It’s not something I can do automatically. I wasn’t born as a robot, you know. And when I was human, I couldn’t tell myself to make my arm go to sleep. My “internal computer” was me. I would’ve had to learn meditation to control autonomic processes.

Making my new computer do that feels like meditation. It’s not like the way my desire to move is translated to movement. I already know what it feels like to move. This is more like imagining the color orange, just the right shade, and focusing on it for seconds. The menus and dialogues feel dreamlike and ethereal, as they float in front of my vision. I find myself slipping, unable to concentrate, and realize that I’m still distressed.

I give up on trying to think my way through this, and pull open a furry panel on my arm. Sam embedded a touchscreen in it, a phone of a different design than my company makes. Some nameless third-party thing; I can’t see the logo. But it works. I tap through menus carefully, underclocking my processor, turning off GPS and telephony systems. My fingers are shaky, but not as much as when I was organic.

I still have apps running in the background — the guide to the con, a game I was playing. I tap on “kill all,” and don’t feel any different afterwards. But I should have enough power to get back upstairs.

Walking’s slower than usual. It doesn’t feel any harder, but I move like I’m swimming in mud. I have to hold my arms out to each side, and concentrate to keep my gyroscope steady. My tails stick out like balancing beams. I wonder what people will make of me, if they see me. I left my conbadge upstairs, but everyone knows who I am.

Five more meters to the elevator.

I’m thinking about what just happened, in that room. I’m not trying to, it just comes to me. I feel like it shouldn’t be that important. It takes me a minute to realize that people aren’t supposed to be able to do that, and as soon as I realize that I know I’m in shock. If I weren’t, I’d be thinking straight.

Was it some kind of trick? A new program, or something, that made me see him that way and feel myself like that. These generic-brand computers get viruses and things sometimes. Nothing like my father’s Pomegranates.

I shake my head, slowly, after I lean on the wall next to the elevator and press the “up” arrow key. It wasn’t anything like that. I know what being organic feels like. That was it.

Two girls step out, talking and laughing, as the door opens. They see me and seem surprised, and I instantly perk up, waving and trying a little too hard to act in-character as I scurry past into the elevator. I barely keep my balance, and have to put out one hand to grab the railing. The door closes, and I lean against the wall again, letting out my breath. I don’t have any nerves to be on edge with, but I’ve got to calm down, or I won’t be able to think about all this clearly.

The elevator car is silent, and it takes me a moment to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. One of my tails taps the button for my floor.

It takes me another five minutes and one more “low battery” warning to make it the rest of the way to our room. I wave my arm at the door, and the light on the lock turns green. I open it and hear snoring, and realize that I cannot see anything because I just turned off my night vision.

I’m not going to wake Sam and Lena up. I shut the door behind me and step carefully towards the red light on the wall near the floor, the light where my charger’s plugged in. I hold out my hands in front of me, trying to balance, and one of them bumps into something sharp. I hear fabric tear, but I feel no pain.

I remember Sam brought a computer that she was building, so she could deliver it to someone here at the con. I remember telling her not to do that. I am not mad at her, though. She’s always insisted on paying her way. She says that she’ll pay me back, someday, for helping her start her own business. I keep telling her she already has. She won’t listen.

Everyone’s still snoring, except me.

I pull my hand back out of the case, and feel it where it is ripped. Not too big of a deal. If I have to, I’ll just wear gloves for the fursuit show tomorrow.

I sit down next to the wall, and feel around for the charger and the bottles of liquid coolant that I left beside it. Then I plug in the charger and down an entire bottle, feeling the cold liquid go down my throat without swallowing. I feel comfortably full, and alive.

I sit there, in the quiet and dark. In minutes, my mind’s drifted off into daydreams.

“Lena, can you give me a hand?”

On one of the beds, the thin-faced girl with light hair shields her eyes and squints up at me.

It is light outside. I am done resting, and have been working on mechanical parts for awhile. It is tedious work, partly my fingers are not as nimble anymore. But also because I am currently missing a forearm.

It occurs to me that that’s not what I meant when I asked her for help.

