oh, crap."

Somewhere in the back of his mind--as if from within a dream that lingered in his waking moments--a male voice was yelling out that young man had killed him... that his death would set off the machine. As the muzzle of the humanoid wolf winced into a frown, his black lips pulled back from his ivory teeth as that first breath left his throat in a growl. Pain filtered into his body with each thump-thump of his heart that he could swear it had missed a beat as he continue waking from that dark and fuzzy place that resided somewhere between death and sleep.

A second breath and he knew he was alive. In contrast to how it had been just moments before, the air filling his lungs was once again hot and humid rather than cold and sterile. A third breath and he sat up, a hand moving to his chest as if to be sure it was his own lungs he was using and not somehow his imagination. Thump-thump. The pain petered out to a tingled across his body, remaining in only a few places that blood pumped free of his flesh. Thump-thump.

His triangular ears flattened against his skull as the throbbing filtered into his consciousness, his left eye opening before the right which had swelled up from the impact that contributed to his dazed and dizzied state. Black eye, he considered as he reached up with a cool metallic hand to touch the swelling, a few streams of blood escaping down his furry cheek. Check.

Slowly tilting his head back, his one good eye took in the morning haze as the sun rose above the horizon far beyond the canyon edge up above. A moment passed, and as he stared up into the gray blue sky above he realized there was no smog at all, just his brain trying to deal with residual pain... the 'fuzz' of where his mind had been. The scent of fresh morning air swept down into the chasm and brought with it the aroma of sequoia trees which lined the western side of the surface up top.

Lowering his hand, he brushed it lightly over the gash in his left shoulder. Steel fibers poked out of the wound where he'd been whipped by a cable from the bridge that once existed far above as he fell. Lacerations, he thought. Check. His military fatigues were ripped open and the brown underarmour he'd been wearing was ripped out in small square and triangular segments having taken most of the impacts he received on the way down and broken away.

He ceased panting and took a deep breath as he looked over the rest of his body. Strapped over his chest with its butt positioned just over his name tag was a P90 submachine gun with a silencer attachment and along his right side was a dark gray pistol whose silencer was built-in, a Five-Seven. Neither of the two were standard military fair even in this day and age, as most squads were discouraged from the use of silenced weaponry. His digital camo uniform held additional clips for his main gun in the four tall pockets lined up horizontally across his front while his upper right leg had strapped to it a dark gray case with a maroon colored square surrounding the image of a medical cross.

Severe lacerations in my left leg, he considered, still somewhat detached from the wounds he had taken as he moved a hand to unzip the medical supplies. Check. First, he removed from the pack a syringe and then took out a vial filled with a mostly clear, somewhat bluish liquid. Requires immediate medical attention, he added as an afterthought, taking in the view of dark stains atop the beneath him which had been created by the blood gushing from his leg.

The fuzz of his mind began to clear, and he couldn't help but frown deeply at the situation he once again found himself in. Glancing to his right, he saw one of the other two men who had landed near him. The tawny wolf's eyes narrowed just a bit as if merely seeing him brought a reminder of some aggravation left unresolved. Conner, he thought as he took in the sight of the distinctly white furred creature that was shaped very much like himself. Staff Sargent, U.S. Army, Thirty-Third Infantry... crushed by an I-Beam. Focusing on details of the other man's form seemed to clear his mind. Alive, he added as an afterthought. Time of death, less than seven minutes.

The other man's entire lower half had been completely crushed. His upper body would continue to function for a few more minutes, but then--as the trauma and pain began to shut his brain down--he would die shortly thereafter. This would not be caused to his existing damage but instead be brought about by the beam as it slid further into the soft earth over time, pulling open Conner's wounds and revealing them to the air. Even though this was known to the central figure, it brought no comfort to him... quite the contrary, actually.

The orange wolf pulled up the vial and syringe again in front of him and began to extract some of the off-blue liquid through the needle. Let's see, he considered, three notches... of whatever this is, he reminded himself. As he finished extracting the numbing agent, he threw the vial over his head to smash on the rocks along the eastern wall. He looked at the needle, squirting a bit of the contents out as he scowled at it, blaming it, perhaps, for his current situation. Another great morning, he glowered as his lips pulled back from his teeth. He placed the syringe inside his muzzle, holding it between his sharp white fangs.

Reaching into the medical bag at his side, he removed a tourniquet. It was a simple cloth strap that could be notched to a specific size. The little pump-bag at its side would make sure it could be brought as tight as possible with only a few squeezes. Working with both hands, he wrapped the tourniquet around his upper left leg and began to squeeze at the bag with his left hand. Meanwhile, he did what he thought was best to be able to find a vein with his other hand, doing rough measurements with his fingers there. Grabbing the syringe from his mouth, he positioned it where he thought he was supposed to insert and sighed.

"I hate needles," he commented aloud as he looked over to his left at the third survivor. Buster... straight Buster, he smirked a bit, considering where he'd originally picked up that phrase. Same army, he sighed at the fleeting moment of comedy as it vanished. S.F.C., Seventh Mountain, he added as if trying to remember why it was even important. Waking up in 3, 2, and sure enough, Buster groaned and reached out with his left arm as if trying to hit an alarm clock or to smack his bunkmate for being too loud.

