FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Company Handbook. Chapter XIV. Section 3. The offices of the Insurance Claims Counselors should at all times be kept tidy and be made to seem separate from the treatment and billing departments of the hospital to put the consumer's minds at ease.

Jeremy McDowell always kept his office tidy, and it really did seem like an entirely different world than the one that existed outside of the automatic frosted glass doors. The small room was adored with soft colors, still life art, and a few wooden tables that were filled with pamphlets on varying medical conditions that were serious enough to require a visit to a counselor. In most hospitals, Jeremy's position would be much more involved. He'd be delivering a lot of bad news and direction patients towards financial aid solutions that, truth be told, wouldn't really help them. Creekside was different, though. One couldn't so much as get in the tightly controlled front doors without already having a fantastic policy.

At Creekside, Jeremy mostly just explained treatment plans and acted as a buffer between the hospital and its wealthy clients. That buffer was apparent as soon as someone came into his office, or as soon as he stepped out. Outside the chemically sanitized smell and cool, artificial feeling light mixed with odors of linen and constant--though quiet--intercom calls. Inside all was calm. The lighting was warm, the smells were meant to remind people of home, and it was soundproofed. Even the counselors themselves were selected to seem soothing. Jeremy's 'special qualification' was being an albino wolf. People were fascinated by the all-white fur and red eyes; it disarmed them.

Jeremy had only been back at work for a few days, and the workload had been light. The company didn't want to put too much onto a 'stressed' employee. The number said that doing so was more likely to cost money in reduced productivity than a simple lightening of the expected production. Everything was a numbers game, and Jeremy McDowell was, too; number 27899 to be specific.

The door opened, and the wolf sat up and did his best to look inviting. A soft whirring sound accompanied the awkwardly walking female hyena. Right behind her was her husband. A quick glance over his notes told him that these were Mister and Misses Vass. Jeremy retrieved the treatment plan from his drawer and set it out on his desk as they--slowly--made their way towards him. The taller man was constantly holding a paw behind his wife's back in case she stumbled on her new prosthetic device. Jeremy would have preferred to just deal with the policyholder, but the plan did appear to state that Alicia Vass should move around some to get used to the mechanical device. The temporary device, to be attached, and then replaced by advanced stemcell and gene therapy. It seemed to the wolf such a waste to spend so much time and money on advanced prosthetics, only to discard them a short while later once a slot for even more expensive therapy opened. Had John Vass had a lesser policy his wife wouldn't be getting either of them.

Chapter XIV. Section 5. The Insurance Claims Counselor should present a friendly face to the consumer. Smile whenever possible.

Jeremy smiled. It wasn't genuine in the slightest sense of the word, but he'd certainly gotten good at putting up a convincing fake. John Vass's fake smile wasn't very polished, and showed all the signs of nervous husband having to face the specter of dealing with someone the likes of Jeremy McDowell. The hyena had probably heard all the horror stories about what the Claims Counselor's office did to people and been reassured that he was in a class above all that rabble. There were horror stories, and it's what most people faced, but Mister Vass was not normal.

The wolf extended a paw, and John Vass shook it gingerly. "Good afternoon Mister Vass, and you too, Alicia. My name is Jeremy McDowell and I'll be your Claims Counselor. How's the leg?" Jeremy didn't really care how the leg was, he couldn't. Not with what he knew was happening on the other side of town, in another hospital.

He figured that she'd reply with some kind of complaint; the entitled rich cunts always did. He was right. "Well," Alicia started as she leaned down and visibly favored her leg, "I suppose it will do, but I really don't understand why I have to wait for the stemcell treatment." She even sounded whiney. Jeremy was surprised she didn't end her sentence with a flail of the paw and a 'cha'.

Her husband decided to quip in. "Well, the reconstruction wing doesn't seem all that busy. What causes the delay in getting that treatment?" Jeremy glanced at the clock. These would be his last clients of the day.

Chapter XIV. Section 1. The Position of Insurance Claims Counselor should handle questions and concerns that patients have with regard to their treatment whereas it does not directly require the opinion of a physician. Consumers may be confused or irate due to the stress of a traumatic accident, and the Counselor should act as a calm voice of reason.

