The young boy slams the door to his room open, striding in quickly... swearing as the low pocket on his jacket catches the outer handle of the door, a dull *rrrippp* sounding as the worn canvas rips free. He growls, twisting until it falls loose, pushing the door shut with his foot, and tossing the tan canvas rucksack onto his bed... thumbing the lock on the handle shut, and setting the cheap paper portfolio near the edge of the closet, along with the old drawing board. He unslings the plastic bookbag from his shoulder, setting the disintegrating satchel next to the canvas bag. A quiet sigh escapes him... "Damn.. glad that's over. 'til Monday, anyway." he shakes his head, pulling off the cheap jacket to survey the damage to the many-times patched pocket. Another sigh. He tosses it over the bags, turning toward the desk, the particle board at least strong, under the last things keeping him sane... his computers.
    Sure... they weren't the best, but they hadn't cost him a cent, besides a few small parts, and one of the hard drives. He flicks the monitors on, watching them warm and flicker to life... sitting down and slowly browsing through programs for a moment, checking on this and that before finally clicking on the connection button.. hearing the modem spring to life, dialing... dialing... damn. Busy. As usual, the wonderful service of AOHell could be relied upon. He stands, leaving it to dial and grabbing a clean coffee mug from his small collection, and heading out... closing the door to his room behind him, securely locking it. He takes another look around, the garage still packed, the floor space much reduced, since he finished building his room out here.. the supports steady at least, the wiring clean. He should know... he was the one that had to do it.
    A shrug and a few quick steps, and he's out the garage door, and in the back door of the main house... stopping to pat one of the dogs' heads.. a short-haired white dog, some kind of staff terrier (pit bull) mix, just enough of something else to make him stand about twice as tall as a normal pit, and without the smooshed-in face. "Heya, Pogo. You been chewing up the linoleum again?" nudging a few shards of obviously-gnawed flooring with the toe of his shoe. Pogo just thumps his tail, happy with the affectionate pat. Careful to close the door behind him so the dog wouldn't get in and start chewing on the furniture, like he had in the past.
    Quickly into the kitchen, detouring around his 17-year-old sister, laying face down in the hallway... into the kitchen, out with the can of coffee crystals, and in with some hot water and sugar.. don't forget the milk, of course. This was going to be a long night, if he had anything to say about it, and with the way he made coffee, it'd kill a Marine, if you didn't add some cream.
The usual greeting from his Mother... "When are you going to start exercising, John? Lift weights.. sit-ups... pushups... something? You're going to be nothing but a fat, ugly pig if you sit in front of those computers all day. Oh... don't step on your sister. She's trying to overdose on Vitamin C."
    A quick turn, and out... past his mother, who refused to see the time he spent each day rollerblading as exercise.. but then, she was a carpenter. Strong, wiry, even in her mid-forties. The down side being, she didn't give something any credit for knowing, unless you could hit it with a hammer, or check it with a level. At least she taught him how to carry drywall, and the right way to hang a door, among other things.
    Into the room, and locked behind himself... finally taking a sip of the coffee, and wincing... both from the heat, and the strength. It goes atop one of the tower cases, as soon as he sees that -miracle of miracles- he's online. He peers at one of the alarm clocks spaced around the room. "Wow... fifteen minutes. They must have added another modem rack or something." a shrug, and a few more quick keystrokes bring his terminal programs up... automatically logging themselves in, he settles down... flicking through the news, and noticing nothing of real interest... another war gearing up, more about the Clinton scandals, and a little blurb about the supernova occurring somewhere out there. Wherever 'out there' is.
    Back to the other bits... browsing through IRC, and countless MUCKs.. Multi-user C kernels, where others with similar interests could meet and talk. Here he could truly be at home... no peeling paint, no family to worry or bother with (or to be bothered by)... just friends. People that wouldn't call him a freak, just because of what he truly felt inside... that he was not human. He couldn't be. That, or whatever creating force made him had a really, really sick sense of humor.

    He jerked awake with the first annoying *BLAAAAAAP* from an alarm clock he had forgotten to dis-arm, blearily fumbling for the 'off' switch, or at least the 'snooze' button. He growled, his arm seeming to refuse to work the right way... flopping around limply as he tried to lift it... bumping against the mini-fridge and knocking the offending appliance onto the bed... settling for smothering it with his body. Another growl as it doesn't seem to help, just a little quieter than before... blinking slowly with a wince. "Damn! Forgot to shut off the light before I crashed.." finally managing to silence the noisebox.