Buster was decked out in the same uniform, though his loadout was different. He wore a vest that covered his front completely and had straps that held it over his chest by a collar fastened around his neck in addition to the buckles that held it tight around his waist. It contained ammo for his gun as well as a combat knife at the center of his chest which was positioned vertically just below his neck.

Tangled around Buster's right arm was the strap of his M4 Carbine which lay along side of him. Jutting up through his left shoulder, upper arm, and leg were the metal posts of a fence that lined the nearby cliff that dropped off into darkness as it opened up further into the earth. Blood was leaking out from around the metal that had penetrated his body and revealed him as a meaty, living version of a pincushion. However, unlike Conner, his situation wasn't going to get immediately worse if he remained perfectly still... it just wasn't going to get any better.

Buster let out a loud groan, his eyes fluttering open as he asked, "What happened?" His tone a lacked urgency, his head fuzzy just as the orange wolf's had been moments earlier.

"We got blowed up," the orange wolf replied, indifferent. By a ball of flame, he added to himself internally. Didn't seem like your usual explosive device... it looked as if it had come from the road ahead, just up the hill. He sighed to himself. Buster and Conner had seen more, but neither of them give a good explanation when I ask.

Buster turned to look towards the young man, a needle and thick thread in his hands as he sutured up the giant gash in his leg. "Are you sewing up your leg?" Buster asked as he moved his right arm to his side to begin to try and push himself up. The orange head of the other man nodded and softly spoke an affirmative. "I didn't know you knew ho--ow, shit!" Buster yelped in pain. Turning to his left his eyes went wide as he suddenly was able to take full breadth of his wounds.

"You're pretty fucked up," the young man with the needle and thread commented without looking over at him. Just like always, he considered with another sigh. As bad as my leg is, I'm glad that's not how I have to wake up. Buster swore, his free hand reaching up to one of the poles and grabbing ahold of it. Aloud, the center wolf added, "Try not to move."

"Yeah," Buster commented, still in shock as he squinted his eyes. Taking stock of the metal fence posts coming out of his body, he considered how lucky he was that he hadn't fallen further into deep chasm on the other side of this fence. "Why can't I feel--ugh," he moved his left hand almost up to his head as he was interrupted by pain. "My head hurts."

The orange wolf shrugged as he worked at his own left leg, nearly finished with closing his gash. "You have a serious concussion and your wounds are so severe that your body has basically shut off your ability to tell how much pain you're in." Taking a deep breath as he finished, he glanced over at Buster for a moment. "Also... you may be bleeding at the brain," he said, tapping his own skull with a finger from his right hand as he began to remove the tourniquet from his leg with the other.

"That's not funny," Buster said, laying his head back down as he looked over to the other wolf, his light blue eyes meeting the shades of orange and brown of the other's. Buster's eyes were framed with white fur which had black crowding around them almost like a reverse domino mask. The pattern looking not unlike that of a siberian husky's usually markings. He even had white spots at the inner edges of his furry eyebrows. "Have you called back to base?"

"No," the upright man said simply as he reached into the medical bag at his side and pulled out some wraps to go around his leg. Reaching down, he yanked off the shambles of the underarmour that had been torn downwards in a long rectangular strip from the impact of whatever chunk of the bridge had ripped into his leg some time earlier. "You'll be in and out of consciousness for about five hours if no one helps you and you stay still," the orange furred wolf said with a bit of a sigh as he tore off the left leg of his uniform's pants and began to bandage up his leg.

"Why haven't you reported in?" Buster asked as he tried to turn on his side to look at the man. As he did so, he winced and fell back onto his back.

"I said don't move," the other man grumbled. "I haven't reported in because they're about to be attacked. Having a rescue team prepare to leave will make them ill-prepared to handle the fighter jets that are on the way." The orange wolf shrugged, "Call them or not, it'll be more than an hour before they come to investigate our situation, but that wont matter anyway in about forty-six minutes."

"Why? What happens then?" the black and white furred wolf asked again, looking over.

"Then," he began, "you'll be dead... and you wont have to worry about it anymore." Turning to look at him, "Because while you might make it five hours if you remain still, you'll not make it if you're moved very much before then."

A look of anger and pain washed over Buster's face as he became enraged by the chill tone of the other man's voice. "What the fuck, Sandstalker?" he barked out as the other stood up and began lightly wrapping the wound at his upper left arm. "Where are you going!?" Buster demanded to know, watching the orange furred man move away.

"Away," was Sandstalker's only reply as he moved towards the fenced edge of the ravine, looking down. It was a long deep drop with solid black a long ways below. I wish there was a less violent way that were this quick, but... this is the fastest way down and I don't want to waste any more time, he considered. Sandstalker tried not to think about what he was about to do, but rather where it was he intended to go.