Lena sits up and gets her soulcrystal pendant out of the nightstand drawer, and puts it on carefully. Then she checks the time on her phone. “Agh, it’s twelve already … how could I sleep in that late?” The blue-green gem around her neck flashes with annoyance.

“Sam and I were careful not to wake you.” I am sitting at the table, the one that used to have Sam’s computer parts strewn across it. They’re gone now, and I’ve moved it between the beds and the picture windows, so I can use the natural light from outside to see what I’m doing. There are parts spread out in front of me, including two different versions of my left hand and forearm. One is the furred hand that got scratched, last night. The other matches my orange fur, but is armored and plasticy, and ends in a thing like a rounded gun barrel.

Lena sees what I’m doing, and crawls across the bed to take a look. “Isn’t that … ”

“Yes, my weapon mount.” I nod at it. “You may recall it was damaged at last month’s furmeet … ”

“Oh, right, the-”

“Yes. I am trying to fix it.”

Lena watches me work, for a moment. Then she gives me a worried look. “What happened, Claris? Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t know.” I tighten a screw with one hand. “The more I think about what happened last night in his room, the less it makes sense to me.”

Lena swings her legs over the side of the bed, and leans over the table towards me. “Do you want me to call the police?” she asks. “Whatever it was, if it wasn’t consensual, then-”

“That’s not what happened,” I interrupt, without raising my voice.

“Oh.” Lena sits there, quiet, watching me work.

“Can you help me with this?” I ask.

“Oh, uh, sure, one sec … ”

I wait for her to get out of the bathroom. Then I tell her what to do, and the extra pair of hands makes the repair work go faster. A few minutes in I remember she hasn’t eaten breakfast (or lunch), and I wonder why she hasn’t gone down to get something yet. Then I realize she’s very worried about me, and that it’s because I’m acting strangely, and that I’m acting strangely because I’m still in shock at what happened. And she doesn’t know what’s happened yet.

I decide to tell her, from the beginning. “Rone’s a Nahar,” I say, without looking up from my work.

“A kitsune?” Lena asks.

“Is that what fox-spirits are called in Earth cartoons?”

“In anime, yes.” She nods. “Um … ” Lena fidgets.

“Yes?”

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” she blurts out. “Is he, like, an Otherkin, or something?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What did he do, Claris?”

“Physically transformed the both of us into anthropomorphic foxes.”

I installed an app, awhile back, that lets me see when others have heightened emotional response by detecting their breathing and temperature. I turned it off last night, and forgot to turn it back on. But even without it, I can tell that Lena just tensed up, and is starting to sweat uncontrollably.

“Pass me that wrench.”

Lena can’t seem to be able to bring herself to. “Claris … this isn’t funny. What did Rone do to you?”

“I told you.”

There’s another long, uncomfortable silence, during which I realize that I’m just as scared as she is. Somehow saying it made it more real. I start to have flashbacks, and I shake my head to clear it.

“He has nine tails,” I go on. “Somehow he detached one of them. It was like that part of his power went into me and changed me.”

“You’re not making any sense.” Lena’s voice shakes.

“What part of it doesn’t make sense?” I ask, but I know that she understands what I’m saying.

“All of it. Is this a joke?” Lena stands up. “Because if it is, I’m not in the mood for it. I’m worried sick over what actually happened to you, and I don’t want to be taunted like this. You know how much this stuff means to me.” She’s starting to tear up.

I remember now that she told me something like this. How she said she was saving up for the surgery, and I offered to pay for it but she passed, because she was waiting for the techniques to be safer and the results to be more realistic. Waiting to look like an organic version of me.

“Now either tell me what really happened last night, or I’m going out to get breakfast.” Lena sniffles.

I try to think what I can say, that won’t cause her to leave immediately. It’s hard, because I know I need her support.

“We’d been talking by email,” I say, turning to look at the wall so I don’t have to see Lena’s face. “He had the strangest ideas, about souls and metaphysics. His parents never had his soul crystallized. They didn’t think it was natural.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one hand go to the pendant around Lena’s neck.