There was a pamphlet for that--there was a pamphlet for everything--and Jeremy had set that in their case folder in anticipation. He pulled the tri-folded paper out and slide it across the table. "It's an extremely specialized area of medicine and the specialists are in short supply" the albino stated in his soothing, practiced tones. These two had no idea how much effort it took to keep his emotions from exploding, but they had no way of knowing (or reason for caring) about what was going on in their counselors personal life. "Trust me, your wait time is below the national average, even if it seems long."

'Trust me' worked far more often than it should have on people that really had no reason to trust Jeremy McDowell at all. If anything, they had many reasons to distrust the counselor, but the simple personal request for trust almost always worked. Maybe people were just programmed to _want_to trust each other, or maybe Jeremy just seemed so harmless. It didn't really matter why. The Vass's fell for it as well; he could see it in their expressions. If the followed the normal pattern the husband would ask what was going to come next, and what they needed to do.

"You'll excuse us, this is all just so sudden and frightening." John Vass fingered clumsily at the stack of documents and brochures in front of him. The husband seemed like a nice enough guy, really. "So what do we need to do? I'd hate to mess up some paperwork." With that last statement there was genuine fear on the voice. Even the good policies could get anal about dotting the I's and crossing the T's.

Lucky for Mister and Misses Vass, their insurance covered third party claims filing, and said party assumed any consequences for mistakes. "You're fortunate, Alicia," Jeremy addressed the patient directly, despite having been dealing with her husband. Just another trick in the sleeve. "Your provider has claims handing completely taken care of." Another fake smile, but this time the wolf placed his paw gently on top of the patient's. That got a smile back; genuine this time. "There's almost nothing you need to do other than sign a few forms."

John placed an arm around his wife's shoulders, giving her a squeeze and a grin. "See? We'll get through this just fine." The rest of the meeting went as about expected. The forms were all signed by the policyholder, Jeremy gave his 'I'm there for you' speech, and all the literature about dealing with the injury were handed out. By the time they'd left they thought that they'd made a new friend.

Jeremy filed the case as complete. With any luck he wouldn't hear from them again until their stem cell therapy came up in a few months. The doors slide open again, and Jeremy grumbled quietly at the prospect of a last second and unplanned for client. The ferret who stepped into the door as not a client, but Mister Slay (an unfortunate name for a man in the medical profession). The ferret had on one of his endless suit and tie combinations, and as usual declined to sit.

Chapter XII. Section 21. The Labor Relations department shall have no less than one(1) representative for every two hundred and twenty-five(225) employees in order to ensure that concerns and grievances are handled in a timely matter so as not to effect productivity.

If most people were intimidated by a Claims Counselor, then most Claims Counselors were intimidated by Labor Relation officials. Part supervisor, part personnel resources, part big-brother, and all by the book, they were supposed to be an employee's refuge if one was having a problem. Every company had a fantastic mission statement and spoke very highly of its commitment to the rights and happiness of its workers, and the parent medical holdings corporation that Creekside belonged to was no different. Jeremy really had to wonder why they all tried so hard to look like they cared when it was so damn apparent that none of them did.

Mister Slay's smile was every bit as fake as Jeremy's was, but absolutely masterful. Hell, Jeremy almost wanted to fall for it. Then again, Slay had been good to him so far in this case. After the accident, the ferret had gotten the company to agree to no random tox-screens for a few months on Jeremy McDowell; so the wolf was free to indulge more freely in drink. That was no small deal. Nobody got out of random screens except in special circumstances. Even getting caught one time having too much evidence of recent binge drinking or other drug use and one's policy could be revoked or the rates increased. It didn't just go for recreational drugs and tox-screens, either. Too much television usage would get reported to the insurance companies. Failure to use exercise facilities or not eating healthier if deemed overweight would also be put on one's Policy Report.

"I have good news, Mister McDowell." The ferret nodded to himself, and then adjusted his previous statement when he noticed that the wolf was perking up too eagerly, "well, news."

"Yes?" The turnaround had been awful fast there had been a decision already.

The ferret had a chipper tone in his voice, as if he had done something marvelous. "I will be hearing your grievance with the committee in the morning, and will have a decision sometime tomorrow." Jeremy gave a slight nod and heaved in and out with a deep breath. Tomorrow. He'd know tomorrow. "You know, you're a fine employee, and we're all deeply pained by this situation." Slay looked down as if to appear distraught, "I wish we could have taken a collection, but..."

"I know," Jeremy cut in. He didn't want to hear a canned apology.