Before Buster could inquire further about the other man's apathy, another voice yelled out a shocked expletive which pulled his attention that direction. "Stonemason?" Buster called out. Buster couldn't see the white furred man because Conner was on the opposite side of a couple of large stones that blocked Buster's line of sight. "Mason? Mason man, where are you!? What's wrong? Report!"

"Conner's lower body has been smashed by part of the bridge," the orange wolf said as he looked back down to Buster and then towards the large cliff beyond him once more. "He'll be dead in about five minutes... so you wont have to listen to him long," Sandstalker said with an even tone which he was sure had sounded more uncaring than he had meant it. At this revelation, Stonemason--as if having just absorbed the realization of his crushed state--let out short but poignant profanity at the disbelief in his situation.

"We're down, wounded, and you're just chill. What is wrong with you?" Buster asked with a cross between serious worry and continued anger at the Sandstalker's complete disregard for his fellow soldier. The smaller man nodded, leaning downward into a kneel as he both tested the strength of the stitches as well as the quality of his attempt. Seeing that they would hold, he reached down to his metal toes and pulled at the white ends of his feet. His orange-colored replacement legs flexed in a rough imitation of a organic leg. "Where do you think you're going?" Buster asked again, watching the preparation.

"Away," Sandstalker said with a slightly more agitated tone for having already answered that particular question what felt like thousands of times by now. Taking a few steps forward, he leaned into his movement as he calmly stated, "This is going to hurt," unable to bring himself to feel too sorry for what he was about to do. As he leaped forward, he landed atop the fence whose posts ran through Buster's body and sprung off headlong into the darkness below. A scream of pain could be heard behind him as orange wolf began to fall into the deep black of the pit below.

Sandstalker fell through darkness for just a moment longer. Traveling head first, he kept his hands out in front of him as he plummeted. Back behind him, his tail fluttered in the wind of his decent, his legs up and his head down as he fell. The dark brown tip of his otherwise orange tail matched the same reddish brown as the armour of his replacement hands.

If I had kids... I would tell them not to do this at home, he smirked. Not that I'd ever have a home with a hundred paw drop...

Filtering up through the rocks below was just enough light to allow the lone wolf to make out shapes in the darkness as he dropped. Somewhere deep down in the earth ahead of him rumbled soft mechanical hum that grew louder as he approached it. A minuscule amount of light filtered up from in front of him, giving a soft yellow glow to the stalagmites below. It illuminated the empty space before him just enough that he could see a large grey pipe with signage to his left as he continued to fall. Frowning, he considered how much he hated this next part.

Counting to six, he readied himself as much as he could for the impact that was to come. A horizontal pipe much smaller than the big vertical one it was attached to appeared just ahead of him from the light to his far right side. The pipe was just small enough to wrap hands around and Sandstalker did so, grabbing the metal pole on his way down. Using his momentum to carry him in an arc under the pipe, he allowed it to carry him forward horizontally. When his legs had reached high enough into the air on the other side, he released his hold and went into a quick backwards flip in the air. The velocity he'd maintained from the fall carried him forward even as his legs went up over his head in a spin.

In the very next moment his head elevated just enough in its rotation to see a stalactite right in front of him. Bracing for impact, he brought his arms and legs up and smacked hard into the spike of slick earth on the ceiling. Gripping the surface firmly, he quickly shimmied around to the opposite side of the stone formation and jumped away to another stalactite. The sound of the first stalactite breaking off and falling behind him made him take a breath after his impact with the second. Focusing on the dangerous acrobatics at hand he shimmied around to the opposite side of the second and jumped for a third.

Definitely shouldn't do this at home, Sandstalker grimaced as he flew through the air towards a fourth inverted pyramid of stone. Paying close attention to each of his movements he made quick work of these linked actions. The danger itself was quite real as one missed grab or loss of momentum would have him plummet into the dim yellow glow the additional hundreds of feet below and ultimately a very spectacular death.

The fifth stone spike began to break quickly with his initial impact. Having struck the stalactite a little too hard, he growled softly to himself as he quickly inched his way around to its other side. He held himself against it on that opposite side and pushed off hard, briskly jumping through the air towards a rockface just a short distance away. The brittle cone of earth shook free and plummeted into the dim glow far below as Sandstalker smacked into the wall with enough force that it almost dazed him. With his hands on the wall, he pushed downward with his toes so as to thrust himself upwards against the surface and grab a handhold just barely out of reach.

Grabbing ahold of the long rectangular hole in the wall, Sandstalker took a deep breath as he could now almost rest. It takes a special kind of crazy, he sighed, glancing down towards the dim yellow glow far, far below. He'd always had good hands, but having replacement limbs made it even easier due to their design. Looking to his right, he noted that the gap he now held onto must have been created at some point in the past when a walkway had fallen free of the wall. After all, just up out of his reach was a large hallway made of metal which traveled further into the earth itself.

Sandstalker held onto the small ledge made by the missing walkway for just a moment longer before he began to put one hand in front of the next as he moved to the side. Using the crease of where the floor had once been as a ledge, he used his feet to walk to the right until he was just below the doorway. Reaching up with his left hand, he began to pull himself up over the edge, one elbow at a time, until he had crawled all the way up into the darkness above him.

