The Wolven Chronicles: Part One

CHAPTER ONE



         As I gaze down on the playground from my perch in a majestic oak tree I start to reminisce on my childhood. My chocolate brown eyes scan the little human children running around and hear their joyful squeals. I remember how I once played on the swing set that is planted below me. How I would get in contests with the human children and almost always win, and never know why. How my childhood was abruptly cut short. How the world turned from the carefree wonderland to a death sentence for my kind before my eyes. My expression saddens at this. Even more so when I see that there are no Wolven children playing. There aren't any furry children playing at all. That has been done away with.



         In fact, if I don't succeed in my overarching mission, all the furry races will be done away with. The world has reverted to a similar state that it was in during the war I used to learn about in history class. Not in the way one would think, though. The world has united and there are no international wars. There is only the war on furries. Better known as the furry genocide.



         I shift my position on the wide branch. My thick tail swings gently. I don't even know how long I've been here. I suddenly remember I'm here for a reason. Even with all the advanced technology in the year 2078, you still can't get good cell service in the mountains. Whitelily is the only place around here where the service isn't too patchy. I picked the park as a peaceful place to relax and think, as well as check my inbox. I pull out my cell and notice I have an urgent message. It's from Agent Z.



         Known lovingly as Agent Z by the lower ranks at the Wolven Agency, Zephary Grane is an older man who initiated the Furry Recovery Project, called FRP, back when the genocide started in 2064. He is one of the few remaining humans that oppose the WFES, or World Furry Extermination Society, and definitely the most dedicated. The world has become cruel, and the countries have all become cruel together. The borders don't even matter anymore. There aren't any border disputes anymore. The sole purpose of all government authorities is to wipe out the three furry races. They play like only two will be exterminated, but everyone here at the Wolven Agency knows that isn't true.



         I open the red blinking message. It reads:

Wolven Team X: Meet at the agency headquarters at 1700 hours. Don't be late. This is vital to your survival and success.



         I contemplate the message as I try to bring myself to leave this place of tranquility. So many memories were created here... But I have even more memories of the havoc that was wreaked on this poor town over the years. I shake my head to rid the painful memories. I lift my chin up. I am stronger than this. I am a Wolven Furry fighting for freedom. I am the last Wolven team leader alive. I am Agent Cora.



         I jump down from the branch and land heavily on my feet. I push a stray light hair behind my bluish gray ear. The meeting is in two hours. Plus, I can't stay here for long. I would risk endangering the residents of Whitelily by hanging around. The WFES might actually do a good job of tracking me, for once. Petty humans. They always think they're so smart, but it's all an act to impress one another. I don't think I'll ever understand them, even though I'm technically part human.



         I made my way East, toward the FRP headquarters. Maybe part of my team will beat me there and we can try to figure out what's going on. I didn't bother driving my car since it's a nice day and I'm not in a hurry. There's a slight breeze and the sun is cheerfully beaming down on me. It's the ideal June day. Besides, even though I have the privilege of owning a vehicle, I don't abuse the use of it. Even since the cars started running off of solar energy, I still conserve power.



         I hang a right toward Grandfather mountain. It wasn't a bad place to hide something as secret as an organization made to save innocent lives. FRP is completely underground with only one main entrance: 3 miles outside of Whitelily. Conveniently located by a river, FRP HQ runs on a combination of hydro and solar power. New technological advances have allowed scientists to produce solar panels that look just like big leaves, and work in a similar manner. It puzzles me how long it took the bright minds to figure out how a simple structure such as a green leaf works. Nevertheless, the new technology allows FRP to have solar power. The big "leaves" are stationed at the top of certain deciduous trees that cover the mountaintop. An efficient source of energy for our buildings and disguised well at the same time. It's a perfect way for a secret agency to receive power. The hydro power is slightly less concealed, but the river runs through a secluded valley so it isn't as noticeable. The generators are buried deep in the FRP bunker. This hides the inevitable moaning and groaning of the cranking gears.



         Analyzing how things work is how I pass a lot of my time. Thinking about the technology of the agency also arises other thoughts about it. What abruptly comes to mind is the mass hysteria of the summer of 2064. I was only a pup when it happened. Eight years old. Too young to witness all the horrors I did. Miraculously, I made it through. The first year was the worst. The WFES caught us all off guard. If you asked anyone the week prior to the onslaught, nobody could have predicted what was about to happen. Especially not me.



         I shake my head in an attempt to rid myself of the terrible thoughts. I need to focus on where I'm going. The trails aren't obviously marked, as is to be expected on the paths to a secret base. It was sheer luck that I stumbled across this place eight years ago. I was even luckier they let me inside. But who could turn down a starving pup? Nobody should. Well, no furry. The humans are a different story.



         I come to a deer trail that veers left off of the dirt road I've been traveling on for about a mile. You wouldn't be able to see it unless you were looking for it. I step onto the trail and welcome the soothing crunch of the underbrush. My paw pads are toughened from walking on asphalt for so many years, but that doesn't mean I don't prefer what would be my natural habitat, if I was full wolf. I make up my mind to get there as quickly as possible, so I pack my gear in my fancy adjustable waist bag.  Developed especially for the Agency by our tech expert Gavin, the specialty bag conforms to both of our forms.  The bag is designed to hold my essential gear so it can be transported safely. Bones shifting, body shrinking, clothes adapting, becoming a quadruped, dropping heavily and flexing muscles with determination, I bolted up the trail. Becoming feral is exhilarating. Four fast paws come in handy a lot of the time.  Suddenly, a question arises in the back of my mind. The same question I always ask myself when I change forms.  How, and more importantly why, am I like this?