Policy Terms. Section 43, Subsection b. Reimbursement for any costs, copays, or other expenses will be collected from the policyholder only. No payment from any other source, sources, family, employer, or charity will be acceptable compensation as per The Medical Insurance Act of the 47th Corporate Charter Congress.

Mister Slay took his leave, with one more reminder of "tomorrow". The wolf tidied up his desk for the afternoon shift guy, Brandon, a nice tiger but one who was prone to throwing a bitch fit if he didn't come into a spick and span office. Satisfied that everything was in order, Jeremy clocked out, left the building, and got on the train.

Even though he worked in a hospital, it felt completely alien going into a different one. North-Central Receiving was monstrous. The traffic around the facility formed long lines of slowly moving taillights in the fading evening sunlight. With as many things that seemed to be set up in the city to specifically annoy the citizens it was a small miracle that the trains ran right to all the major hospitals. Rush hour always brought in a crowd of visitors coming to see a sick loved one as soon as the workday ended. Jeremy twisted and turned his way through the current of bodies at the transit stop up towards the revolving doors at the front of the hospital.

A pleasant smell, along amongst the mixed scents of dozens of species of carrying levels of hygiene, caught Jeremy's nose and he was drawn towards the small stall selling flowers and other get-well items. A flower would be nice. She always did appreciate those little gestures, but she always hated roses and that's mostly what the merchant was carrying. Off to the side was a carnation; that would do nicely. Jeremy waved his credit chit over the payment kiosk and frowned at the message that was displayed:

Jeremy, your friends at National Hospital Employees Bank remind you that you only have sixty-seven credits remaining of your monthly discretionary spending limit!

It even had a little animated smiling canid face below it, as if that made things happier. Her could worry about it later. Jeremy lifted the flower to his nose as he stepped into the elevators and enjoyed the delicate odor; ignoring the rest of the people that were along for the ride. Every time he got on the elevators was when it started to hit him. The fur on his tail and neck stood up a bit and a nervous, queasy feeling crept into his entire body. The bell dinged, and Jeremy stepped off with a few others onto the second floor; unable to hide a smirk as he passed the frosted glass doors of the Claims Counselors offices. They wanted to meet with him a few weeks ago, but he used his access at work to pull the treatment plans up on his own.

Jeremy took a deep breath. The room was just up the next hallway, past the nurses' station. One of the scrubs-clad women--a friendly looking vixen--intercepted him and let Jeremy know that the patient he was coming to visit had been sedated and not to wake her. That was disappointing, but always a possibility. He paused outside the door before entering. Inside the small room, amidst the myriad of machines and monitors, was a small bed. It was he. His spirits rejoiced at her familiar scent; faded though it was with weeks of hospital living. There were hints in the air that perhaps the nurses hadn't been tending to her bathroom needs as well as they should have, too. He'd have to bring that up with them before he left.

The white wolf sat on the small seat next to his wife; placing the flower on the nearby tray table. He sneaked his fingers under and around the wires and tubes to touch the mottled brown and black fur of her cheek and ear. The rest of the small-framed female wolf's body was hidden under the white linen blankets, or at least what was left of it. Melanie always squirmed her legs around while sleeping, an annoying trait at first that turned charming over the years. The blanket looked unnatural as it tapered off and went flat against the mattress below her knees. A traumatic injury, but nothing a year of advanced therapies couldn't resolve. Of more concern was the head trauma, but the doctors weren't yet sure how much brain damage had been done. It really didn't matter how easy or hard it would be to fix Melanie, it only mattered how expensive it was and if one had the policy to cover it. Jeremy did not.

Policy Terms. Section 70. . The Company may offer a lesser than contractually obligated policy to an employee who suffers from a preexisting condition. Subsection f: genetic birth defects shall be considered a preexisting condition.

Pre-natal screening had somehow missed his albinism, or so Jeremy's mother always told him. In truth, she probably knew. Mom always had a big heart. He should be grateful to exist, or at least that's what everyone always told Jeremy. Exist is all he was able to do for most of his life. There was always the specter hanging over him of getting sick, and everyone expected the albino wolf to be constantly ill. He wasn't, though. Jeremy McDowell had barely had a cold his entire life. It wasn't until he met Melanie that life started getting good. For the first time he could finally forget all the stupid bullshit about his genetics and the stress of his work. He could see Melanie's father in his mind, telling her 'that Jeremy is no good for you. He'll only be trouble down the road when healthcare becomes a concern. He'll fail you.' Her father was right. Jeremy had failed her.