The room ahead was barely lit by what appeared to be small LED fixtures in the gaps in the walls and ceiling. As Sandstalker got up to his knees he glanced left and right. He found himself questioning just who must have built this place deep in the earth and what its purpose might be. Of course, I've been trying to figure out those answers for a long, long time, he admitted, sighing to himself as he reached up to his left ear. Touching a vertically placed gray cylinder there, he flicked it downward a quarter turn parallel to his muzzle. The faint little light on its end turned from red to green with a soft 'beep' in his ear to let him know the microphone had been turned on. "Augmented Reality," he spoke dully, as if even this amount of articulation was too much a chore. "Infrared Overlay."

Much like his arms and legs, Sandstalker's eyes were replacements. However, unlike his limbs, they actually contained substantial augmentations. The images brought in through their visual inputs could be edited in post-processing to include colored overlays such as distance markers and ammo counts. In this instance, the overlays included a realtime 3D display of colored lines throughout the hallway which marked the locations of the infrared laser beams on top of his normal vision. Multiple white lines appeared in groups that criss-crossed in sets that were vertical, horizontal, and even diagonal in different placements from where he stood and then all the way to the other end of the hallway.

His only opportunities to make it through to the other side came from the apparent age of the devices. Some beams were outright deactivated and others seemed to fizzle out from an electrical short and then reactivate a moment later to create a temporary gap. Other than that, only the impact damage that had caused his swollen left eye was an issue as it occasionally caused the signal being sent back to his brain to be partly distorted. Still, having something to see, even a little blurred or degraded, was superior to not being able to see at all.

Watching the long room for just a moment, the man paced, his tail snapping back and forth in agitation as he took in the patterns of the flickering white lines that were laid out before him. Always have a hard time with this pattern, he considered. When he was fairly sure he had them down, he took a few quick steps into the room, leaping with his digitigrade legs over a vertically placed set of horizontal beams. He launched over the third beam up, narrowly gliding through the passage where the fourth beam would have been and just barely keeping his tail between his legs to avoid the fifth.

Keeping his momentum like all those kids from Paris made famous by running roofs, Sandstalker jumped at the last set of diagonal beams that were still active just a second before they fizzed away and allowed him to land. Rolling forward, he came to a stop and immediately slapped his back up to the wall at the corner which led into a perpendicular hallway.

Taking a small breather, his head moved slowly to his right. Glancing up the next hallway he saw that it was stunningly lit with a set of three bright lights across center of the ceiling. The brightness itself dimmed as the orange wolf's artificial eyes quickly adjusted to the change in luminosity ahead of him. Glancing up over the doorway at the end of this second hallway, a little black dome which screamed 'security camera' slowly shifted left and right. The hallway itself was seemingly made of black painted steel and again there were dim LED's in each crease in the walls.

Reaching up to the P90 strapped to his chest, Sandstalker squeezed the latch at the top end of the holster and grabbed his rifle as it fell from his torso. Shaking his head slightly, he held his gun casually at his side as he turned the corner and began walking up the hallway.

Waving with his left hand at the camera, he was more than halfway across the room when one of the floor panels slid open in halves and brought up something that looked like a heavy cannon. It appeared mostly for force and not meant to take a direct attack as when it began to hum to unload, the humanoid wolf barely turned his head to make sure his aim was true. Unloading a clip of his rifle with a 'puk, puk, puk' of a silenced submachine gun, the cannon fizzed, shuddered, and popped, exploding into a small fiery mess and slumped sideways onto the floor.

As Sandstalker moved forward into the doorway, he moved his hand to his neck and motioned forward up the underside of his muzzle as he lifted his head to face the camera. The motion was his race's equivalent to 'giving the bird' and he was giving it to the man he surmised much be watching his progress.

There were many hallways beyond the ones closest to where Sandstalker awoke in which the damage seemed quite extensive. Miles of technological tunnels reached out in every direction and then were seemingly destroyed by age or collapse. Straight corridors turned into complex exercises in agility and athleticism as Sandstalker had to duck into rooms, run along broken walls, and leap from wall to wall in order to make it across open spaces whose missing floors lead only into a deep and seemingly bottomless fall.

The smell that permeated the entire place was like that of a long forgotten tomb which, granted, made a lot of sense to the wolf considering the circumstances. There was mold and dust and occasionally the scent of rust and rot from rooms that had water leaking through them. Whatever else this place had been, the odors of anything sentient had long since passed on from this place.

Occasionally his eyes would look over a panel, button, or piece of art that had strange pictures upon them that he was sure must be letters or words. Everything down in this fantastical building screamed that it was from some kind of lost civilization, but who and what they were was hard to make out. Furthermore, nothing about any of what he presumed were languages seemed to have a modern day counterpart. Sandstalker himself had learned only American Cattanese and Latin but, he had certainly seen enough written languages in his travels to believe that none of what he saw in this place had origins in recent history or perhaps, even, this planet.

