lon laughed at his exasperation, and assumed a primal fighting 
stance. "BRING IT ON, YOU SORRY EXCUSE OF AN ABACUS!" 


The Master of Machines reconfigured himself into an angelic 
clockwork knight several stories tall, his golden wings and halo 
giving him an aura of beauty and awe. He conjured his sword and 
ran like lightning straight for lon's throat. 


The Lord of Flesh turned himself inside-out through his unhinged 
jaws. His entire countenance was like that of a deformed ogre, his 
skin missing in random patches, black muscles tensed like steel 
cables and biological armaments sprouting everywhere. 


The mutated behemoth struck the clockwork angel with his horrific 
claws, only for the enemy to disappear in a burst of blinding light. lon 
grabbed at his face and screamed at his burning eyes, striking in all 
directions in attempt to hit his enemy. But Bumaro had analyzed all 
of lon's opening gambits from previous battles, and figured out that 
the Lord of Flesh would not anticipate a dirty trick of his own. 


"Come out here, you COWARD" shouted Ion. 


"If you insist." Bumaro deactivated his cloaking field, appearing right 
behind lon and running him through with his sword, then kicking the 
behemoth forward several dozen meters into a boulder which 


exploded from the force of the impact. 


lon rose, regenerating the wound from the sword and growing new 
eyes. He hurled a sphere of flesh and bone towards Bumaro's face, 
who attempted to slice it in half. The sphere dodged his blade and 
enveloped his entire head with crab-like legs. Bumaro tried to rip it 
off with his free hand to no avail, and lon took the opportunity to bite 
down on the clockwork angel's sword arm, thrashing around like a 
crocodile. 


Bumaro fired laser beams from his eyes that destroyed the crab 
grabbing onto his head and severely damaged lon. Despite this, the 
behemoth still managed to bite off the sword arm. Stunned by the 
pain, Bumaro could not fight back. lon ripped off a leg with his 
powerful jaws. He raised the limbs above his hideous head like a 
trophy and laughed loudly. "It looks like it will cost an arm and a leg 
to fix this!" 


Bumaro floated off the ground through the use of an anti-gravity 
core, and pressed a button on his chest with his remaining hand. 
The spare limbs which lon had ripped off detonated in a giant 
explosion, reducing the behemoth's flesh to a molten slurry dripping 
from a skeleton. He could not even scream as his vocal chords and 
nerve endings were gone. Bumaro sprouted his substitute limbs and 
chuckled. 


"Ah, no jokes, lon? That's a shame. You seemed like such hot stuff 
for a second there." 


lon grew multiple arms to give Bumaro several middle fingers. 
Bumaro didn't let the banter slow him down, and fired a barrage of 
missiles at the weakened enemy. lon used tentacles to grab the 
missiles and redirected them at Bumaro. There were too many 
projectiles, and the clockwork angel could not dodge them all. He 
was Caught in an explosion that reduced several trees to ashes. He 
used his scanners to try and detect the enemy through the cloud of 
smoke but it didn't work. 


A swarm of locusts burst into view, biting through his armor and 
crawling into the exposed neural interfaces. Bumaro was totally 
overwhelmed by stinging pain throughout his whole body. He tried to 


04 (Dr. Patel) 


05 (Dr. Patel) 


06 (Dr. Patel) 


and Lake Superior "locations" of 
the islets, the boats' crews were 
able to visually identify each 
other. 
Islet concurrently approached by 
boats from Ethiopia (with Agent 
aboard) and Wisconsin. Boats 
met, and Agent boarded the 
boat that had originated in 
Wisconsin. Boats returned to their 
respective ports of origin. Agent 
experienced no anomalous 
effects other than the rapid transit 
between the points. 
Islet concurrently approached by 
boats from Kamchatka (with 
Agent aboard, carrying a GPS 
device) and Quebec. Boats met, 
and Agent boarded the boat 
that had originated in Quebec. At 
this point, Agent  's GPS device 
indicated a location near the 
islet's Sea of Okhotsk location. 
Boats returned to their respective 
ports of origin. Upon leaving the 
islet's area of effect, the GPS 
device carried by Agent (on 
the boat headed for Quebec) 
ceased functioning for several 
minutes, following which it 
indicated a location near Quebec. 
Islet concurrently approached by 
boats from Ethiopia and 
Wisconsin, with each boat 
unspooling a telecommunications 
cable anchored at the boat's port 
of origin. Boats met within 20 
meters of islet and 
telecommunications cables 
joined. Cable functioned as 


activate an emergency countermeasure, but was interrupted by a 
large boulder being dropped right on top of him. The sheer damage 
from the missiles and the boulder prevented him from freeing 
himself, try as he might. lon sauntered up to him with another huge 
smile, his fists shaped into hammers. 


