FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE SOCIALIST REPUBLIC OFFICIAL COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEM. PLEASE ENTER YOUR RANK, FULL NAME AND 14 CHARACTER ENCRYPTED PASSWORD. NOTE: ENTRY TO THIS DOMAIN CAN ONLY BE AUTHORISED BY AN UP TO DATE ENCRYPTED PASSWORD. ENTRY VIA ANY OTHER MEDIUM WILL BE GRADED AS A SERIOUS OFFENCE. EXTREME PREJUDICE WILL BE EXERCISED.

PROCESSING: Thank you General Mikhail Pascaviktz. How may the SROCS be of assistance to you today?

He typed his response swiftly and with elegance. There was no time to waste as his fingers glided over the keyboard.

PROCESSING: Putting you into contact with Lieutenant David Korolev, stand by:

• USER LT.D.K: What is the purpose of this enquiry?
• USER G.M.P: Sitrep of operation Recon 1, involving special operatives 42, 43 and medical officer 127. Mission is status is failed sir. Instructions that diverge from protocol and should be taken into account?
• USER LT.D.K: Explain. Special operatives 42 and 43 are the best. Failure would only follow the direst of circumstances.
• USER G.M.P: Current state of affairs dictate I obtain required approval for possession of medical officer 127's visual and auditory files from you sir.
• USER LT.D.K: What state of affairs General Pascaviktz!

NOTE: Use of sensitive information is prohibited; strike against both parties has been posted.

• USER G.M.P: All service wolves involved in Recon 1 are confirmed KIA. Through basic analysis of the sequence of events, we have come to the conclusion that 127's records will be of the most use to our investigation.
• USER LT.D.K: Very well soldier, what time frame of recording do you require, I will have them posted to you ASAP.
• USER G.M.P: I require classified information from ranging from sunrise this morning up to 2 hours prior to our current meeting.
• USER LT.D.K: You will respond only to me, no one else must know.
• USER G.M.P: Yes sir, complete confidentiality will be executed.

USER LT.D.K DISCONNECTED FROM SROCS.

CONVERSATION TERMINATED.

FILES INCOMING FROM USER LT.D.K, CLASSIFIED AS TOP SECRET.

PLEASE RE-ENTER YOUR 14 CHARACTER ENCRYPTED PASSWORD TO VIEW DOCUMENTATION AND RECORDS.

PROCESSING: Should SROCS play the following material?

PROCESSING: Playing now.

---

Medical officer 127 woke abruptly as he was kicked in the stomach. His superior spoke with an eastern European accent, thicker than 127's. There was no remorse in his voice. The young wolf was hardly surprised.

"Get up now Daintry or we are leaving you behind."

As he got up off of the earthen ground, Daintry straightened his black, long overcoat to little avail. Creases in it were deep set and frozen stiff. Lifting the heavy camo-coloured kit onto his back, Daintry followed, pushing through the thickening snow. The weight on his shoulders was testing, the SR-LR1 rifle was as bulky as they got. He straightened his synthetic helmet, allowing the metal lower portion to lock into the teeth-shaped magnets in the back of his thick collar. His ears poked through symmetrical slits in the fabric. The soldiers were indistinguishable from each other. All wore the same standard issue, sub-zero apparel. Grey trousers and black coats with pronounced shoulders. Blue lights ran along his forearms in semi-circular tubes. They met across 127's chest and at the eye pieces built into his helmet. They joined in such a way that it had the appearance of an electric spider, clinging onto the wolf for dear life. The minimalistic technology was protected from the harsh temperatures, embedded deep within the lining. The lights glowed silently and displayed basic yet vital information to Daintry and his comrades. Readouts were inside status panels that appeared above their heads, projected by their helmets. Body temperature and visibility were their main concerns at the moment. His clothes flapped gently as a soft wind blew low to the ground. He shivered.

Despite his fur, Daintry was still cold. Very, very cold. Every step shook his body to its core. The ground was unforgiving; arching roots protruding from the dirt were easy to trip up on, rocks hidden beneath the shadows of trees cut open his bare paws. His pads were so mutilated that the ground felt like broken glass. They had no more painkillers left, consuming them all Daintry was a little uncertain on his feet. The snowflakes continued to fall, large and icy; they landed on the rock solid earth and began to build up. He hated the forest. Daintry had never been surprised that when they had labelled him as a deserter, command had sent him here. Accused of trying to escaping from his mandatory 2 years of service this was the young wolf's punishment. It would have been an honour for the normal medical officer to be chosen for such an operation. 127 knew the only reason he was in the forest was because he couldn't escape. Daintry would have to be loyal to the Socialist Republic here. It was the law of the forest that dictated his actions.