An Archaeologist would find all this quite fascinating, I'm sure, he considered as he made his way through many different passages of the seemingly endless underground complex. There was a multitude of various creatures of humanoid shapes standing in scenes painted on the walls. As the light brown wolf made his way down further into the building he considered that all the different defense mechanisms screamed that this place was instead some kind of military installation long forgotten, but the casual appearance of the figures along the painted walls made him consider otherwise.

For all I know, these painting represent vacation photos, he mused at one point after he had been traveling for over two days, resting here and there. This place is huge, but it is so hard to make out what any of it might be for what with all the different portions of it missing...

Occasionally he would come across one entire image seemingly painted over or covered up and scraping off the last layer of paint or moving the rubble would continue to leave little or no clue of what he was looking at. None of it made much sense and he frowned, having stared at some images for hours as he tried to recall if any of the pictures he'd seen had reoccurring characters or themes. Some did, or seemed to, but without a frame of reference he could not make out a substantial connection between the different renditions.

Though the images persisted, he did take note that the further into the building he traveled, the more purposeful the surroundings seemed to become. Higher up were a multitude of rooms that may have actually been apartments, but the lower he went--through floors and floors of complete darkness--the more the rooms became more business-like. Slick metal walls, glass enclosures, and eventually working lights once more became common as he traveled further into the Earth. Whatever this place was, it was city-sized and long abandoned, and he couldn't help but wonder how it had gone for so long without being discovered by the top-side world.

After three resting periods across three days of travel the young man in military fatigues stepped in through a set of double doors that opened as he approached them just as they might at the entrance of a supermarket. Running hands over a guardrail, he looked across a wide open room that could have perhaps been a hanger for airplanes. Or spaceships, Sandstalker smirked, considering the option to himself as he moved over a catwalk above the open space. His feet softly 'clank, clanked' as he glanced to his left to take in the giant set of doors that were easily three stories high and three times as wide. He presumed they would slide open to allow transports in and out of the hanger.

He sighed to himself, looking up at the tall doors. Why stick a hanger miles under the earth? If his previous estimations were correct he was further into the Earth than the height of the tallest building in the world. But with the variety of rooms, offices, and laboratories all through this place... I probably wouldn't call it a single building, he considered, rubbing his chin. Perhaps something more akin to an... archology... a miniature city made of a single structure with multiple different buildings within it. He nodded to himself, thinking that was just about the only logical explanation for its size.

There were no aircraft in the room to speak of, but there were lines along the floor and windows looking in from the upper sides of the football field sized expanse. There was not nearly as much damage this far down and the lights of the hanger lit the area well enough to make out many of the details. Draped over the top of the room were three flags not unlike banners which each had upon them the same three designs against a dingy red background.

Sandstalker stopped for a moment, his hands on the railing of the catwalk as his tail waved back and forth, betraying his curiosity as he studied the designs. They might hold some clue, he considered, and he did his best to mentally record them. There was obviously a creature's head at the center, though the short muzzle and spiked back of the skull could easily have been any number of creatures from science fiction or fantasy. The banners were bordered by what looked like two large swords and had below them what might have been a simple black design of energy that looked not unlike the symbol for an atom.

Each of the banners were torn and worn with age, though it was still possible to make out what the full image might be by studying what remained of each of the three damaged flags. The orange wolf shook his head and turned, finishing his walk across the large expanse towards one of the rooms ahead whose windows were all tinted black to prevent anyone outside from looking in.

Sandstalker took a deep breath. If I can finish this today, I'm sure we'll be back to figure out exactly where all this came from. If he still prayed, he thought he would do so now, but he had since given up on such habits after all the time he had spent in this place. Still, he thought he would surely ask that this be the last time he had to go through these doors alone. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to steel himself for what was to come.

Though the journey was long and hard the lone wolf had made it through with nary a scratch, something that might be attributed to great skill and a lack of fear, but he wouldn't dare claim either of those two points. It was with this perspective in mind that Sandstalker paused, one dark hand on the doors leading into the next room from the catwalk. He stared through the back of his palm at the gray squares of the camouflage disk on the back of his hand. Remember your lines, your spacing, and everything will go fine, he told himself. Be confident, though beaten... submissive...

He pushed open the doors to a giant laboratory. Running through it was a big, metal, tube-like room which ran longways through the middle of it. It was curved just enough to indicate that it was likely part of a much bigger circle that travelled out either side of the large space and through the deep minerals and stones of the Earth itself. The ceiling inside was five stories high, though the path that lead into the room from the hanger was situated at the level third from the bottom.

Perhaps this is like a centrifuge, the orange wolf smiled a bit, rubbing his chin. He absently wondered why hadn't considered that before. Perhaps something about its configuration could be undone before anything went wrong... goes wrong... whatever. Sighing, Sandstalker listened to the hum of the machine within. Geothermal, he knew without question at this point... he was certainly far enough into the Earth that it made the most sense even if he hadn't already discovered that information for himself on some Wednesday long ago. The plant must be huge if I can see it from so far above on my way down...