No. The system had failed them, just like it failed everyone. Jeremy let go of Melanie's cheek as he felt himself tense up in frustration. He got up, filled a plastic cup with water and drank it down. Dwelling on the unfairness in life was a quick way to getting oneself locked up or medicated even further.

"Sir?" Jeremy's ears swiveled to a familiar voice; that of the vixen nurse. She smiled--a genuine one, at that--and offered a gentle paw on his shoulder. "She's going to be out all night, why don't you come back tomorrow."

"Doesn't Melanie have a procedure tomorrow afternoon?" That's what the treatment plan said, after all.

The nurse nodded, "yes, but she'll be out of that and awake by six or so." Just in time for him to get there. She gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Go on, get some sleep." She started shooing him out of the door without much protest from the wolf. He knew she was right. "See you tomorrow, Mister McDowell."

After a glance back at the motionless wolf in the bed, he started back towards the elevators. Jeremy told himself that he'd done good being there every single day so far. Taking one night off was probably for the best, especially with her being unconscious. The trains were far less crowded on the way out. The Yellow Line was the one to take him home, but it was not the train that Jeremy boarded. Blue South would take him to Midtown, and after the past few days a little jaunt over to his favorite bookstore would do nicely.

Midtown was always nice in the evening, and Jeremy especially liked the row of old fashioned shops along Broadview Lane; a reminder of days gone past. On the corner of the street was his own personal mecca: Gregory's Books. The creaky door was a staple, and seemed to add some authenticity to the establishment, though the smells of old books and oak shelves served that purpose much more naturally. Gregory was nowhere to be seen at first glance. Nor was anyone else, for that matter. Though after a few steps in the familiar black-furred fox popped out from behind a row of shelves.

"Jeremy!" The shop owner set down the stack of books and trotted over. "Give me a hug, mister!" Jeremy acquiesced and gave the small, but energetic vulpine a friendly squeeze. "I heard what happened and we've all been so worried! How is Melanie doing?"

The wolf would have liked to completely lie, but who's to say what Gregory had really heard. A little fib would have to do. "She's better. I hope to have her back home soon." The second part of that was true; Jeremy _did_hope that she'd be back soon, but that wasn't going to happen.

Gregory may have bought that, he may not have. The black fox was always hard to read, which Jeremy found a bit ironic for someone who made a living selling reading material. "I suppose you've burned through your entire book list with those long hospital nights?"

"I have".

The fox smirked in that sly, disarming expression that came so natural to his kind. "I also suppose you've burned through your discretionary spending limit?" Jeremy had, and he acknowledged that. The outlawing of cash currency was just the first step on the long staircase of employer controlled personal financial accounts. Being fiscally responsible in ones life wasn't much of a choice. The employer set your disposable income and automatically paid all debts and bills out of the paycheck. If the accountholder was short there were a variety of recourses that owed parties could take against them.

Public Act 812. Elimination of Cash as Legal Tender. Section 2. All physical currency shall hold no value one hundred and eighty(180) days after this Act is passed. Section 9. Exchange or attempted exchange of goods or services with physical currency will be a class c felony.

People would be people, however, and the underground elements of society had their own well-developed illegal currency. It was a word of mouth affair to figure out who would and would not accept it. Gregory's store even had a prominent sign stating that any customers attempting to use illegal money would be reported to the authorities. Gregory was one of the cities foremost users.

"Look," the fox said, "how about I just give you a few on me. You could use a kind gesture, am I right?"

Jeremy raised a brow as his white tail swayed playfully; a sign of levity he hadn't felt in days. "Are you telling me the cheapest, stingiest fox I've ever met is offering me something for free?"

Gregory held up two digits. "Two books. Whatever you want, within reason, hm?"

Two books would last him for another few long hospital visits and the restless nights between them. Jeremy chose a pair of lengthy non-fiction pieces about the Kralin War. History was interesting to him, even if most of what was available was corporate revisionism.

Evening was falling fast, and the natural colors of twilight were replaced by the cool, artificial shades of electronic lights and signs. Corporate Enforcement had set up a checkpoint at the train station. Just a standard blood sample. Jeremy felt the tiny needle pierce the pad on his index finger and waited for the system to read his DNA. He confirmed his name, and they confirmed his medical records, what drugs he should be on, and that he was in fact on them. They were satisfied, and he went on his way.