Yet that wasn't the only reason he couldn't stand it here. It was the nightmares he had experienced whilst within the forest that were having a more profound effect on his sanity. Daintry had dreamt that the trees were alive and had pulled him apart by the limbs; the vines had slashed and cut his body into pieces. It was unnerving, the forest was desolate, empty, it couldn't support life. Raglan, or 43, had told him it was because of the radiation. Daintry thought it was something else, because it felt like so_mething_ washere. But that something would not fit in the hierarchy of the animal kingdom. It would not be any ordinary creature. It would have to be a monster.

Harrison, or 42, snapped his head around, eyes alight with rage. He flailed and pointed his gun in Daintry's direction as he spoke viciously.

"Move it now cub or I'll fuckin' shoot you myself, and don't you FOR A SECOND think I'm kidding. According to Raglan here, the Republic would be better off without scum like you."

The older operatives laughed to themselves groggily until Raglan started to cough. To calm his spluttering he pulled out a cigar and lit it. Daintry was the only one to see the irony. Large puffs of smoke escaped from 43's mouth like a spectral plague that then surrounded all but his ears and whiskers. It seeped out of the sides of his muzzle.

"Oh, we wouldn't kill him; we need someone to carry the LR1 for us." Raglan continued smoothly.

Harrison replied in a sarcastic voice, "Yeah, that way we can get away as the forest eats him alive."

They continued to laugh.

Fantastic,_though Daintry, _Talking in my sleep again, I am truly surprised they didn't notice 'til now. Maybe I should just shoot myself and save them the trouble.

This though saturated the grey wolf's brain as they continued. Never stopping, never resting, barely eating. For the next few hours he did not dwell on the mysterious effects of the forest. That was, until, they came to the field. It was a small pasture that had been absorbed into the forest as it had continued to expand. Its perimeter was a dilapidated barbed wire - wooden post fence. Nearly sunk into the ground it offered no resistance, especially compared to the dense forest. The plentiful, twisted branched and closely packed, splintering trees. It was only at this point that they could see the sunlight. It had been so long Daintry barely knew how to react. He tried to stare at it and instantly regretted his decision. Nature was unforgiving. The light, not coming from any one direction, was an orange hue that made the sky look as if it was on fire. The orb itself was hidden behind the looming storm clouds. The lenses in his helmet darkened in response as the glare increased, making the area under the canopy as dark as night. A low lying fog had formed; it flowed in-between the narrow trees but not across the field. Nor had a single drop of precipitation fallen on the oddly uniform blades of grass. As another low wind blew, the blades moved like an ocean of flexible, glistening knives as they bent and curved in the air current. Everything was silent.

Whistling amongst the branches, Daintry though... No... He was sure that he could hear voices on the wind. Not for the first time. Deep pitched and barely audible, they chattered among themselves in woeful, unholy remarks. Then it was silent again. Daintry wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the lack of food he had ingested. But his sanity was slipping, at least for the moment. With a grunt, Raglan and Harrison kicked down the nearest fence posts and continued into the field. Daintry was less sure when he saw the wooden posts for himself. He touched one and it disintegrated into dust with only the slightest exert of force. The organic material was dry and crumbly, despite the wet air. Lifting the remains up to his muzzle, he sniffed it. It smelt ancient, it smelt of death. No. It smelt dead. 127 did not like what his senses were telling him. The border was extraordinarily old, much more so that it looked. The he noticed that it was not rotten, no moss grew on its surface nor did worms inhabit it. The wood had been consumed from the inside, made hollow. The appearance maintained but everything else had fallen away. It was the forest's doing! It was a sign; it was a warning; BEWARE OF THE FIELD!

---

NOTE:Above candidates analysis should be considered invalid. Sources suggest medical officer 127's state of mind deteriorated due to adverse conditions and foreign chemicals in his digestive tract.

---

Seeing his comrades sink below the grass hill in front of him, Dainty rushed to catch up. Their wrath was not one he wanted to experience a second time today. Yet at the same time he couldn't keep this to himself. Despite their slow reflexes and weaken senses, they might have felt the same discomfort as him. But they might not have, a voice in his head reminded him.