“I don’t know why I kept talking with him. I certainly didn’t agree with him. But I wasn’t offended, either. He accused me of being an imitation of organic life; I thanked him for the compliment. He went on about the things only ‘persons’ can do,” I make the air quotes with my hand, “and I told him what it was like to be me.”

“It sounded like he just wanted to argue,” Lena says, hesitant.

“It was a fun argument. I enjoyed it.” I pull the phone out of my first hand and embed it into the weapon mount, locking the clasps into place one-handed. “I was already planning to meet up with him at the con. I wanted to see what he thought once he saw me in person. But he had other plans.”

I tap a button on my phone’s screen, and it reads one of Rone’s emails aloud in his voice. “I’d love to catch up with you there,” his voice says. “But actually, I had something to show you instead. How would you like to find out how being a real, living fox feels?”

Lena is shaking again. I tap on the button to stop playback, and look up at her.

“I don’t have a recording of what happened,” I say, “because I couldn’t record at the time. I was seeing through eyes like yours.”

“It was a trick,” Lena whispers, trying to convince herself.

“Yes, it was.”

Lena almost chokes. “What?”

“Whatever happened to me last night was a trick of some kind. I was led into a situation where I did not know what would happen, and had something shocking done to me without my knowledge or consent.” I’m glad I decided to talk to her about this out loud, because now that I think of it like this it’s obvious why I’m still traumatized.

“I don’t know what he did, or how he did it, or what it meant,” I go on. “But I didn’t like it, and I don’t like him, and I’m going to find him and let him know that. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that it didn’t happen to you instead.”

Lena starts crying again. I get up and spread my arm-and-a-half for her, and she hugs me tight, shaking and burying her face in my furry shoulder. My indicators show that it causes some physical stress, but I am okay with that. This is what I was made for.

“There’s something I was going to tell you,” Lena whispers, while still holding on to me.

“What’s that?”

She catches her breath for a moment, then swallows. “Guess who Sam’s delivering the computer to.”

“Oh no.”

She just nods, quickly, her eyes squeezed shut and watering.

I let go of her, then give her a hand. A weapon mount, to be exact. “Hold this still so I can attach it,” I told her. “Then call Sam. We’ve got to get to her before he does.”

“What is he going to do to her?” Lena asks, her hands shaking as she tries to hold mine still.

“I don’t know,” I say, as the weapon mount clicks into place. “But I don’t plan on finding out.”

I’m currently living in my new apartment, which doesn’t have Internet put in until the 16th. x_X But there’s free wi-fi in the nearby park’s air conditioned community center, which is awesome. It’s also got paddleboat rentals, and a bunch of walking trails and events and things, and is just plain all-around win.

I’m not there right now, though … I’m currently at the public library, which I made it to by walking to the other side of the park and then taking a series of buses. The bus system isn’t free, but it’s only $1 per trip, including transfers. So that’s not too bad. I’ll just have to make sure that I’ve got a bunch of dollar bills on hand when I want to use it. The buses are wheelchair-accessible and have lots of empty space in the back, which will let me store my portable shopping cart for when I need to buy groceries. (I probably won’t try to take it through the park’s trails, though, unless I’m feeling really confident.)

So how is the place? Well, my apartment is quiet and spacious and clean, and out in the middle of the woods next to a pond. It’s really close to the park, and the town’s businesses are all accessible by bus, including a Whole Foods Market and a Kroger (which has a “natural foods” section). Also there’s a branch of the Great Harvest Bread Company, where you can get a free slice of bread just by walking in, and the girl behind the counter offered me a free cup of water too when she saw how tired I was. >.>b

So it looks like things are going pretty well … now I just need to hurry up and get some work done while I’m here! I’ll try to keep in touch, and I’ll hopefully post a larger-than-usual story update next Saturday.

… 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.

You might remember Claris, the robot fox, if you’ve read Crystal Core. Something very interesting has just happened to her. Can you guess what? Find out in The Worth of Souls!

The banner is once again provided by Krizzo, who is awesome. Also, thank you to everyone who’s provided support in one way or another. I’m sorry about the late update, and I’ll be moving out (finally) this week.

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.