Public Act 212. Prescription Drug Compliance Act. To reduce waste and ensure safety, all drugs that are prescribed to a patient must be taken as directed by a physician...

His apartment was eerily quiet. Though, upon entry the entertainment screen wasted no time in reminding him that the hospital would be contacting him shortly about credit issues concerning his wife's treatment. Jeremy emptied his pockets neatly onto the kitchen table and tossed his slacks and button-up shirt into the hamper. The shower was the moment in his day where Jeremy finally let down his guard. The strictly regimented way of life he led at work got washed away with the warm water. The wolf looked at the empty space in the stall, and couldn't help but think about how he had to do all the washing. He couldn't help but think about all those days he'd come home and she'd be waiting for him, how their muzzles would connect, how her arms would wrap around him, and how sometimes they had to clean up more than just their daily grime.

The quick-dry booth made fast work of his fur, though Jeremy left himself bare except for his boxers to let slight remaining moisture evaporate. It was hardly eight o'clock, though it seemed much later. Late enough for a drink in any event, Jeremy reasoned as he poured himself a few fingers of whiskey. Maybe it was the stress of everything but the harsh brown liquid didn't have the burn that it normally did that night. That just made the second drink even easier. The third was an afterthought during a commercial break in his favorite TV show: Metro Blue. It was an okay episode. Detective Jackson did his usual hero act and the murderer was caught in the last few minutes. With a wobble and a grunt he headed for the spare bedroom.

Like most folks, Jeremy had Full Sensory Stimulation entertainment center. The system looked like a reclining chair with a domed hair salon style drier attached to it. "Load program 'Rockstar fourteen'" he said as he strapped himself in and lowered the dome over his head. The inside of it was coated with glass and looked like an old tube TV screen, and Jeremy caught a grey-scale reflection of himself in it for a few seconds before his vision was overwhelmed in a bright light.

Just like that he was on the stage. The roar of the crowd and towering speakers was intense of enough that it stung his ears and reverberated off the ends of his fur. Jeremy didn't know how to play the guitar in the real world but his fingers moved over the strings and gorgeous riffs streamed out. The crowd went wild with every note, and grabbed at his legs as he walked along the front of the stage. Jeremy looked back at his band and grinned as he recognized the faces to Jimmy Jim's backup duo. That made him Jimmy Jim in this set, and he was very okay with that. He sang, and no matter how bad the white wolf's singing voice was it came out sounding exactly like the famous jaguar's vocals.

After a few songs Jeremy changed things up and went with himself as pitcher in a ball game. That program was a little less fantasy based and actually required some effort on the player's part. That didn't go so well. Thankfully he was saved by the bell, as it were. It started off sounding distant--a gentle warning for what was to come--and soon the fake world snapped off and for a few disorientating moments the wolf sat in his chair while his senses made the adjustment. It wasn't very often that Jeremy was snapped out of an FSS simulation by the automated safety cut off. Melanie usually shut the 'stupid' device off far before the limit.

Full Sensory Stimulation Entertainment System manual. Page 29. Use of the FSS can be strenuous on your body! To prevent use of the system for longer than intended it will automatically wake you after one hour.

It was past his bedtime and his buzz was gone, but Jeremy could spare a little bit more time. He relaxed into the chair once more and fought with himself. He really shouldn't be doing this. "Load program Wedding Five. Time stamp thirty-seven minutes." Once again the system flashed brightly as his consciousness was whisked away; not to fantasy, but to living memories. Jeremy hated weddings. The ritual and dress-up and vows always had seemed so ridiculous to him. That is, until he had his own. He didn't need a FSS program to remember how stunning she looked, or how tingly inside that alter-side kiss made him feel.

"Dammit. Program cancel." He growled in disgust at himself for even watching something like that with the way things were. He'd take a sleeping aid and get some forced shut-eye. Tomorrow was a big day.

*

Morning, as always, came too early. Jeremy bumbled around his home making food and getting freshened up for the workday, but a dark cloud was hovering over. It was probably the wedding bit he'd relived that was putting him into a somber mood, he told himself. He made sure to grab one of his new books for his trip to the hospital after work. He should have just used a family medical day, but he'd already clocked in and had a client waiting. It was a simple case and within give minutes his office was empty, and it stayed that way for a few hours during the unusually slow day. Half a dozen trips to the coffee pot, a few chapters in the book, and some random browsing couldn't make things go any quicker.