With the quiet came a new kind of clarity... listening to his computers hum, also disturbingly loud... turning his head this way and that, trying to figure out which one of the power supplies was going out. "Damn... that sounds /bad/... must have happened overnight. Ball bearing gave out or something. Rrf. Better shut them down." He stumbled to his feet, almost falling over... catching himself on the edge of the bed, and trying to keep his balance... slowly getting it back, and wobbling. Maybe his legs were still asleep, too. If only the rest of him still was.
    Carefully hand-over-handing himself along the bed, and settling into the chair, YELP!!ing as he felt a surge of pain shoot up! "Oww! What the.." looking down at the seat, for whatever had stabbed him in such a sensitive spot... reaching behind himself to rub his now-aching tuchus. Freezing as his hand encountered a puff of fluff... slowly feeling over it with his fingers... almost blinking, before remembering the light. Carefully exploring the warm fuzziness, and giggling as ticklish sensations shot up his spine.. squirming for a moment before freezing again, in shock this time.. wrapping his hand around the appendage... a.. tail? He did blink this time, careful to look away from the un-shaded bulb overhead... the only problem being, the light was coming from the black-screen screensaver. Another moment of wincing, and his eyes slowly adjusted... the room looking bright as day, when he slowly looked around.
    Another thing... part of his vision was blocked. "Oh... wonderful. A floater... wait... but..." another blink, realization striking home... his hands lifting to his face, slowly running his fingers along the delicate muzzle gracing it... his eyes going wide. "..is it... can it..." looking down at himself, quickly walking over and flicking the overhead on, going through another bout of wincing and squirming, as his eyes adjusted... more quickly this time. He looked down... eyes wide again, as he ran a hand down his chest... slowly ruffling the deep black fur there. His gaze turned to his hand... realizing why it was acting so weird, the last two fingers lengthened immeasurably, almost as long as his arm again. He slowly closed his hand, the last two fingers laying up along the back of his arm, smoothly folding the flap of his wing as well... tracing it downward to where it joined with his back, just above his teardrop-like tail.
    A happy shiver as he continued exploring his new body, running his tongue over his teeth, a bit more carefully when he realized how sharp they were... still having the grinding molars at the back, for some reason. He quickly looked around, grabbing the wall-mirror out from under a pile of assorted electronic components, easily yanking it free, sending LEDs, switches, and waferboard all over the floor with a quiet curse. He shook his head, holding up the mirror... "Get it later..." drawing a quick breath, as he caught sight of himself in the reflective surface. His eyes were black all over... not a trace of white showing anywhere... glittering in the room light. His hair was longer, black as the rest of him, instead of the dark blonde he'd lived with for 19 years.. tracing every line of his face, turning and staring at himself.. cracking a slow grin, his lips sliding up smoothly, baring the long, thin fangs.
    "Gods... I'm... is it.. I'd better not be dreaming, or someone's getting hurt." admiring himself for another moment, before looking toward the door.. padding over and double-checking the lock, as the thought of his Mom coming in, screaming, then taking a sawzall to him popped to mind. He padded over and sat on the bed... his small tail flicking out of the way easily. "Okay... I'm a bat. Now... let me think... first things first... I can't go out too easily without clothes.." -blink - "..like anyone would notice any difference between a naked six-foot tall bat, or a clothed one." he hesitated, not wanting to find out if his height was changed along with the rest of his body... then looked around, picking up a set of white briefs and slipping them on... looking at himself critically, the white blaringly *there*, against his fur. He sighed, rooting through his dresser... finding a pair of black swim trunks, and trying them, instead. "Better..." letting the back of the waistband snug up underneath his tail.
He grinned to himself, remembering all those imaginings of a real furry showing up at ConFURence, or FURther CONfusion, slipping back over to the chair and clicking the screen saver off... Thankful for the practice at three-fingered typing, again a part of his imaginings... only slowed down a little by the long black claws tipping his fingers and thumbs. Keying in the password, and bringing it up... joy of joys, having been kicked off over the night. Predictable. He set it to auto-dialing... getting through on the first ring this time, oddly enough. Each of the programs returned a 'Unable To Connect', save the one to Furry Faire... their AOHell siteban still active. Stupid. He brought up his IP-supression script, and tried again... this time, the server at least brought up an odd maintenance screen... Cherry apparently deciding to upgrade the server.