"Wait, I do not think we should go through this place! It feels cursed to tread upon!" He shouted forward.

Harrison spun around as Daintry caught them up. Before 127's brain could process what was happening, he was on the damp ground again. Damp, but not overly cold, he acknowledged pointlessly.

"You will keep your FUCKIN' mouth shut officer! You do not decide where we go!" Harrison screamed as he kicked Daintry to the floor with a large, muscular foot.

Raglan continued where Harrison had left off. "The purpose of this recon is to locate the most efficient path through this wretched forest." He spat at the ground and continued. "This field if at least 4 times faster than crawling through that mess of trees and brambles."

But Harrison couldn't leave it there, "Your stupid superstitions will not ruin our reputations so SHUT THE FUCK UP!" His cheeks were bright red, clearly visible despite his fur. 42 was so livid with anger he was nearly jumping up and down. "Do you understandthat officer?" He whispered bitterly in Daintry's ear.

I just want to rip him open, thought Daintry, disembowel both of them and dance in the blood that spills out of their wounds. His eyes dimmed, ears slowly, almost mechanically winching back. The motion pulling the rest of the skin and fur on his face with them. The aroused wolf retracted his cracked lips and his throat gurgled as his eyes became pronounced outwards. As the last of the emotion disappeared from behind his pupils, another, more reasonable yet worried voice spoke softly. I don't want to do that! Daintry could hear the words spinning and knocking against his head. Resonating due to their importance, suddenly... a revelation.That's not me, that is not my voice! Though the scratches in his optical glasses and the snow zipping around in front of him, he could see a mass. It was dark shadow that fazed into view behind 43 and 42. They couldn't see it, but Daintry could. Almost reacting to his knowledge of its presence it dissolved, like smoke mixed with water as it swirled away with the wind. For now...

The lights on his body started to dim and change colour. They became a therapeutic green, his suit reacting as if he was going to sleep; his brain began to shut down. Daintry was overwhelmed, he couldn't cope, bodily control disconnected. He started to slump in place, almost as if he was unconscious. Yet still aware of his surroundings, frozen in place like everything else in the forest. He sat there and said nothing. The next thing Daintry knew, a gun was pushed hard into his face, he had to turn his head it was so tightly jammed into his jaw. Time slowed, his breathing became shallow and quick. He sat there, paralysed with fear as Harrison's steady hand gripped a SR-S1 handgun. Swinging another paw around to clasp the weapon, 42 steadily begun to inch the bulky trigger back. Dainty knew that he was going to die and in an odd, satirical way, knowledge of the weapon flooded his mind.

The whole gun was obnoxious, noisy and bulky. The technology was incredible new and so complicated its uses were barely understood. Only one fact stood out to Daintry, it could melt his brains into the snow in one, devastating blast. It sucked oxygen up through the bottom of the handle and past the radioactive core in the back of the receiver, building up pressure and heat at every point. Blocky chambers on the forward sides used electron guns to direct the flow of matter out of the long, needle thin barrel. The oxygen was no longer a gas though, by that point it would have entered the 4thstate. Plasma_._ Basically fire it was almost unstoppable, effectively range less. It was a miracle for the newly formed army fighting insurgent terrorists. Thousands of live ended in a blink of the eye. Completely obliterated. It always reminded Daintry of a story his previous commander had told him. "Lined up, the bastards could resist but chant. One stepped forward. He preached to me 'you can't shoot us all; we have all the bullets, all the guns and explosives.' He told us we would lose, we did not have the force to kill all of them. The LR1 rifle was tested that day. And it was glorious comrades!"

Then Daintry had shot him in the heart 5 days later. Accidental discharge. All he could think to do was run. Now the running was over, the race was over, and he had lost._All the young wolf would see would be a flash of escaping and rapidly cooling gas. The last thing he might witness on earth. Yet the medical officer did not cover his face or avert his eyes. His stare was stone cold, locked with Harrison's eyes. It was a silent dare, _do it. His mind fell away, he felt like he was in a bubble separated from his body. Daintry saw the next few minutes in brief flashes.

Him hand in hand with Raglan, being pulled to his feet, then him stumbling after them again. The special operatives waiting to make sure he was alright. They did not want him dead. That did not make Daintry feel any better. He still remained in his bubble, his body was not ready to resynchronise with his mind, his memory. Not ready to absorb what had just happened. 42 and 43 strutted ahead, quickening their pace, whilst Daintry swayed behind them like a lost drunk. No longer did they want to be in the field either. 127's ears pricked up, voices again, but this time voices of the operatives, carried by the wind.

