Become Your Fursona

Species: Bat
Defiance: Nil

There are a man and a woman standing on the streetcorner, wearing face-concealing gas masks and gray-and-white camouflage uniforms. Each has a bulky, nozzled contraption slung over his or her shoulder, a dark gray menacing kind of machine with dual handgrips and a trigger.

The sky is gray. The streets are quiet. The cars are all stopped. A handful of people are out, beneath the skyscrapers with shuttered doors and blank windows. All of them have animalistic features, swishing tails and twitching ears, and clothes that are too big or too small on them.

Species: Dog
Defiance: Nil

A canid rounds the corner in front of the soldiers and gasps, then hurries past with his tail tucked between his legs. He does not look up at them. He does not make eye contact. The man swats at his back to hurry him past, and he jumps, before running to a safe distance.

The woman examines him, pressing one hand to the side of her mask and holding down a small button. Then she looks across the street, at a big, burly cat that bristles his fur at her, glaring as he goes by.

Species: Lion
Defiance: Significant

She says nothing, but watches slowly as he walks past. Seagulls cry overhead, and out in the bay the sky rumbles with thunder. Somewhere nearby, it is raining.

The man plays with a touchscreen set in the arm of his uniform, as the woman unshoulders her pack and sets it inside a doorway. She rummages through it and gets out a covered steel cup and utensil, then sets them aside before releasing the pressure lock and taking off her mask.

Sweaty, stringy hair clings to the inside of it, before she pulls it away and sets it on top of her pack. Her face is small, and her features look Inuit.

“Time,” the man next to her says, without looking up.

She twists a mechanical watch on the underside of her arm, to set it ticking. “1450,” she reports.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes, Tyris.”

“I know … sir.” Tyris nods, looking up at him. She doesn’t need to be told what happens to exposed humans on this planet.

She unseals the lid on her cup and smells the warm chowder inside, closing her eyes and communing with cream, milk and clams. They were powder this morning, but she doesn’t care.

A packet of crackers gets dumped in. Then comes a spoon, and it scoops out bite after bite. She eats slowly, pretending she’s home in her mother’s kitchen, and there are fish sizzling on the stove and the snow piles up outside on the-

There is a sound like a CRACK of thunder right next to her, and she startles and drops her half-empty cup. It clatters to the sidewalk, the only sound on the street as everyone in earshot freezes.

The man strides across the street, as Tyris fumbles to jam her mask back on. Everything is dark inside. Then it activates, and she sees her commander questioning a pale-skinned native boy, leaning over him and burbling in their fluid language. The boy is wearing their bright-colored clothes, far too light for this weather, and is doing a poor job of hiding how scared he is.

Tyris holds down a button on her facemask and sees the thin, black line traced by the shot, a zone of pure death that goes into the ground. Then she looks at the glowing outline of the talking native boy, next to the tiny pinprick of light in the soulcrystal on her commander’s person, and squints at the boy’s readout.

Species: ???
Defiance: Nil

She cocks her head at him, trying to figure out what’s going on and why her readout is messed up. Then she holds down another button, while unshouldering her own rifle, and hears their voices in plain Nearan.

“Go back!” her commander shouts.

“But-” the boy protests.

“Go back!”

Tyris watches the boy’s shoulders slump, dejected, as he turns and walks away. For a moment, she feels sorry for him. But she knows that was for his own good.

It is back there, further into the city, the way that human boy was going.

It does not like humans.

But as Tyris’ commander comes back to the streetcorner next to her, she realizes that this man just shot at one. At an unarmed child, no less. And in a moment of indignation, she asks “Was that really necessary?”

“At your attention, soldier!”

Tyris and her heart both leap to attention, as she stands still and rigid. Her foot is in the clam chowder spill, but she does not care.

“What is your rank, soldier?” His voice is modulated by his helmet, for no other reason than to sound intimidating.

“Legionnaire.” Tyris’ voice is muffled by hers.

“How long have you been on Earth?”

“Two weeks.” Tyris looks past his facemask without turning her head, knowing her visor is glossy enough that he can’t see her.

“How long have I been on Earth?”

“Three years.” He’d told her that morning.

He tells her about the savage, filthy Earth humans. The survivor camps that they live in. The crude machines that they drive, that they struggle to keep maintained, and the wars that they fight for the last drops of oil. And the way they mix animals’ souls with their own, turning themselves into animals. Turning themselves into beasts of burden.

Tyris listens, and reminds herself of how stupid she is. And how very out of her league she is on this planet.

“I saw what that boy had,” her commander tells her. “He was carrying a blank soulcrystal. He was a Spirit Hunter looking for a mark, an animal that he could kill or capture. Like one of the Company’s workers. It’s our job to guard their assets. It’s-”

Something yips. Tyris turns and sees the boy chasing after a fox, into a dark alley.

Tyris takes off after him, before her commander finishes unshouldering his weapon. He shouts at her. She does not listen. She hates him and she hates herself, but she knows what she needs to do. And how long she has to act.

Damp brick and street trash fill Tyris’ vision. Her echoing breath fills her ears. Her weapon is too heavy, so she unslings it and drops it as she rounds the corner.

Far past the alley, in between ruined skyscrapers, It reflects the dull grayish clouds. It sits there, a crystalline monolith, more powerful than the buildings that It displaced when It grew from the ground. Far beneath It, the boy runs towards a parking garage, across the street and towards It.

It is not dangerous until the sun comes out above It.

The clouds are beginning to part.