    A glance around, the shorts already starting to chafe at his fur, prickling... hating what he knew he'd have to do next... picking up the blue jeans, and slipping into them... again letting his tail hang out over the back, cinching up the heavy-duty leather and steel belt tight, so they wouldn't fall off. Pushing the accordion door to his closet open, and carefully pulling the heavy black duster out... taking a deep breath of the sweet smell of the pack of clove cigarettes resting in the inner pocket, folding his wings back tightly as he slipped it on.. closing the front buttons, and realizing that his chest was actually slightly bigger than it was before... the material a bit snug. A pair of dress pants served as a quick makeshift turban, silly-looking as it might be, after they had been shredded into long strips by his talons... an old rubber lizard-mask serving to hide his muzzle, after a pair of holes had been cut in the top to let his ears through. And so he finally went out... looking like the weirdo bum that no one really wants to touch... his ears bound in the black turban, hoping that he'd get enough time to at least explain to Mom what had happened.
    As it turned out, there was no real need... There was no one inside the main house... the TV shut off, no smell of a breakfast having been made... not like he'd have been able to smell it that easily, through the pungent scent of the old, degrading rubber of the mask. He peered out the window through the tiny eye-slits, noticing the cars still parked outside... looking over at a clock, and seeing it read just after 9:45... the mechanical arms not marked at the minute-level. He carefully un-wrapped the turban, flicking his ears around... the sound of a humming motor, just sputtering out drifting to him... not even the constant background rush of traffic, or the rumble of a jet passing by overhead. He slowly pulled off the mask, looking around... everything looking quite undisturbed and peaceful, as he carefully searched through the house... finding the dogs still asleep (lazy things) in the living room, the rats in their cage, and nothing else.
    He opened the front door, cautiously padding out... looking around... a dog barking somewhere in the distance, off to the northwest.. someone's automatic sprinklers just coming on, as he started to pad down the street... a quiet scritch-scratching following him, until he realized that he also had the talons on his toes... looking down, and doubting he'd ever fit into his boots again, no matter if they /are/ size 13. A turn down one of the neighbor's pathways, and a quick knock... no answer forthcoming.. the same repeated, with every door on the street, and the next, and the next... only going home an hour and a half later, having worked all the way over to the main streets on all four sides of the city block. The dogs were awake by now, and sniffing at him... Ginger padding up and wagging her tail, her stomach still shaven from the recent surgery.. some kind of hole in her diaphragm. Pogo just looked up and growled... barking for a moment, before a quick swat on the nose silenced him... sending him down as well. *blink* Pogo being a really well-built dog, this was quite surprising... apparently to him, too.. seeing as how he shut up, his tail tucked between his legs.
    Strip off the coat, and back out to the room... try again, with the MUCKs... still down for maintenance. Damn. He glanced toward the coffee, wondering... then shaking his head... he's had it many times in the past. Another slow blink as another possible epiphany occurs... "Am I inside the MUCK? No... there's no Burbank there... but... I look just like... well... either BrightEyes, or Talesin... damn. Shouldn't have scalped the descriptions between them." he thought for a moment... "Well... okay... let's follow this. I'm one or the other, if this follows, and I'm not just being an idiot." he grumbled, berating himself for talking aloud to himself.. then went on. "Let me think.. okay... both are vampire bats... both can fly... neither are undead... one's a Derysi, the other... well.." he looks at himself.. "No real difference there, anyway. Rrf. Okay..." blinking as he remembered the one real difference between Talesin and BrightEyes... then pushed it to the back of his mind. "I'm Talesin... I hope." looking toward the door nervously.. "I wonder how wide-spread this thing is..."
    He quickly brought up his computerized phonebook, scribbling down a few numbers and heading inside to use the main voice line.. flicking on the TV as he picked up the phone, punching in his best friend's number, Brad... a ring... ten... fifteen... he hung up and tried the second number... this one busy. Then he noticed that the TV hadn't come on... punching the power button a few times... seeing it power up, then just display blackness... slowly paging through... going past the computerized pay-per-view scrolls (at least it was receiving) some channels broadcasting re-runs, or new shows... nothing live airing, though... MTv blank, CNN.. even C-SPAN. All dead to the world.