All around the edges of the wide and tall room were computer screens. Most were broken and damaged, no longer displaying anything beyond a deep black. A few were active and had things written upon them in the other language he'd seen earlier in his travels. Other screens had dim holographic displays floating just over them, showing off what was likely to be details of the experiment being preformed. But, without being able to read that language, there was no way to be sure.

"Ah, there you are!" a voice that sneered its joy came towards the orange wolf's ears, their metallic triangular shapes perking up and shifted in the direction of the sound. Looking up, the young man in the gray digital camouflage smiled his best fake smile towards the man who stood on the walkway one story above him.

The figure waved to the young wolf, their bodies sharing many similarities. His fur was a bright orange and red, far more saturated than the army wolf's pale red and brown mixture, though within his fur were lines of gray etched through his form to reveal him to be middle-aged. "I am Dr. Witty," the fox-patterned wolf grinned, motioning at his frame. He wore a combination of lab coat and trench coat, white in color and with a narrow set of slits in the back. They had a wide hole for his tail to exit between the two lengths of material at the back of the coat, far more space than was needed. Around his neck he wore a red tie over his bare furred chest and over his legs were worn blue jeans that were torn at the knees.

"Evening, Dr. Witty," the lone wolf smiled, using a somewhat exasperated tone as he could fake. The smile was real enough, of course. Sandstalker knew that the other man was no scientist, though he was assuredly mad. He has proven he knows his way around the machine, but there's no way he set up all this completely on his own, he reasoned. Breaking his chain of thought, he stated simply that, "I'm sure you know who I am."

"Your first name is quite a challenge even to those who know it," Witty smiled a toothy grin. His broad smile was accented by the white under his neck and the black marks to either side of his nose. His ears perked up as he beamed, their black tips reaching upwards as he hopped over the guardrail and landed just a few feet ahead of the other wolf.

"Chrono-choh-hotay-keylah," the light orange wolf smirked, crossing his arms a bit over his chest and thus his gun as the other man approached. "Chrono for short," he offered with a motion of his left hand.

"Chrono, yes," Witty smiled bigger as if he understood some inherent joke that Sandstalker could simply never place. "That makes a lot of sense," he nodded, glancing to his side and rubbing his chin. Looking back to the young man, he raised his eyebrows twice with his tongue out the side of his muzzle just a bit. "I expect you're wondering why you're here?" he asked. "I, for one, wasn't certain you'd even realize I was down here."

"It wasn't as apparent at first," Chrono nodded softly as he continued looking up at the somewhat taller man. "I didn't understand what was happening, but get it now."

Witty tilted his head slightly to one side, looking the wounded wolf over. "You get it now?" he asked, his grin fading for a moment. Looking over his shoulder, Witty took in the white light of energy just within the windows of the big tubular room. Glancing back, "It worked?" he asked as he turned back to face Chrono. Reaching up, he put his black-furred paws onto the other man's shoulder, looking him in his replacement eyes, "It actually worked!?" he yelled. His body language, and especially his face, displayed that he was ecstatic... overflowing with amazement and sick joy.

Chrono nodded. Alright, man. Let's move on, he held in a sigh, keeping it to himself for a moment longer. "Indeed it did..." he admitted to the madman. The sigh he let loose dripped of sincerity. Dejected, he pressed onward, "but there's an issue even you had not foreseen." Chrono glanced over at the energy himself, then back to Witty. "You've wanted to hurt me, and you have," he agreed. "But you've also hurt yourself."

Witty grinned, moving over beside Chrono with one arm back, motioning towards the great room beyond with his other hand. "Oh?" he narrowed his eyes, leaning into the lighter wolf's muzzle, "And how have I done that, hm?"

"You don't get to move on," Chrono spoke plainly, pushing the other wolf's face away. "In trapping me, you have trapped yourself."

Waving a finger at Chrono, Witty stepped away. "You only think that I have, but I get it," he explained, poking at his own head. "I've got this all figured out. I'm the enigma, the trigger, the thing that keeps this place going and the reason it--" and at that point Chrono allowed himself the briefest of sighs. The red wolf had walked off and towards a monitor. Sandstalker allowed himself a moment to roll his eyes and look away.

This is so fucking boring, Chrono couldn't help but think. Maybe I'll try something else if this doesn't work. No, it has to work, he frowned, determined. I've tried everything. Well, I've tried everything I've thought of... and I have thought I've tried everything before, he considered, letting another sigh out as he placed his hand over his bruised eye, pressing against the lump with the pad on his palm.

Following Witty idly as he wandered the room, ranting and raving, Chrono smirked to himself. Just look at him go, he considered as the doctor quickly moved from one computer console to another. Sometimes he turned to speak to Chrono, and sometimes he just seemed to be talking to himself. He rambled on and on with his big speech whose timing was, at this point, instinctual to Chrono, much like learning all the lines to a favorite movie... except he hated this movie. All the young wolf had to do now was say the things he knew to say at the right moments, in the right timing, and he wouldn't even have to pay close attention to Witty.