Tyris sees the boy running towards It, and shouts the only English word that she knows. “Stop!” she yells. “Stop!” She has to lean against the brick wall on the near side of the street, and gasp for breath after running.

The sun comes out, and It shines Its prismatic Glare, just as the boy dives into the shadows among ruined cars. Tyris stands there in the light, as the air wavers like a heat distortion and everything sparkles like diamonds. For a moment, her breath catches in her throat; but then she reminds herself I’m not like him, I’m not susceptible, it only swallows your soul if you have one.

I’m Hollow. I am immune.

Tyris lets herself catch her breath, feeling uncomfortably warm inside her armor. Then she forces herself to stride towards the garage, mechanically, trying to swallow her fear and uncertainty. Feeling less like a soldier and more like a robot. But that makes her remember Claris, the first woman to have her soulcrystal inhabit a robot after she died, and she thinks I’m not so different. And we’re both different from everyone else.

I can do this. I can save him.

Tyris crawls in between the concrete barriers, into the darkness of the parking garage. She can’t hear any sounds in there, from her quarry or the fox he was chasing, because the noise from near It is too loud; the vehicles rumbling, scaffolding shaking, drills chipping crystal and concrete. The mining operation’s in full swing, and the Company won’t let its Earth workers be interrupted.

Tyris doesn’t care about the Company. She wants to save that poor boy.

Clouds cover the sun again, and Tyris’ eyes adjust to the darkness. She taps the side of her visor again and squints at the vehicles’ outlines, looking for the boy’s glow. Looking for his soul, in between the inanimate objects. It was always easier for Tyris than anyone else, because she never had to worry about her own glow blinding her.

Species: Unknown
Defiance: Nil

There he is. In between two of the tiny Earth vehicles. He’s ignoring her, and crawling on hands and knees towards another, smaller glow. The fox.

A sudden longing wrenches at Tyris’ stomach. She doesn’t know what it is. She’s watching the fox, watching it past the glow in its fur, paws, and tail, and remembering the time that she went to the zoo. And stared at one the whole time.

Only when the boy sets up a large, scraping metal box, and begins to draw anima towards himself from the animal, does Tyris shake her head and clear it. She walks closer, looking down at the boy through the car he is hiding behind, seeing him so intent on the fox that he does not see or hear her. Until the fox notices her and runs, and he stands up and sees her and freezes.

“Stop,” Tyris commands.

He runs, towards the fox. Towards the far end of the parking garage, and the mining trucks around It.

“Thrak.” Tyris runs after him.

The boy stops abruptly at the edge of the garage, where its concrete floor gives way to the crater surrounding It. For a moment, Tyris thinks I’m gaining on him, and remembers her training in hand-to-hand combat and how to subdue a person. But then she sees him jump down and start climbing through broken concrete, as the fox peeks its head up past him. Staring up at It, and the scaffolds surrounding It. At the freshly-blasted crystal dust raining down one of Its sides, into a truck the size of a building. And at the hovering sky-truck above it, where Earth anthro workers are climbing onto the scaffolds and securing themselves by their harnesses.

The fox just keeps staring at It. And the boy’s fixated on the fox.

There’s only one way to end this, Tyris thinks. She puts on a fresh burst of speed, and jumps out into the air.

Tyris lands on top of the boy, cracking his head and kneecaps to the concrete, then rolling with him down the crater until cracked pavement gives way to dust. Her hastily-reattached helmet comes off, but her armor and training help her get the best of it. It only takes her a moment to regain her bearing, while the boy is still senseless.

“Are you insane?” she shouts at him in Nearan, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him as his head lolls. “What were you trying to do!? You could have gotten your soul eaten, you could have … ”

Tyris’ voice trails off, as she notices two things.

First, the fox is right next to her. It didn’t run. It’s just sitting there, staring up at It.

And second, the sun has come out.

The fox rears up on its hind legs and yips, its fur sparkling, as glittery anima wisps from its muzzle. It isn’t in pain. It’s ecstatic.

Tyris looks down, and sees the boy’s spirit escaping him right through her fingertips.

“No!” she shouts, and her training leaves her. She tries to shield him; she tries to shadow him with her body. But she can’t do that and hold him up at the same time, and a steady stream of anima trails out through the unconscious boy’s mouth and eyes.

Tyris leaps up and grabs at it, clawing the air, watching the boy’s and the fox’s souls scatter like dust in the sunlight. Then they twirl together past her arms, and beneath her the boy’s face is smiling as the fox’s form slumps to the ground.

Glowing wisps and motes of anima fill Tyris’ vision, and she knows this is bad but she doesn’t remember why. She’s scared, she’s in shock, she’s losing control of her breathing. She thinks I killed him, I killed him, oh Goddess I’m sorry, I hate myself, I’m so sorry.

Then she remembers her training. The videos, the drills and the hazmat suits. She remembers why she has to wear a mask at all times. And she looks down at her suit’s anima tag, that she has to wear like a radiation badge, and sees that it’s glowing bright red.

The two souls are taken in front of her, drifting up inside It right past the workers. And Tyris slumps to the ground, sobbing and shivering. Small and unnoticed beneath It, and beneath the Company’s hardware.

She finally crawls over and picks up her helmet, putting it on and keying the radio. “Sir, I’m in a hot zone,” she says. “I’m contaminated.” Her voice is flat. She knows what awaits her, and knows she deserves it.

It takes them an hour to pick her up. She just sits there, watching the anthros.

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