    He padded out to his car, an economy roller skate... then hesitated... going back to get housekeys, and picking up the keys to his step-dad's Taurus. He'd fill it up with gas before he brought it back. The engine came to life easily, as always... putting the transmission in gear, and slowly backing out... driving down street after street of emptiness... finally turning onto the freeway, a few cars just sitting in the middle of the concrete strip... some of the doors open, most closed... some with damage, having been run into by other cars... very few on the road, in fact.. most either off to the side, over the edge of the embankment, or simply not present; not what you'd expect out of 10am traffic. Another swing around home, to pick up his sun-goggles and CD-player... glad for the former, a gift from his little sister the previous christmas.. snowboarding bug-goggles. They adjusted to fit his head, just barely... the tinting reducing the sunlight to a point where it wouldn't give him a headache.
    Another few hours of this, driving slowly, stereo blaring at maximum... trying to draw SOME kind of attention... eventually getting fed up with it, and heading over to Fry's... the doors still locked, the lights on the cheezy spaceship crashed into the front still un-lit... picking up a basket left out overnight with surprising ease, and HURLING it into the glass door- the shatterproof, safety-glass door it seemed. A frown crossed his muzzle, padding over to the doors... setting his hands on the handles... pulling on one, pushing on the other, and managing to _wrench_ both of them out of their frames. Metal twisting and groaning under his grip, until the lock finally snapped... the twisted doors opening with a SCREEEEEEEEEEECH that hurt his ears.
    He stalked inside, looking around at the blackness of the warehouse-like store... his ears picking up a high-pitched whine, as the silent burglar alarm went off. He stands there for a moment... finally looking around, ten or twenty minutes later, finding the security panel, and tripping the breakers.. everything shutting down. He looked around, opening his mouth slightly, yelling... then closing his eyes and doing it again... and again... slowly narrowing it down, to the battish *ping*, only taking an hour and a half to get his sonar working properly, and to get used to the colorless view as he wandered through the dark store.. another grin crossing his face, as he gets past the self-help books, and the video games... looking over the rows and rows of systems.

    Back at home, I wondered if I was being excessive... having loaded the car up with as many laptops, components, and toys as I could... the rest in a bundle back at the store.. the front doors twisted shut again, in case of rain.

    Out again... this time to the local shooting range. It might seem a little unfriendly, but if I wasn't the last person alive, it might be more than a little dangerous to assume that I was. I'd never really understood just how many precautions are taken, to prevent break-ins... at least, at the particular one I chose. I'd been there a couple of times with my Dad, but we'd been buzzed through then. The doors gave way again, with a bit more effort... the locks tearing loose form their moorings before falling off. I almost stumbled when their alarm kicked in... not the high-pitched whine of a silent, but the 70 decibel *BLARE* of an alert system. It was silenced almost as easily, again... making sure to only cut the power to the speakers this time. I'd learned that reading labels by flashlight is no fun.. printed word doesn't show up under soundsight.
    I strolled along the display cases, trying to minimize the damage, in a silly show of neatness just removing the rear panels to two display sections. I hefted the pair of handguns, looking them over carefully... a Luger .22, and a Mustang .357. I'd tried them before, learned how to clean them, and fix any jams that occurred.. had actually gotten a few hangfires. Not fun. In any case I also picked up a Winchester bolt-action, that had a telescopic sight attached, out of their workroom. Next, three boxes of shells, and a target.. I wanted to make sure that I could still handle the dang things, with only three fingers. Over into the range-section, then clipping the target into it's holder and zipping it to the other end of the field, carefully loading the Luger's clip, only needing about five rounds. I took careful aim, then-

    The next thing I remember, I was laying flat on the cold concrete, with a headache the size of Alaska. This was especially odd, due to the fact that I'd never had a headache before in my entire life. A new experience, if you will. The Luger was laying on the floor as well, only one shell casing resting on the floor, quite cold. Apparently I'd been out for a while. I picked up the gun, flicking the safety back on and peering around a bit sheepishly as I stood. I glanced out at the target, reeling it in after a fit of blinking.. the shot clean through the shoulder. Not bad, except I'd been aiming for the little cross-marker in the middle. I rubbed at sore temples, setting the gun down on the rest in front of me... massaging aching temples as I realized exactly what had happened. Between the fact that it was advisable to wear ear-protection while shooting (I couldn't find any that would fit), and the fact that my hearing was about a thousand times better than it was (the reason none of it would fit), the sound of the gunshot had sent me into shock and unconsciousness, just from the volume alone.