"Did you see his face? We both though you were going to do it for a second there!"

"Are you kidding? I may not get along with him, but Daintry is not one I would kill. I'm sure he will prove himself. "

"Just as long as he doesn't get us first, I will remind you my friend it is not a good idea to wind up the wolf with the bigger gun."

"Speaking of winding people up, how is your wife Harrison?"

"Divorced since August. I doubt that I will ever see Greta or Dmitri even if I survive this. You know how it is, the mother cares for the children and the father fights for the strength of the Socialist Republic."

"Oh yes, the _great_Socialist Republic. What a load of bollocks."

"I hear you, all shit my friend. We are sent off against little more than the cold for 2 years, to see who will survive. Sometimes I feel they just want us away so there is no one to stand up to the state taking all our taxes and giving nothing back in return."

"You speak wisely, if revolutionary comrade. Just because we are out of the realm of the Republic does not mean they cannot punish us for insolence."

"Ha ha, let them come. You can join Daintry back there and hide like scared little children. Running from noises and shadows that cannot cause harm."

"Oh yes, so you can complete the mission."

They spoke together, but quite enough to stop Daintry from hearing. They did not need him to get any ideas. "For the strength of the Socialist Republic!"

"That never gets old." Harrison said, laughing lightly. He continued after a pause, "How is it that they keep our allegiance if they do not have the support of the new recruits or of the old veterans, how can this government sustain itself? And our objective, capture the remnants of the old capital and regain the pastures that lead to the coast. What do they plan to accomplish?"

"Set sail and leave the rest behind no doubt. The irony is foreseeable; we fight for those who are simply more important than us,more equal than us."

"I concur, Marxism's a joke. 'Only when the proletariats become class conscious can capitalism be overthrown! All shall be equal when true socialism reigns!' Ah well, let's keep moving, we would not want a change in the status quo in such a vulnerable position."

They did continue, with the memories of friends, family and state that they had sworn to protect. Deafened from the whistling of shells and explosions over many years, they had little control over their volume. Both 42 and 43's voices had been clearly audible to the medical officer. The apparent similarities with his commanding offices made Dainty smile, he could feel now. His surroundings were now tangible; they became real to him again. He was ready to re-connect. The two halves met, he was whole again. Mind and body, soon to be scattered again but for the moment united. Being in their middle age, special operatives 42 and 43 couldn't see what Daintry could, couldn't hear what Pascaviktz heard. Their eyes were nearly blinded by bright flashes and their ear drums poorly healed after several bursts. They could not sense or be aware of the subtleties that encircled them.

Sound, to 127's direct right. His head snapped around so fast the fabric of his coat nearly ripped, eyes widened and pupils narrowed. His focus increased as adrenaline pumped through his circulation system. Straining his vision, Dainty tried to focus on the other side of the field. It was night now and was so dark now that the bushes and grass met with the sky and mixed together. Almost like how a horizon forms at sea. Except the two mediums met at a large rip, rather than a tight seam. There was no definition... But yet... A form, same as before, erupted from the rip. It took off at a pace in the direction of where they had entered the field. As if it was trying to surround them, but that would take more than one. Its eyes were red, the colour of blood. It looked straight at him, it was coming for Daintry. He was scared. Very, very scared. Not wishing to believe what he had seen, the grey wolf ran towards his comrades once more. They were in the process of exiting the field.

A cool wave of relief past over him as he realised it was over. The field had not claimed him and the edge of the forest could not be far now. They had survived. Then Daintry was taken by surprise, something chirped to his left. On a shoulder high branch, hanging over the fence, was a squirrel. It gazed at him with aloof curiosity, he returned the look. It posed no threat, but felt odd or out of place. It was certainly the first animal he'd seen in the forest this far. The wolf felt the need to touch the animal, so he lifted his paw, allowing his index digit to fully extend. Daintry wanting to show compassion to a lonely creature in a desolate forest. So he continued to lope slowly towards it, locking eyes with the rodent. It was strange that such a basic organism could display such complex emotions. Melancholy, but with a hint of unrealised power, possessing control of a situation without others knowing. The young wolf was close enough to touch it.

