Become Your Fursona

My night vision is gone. The hotel room goes from green monochrome to pitch blackness.

For a moment, I am confused. Then I realize what just happened.

I don’t know how I expected it to feel. Then I realize the feelings I’m used to are gone. Instead of the chill, liquid rush through my cooling lines, I feel a faint thump, thump in my neck. And instead of the whoosh of air over my circuits, the pump of mechanical breath, I feel … nothing.

I stand there confused, turning around trying to see myself and failing. My tail swishes, not with nervousness but annoyance. It feels floppy and loose, as though it’s not secured tight but is hanging limply on my skeleton. Everything feels floppy and loose, and I wrap my arms around myself, as if trying to keep my squishy flesh from sloughing right off of my bones.

It hurts, and I wince and let go as I realize I’ve pinched myself. But even the movements of my face seem unnatural.

There’s a tightness in my chest, and I unfold my arms, prodding the skin that’s stretched over my ribs and wondering if I have damaged myself. But then I remember where that pain comes from, and I take a deep breath through my muzzle — a dry, airy breath, that leaves me thirsty for liquid coolant.

I exhale, and realize I’ve got to breathe again in a second. Now I’m starting to feel something. Worry? I don’t know. I was never able to recognize it, not even when I was human. But the thump, thump in my neck is thumping faster, and I feel like a claw is gripping my innards. My stomach growls, and I worry about it, too.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” a male voice asks. And then I can see specks of light in the darkness, eight pinpricks bright as candles. They’re in between me and the television, and the man is between me and them; a silhouette in the dark. In the television’s wide screen, I see the reflection of a muzzle, and a knot of bushy, white-tipped tails like mine. They’re swishing and sly, like snakes.

I think of how to answer the man. Even when I agreed, I knew this was not what I wanted … not in the long run, at least. I realize now that the feeling that caused me to say ‘yes’ was not the deep, inner longing he spoke of, but a sense of curiosity. And that curiosity is abated.

My stomach tightens, and I clutch it, beginning to feel waves of awful. The feelings are strong enough that I remember their meaning from childhood. I must be very distressed, if I am about to throw up.

I decide not to answer the man. “Change me back,” I say, my voice sounding quiet and “off.” It wavers, reflecting the nervousness I must be feeling.

“What?”

I can’t tell if he doesn’t believe that I want this, or just didn’t hear me correctly. I decide to be generous and assume the latter. “Change me back,” I say again, putting more force in my voice. Remembering how to do that. Remembering arguments with my father, and roommates, and fellow board members. I won’t be denied what I am entitled to.

“But … why?” he sputters, less confident than when we first met. “You’re a living being again! Claris, you’re a living, breathing woman, and-”

“I was already alive,” I say, cutting him off. I realize I’m clutching my soulcrystal in my hand, and I open my palm, letting its faint violet light shine out into the room.

He points down at it. “That’s not life!”

“For me, it is. Now change me back.”

He’s silent. I see his fist-outlines clenching and unclenching, and I wonder if he plans to steal my soulcrystal. For a second, my worry intensifies, and I know it means I am afraid. Then I remember who I am, and what kind of power I have. And I tell myself no one would dare, not even him. Not even someone with powers like his.

He’s still silent. “What are you waiting for?” I ask, and I start to feel annoyed with him. “I don’t need more time to make up my mind. I remember what it was like to be this way. Having fur and a tail doesn’t change anything. Or is it because I’m a woman?” I ask. “Would you be so confused if a man had asked you to change him back? Or were you hoping I’d let you do something else to me now?”

It occurs to me that I am naked.

There is a flash of green light, and I stagger and fall. I am on my side all of a sudden, leaning against the bed, and I can see in infrared and feel the mechanical breath pumping throughout my system. But something feels wrong, and I realize the feeling of liquid throughout me is gone. My coolant lines are dry, my batteries are almost dead, and the thick polyfur all around me is making my innards heat up.

Brighter green fills the room as the door flies open, without anyone reaching for it. “Go,” the man says, and points outside. “Go, and get out of my sight.”

I don’t want to argue with him. I am scared now, as though the same neurons were firing and muscles were tensing inside me. The soulcrystal embedded in me glows brighter as I stumble and lurch outside, tripping and falling just past the door as it slams shut behind me. I look around for someone to help me up, but there’s no one here. Just a loud room party across the hall.

I look up at the door. A drawing of anthropomorphic animals is taped to it, and I wonder if the people inside know a real one is staying across from them. I realize I was one for a minute, but that doesn’t make me feel different.

I pull myself up by their doorknob. The sky past the window at the end of the hall is black, and I can see myself clearly in it: Claris, the mechanical vixen. The heir of Pomegranate Computer, and the best fursuit ever designed. The guest of honor, and sponsor.

The rig with a gaming-class power supply, and a carpet of insulation.

I have to get back to the room, with my charger and my liquid coolant. Before I either shut down, or watch everything inside me melt.