    Sadly, I set them back down.. debating the intelligence both of leaving them there, and going without a firearm of any sort. I hemmed and hawwed for a good half-hour, looking around at all of the weapons of devastation, before coming to a decision. I may not have been able to use them, but there was no way in hell that I was going to leave them out in the open, possibly to be used against me. I carefully started loading the weaponry into the back of the car, making sure each piece wasn't loaded before putting it in the back... driving to a local rent-a-storage, and locking them in an obscurely numbered bay, where they still may be today. Think I still even have the key, somewhere. On the third trip, the store was looking quite empty... only a few items left. Mostly accessories, sights, scopes, cleaning gear.. as well as a few air rifles.
    Now, I had always seen BB guns as more of children's toys... things for shooting cans with. But these... well, they were anything but toys. Assorted caliber, some able to take darts, others able to take little mushroom-shaped rounds that I remembered my Grandpa had said would do as much damage as a .22 would.. gas-cartridge models and hand-pump. A blink, picking out a well-made looking one.. obviously designed for hunting, now that I actually held it. I picked up a box of the little rounds, and walked back into the shooting range to try it... putting seven clean hits through the target, with only a little irritation to my ears. I had my defense.. quickly modified with the best the shop had to offer. I mostly dismissed the gas-cartridges, knowing full well that a supply wouldn't last forever.. finding one that would store multiple shots in an internal gas reservoir.
    As I finished tightening down and calibrating the telescopic sight on one (I was feeling a little silly, with all this new stuff to play with) another bit of gear caught in my memory. Something that I'd seen in an Anime film, and something I was pretty sure I had seen on the Naval base my Dad worked on, one time. I made a note to pick it up, if it was still there.

    Also on my shopping trip, a local 'adult' store that I'd never had the nerve to go into before, a Radio Shack, and the local HAM Hobbyist shop.. (making sure to pick up a few manuals, and a 'For Dummies' text, along with the most expensive equipment they had available.) The Taurus had been left at home by this time, one of the neighbors' minivans sufficing to transport everything... the front room of the main house decked out in a technophile's wet dream; several UPS units, and a number of portable generators (some solar-cell ones, too).
    You might be asking yourself... 'Well, why doesn't he just fly?'. Realize... flying is an art form... not something to be mastered in a day, or a week, or a month. Maybe not even in a lifetime. Also, I could change back at any time... the world might go back to normal... of course, with all the damage I'd done, it might actually be a /good/ thing if I was a few hundred feet up.

    Two days later, I had made my first kill.

    I had not even realized just how hungry I had become... or how hungry the former domestic animals had grown. I also had forgotten that our neighbors two houses down on the right had a huge German Shepherd, until it came loping down the street at me, snarling.. Apparently a house-only animal, unable to catch any of the squirrels running loose, and hungry as all get-out. Even enoughso to attack something well over twice as big as he was. The box of books I had requisitioned (okay... snagged) from the library made a good weapon, slamming down on the dog's muzzle solidly as it lunged for me.. a dull *snap* as the nose broke. I shuddered, trying to backpedal as it kept after, snapping at me hungrily and whining, blood starting to flow from its nose.
    Now, at the time, I was just trying to get away... had no intention upon it. But that scent... the first whiff of the blood scent caught my attention instantly. All the hunger built up twisting my stomach into knots, instinctively settling into a crouch and tossing the books aside, to let the box spill open and scatter the tomes over the asphalt.
    The canine's next lunge was it's last.. talons sinking deep, silencing a pained yelp with a further crack from the muzzle and lifting it.. wrapping myself around, as my fangs bit deep.. drinking of the gush, lost in the bliss. As I fed, sating one hunger, the other arose... the part of myself that I had hoped was not--  that I hoped did not exist. That hunger was sated shortly as well, also by the once-attacker, now supper.
    Sensation was incredible.. like... well.. eating sunshine, then diving into a vat of lemon curd. Having every vessel set on fire. Indescribable, really. I turned and spun, just to feel myself moving... threw the corpse, just to see how far I could... giggling as it thudded down wetly no less than twelve houses down the block. I just had to... I can't even remember. I vaguely recall flying, laughing. Almost like being drunk. Possibly exactly like being drunk, I have no idea.