The squirrel tilted its head briefly, and then leapt at him. It bit him in the paw, right between the index finger and opposable digit. God it hurt. Its teeth must have been sharp as they had gone straight through the leather gloves he wore and his soft flesh, making a wet clacking noise as they met. He yelped and jumped back, drawing the attention of Raglan and Harrison. They both froze, hands on weapons. However, they did not see a squirrel; they did not see blood gushing from Daintry's leather clad wound. Slowly, like a meticulous toxin, pain worked its way up his hand. Spreading across his palm and fingers, the agony only stopping when it reached his wrist. Every fibre of 127's left paw was on fire; it coursed through his vessels and spewed up in spasmodic bursts. Unable to cope, he flailed about before toppling on top of his rations and rifle, crushing all of it beyond use. Then the numbness came, in the same way as the pain, it flowed and lapped up to his wrist_. Why did it hurt so MUCH!_

For a second time, Raglan's words bashed around in his clouded head, like a furious internal alarm clock. "There is no chain of organisms; radiation has made this place uninhabitable. As you can see there is barely enough energy from the sun to sustain these old, brittle trees; the black, limp leaves; and the small patches of yellowed grass along the ground. There is no nourishment, no sustenance here." That was until we came to the forest! His mind joined the dots, each one more disturbing than the last. No food, no squirrel, no bite, no ... the pain is real. No small bite. Daintry looked down at his left arm again; it did not end with a paw. All that remained was loose bits of flesh that hung unevenly from his wrist as if his arm had been thrust through a shredder. Blood spilled out in pulsations with Daintry's heartbeat. Now fear continued up his arm, it paralyzed him to the spot. No squirrel... Barely containing himself, the medical officer looked upward, to shoulder level. A tall, 4 legged shape loomed over him, back arched, smiling. Its mouth was the colour of its eyes, crimson red. Its mouth was full of blood, my blood...

Simultaneously, Harrison and Raglan raised their pistols; along the barrels of both weapons was the inscription 'wind whistler'. The near official nick name for the handguns that had won the war against piracy and terrorism. The shadow swiftly dodged all of their shots, retreating back into the shade below the tree branches before dissolving again, into nothing smoke and dust. Raglan noticed this peculiar attraction and used it to his advantage without hesitation.

"It cowers in the shadows, we must return to the field where it cannot hide from us!"

And so they did return, heading the way they had come...

---

Pascaviktz paused and drew in another breath slowly. Sweat ran down his face and dripped on to the keyboard. He wiped his face again; all of his fur was slicked down by sweat. What he had seen in the last few hours had aged him many years. Old battle scars had resurfaced and new, terrible nightmares realised. One thing was clear; beware of the forest at all costs.

• USER LT.D.K: please continue USER G.M.P, your analysis is not complete.
• _USER G.M.P:_operatives 42 and 43 continued to re-enter the field; medical officer 127 attempted to follow but was swiftly jumped on. More enemies came into focus around the special operatives. 127 was still alive, he was screaming sir, like nothing I've ever heard.
• USER LT.D.K: More came into focus? Clarify.
• USER G.M.P: They just, appeared, on 127's radar. From visual inspection they materialised around the remaining operatives. One moment there was only snow visible through in his visor, next there were enemies everywhere, even blocking his view of operatives 43 and 42.
• USER LT.D.K: Understood_USER G.M.P_, how did it end? Are we absolutely certain of our operatives' deaths?
• _USER G.M.P:_Yes sir, all my operatives are confirmed KIA as I told you in our last communication.

Pascaviktz couldn't stop himself from reminding Korolev whose soldiers had died. They had been his wolves.

• USER G.M.P: It seems that officer 127 was the first to die, bitten from the waist down, his heart beat continued to increase drastically until brain function suddenly ceased. We believe the cause of this is likely linked to a recorded discharge from special operative 43's SR-S1 weapon.
• USER LT.D.K: Are you suggesting that 127 was executed?
• USER G.M.P: Yes sir, it appears 43 saw the excruciating pain 127 was in and so ended his life out of mercy.

The general's fingers hovered over the key board again as he finished his summary, it was difficult to explain what he had seen.

• USER G.M.P: It scared the shit out of all of them sir; even my most experienced officers were no match for the unknown assailants. They collapsed like cards in the wind.
• USER LT.D.K: What became of operatives 42 and 43?
• USER G.M.P: Sadly operative 42 and 43's auditory and visual files failed to save due to a loss of power to their memory systems. However from analysis of basic readouts that we could pull from their displays, they appeared to have died within seconds of each other. Most likely completely surrounded, they had no chance of survival, the enemy was formidable.
• USER LT.D.K: Thank you USER G.M.P, I will deal with the situation at hand with the upmost care, no further investigation is needed on your part.
• USER G.M.P: sir yes sir. For the strength of the Socialist Republic.
• USER LT.D.K: Yes quite right General.