A special ringtone made the spaced-out wolf snap to attention. That's the call he'd been waiting on for weeks. It was the decision that was coming down that very day. Jeremy hit the button to accept it and a lifelike holo projection of a skunk appeared. It was a simple pre-recorded message from the insurance company, with no chance to interact. They preferred sending these as they looked more personal.

"Greetings Mister Jeremy McDowell!" the image started out with undue enthusiasm. "We've reviewed your grievance where you contended that your policy downgrade due to your albinism should not, according to section 58 subsection i, prohibit your wife from receiving prime level care in the category of gene-therapy and prosthetics." The skunk kept talking. He sounded very real, but there were such robotic undertones. "It is our utmost concern that our policies are clear, and it appears there is murky water in this case." Jeremy perked up, and his heart started beating quickly. No way. There was no way he might win this. Nobody won. "Therefore, we have reached a compromise with your labor relations representative. Melanie McDowell will receive full prosthetic treatment and partial gene therapy coverage pending final results of the brain trauma evaluation. If the brain trauma is severe enough to result in paralysis or other serious disability than treatment of mobility related injuries will not be relevant. Thank you for your time and good day."

Jeremy's joyous nerves got the better of him and he nearly bounced off his chair in celebration. Even such a small victory was unheard of, and bang on cue the door slid open and in came Mister Slay. The ferret gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and a few lines of congratulation before excusing himself on account of a busy schedule. Jeremy wanted to get up right then and head over to the hospital, but there wasn't much point. Melanie wouldn't be able to have visitors until after work, and it would be unprofessional to take off just on account of good news; even if that news was unbelievable.

He had to remind himself that things were far from over. It was entirely possible that there was significant brain damage and that no matter what the policy did for her legs, it wouldn't matter in the end. She'd never get the full treatment like his client from yesterday, Miss Vass, got. No doubt the insurance company was _sure_to find some way to get back at him for daring to win an appeal. All those maybes and what ifs didn't matter, though. For the first time in weeks the wolf was smiling for real and nobody in the world could take that small pleasure from him.

The next few clients he saw that day were all easy cases: open and shut. No drama, no tears, no complaining, and no problems. Life probably owed him a few good days, and it seemed she was paying up on at least one of them. Mister Slay even came back just before lunch time and dropped off some food as a surprise present, which gave the ferret another point in the 'maybe not a terrible person' column.

His phone rang. Not his office phone, but his personal one. The number wasn't a saved one, although the prefix code signified it was local. If circumstances were normal he would have just ignored a strange number, but nothing was normal as of late.

"Hello, Mister McDowell?" The female voice on the other end of the line sounded heavy and worn out. This was going to be a bad call. "I regret to inform you that your wife, Melanie, passed away today while in surgery."

After that sentence it didn't matter what the woman said. Jeremy heard, and he nodded to himself and replied to her automatically. He couldn't think straight as the conversation--if one could call it that--progressed. It couldn't happen like that, could it? Of course it couldn't. Melanie was fine, and they'd just gotten great news. He left work. Work didn't question it.

Everything was a blur on the ride home. Jeremy slammed his door with enough force that it knocked a picture off the wall and surely caused a jolt of concern to any neighbors who might be home. He looked around his living room for something to smash, but growled his instincts off and stormed the bathroom. He let the water get hot--too hot--before wetting the facecloth and pressing the damp fabric to the bridge of his nose and his eyes. His eyes were always red--a constant reminder of his 'defect'--but even so it was clear that they were bloodshot.

They'd tricked him. There was no other explanation in the wolf's mind, and he knew he'd never be able to find the truth. He couldn't believe that Melanie would have such a sudden collapse hours after he'd won an appeal that was contingent on her brain injury being minor. He wrung his hands while he paced around the rooms; trying to process the emotions. He should be sad, crying, and curled up in a ball somewhere. Jeremy McDowell was full of rage, though. It took a lot of convincing himself just to be able to sit down and log onto his computer. He connected to the hospitals database and entered his Claims Counselors info. They could fire him for this, but Jeremy didn't care at the moment. There were several layers of warnings in the way of seeing Melanie's files as it wasn't normally permitted look at patients who weren't your own clients, but eventually he got them.

Records sealed.