    I whimpered... my butt getting cold, the wind chilling me so high up... only a tiny bit of shelter in the lee of a sculpted protrusion. I shivered, looking at my wings and slowly stretching them.. going through a long-neglected stretching routine that had been a daily part of my life for many years, while I was still studying various martial arts.. my legs a little tense, but everything else just as limber as before. I carefully stepped to the edge, looking down again as I opened my wings wide.. guessing I'd have about fifteen to thirty seconds to learn to fly, before I became street pizza. I oddly wished I'd remembered to get some kind of parachute, even if it wouldn't fit with my wings, stalling for a moment before a gust of wind pushed me over the edge, just barely enough time to push off and away from the side of the building before it started whipping by, faster and faster.

    A shudder, keeping my wings fully open as I leaned back.. the flap biting into the wind more and more... 250 feet... slowly curving out, turning in the flight... 200 feet... holding my shoulders steady against the ROAR of the whipping wind, and leveling off.
    Carefully keeping my arms locked out, spans spread wide, quite content to glide down for now... going in a straight line, my legs streaming behind me gracefully. I started to overshoot, easily keeping my glide and leaning.. banking, not wanting to lose control of it. I spiraled down, flapping my wings hard as I leaned back even further, backwinging a good 10 feet up, and falling the rest of the way... my legs absorbing most of it, sprawling on my side and rubbing my calves, trying to get rid of the numbing tingles shooting through them at the rough touchdown.

    The next few days were filled with practice... first in gliding, off the roof of the three-story school, and landing especially... getting it down to the point I could land on tip-toe. Then working on actually flapping, to gain altitude. Mostly staying low, since I was still deathly afraid of heights, when it was just me. Planes, I was fine in. Lastly, taking off from the ground. That was the most difficult to learn. Any flighted morph will tell you, ground-takeoffs are tricky.. and I was teaching myself. Also picking up some nice road rash on the tips of my wings, when I brought them down at the wrong times. The first time was exhilarating. Throwing off the earthly shackles... flying up to dance with the clouds. About that time, the power grid started going down.. Streetlights browning out, finally dying entirely. Backup generators working overtime, while I wired in a new unit to support the whole house.. the engine sounding more like a thunderstorm. The phones went, not long after that, and we moved the whole operation into the local high school at DEC's request, due to the fact it was built like a bunker. Ten-inch thick concrete walls, louvered blast shutters on every window, with heavy security gates able to be brought across at a moment's notice. Tells you just what school officials back then had to deal with.
    I took up residence in a roof maintenance shed, the pipe-rafters easy to grab onto (I had started sleeping in the usual bat-fashion by then, after nights of insomnia, fearing I would fall on my head if I tried. It worked fine.), and the flimsy construction quite conducive to a quick escape. Tails-P and DECWolf saw less and less of me, due to the fact that I had begun avoiding them. Flying and scouting, as well... in greater circuits each night. This was due to two things... firstly, they had started getting on my nerves. I had developed a bit of BrightEyes' temper toward land-bound furs. But mostly, it was due to the fact that I had started seeing.. things. Glitters. Glows. Half-imagined, half-felt. Half-seen, half-smelt. Beautiful things and decrepit, slimy spots. I avoided those areas, for the most part.. they just felt /wrong/. Made me nervous to even be in a ten-span of them. 140 feet, in old-measurement.. I took to calling spans by 14 feet, and haven't been able to really break the habit all that much.. Have to re-learn someday.