"Aren't you going to finish me?" asked Bumaro incredulously. 


lon scratched his chin with an extra arm in consideration. "Welllll, | 
could, but it seems to me like you hit rock bottom!" 


"Please just finish me," requested Bumaro in the most perfect 
deadpan tone. 


"Alright, fine. You really are stone cold." He swung at the boulder 
with his hammer-fist, shattering it into a thousand pieces and freeing 
Bumaro. 


"What...why did you..." he stammered in shock at the display of 
mercy. 


"Come on, don't start gravelling at my feet now! Keep fighting!" 
"Anything to shut you up." 
"Says the tin man who told a pun of his own at my expense!" 


Bumaro could not argue against it, so he just got up and conjured 
his sword again. He needed new tactics. And he was certain that lon 
would not spare him another time if the fight got boring. 


The clockwork angel came to the conclusion that the situation was 
serious enough to demand some big improvisation. He spread his 
wings and flew high into the air, beyond the clouds and reaching for 
the void of space. Covering himself in a new, highly resistant armor, 
he descended like a meteor in his enemy's direction. 


lon braced for the collision, a dozen moves racing through his mind. 
His eyes widened as Bumaro reached out with his hand and opened 
a portal between them. lon's opponent had vanished just before 
hitting him. 


"Two can play at this game!" lon shouted. Thaumaturgical runes 
glowed crimson across his flesh and he sliced open his own portal in 
reality, calculating the approximate location of his opponent based 
on the energy signature of his portal. He grew wings and stepped 
through, emerging in the middle of the sky with his enemy nowhere 
to be seen. 


"I guess the tin man doesn't have the heart to fight me head on!" He 
shouted. Bumaro deactivated his cloaking field one more time and 
rammed him with the force of a freight train, pinning him against a 
floating and invisible object. The behemoth ripped his enemy's head 
clean off, only to notice that it was a decoy holding firmly onto him 
still. And with his sharp senses, lon could perceive a subtle 
humming of machinery and an increase in temperature right next to 
him. 


The real Bumaro appeared, his golden armor reflecting the rays of 
sunlight in a dazzling display. He raised his hand, sending out a 
signal to the invisible object lon was pinned to. There was the 
booming sound of a huge cloaking field being deactivated as an 
airship armed with a fusion cannon came into view. Wasting no time, 
lon split in half and let the decoy pin down his fake half. Flying away 
from point blank range of the rapidly heating cannon, lon's 
thaumaturgical runes glowed ever brighter as he prepared his own 
beam. 


They fired. 


A flash of light exploded into existence that could be seen for 
dozens of miles. 


The air rumbled like the world was coming to an end. 
But not louder than their hot-blooded screaming. 


The beams pushed against each other, the spot where they 
connected crackling with pure destructive energy arcs. Bumaro and 
lon began falling apart into gears and blood as the fight neared its 
climax, but both absolutely refused to give up. In the end, what 
decided the victor was a simple move. 


"HEY, ION!" 
"WHAT, YOU WANNA GIVE UP?" 
"| BET YOU CAN'T THINK OF A PUN ABOUT LASERS!" 


lon went into a state of shock as he realized he really couldn't, his 
eyes going totally white. In that fraction of a second, his beam was 
overwhelmed and his defeat was sealed. 


He fell into the ocean below, his mind fading to black. But when he 
regained consciousness, he wasn't chained down for interrogation 
or anything of the sort. He was in his human form and lying on a 
bedroom inside the airship. He was guided to the roof by robotic 
servants, where he met Bumaro in his human form as well, sitting on 
a beautiful dining table covered in tea, biscuits and sandwiches. 


"Sit down. | figured you must be hungry. Do excuse my servants if 
the food and drink is not so good. | don't exactly need such things." 


lon looked around in suspicion. "Where are the cameras? Are you 
trying to poison me or something? You know that doesn't work on 
me, right?" 


"For countless years we have been rivals. We know each other 
better than most people ever will. And now you won't even let me be 
your host! You insult me." Said Bumaro in a humorous tone. 


"Hold up. Are you telling me...that |...really grind your gears?" 


"Tell your daughter that one if you haven't already, I'm sure she'll 
love it." 


"Sure will. But...there is something | don't quite understand. Why did 
you spare me? You could have gotten rid of the leader of your 
Church's biggest enemy faction. That sounds rather irrational, 
especially coming from you. So what gives, Boltbrain?" 


"Simple. You spared me when you had the chance to do the same 
to me. Think of it is as a gentleman's principle." 


lon burst into uproarious cackling. "Oh...oh man! That's fucking 


precious! Why don't you quit your bullshit and admit that you were 
just having too much fun!" 


"Maybe | was, maybe | wasn't. Now be a good cult leader and eat." 


"You don't have to tell me twice. Say, my daughter is gonna be 
participating in this school play, and | would be honored if you 
showed up." 