The wild orchestra of thoughts in his mind went silent and he heard only his rapid heartbeat and breathing as he stared at those words. They'd killed her because her husband dared to challenge the unfairness of their rules. If the wanted to make it look natural though, why seal the records? Maybe it was an honest accident and their feared a lawsuit? No, that couldn't' be it. One couldn't sue a hospital or doctor for an accident, even if it resulted in death. Jeremy gathered himself up enough to speak. "Who sealed these records?" The system processed his request and brought up the document. At the bottom was a name that stung like a dagger: Michael Slay. Jeremy gripped at the desk, "what time were the records sealed."

The computer answered in a synthetic voice, "eleven-twenty PM today." The appeal had been decided only fifteen minutes before that. Jeremy walked to his bedroom and fished around under his bead until he felt the small metal box. He set it on the mattress and waited for his mood to cool down. It didn't, and so with a scan of his thumb the small vault snapped open. Jeremy ran a claw along the cold metal slide of the pistol before picking it up. Mister Slay wasn't the only person who could decide that killing was a good business choice. Jeremy looked at the muzzle of the gun; the hole seemed so big and he wondered what a projectile that size would do if it went through his head. Would it hurt?

Policy Terms Section 44. In the event of suicide the deceased policyholder surrenders all coverage of all persons on his or her plan, and any remaining balances are transferred to next of kin.

He shook his head and set it down. No, it wouldn't be very kind to put his debts on Melanie's parents. Still, he had to do something, right? How many other people had been cheated like this? How many wrongs could the system keep lumping onto the helpless cogs in the brutal machine before one of them snapped off and took the whole thing down in flames? A chime from the kitchen reminded him that he had forgotten to take his medicine. Fuck the medicine, he liked thinking crazy like this. Melanie would be nodding in approval.

*

The train ride seemed to take absolutely forever, and the odd looks he was getting from the other passengers didn't help. They could tell something was wrong with the mumbling, fidgeting wolf. They didn't say anything, though. It was crowded at the hospital stop, but the big crowd was good for Jeremy. Facial scanners would be looking for him. Creekside absolutely didn't want an employee anywhere near work after a spousal death. Just another layer of PR bullshit designed to keep everyone in line and depersonalize everything. Being spotted didn't matter, only being stopped did. Having a few pounds of steel stuck in his belt made Jeremy feel like everyone could see, but they couldn't. They didn't know.

Once he was inside he headed straight for the top floor. The elevator doors opened and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he saw that there wasn't a security guard posted in front of the executive offices as there often was. He'd hate to hurt any innocents, unless they got in the way of his mission. That's what it was: a mission. This wasn't just about Melanie, hell it didn't matter if they killed her or not, did it? This was about the broken system that enslaved all of its victims into passivity. Someone had to strike out against it.

He walked past several offices, giving each a peek as he searched out the representative of the very system he so hated. Finally, there the ferret was. Mister Slay stopped in his tracks in the hallway and stared at Jeremy. The Labor Relations rep raised his hands and started to say something. Jeremy couldn't hear the words, but knew it was probably some lines the ferret had learned in training to deal with disgruntled employees. Jeremy couldn't hear anything, in fact. He couldn't feel anything, not even the weight of the gun as he lifted it up and aimed it towards Mister Slay. The ferret really did have an ironic name for his line of work.

User Manual. Page 31. While holding the grip firmly, pull the trigger to the rear completely and without staging or stopping your motion. The hammer will be released and the firing pin will strike the primer. Upon firing, the slide moves rearward; extracting and ejecting the spent casing.

It'd been years since he'd shot, but the bullet found its target before the target had a chance to comprehend what was happening. Mister Slay didn't react like Jeremy would have thought. The ferret clutched at his chest with one hand, and the other grasped at the wall, and then-

It started off sounding distant--a gentle warning for what was to come--and soon the fake world snapped off and for a few disorientating moments the wolf sat in his chair while his senses made the adjustment. It wasn't very often that Jeremy was snapped out of an FSS simulation by the automated safety cut off. Melanie usually shut the 'stupid' device off far before the limit.

Jeremy's heart was beating fast, and he sat motionless for several full minutes. Once he accepted that he'd just run a simulation of what he had, the wolf got up and wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water. He thought of the little black lockbox under his bed, and the inner fire started to flame up once again. He could do it. He could absolutely do it, and maybe in some twisted world it would be the right thing.

Then again, Jeremy lived in a twisted world.