At one point, the "doctor" stood up on the catwalk and looked down, raising his arms as he started yelling about his superiority. This is the part where he describes, in stupid-detail, how this is all part of his master plan, Chrono thought as he crossed his arms "listening" to the man. But some how while he goes on and on, he fails to reveal why it is that he has done all this. Chrono smiled smugly, It's like listening to a politician go on and on about how they'll balance the budget or fix health care... they'll just talk for an hour and get themselves applause, but then--at the end--they've not really said anything of substance the whole time...

When he thought things were winding down, Chrono reassured the doctor that he was not yet of any real importance and that his abilities were quite few beyond perhaps a very practiced athletic ability. At this point, the wolf in army fatigues was almost not even paying attention to himself speak. Nothing about this is important except for this part right here:

"This revenge cannot be worth it," Chrono assured the other man after about forty minutes. "You're trapped here for an eternity," he explained to the supposed doctor.

"Yes, but I do not realize it," Witty grinned at the lighter wolf. "Like all pure cadens you lack the understanding of the greater world beyond your own," he said with a smile. "I am saving this world from the madness of my father and his kind... while at the same time having my revenge upon the one who destroyed everything I hold dear! It's win, win for me!" he chuckled and lifted his head back into a maniacal laugh. I remember a time when I was surprised he actually did that, Chrono thought as he took in the long howl of a chuckle. Now it just seems... cliché. I mean it always seemed cliché, but it also used to shock me...

Chrono's eyes narrowed just a bit as he looked over at the other man. "You wont kill me. I know that," he told him, "But I want you to understand what this has done... the revenge you want..." he put his hands out, exasperated, "You have it. I've been stuck here for ages... how long, I do not know. I don't know what I've done to you, and you wont tell me... no matter what ends I seek or methods I apply, I have not the knowledge to defeat you."

Chrono dropped to his knees, looking up and over at the older man. Witty turned to see him do so, and moved across the upper walkway just in front of the other wolf. Reaching to his back, Sandstalker unlatched the holster for his guns. He reached to his sides and clicked open the vest that held his ammo there, pulling it off over his head. "What are you doing?" Witty asked as the lighter furred wolf began taking off the top of his uniform, and started pealing back his underarmour.

"I'm submitting... you know cadens. I'm omega in this situation. You have won... you have bested me," Chrono explained, not even certain what he was admitting to. "You've destroyed me completely."

"Not completely," Witty held a finger out, pointing at the wolf on the lower floor. "You yet still live... you yet still have your sanity. You have your life!"

"I may still be alive," Chrono nodded softly, looking up at the man, "But I do not live. I beg you to end this," he implored, lowering his hands down onto the ground, his tail flat out behind him. Turning his head to the side, he lowered his body, showing his full and exposed neck to the older man with defeat placed squarely in his eyes.

Witty moved with a grace that seemed to ignore his apparent age as he put one hand down on the guardrail and did a sideways roll over it and off the walkway, landing on the floor below with knees bent to absorb the impact. Walking over to the lighter colored wolf, he raised a single finger to between his lips against his nose as he considered what lay before him.

Chrono closed his eyes, this has to work, he had convinced himself. I'll respond and whatever actions come after I will study them intently in case I must do more to make this work, he mentally sighed. Externally, he kept his appearance low, his ears flat, and his body as still as he could.

"You accept that your life is in my hands," Witty asked calmly, though the crazed look remained in his eyes. This was too short for him. He'd wanted this to last longer, Chrono realized. Maybe if I have to do this again, I'll let his rant progress a little further...

Chrono nodded, "Yes, doctor. I do."

"You would do anything I ask... anything I demand. You would be a loyal servant to me?" he wondered with a sly grin across his muzzle. His black ears moved forward to take in all of what the younger wolf would reply.

Again the young man nodded, "I am yours to do with as you command." This is so corny, so obvious... but he's a ditz... please let this work, Chrono pleaded with reality.

The other man paced, his red furred tail flicking back and forth behind him as he moved, considering this option. "I've heard you have great power... and that power could be mine."

Chrono had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded, "Yes." That was it... there could be no more. Beyond this point was the unknown and Chrono swallowed hard, unsure what came next. His heart began to beat faster as he waited with bated breath for the next words.

Witty spun around in place one time, his face suddenly full of joy as a grin sprawled across his face from ear to triangular ear. Looking up with his arms outstretched above him he began speaking in a jovial tone: "Well... since you ask so nicely... beg so nicely... get on your knees so nicely..."

Chrono couldn't help but narrow his eyebrows for a moment, though he pulled them back into his pitiful look just an instant later. Desperate or not, Martha had long ago taught him that villains love to goad you along, bring you to your knees, and then rub their junk in your face. As the young wolf presented himself weak and defeated before the other, a small growl began to rumble in his throat. He's turning me down, Chrono knew. Had Witty not been so inthralled in his brow-beating and berating, he would have heard the rumble... but just as the growl was to become overpowering, Witty concluded exactly where Chrono had thought he was going to just seconds earlier--

"No!" Witty smiled, "I don't think I'll--" Witty looked towards the other wolf in just enough time to catch Chrono's movement as Witty lowered his head, the grin suddenly vanishing as the lighter furred wolf was upon him. "Ack!" was all he had time to yelp as Chrono grabbed his arms and pounced him, tackling him over near the railing of the third floor of the chamber. "What are you doing!?" the man yelled as he glanced over his shoulder, his head just under the guard rail at the edge of the floor as he looked down the two other floors of the big room.