NOTE: Use of sensitive information is prohibited; second strike against both parties has been posted.

• USER LT.D.K: Damn this censoring software. Do you have any good technicians in your squad Pascaviktz? I could do with someone to 'fix' this stupid machine for me.

NOTE: Third strike posted. Both parties are now suspended from using the SROCS domain for communication indefinitely. If you wish to rebuttal this ban then refer yourself to your respective commanding officer. Use of SROCS will be warranted if appropriate; if not extreme prejudice will be exercised.

---

NEURAL TRANSCRIPT FROM SPECIAL OPERATIVE 43 NOW PLAYING, NOTE NEURAL TRANSCRIPT IS INCOMPLETE AND ONLY 90% ACCURATE:

I am going to die, I am going to die ... that is all I can think. Survival is now impossible, Oh God, why didn't I listen to Daintry? Another one comes at me; I hit it on the cheek, singing right through the soft flesh and fur. If it even has flesh or fur. I remind myself, these monsters are like us but, different, older, more feral and primal. I have always found it strange how the mind deals with stress, using little distractions to draw us away from the very real danger at hand.

"Raglan leave him, we have to keep moving, we are near the centre!"

I reply breathlessly, "I hear you my friend, but I cannot leave Daintry to these beasts."

It is true; I cannot let him suffer any longer. His screams are so loud, I can barely concentrate. So I shoot the officer, between the eyes, Daintry was being dragged by the legs. It was a good shot for what it was worth. Yet even more curious, now his head lay there in the grass, muzzle still, and they leave him alone. Letting his blood spill onto the grass. I can see his visor glowing from over here. For a moment he seems alive as the wind stirs his corpse, as if he was reaching for help, then he is gone. It seems Daintry was of no use once he was dead, once his soul was gone. But I digress; I am getting off topic, my mind wanders, funny how the brain copes with stress. 127 is at peace, I am not, I am losing it, I am losing it ...

"Damn, take that you bastards!" I shout.

Now I feel better. I growl as they snarl back. Others farther away howl for reinforcements. I am scared, so I fire more. Both my hands are on my weapon, but it still bucks ridiculously. It sends jolts down my outstretch arms, shit, I am getting too old. The air is thick with steam, caused by the temperature change of the plasma exiting my wind whistler. I know this, why do I remind myself? I am scared, that is why. My visions in blurred, tears run down my fur in streams. It does not affect these shadow wolves. It is almost like they can ...

OPERATIVE 43 NEURAL TRANSCRIPT MISSING FOR 0.47 SECONDS.

"No!" I shriek in distress.

Alas. My best friend is now dead, he too now lays still, face down in the dirt. His heart has been burst by sharp talons. I am their only target now, so they tease me. I will not be teased! We had nearly been back to back. My back... It is bleeding, little flesh remains on my back, it is just a gash now. More teleport in as my hopes fade ... another correlation? I doubt it. My gun is now jammed, it will not fire. The lights on my clothes begin to fade, my readouts fail, I can no longer see out of my helmet. But yet Daintry's was still working even when he was dead. This is it. I cannot describe the pain, as snow falls on me, the pain dances on my bare flesh. It feels like I am being lashed by God itself. Maybe I am, maybe these are his angels? They are my ancestors, I see that now, how curious that they will be the ones to kill me. Ironic really. The mind does odd things when it is stressed, I am repeating myself no? Therefore I am scared.

In response I grip in my hand, my most valuable possession. From a time now long ago, nearly forgotten. It was the age of fragmentation; it was the age of oil and electricity. It is cuboid object; its rust rubs off in my paws. Gets struck under my nails. It is called a 9 volt. I must have dropped it; I can no longer feel it. Now I can no longer feel my arm. They have finally cornered me, I am being ripped to shreds, and all I can see is blood. I am in hell, there is nothing left of me.

I am dead...

NEURAL TRANSCRIPT ENDED, NO MORE COGNITIVE FUNCTION IS RECORDED AFTER THIS POINT. SPECIAL OPERATIVE 43 IS CONFIRMED KIA.