I got into an argument with my family last night and beat the crap out of myself. It only took less than a couple of weeks before we moved out of the “honeymoon” stage and I started self-injuring again. I seriously thought about killing myself, and I couldn’t even use complete sentences when I started talking to Yurodivy afterwards. So today, while the house is quiet and I’m alone in here, I’m reading the writings of abuse survivors and reminding myself I’m not crazy.

I move into my new apartment on the 2nd or 3rd of June. I knew I was taking a risk by staying here until then, but I thought that now that I was more confident, I wouldn’t back down and hate myself like I used to. I thought that my brothers seemed sane enough that I could talk and laugh with them like I used to. I didn’t want to stay here, I wanted to just move into my new place and be done with it, but it wasn’t ready yet. And I thought I wouldn’t be here long enough that anything bad would happen.

I don’t want to have to spend the next week in a motel, because it would gouge another chunk out of my savings. But then, I did ask for donations a little while back, and I got enough money to cover it. So I guess I should ask you all what you think.

“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.

Welcome to Earth … the most dangerous world in the galaxy. Especially after It happened. Can you keep from becoming an animal while you’re here?

I wasn’t going to write an original story while I was working on commissions. But I’d already volunteered to write Fox Hunt for someone, and when he decided he didn’t want it anymore I kind of left you all hanging when I lost my momentum. Here’s as much as you’re going to get for awhile, at any rate, unless I decide to work on it alongside Creator-Unreal’s commission!

I already have most of his story written, so expect the first part this weekend. Apologies once again, for the delay.

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.

Fox Hunt has stalled because the person who asked for it said that he didn’t want it. I’m 3.4k into a story for Creator-Unreal, a sequel to Crystal Core, and Krizzo already has a pic ready for it. But I’ve been waiting to start posting it until I wrap up Fox Hunt, and like I said, it’s stalled.

I haven’t written any stories at all for the past couple of weeks, because I’ve been packing and trying to get moved. I spent the past few days apartment hunting in North Carolina. It looks like I’ve found a place, but I’ll have to wait a couple of weeks to move in. In the meantime, I’m staying with my family, who have been surprisingly helpful and supportive so far. I’m hoping things stay that way.

Just thought I’d let you all know what’s going on.

Slowly, Ryan reached for his backpack, sideyeing his reflection to guide his shaking hand. The zipper seemed loud — too loud — and the fox cocked its head at him as he reached in and got out his imprinter. It was heavy and awkward, machined steel with sharp edges, and he cut myself trying to fix the soulcrystal inside.

The fox had taken a few steps towards him. “Please don’t have rabies,” he thought, as he stood and aimed the imprinter with both hands. Through the lens on its back he could see the fox anima, thick and swirling and crimson like blood, and as he held down the lever on the side it started to flow towards his gem. Not enough to kill the poor thing … just enough to make him what he longed to live as. Or at least, to bring him as close as it was possible to get.

Ryan’s heart raced. He couldn’t think straight, and could barely hold the imprinter still. Seconds stretched on to infinity, but he only needed a few more of them before …

Chasing your dreams is hard work … especially when they run on four legs. Especially after the apocalypse. And especially when people are shooting at you.

Read part 1 of Fox Hunt now! This story takes place in the same world as Spirit Hunter and The World Needs Dragons, and furs who have read either story will have a clearer idea of what’s going on. Krizzo did the banner again this week, so tell him how awesome he is.

I was at Furry Weekend Atlanta last week. Click here for con report and fursuit pics! I wasn’t able to stay overnight, but it was fun just being there on a daytrip and visiting with my mate.

I’d like to thank you all again for the support you gave me when I needed it. At the time, I was making almost no money, and was scared to death that I’d have to move in with my abusive family again.

Since then, things have changed. I’ve gotten a steady stream of assignments from Yahoo! News, plus additional writing assignments for sites like Yahoo! Shopping. I don’t have a job with them — there’s no regular salary, or union representation, or health insurance, which is critical for someone who lives in a country that won’t pay for health care. But I’m doing much better as a freelancer now, and I may have a chance at living on my own.