"Certainly. But only if you promise to help with some issues that are 
dividing my Church." 


"Hush hush on both ends?" 
"Hush hush." 
"Deal!" 


The Lord of Flesh and the Master of Machines shook hands, 
finished their meal and prepared to go their separate ways for now. 
However, they were interrupted by a massive aura of power 
suddenly manifesting nearby them. From a pillar of light emerged a 
humanoid figure dressed in a black cloak and a white bird-like mask, 
a scalpel in his hand. His cloak billowed in the wind, his eyes 
gleamed with purifying intent and he spoke in a vaguely Eastern 
European accent. 


"This sickness...will not persist." 


Bumaro and lon looked at each other, nodded and assumed a back- 
to-back badasses pose to fight the new challenger. 


Mobile Task Furries 


It's twelve A.M., and we're the guys they called to take down an 
anomalous furry. 


I've seen people and I've seen monsters. Sometimes, the monsters 
are more human than the people. This guy, the one we're tracking 
down, he needs an entire specialized operations team, just for him. 
One kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen, and what he does isn't even 
that special. He makes people a part of the fandom. Against their 
will. Couple of months down the line, they've lost their shit, and 
they're living in a pen of their own filth and barking at everything that 
moves. The Foundation doesn't want that to happen to any one of 
their guys, so they put us on the job. Thing is, I'm sure at least a 
couple of the higher ups are living in a filth pen, barking their orders 
down at us. 


| look to Sgt. Blaine as he shimmies into an orange bodysuit lined 
with tubes of ammonium nitrate. He fumbles for the zipper and tugs 
it up to his waist. Next, he slips into a ballistic vest and toys with the 
straps as he adjusts himself. 


Sgt. Merryweather steps up to him, dressed from head to toe in 
purple and white. Under his arm, he carries his new helmet, 
cushioned with foam and geared with night-vision equipment, an air 
filtration system with a fan, and earbuds. It's the works; we've all got 
one of our own. Funny thing, seeing bulletproof gear inside of a 
fursuit. 


"Need me to get your tail?" 
"That'd be great, thanks." 


Blaine arches his back, and Merryweather tugs on the end of a 
kidney belt through a hole in the back of his bodysuit. He swipes up 
Blaine's puffy, rustic-colored fox tail from the bench and slides the 
belt through the tail's loops. One pat of the kidney belt back through 


the hole, and Blaine is set and ready. 


You work at the Foundation for long enough, and you get used to 
seeing weird things. The ghostly, plum-faces of the guys on my 
team, you'd think they were dead. It's the task force teams that see 
the worst of it. 


They send you into the buildings where someone's got a monster 
caged up, and usually, you've got some poor sucker watching you. 
You have to grab that person and jab them with a syringe of 200ml 
of anaesthesia mixed with amnestics, and your friend grabs them 
and hauls them out, dragging them by their legs as you watch their 
head bump against the bottom of the door frame and their hair mop 
up their own blood from earlier, when they tried to lock the monster 
up. It's really not the monster that scares you. 


After you come back, the scientists in their crisp white coats will pull 
you aside and ask you some routine questions. They start their 
pseudo-survey with a patronizing thank-you, as if what you're doing 
is anything like saving the world, like how they phrased it in the 
interviews, like what you thought you were getting when they came 
to you and promised 100% monetary compensation and 0% 
physical safety. You come in doe-eyed and wet-nosed, like a puppy 
in the K-9 unit car, and then they give you your first assignment and 
it's gone. It's nothing special. Every job in this place, whether you're 
on the front lines or behind the comfort of a full inch of bulletproof 
glass, it sucks the life out of you. You just keep doing it because, 
hell, it's better than a desk job. 


They keep going, and they ask you about the recovery. How many 
deceased? The one from last time, he pushed his wire-frame 
glasses up further on the bridge of his hooked bird nose, and he 
asked me the same question again. How many deceased? 


Twelve, | say back. He looks down at his clipboard, and back up at 

me again. | can't tell if he can see how sunken my eyes are into my 
skull, like I'm less than a person; this mission has made me nothing. 
How many civilians? 


Seven, | mutter. He scrawls down notes in that chicken scratch 
handwriting you can only read when you've got a PhD, like he's 


prescribing medicine. For all intents and purposes, he is. 
Do you require amnestics? 
No, I'm fine. 


It's not the answer | want to give, but it's the answer they want to 
hear. Their supply of amnestics is for civilians and memetically- 
cooked scientists. You're supposed to be able to handle the 
missions they send you on. They offer it each and every time, 
though. When you take them, they're supposed to bleach your 
memories from the past twelve, twenty four, thirty six or so hours. 
I've heard that sometimes they backfire, or they give you ones that 
are stronger than you expected if they don't like you. You wake up a 
blank slate. A nothing in the worst way. The sound of it scares me 
worse than the nightmares.