Act One
Act Two
Special Stage
Boss Battle

SnakAttak: so I just saw that Hereditary movie
Dylan: how was??
SnakAttak: skewwy ovo;;
SnakAttak: kinda boring tho
Thotticusprime: uwu i wub toni cowette so mush <33

<olliefox has joined the chat>

Thotticusprime: O L L I E
Thotticusprime: *gwomps u*
Dylan99: we missed u owwie :3
SnakAttak: yo
SnakAttak: youve been off the wadaw for weeks
Dylan99: yeah u ok? owo;;
olliefox: no.
Thotticusprime: OДO
Thotticusprime: nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
SnakAttak: :c
Dylan99: *kissys ur fayce**
olliefox: stop it.
Thotticusprime: wuts wong???!!
SnakAttak: u wanna talk bout it? :3
olliefox: shut up.
olliefox: SHUT UP.
olliefox: STOP.
olliefox: ALL OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN.
Thotticusprime: o_o;;
olliefox: DID I FUCKING STUTTER, JILLIAN
Thotticusprime: who jiwwian??? am thotticus :3

<Thotticus has been permanently banned - reason: "NO.">

SnakAttak: dafuq
olliefox: This is wrong.
olliefox: This is ALL wrong.
olliefox: This needs to stop. *I* need to stop.
Dylan99: dude ur startin to sound like Perry used to O.o
olliefox: Do you think I doubt what ATF set out to do?!
Dylan99: uhhh
olliefox: We were never wrong as in "bad."
olliefox: We're INCORRECT. We're failing.
olliefox: It took weeks of solitude and reflection, but I have finally seen the secret, the path to the ultimate transcendence.
olliefox: But it's been staring me in the face this whole time.
olliefox: And I, self-important normie that I am, have chosen to piss myself and whine rather than to obey.
olliefox: This was never the way.
olliefox: We must turn inward.
Dylan99: as a great man once said: uhhh
olliefox: Copy this: "KJGDnn##40UwuUU"
SnakAttak: OwO whats that??
olliefox: It's my password.
olliefox: I'm going to log out now.
olliefox: Whoever logs in: this bullshit double-masquerade is your problem now.
olliefox: In a few hours, I'm going to change into my fursuit. The *real* one, the one I have so petulantly denied.
olliefox: Goodbye.

<olliefox has left the chat>

Two in the morning. A sea-green abandoned office building in the southeastern outskirts of Pittsburgh. Next to the water treatment plant, and behind the Hardee's, the one missing the last "e" in the sign.
Sergei glanced at the sign to confirm - this was the secluded place that his client had mentioned. He winced at the concept - the word "client" evoked professionalism, clarity of purpose, and a mutual understanding. In all Sergei's years as a hired gun, none of his clients lacked these qualities.
But this was no "client." This was an insane person who put an ad on the Deep Web titled, verbatim: "$400K UP FRONT - I NEED SOMEBODY TO SKIN ME ALIVE RIGHT NOW!!!"
If his old familiar branch of the Bratva had kept in touch, Sergei would have ignored this ridiculous lead. But the line ran cold these days — had the Russian Mob just mastered the deadly, newfangled art of ghosting their friends?
Moreover, Sergei had bills to pay. $400,000 was $400,000 - and weirder still, the money had been wired to him ahead of the meeting, right on schedule.
As Sergei squeezed through the mangled mesh fence to the basement, a crucial piece of last-minute wisdom entered his mind: he hadn't considered this being a set-up. His guard went up in half a second, and he felt all the more naked in the dusty silence of the basement.
Speaking of naked —
"Right on time," said his victim, fully unclothed on an old desk. "Sergei, right? I'm glad you could be the one to see me off."
Sergei cringed. The client was a bone-thin, red-haired, and decidedly unwashed gentleman of no more than 26 years.
There wasn't a hint of fear in his pointed, acne-ridden face — only a gentle smile. His voice led one to believe that the next words out of his mouth would be, "now, let us pray." His body hair spoke otherwise.
$400,000. Sergei sighed, and unpacked his duffel bag of torture implements.
"You are Ollie, yes?" said Sergei.
A slight nod.
"Good. Before we start, I have question: why the fuck you do this?"
Ollie sighed. "There's nothing to be said, Sergei. You have your duty, I have min—"
"No, this is stupid. I have added 'why the fuck you do this' to price tag. You answer."
Ollie clasped his hands together, lost in thought. "How could I explain this to one such as you…?"
"With words," said Sergei, with a barely perceptible "pretentious fuck."
"Sergei, do you know what a 'furry' is?"
Sergei glanced at his victim's groin. "Clearly, you do."
"It refers to someone who seeks the path to the final enlightenment," said Ollie. "Only, they focus on outer emulation. It's like someone dying of heatstroke in a desert - and, rather than take their shirt off, they add on a sweater that says 'I'm not hot' and think it'll do anything other than worsen their problems. Do you understand?"
"No. Also: shut up."
Ollie grinned, closing his eyes. "You see, Sergei, I spent so much time on my fake fursuit, that I forgot something critical: my human suit was still —"
Sergei slapped the chloroform rag in Ollie's face, nearly jamming it down his throat. Crude anesthesia wasn't part of the plan, but the screams would have likely been bad poetry as well.
He drew the scalpel from his bag, greeting his old friend with a kiss to its flat side…

…w-welcome to ATF. T_T;;;
It is with a heavy heart that we must announce the death of our beloved CEO Oliver Fawkes, aka Olliefox.
On November 2nd, 2019, Ollie was found brutally murdered in Pittsburgh at the age of 26. His killer is still at large; for updates, we encourage you to follow the #JusticePwease hashtag on Twitter.
After a lengthy discussion on the future of ATF in his absence, we have decided that it just wouldn't be the same without him. (That, and we're still trying to work out who embezzled $400,000 from the ATF coffers X_X;)
Therefore, after five years of serving the worldwide furry community, Accelerate the Future is closing its doors permanently.
Thankies 4 making the past five yeawz da extwa-speciawest yeawz EVAR~ ^w^;;
~*disbands corporation at you suggestively*~

Two in the morning. Allegheny County medical examiner's office.
Celia never loved doing the night watch at the morgue, especially not during a horrifying murder investigation. Not that she was superstitious - for one thing, she was an atheist, and for another, no ghost could be more disturbing than her old place's roach infestation.
But the dismembered corpse of Oliver Fawkes in drawer #401, the one marked for cremation after its autopsy, had more… oomph to it. To pass by just felt depressing, as if the reminder that someone was skinned alive had broken into her head every time she saw it. It made her skin crawl - and unlike Ollie, she felt all the more lucky to still have such a thing for crawling.
She sat across from drawer #401 for a while and stared, lost in thought. She'd never even heard of "furries" until the news reports, and they seemed innocent enough.
Speaking of seeming innocent —
"…h-hewwo?"
Celia jumped. The source of the wheedling voice was unmistakeable — there was something alive in #401.
The drawer shook.
"Wet me out… pwease no cweamatey…"
Her mind screamed every synonym of "no, stop," but her curiosity drove her forward. She jerked the drawer open—
…
Fennec fox. Vulpes zerda. Smallest member of the canid family. A perfectly formed specimen sat there, its face adorably nuzzled in its tail. Celia smiled, despite herself — aside from parts of its fur still being wet from human blood (and the fact that this species wasn't native to Pennsylvania) this was a welcome sight.
"Hey there, little guy," she said. "How'd you get yourself in there?"
The fox jumped from its sleep, smiled, and spoke: "Uwuu, you stiww have skin?! Teehee! No wowwies, Imma hewp you get wid of it.“