    The close of the first month came and went, and I found that I only really needed to feed about once or twice a week, if I wasn't doing anything particularly strenuous.. going out for a glide, or whatever. By the end of the second month, I had started to get nervous.. Thalyn had said that he would be coming right away.. I was sure that it would take no more than two weeks, even driving all the way. With plenty of stops. When I found myself gliding over Barstow one night, I finally gave in and admitted that I was worried... the phone system long down, the last CD burned, all but a few of the systems shut down, maybe forever. I returned just before dawn, and walked down to the science lab, the Bunsen burners and sinks also working for cooking, no matter how unsafe. I carefully opened one of the drawers, pulling out the little 'toy' I had salvaged from the naval base, still there in the hangar. It was currently attached to a five-point harness, along the chestline... the headpiece modified to fit my non-human cranium, and accommodate my ears. I picked up my hunting piece, pumping ten or twelve good shots into the storage chamber and loading the mini-clip with point-head shells, clicking it into place, and hooking the camera analog trigger-wire I'd salvaged into position. I lifted the pack, settling it against my chest and arranging the straps, clicking the buckles down and tightening it, then slipping the HUD over my head.. the brightness greatly reduced, the glow not even detectable by human eyes. I wrapped the wire into place, shivering and cracking a grin as I held the trigger.. looking around the room, and feeling the muzzle follow my gaze. I thumbed the trigger, a soft *fft* and a loud *CRACK* as the shell impacted and fractured the slate chalkboard, spiderwebbing it. I snickered, shaking my head and having to say the line. "You act like you've never seen a Valantian before." then turning, padding for the door as it powered down, the rifle laying against my side smoothly. Stopping in only briefly to let Tails and DEC know I was leaving... possibly for a few months. they promised to keep it all running, enough meat in the deep freezers to last them until February, if they were careful with it.
    So I set out to find Thalyn.. after one short stop. Quietly setting a bunch of pretty wildflowers on top of the flat stone I had set as a grave marker, for each of my Hosts.. and pushing a clipping from a briar rosebush I had found into the soil covering my first.. a lame apology for my ineptitude... for having to make it hurt so much.

    When I tried to take wing I realized what I had overlooked.. though the rig may have worked perfectly, I had forgotten all about the balance and added weight it would add to my flight. Forty pounds of gear may not sound like much to carry, but it was enough to set me panting and working for altitude after only a short while. A quick return, and I realized what I would have to do. The servomount was designed for a plane.. camera gear and things along those lines. To a plane, the weight of the steel might be almost negligible. To me, it was just under an extra thirty pounds to carry. A few quick detachments and some pounds lighter, I was reflecting on how badly it would have worked anyway, without a hard dock point to keep the targeting stable. Though it had been a neat idea. My rifle was sheathed in a makeshift holster along the side of the laptop, peace-buckled to keep it in against the wind as well.
    I was glad that I'd spent so much time working on my rig... the laptop resting between my shoulders processing the data from one of the GPS systems I'd scalped from the by-now defunct base outfit.. correlating it with a computerized atlas, and the data I'd picked off the Internet Furry Proximity Locator... Most would have moved in the time I'd spent getting set up temporarily, but hopefully most would still be fairly near. The radio tied into a band-scanner, along with the other odds and ends.. a few power-packs resting along my lower back. I was pretty much a flying sensor, at that point... completely dependent on the hope that any place I landed for the day would have some kind of power source... gas generators, UPS systems... heck, even windmill-powered generators.
    I'd decided to follow route 66 for the most part.. just because I knew it went coast to coast, and I didn't quite trust the waypoints set by the GPS system. Had never used one before, so didn't know just how reliable they were.
    I set my first stop to be Las Vegas. I wanted to see just how it would look and sound with all of the neon dead, the bells and sirens silent. To put a word to it, gliding through the empty streets was eerie.. any furs once there long departed, or hiding so well that I couldn't hear them, which was saying a lot. It looked like some of Caesar's Palace had caught fire, but burnt itself out.. half the hotel section nothing more than a blackened wreck, the other half only a little better... covered in soot, and listing badly to one side, the twisted iron of the support beams buckled in spots. The newly-rebuilt Riviera had been crushed by the fall of the Stratosphere, and there was only a little water left in a few of the other hotels' holding tanks. I left the same night. All the empty, dark windows were actually starting to scare me, along with the fact that the whole place felt.. well... not right. Again, I can't really explain it.. it just felt like something was very, very wrong there.
    I spent the day in Kingman.. a few hours' drive, but only one by wing.. the town nearly self-sufficient, with the constant service outages from the Hoover Dam power station. As I wandered through my grandmother's home, the realization struck home that she wasn't there. Silly? Well, I don't really think so. My grandma had been the closest family member I'd ever had... and that includes my parents and sister. Some part of my mind was still saying that she /was/ here, and she /would/ be coming through the front door after a day of gardening, or working down at the local church.. but she never would have let something like this happen. Her kitchen was in disarray, apparently in the middle of making a midnight snack.. re-heating stew, from what was splattered over the floor, and dried. I left the refrigerator closed, already scenting a hint of decay.. not wanting to make it worse. I quietly wandered into her room, and turned on the rechargeable air compressor she kept with her any time she went out of the house, to take her inhalant medicine.. passing out on the bed, to the dull *hummmmmmm*...