Dr. Witty's eyes went wide, and he looked back to Chrono, "You! You were faking!?" he roared into a sneer as he tried to shake himself free from the grip which pinned him down. It was too late. Chrono had already placed his lower body over the other wolf's legs to keep him pinned where he was. "How dare you!?"

Chrono's eyes were lit aflame with anger, hatred bubbling up from all his pores as he shook the other man like a rag doll, growling with such determination that for an instant Witty stopped moving and simply took in the other wolf as he asserted himself. "How dare I?" the smaller man demanded. "How dare I?" he repeated, "How dare you!? Locking me in this place, this base, this lab, this tomb!" He leaned forward, his muzzle moving aside the other man's as he stared deeply into his eyes. "I have been trapped here," he roared, his body continuing to shake as his arms gripped the other man hard, "forever!"

Lifting his head back for just a moment, Chrono let loose a short howl. It was as if he was echoing a command from ancestors left waiting somewhere deep in the instinctual workings of his brain and waiting for this very moment. It was a call for the kill and a little part of his subconscious mind knew it... wanted it!

Pulling Witty up by his arms, Chrono lunged forward, his jaws open as the older man's eyes went wide in terror. His muzzle fell over the other's neck, clamping down on meat and tendons therein. Sharp teeth having sunk into muscle and Chrono jerked his head back, removing flesh and revealing Witty's arteries to the air.

Witty's hands went for his neck and Chrono suddenly stood up and over him as he released his hold. Blood spurt all over the edge of the floor as the other man gurgled, drowning in his own blood. Turning, he walked away from the dying man, frowning deeply, his arms shaking in his continued fury. His rage had no other place to go, nothing else he could break, nothing that would mean anything... everything was futile and he knew that... and knowing that only made it worse!

"You can't," Witty coughed as he tried to pull himself up with the railing of the walkway right next to him, "stop it now... you--"

"--have killed me!" Chrono roared, quickly turning his head to look at the other man. "I know!"

Witty shook his head, "My death will--"

"--set off the machine, yeah!" Chrono jeered at the other man who's blood continued to pool all around him. Witty's eyes went wide and he opened his muzzle to try and weakly add something more. "Yeah," Chrono interrupted him before he began to speak, "I've already killed you. Your life signs dropping'll set off this fucking machine in another couple'll'a seconds," he snarled, motioning at the giant room-sized tube that lay above the gap just before them. "But it also goes off no later than Friday afternoon no matter what I do," he added in a growl as he motioned at the sizable device, glaring at Witty.

The other man slumped in place, coughing blood out from both his mouth and his neck. The hum of the big machine filled the room, and a light began to glow blindingly bright. "Fuck this place," Chrono said, still enraged as he lifted his right hand to cover his eyes. Turning, he began to walk across the room towards the double-doors knowing he would never get there. As the light seemed to reach out all around him and cover up all of reality, he felt all tingly over his back like a... a something, he didn't know what, but it felt familiar. Placing one foot in front of the other he--

--moaned a somewhat harsh, "Oh, crap." He felt his consciousness returning to him even though he didn't recall falling asleep. As the reality of the faint morning light allowed him to dimly see where he was, Chrono allowed himself a low growl. Putting his right hand to the side of his face, he gripped his muzzle as he considered making a checklist of his wounds out of habit. Sitting up, he blinked as if coming out of a deep slumber. Mild Concussion, he considered. Check. Black Eye, he added as he tried to open his left eye, glancing around. Check.

Glancing to his left, he saw Okororaven, laying near the edge of a cliff, punctured several times from left shoulder to left leg by the fence that lined the edge of the nearby ravine. "Buster Okororaven," Chrono spoke aloud as if doing so would better clear his mind. The dizziness of the impact that he felt from both minutes and years ago began to fade away as he stared at the red tint of blood over Buster's black and white furred body all covered in U.S. Military fatigues.

Chrono could feel his mind, his body, his spirit all returning fully from that white light of the machine once more. That was no dream, he realized just the same as he had on so many other Monday mornings. Looking around at the rocks and stones and flowing water he became aware once more of where he was. Back to the beginning... yet again.

Taking in the appearance of Buster with narrowed and angry eyes, Chrono turned to look up at the long fall and the remains of the broken bridge far above. Glancing to his right, he saw Conner Stonemason, crushed by the I-Beam just like he was each time he woke up in this horrible place. His eyes narrowed, and he growled to himself at the memory of Witty once more.

Frowning deeply, a crease appeared to either side of his eyes as he looked down at his bleeding left leg. "I fucking hate Mondays," he stated simply as he reach for the medical pack at his side.

End Chapter One

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