If any of you want your money back, you can have it with no questions asked. I understand the UN World Food Program needs help to feed people in crisis areas, like Libya and Japan. But the support I received, both financial and emotional, helped keep me going … and showed me I need to keep writing these stories, even though I’m busier than ever now.

Commissions are going to be slow, but I’m going to try to have an update every Saturday (or Sunday at the latest). Commissioners may request a refund at any time. Thank you for your patience and your support, and I hope you enjoy both Fox Hunt and Creator-Unreal’s upcoming story.

Ryan jumped backwards, staring down at the street. He thought lightning had struck right in front of him.

Everyone, everything stopped, except for the seagulls overhead and the distant rumble of stormclouds. The crumbling skyscrapers and abandoned cars weren’t moving, but neither were the anthros out on the street. They were as frozen as he was, and he could do nothing as booted footsteps ran up, until a thick hand grabbed him by the collar and shook him.

“What are you doing here?” The man’s voice was muffled. Ryan looked up and saw not ears and whiskers, but a face-concealing gasmask with a shiny black visor. He was a human, like Ryan — like he was for now — and he was wearing some kind of gray and white urban camo gear. It looked like he’d come off of a military base.

Ryan was instantly scared. Military gear meant he was a Tea Partier, or with a militia or something. They had to be trying to claim the city. But if he was with a militia, then why did his nametag look … Chinese, or Korean? And what was with his strange accent?

Ryan coughed and tried to collect his wits, clutching his smartphone tight and hoping the man wouldn’t confiscate it. “I’m hunting for an animal … ”

The man shook his head. “What is your name?” he demanded.

He just blurted out his first name. “Ryan.”

“Rye-ann, this place is for Earth workers.” He shoved him backwards and let him go. “Go back!”

“But I-”

“Go back!”

Ryan stood there in a daze, watching him walk back across the street to where a woman in similar gear was standing. They were talking, but he couldn’t make out what they said; they were carrying some kind of machines over their shoulders, but he couldn’t tell if they were rifles or vaccum cleaners.

“‘Earth’ workers?” he thought, crouching behind a car. His reflection looked back at him, a lanky human teenager’s with messed-up hair and a worn-out shirt and backpack. He put it out of his mind as soon as he saw it, and dug in his pocket for his empty soulcrystal.

He got it out and looked through it and the car windows, and winced as an anthro bird walked past them, his feathered tail glowing with bright blue anima. But in the humans across the street, there was nothing … nothing but a tiny pinprick of light, a soulcrystal in the man’s pocket. What were they? he wondered. Robots?

Whatever they were, they were in his way. He tapped the screen on his smartphone, still glancing through the car’s windows at them, and checked the map of this area. Someone had posted a fox sighting in this neighborhood just last night, and he’d gotten up early so he could go look for it. But now the city was crowded all of a sudden — he had to have seen at least two dozen people so far — and these gun-toting, uniformed jerks thought they owned the place.

He couldn’t fight them, not that he wanted to. But a fox lived right here near the shelter downtown, if all these people hadn’t scared it off. How was he going to find it if …

Something splashed, behind him. He turned to look, and saw a red fox’s face looking up at him over the puddle it was drinking from.

His heart started to pound.

Slowly, Ryan reached for his backpack, sideyeing his reflection to guide his shaking hand. The zipper seemed loud — too loud — and the fox cocked its head at him as he reached in and got out his imprinter. It was heavy and awkward, machined steel with sharp edges, and he cut himself trying to fix the soulcrystal inside.

The fox had taken a few steps towards him. “Please don’t have rabies,” he thought, as he stood and aimed the imprinter with both hands. Through the lens on its back he could see the fox anima, thick and swirling and crimson like blood, and as he held down the lever on the side it started to flow towards his gem. Not enough to kill the poor thing … just enough to make him what he longed to live as. Or at least, to bring him as close as it was possible to get.

Ryan’s heart raced. He couldn’t think straight, and could barely hold the imprinter still. Seconds stretched on to infinity, but he only needed a few more of them before-

“What are you doing!?” It was the man in the uniform, behind him.

The fox bolted, and the stream of anima wisped away.

Before Ryan could think, he ran after it.