    I managed to fall asleep somewhere along the I-40, the horrible music still blaring as the retrofit truck rolled down the road; my claws latched into a roof rack alongside some suitcases.. no thanks to the camper shell closing off the back, where I could have gotten some sleep a bit more safely.
    I woke a bit after sunset, the truck pulling off to the side of the road getting my attention, along with the shifting pitch of the engine dying down. I made good my escape, jumping as the wheels and tracks hit the uneven dirt... hoping it would hide my departure. I carefully landed a good two hundred feet away, and ducked down into the brush.. the telescopic sight on my rifle coming in handy to watch my unknowing carrier.. or carriers, I saw. The oversized feline, and a smaller mustelid form that would be a little difficult to miss. The metallic silver fur both drew and repulsed the eyes, shifting and flowing with the owner.. a smaller musteline form, possibly five and a half feet or so. My ears caught the conversation..
    "I'll set up camp.. see if you can find anything to eat around here, Danny." from the feline.
    "Wuff, it's a /desert/.. there _isn't_ anything to eat! It's hot and yucky and makes my fur all frizzy and dirty. C'mon.. I pricked my paws last time I tried to pick a cactus-" Danny said. He looked a bit like an otter, but something was wrong with his tail and paws.. Tail looked too fuzzy. Paws I couldn't see clearly at this distance, without giving away my presence.
    Wuff cut him off. "So don't pick a cactus, fuzzhead! Or cut off the prickles first. Use what little brain's still rattling around in there." then turned away, and went back to unloading the gear... a twist setting up an insta-tent, dropping it and pulling out some tent spikes. "Hurry up. I'm hungry, and want a change from corn' beef hash an' chili."
    I grinned to myself when the otter thing walked off in the direction of a rain gully I had spotted from my brief flight.. it looked to be deep, from the quick glance I had caught before landing. The otter looked like the safer of the pair to approach, and I started to parallel his pathway.. keeping myself quiet until we were both some distance from their camp, and counting on the noise and muttering he made to cover my own little sounds.
    A few minutes later, we had both reached the rim.. it /was/ a deep gully, with a number of undercuts from the flash floods that must wash through every rainy season. I watched him work his way down the steep side, keeping hidden in the brush as he tried to stalk a rabbit near-laughingly. Needless to say, it bolted and was gone in a fluffy flurry and a number of curses less than a minute later.. the short pursuit only taking him further from the camp. I had transferred myself to one of the underhangs in his distraction, the scrabble and scrape of my claws on the loose dirt unheard through his frustration.
    In seconds, I was upon him.. my wings wrapping tightly around him, holding his muzzle closed and pinning his arms to his sides. I grinned at the struggles and muffled yelling, letting him calm.. when he steadied, I realized that I had no idea what to do.
    "Don't scream, I won't kill you." I slowly loosened my grip on his muzzle, only to be met with a quickly cut-off scream for help (cut off thanks to the tightening of my grip again) and renewed struggles. I decided to let him calm down again... until something grabbed ahold of my ear and YANKED!
    Now children, you probably don't understand what it feels like to a bat to have an ear touched, much less yanked on like that. I was instantly on the ground, writhing from a combination of sensory overload and the sheer PAIN.. the whatever-it-was forgotten, trying to nurse my ear. I scrabbled at the thing holding it, managing to get it loose long enough to scramble back.. the otterthing screaming like blazes for help, against one of the walls.. too steep to walk, and the dirt too loose to climb.
    I sat up, darting back further myself, noticing the tail of the silver mustelid was flexing rather oddly.. Well not all that oddly, when it was just the three tailfingers of a silkie. I took off running down the gully, hearing the heavy footfalls of the feline growing quickly closer.. no doubtedly carrying a gun as well. I must've run a mile before I decided to slow down... the sound of the halftrack drifting to my ears, apparently making good time toward wherever they were going.
    Good sense lost out again; I took wing to follow the retreating vehicle, careful to stay high and hopefully unnoticed.

<**This story is, and very well may forever be a work in progress**>
 

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