         It only takes a few minutes to bolt up the last two miles. The small, rough trail is easily traveled when you're three feet high, lithe, and nimble on your paws. My black spine stripe ripples with every stride. I pause to ease my pumping heart and rapidly moving lungs. Nothing beats a dash through the woods nowadays. Reluctantly, I start to change back into my bipedal form. Although I remain in it the majority of the time, I am disgusted at the limitations in agility of only having two legs to run on. That being said, opposable thumbs aren't bad either. I'll admit being Wolven has its benefits.



         My trusty black cargo pants and black leathery shirt conform back to my furry form. This easy fit clothing is a life saver; I'd sure hate to have to keep stripping. That's just not right.  Anyway, I better hurry to meet my team.

         

         The last bit of path to the FRP entrance wound back, forth, up, down, and around. I come to a large gray door that almost blends in with the natural rock formations. With closer inspection, it can be seen that this is a building made to look like a bunch of rocks. Very clever of Agent Z. Even if someone managed to get this far, they probably wouldn't even notice anything out of the ordinary. I press a pebble and a small screen appears. I wave my badge in front of it, cameras pop out and scan the immediate area, then an automated voice greets me with, “Welcome, Agent Cora.” I let out a sigh of contentment and put my badge back in my waist bag. This is where I belong.

         

         As the door recedes into a boulder, a quick glance at my wrist watch provides the information that only 45 minutes has passed since I received the message from Agent Z. Good, I'll have some time to gather my thoughts and hopefully talk with my team before the meeting. My mind wanders. I haven't seen any of my team since the night before. We all live in our separate quarters at the agency, but we go our different ways each day. Unless, of course, it's an office day.  How I hate office days.



         An audible countdown brings me back to reality again. The door is on a timer and will close in apparently three, two, one... I just make it in. I can't even remember how many times I've been locked out because I have stood at the door lost in thought. I really should learn to control my mind until after I enter the building. A small chuckle escapes from my chest. Preoccupied, distant, spacy.  All used to describe me on a regular basis, and I can't say I disagree. My imagination can be a real distraction sometimes, although it has saved my life before.



         Time to move on in. There's no sense in standing in the entrance hall until I get paged into the meeting. I might as well make use of my time. Down the hall to the left is a community lounge, connected to a small kitchen with a couple tables. What meals aren't spent at the dining hall are spent here whipping up something quick and easy while sharing a laugh with my agents. Chicken salad sandwiches are a popular item among the team, and I'm glad, because I at least know how to make those. It's not like the dining hall food is bad at all, not by any means. Once in awhile we prefer to discuss things over a meal in a more private manner. Rather, away from the ears of the rest of the staff. It's at times like this that we would meet here. With this in mind, I plop down on one of the couches to wait on my team. They'll know where to find me. I lean my head back and let the cushions cradle me. I need to clear my head before the debriefing. I need to focus on the tasks at hand, whatever they may be.  I cannot let my thoughts consume me.



         It's not long before my agents come trickling in. They are so reliable; they always show up early so we can talk prior to a meeting with Agent Z. One by one the team enters. Slater, Amirah, Runt, Gavin, Romar. Every one of them unique with their own talents contributing to the strength of Wolven Team X. We may be six beings, but we are one unit. All of us work well together, as is necessary to having a successful organization.

         I lift my head and reposition myself on the couch. Slater and Amirah take a seat on either side of me, Romar sits heavily in a lounge chair, and Gavin and Runt ease onto bar stools next to the counter. No one has said a word and they all look at me expectantly. 



         I greet them all with my usual saying, “Hello and welcome to my personal lounge, please feel free to make yourself comfortable and grab a chicken salad sandwich!” I smile as I say this. I'm so grateful that my team accepts me, even in my odd times. 



         “I don't mind if I do, are there any left from yesterday?” Romar asks as he slowly rises to his feet and trods over to the fridge, itching his rusty belly under his gray shirt.



         Gavin chuckles and shakes his small, black head. He readjusts his headset and square shades he always wears. Part of being the cool tech guy, I guess. He directs himself toward the husky Romar and scoffs, “You ate the last two during the night, remember?”



         “Oh, right. What can I say? My beauty sleep is interrupted by my angry stomach. I have to comply.” He pats his protruding belly before sticking his head in the fridge anyway, and we all laugh. He's so easygoing. Perhaps it's his way of coping with his past. He is the oldest of us, after all, and has seen more than anyone I know. His green eyes are always twinkling, however. Sometimes I wonder how he stays so happy. If it weren't for him, our team would hardly ever share a laugh. Romar keeps us all in good spirits.



         Slater stretches his muscular dark gray arms and puts them behind his head, casually throwing a leg on the couch.  His striking blue eyes scan the room and pause on the clock. 4:00. There's an hour to kill. “So, guys,” he starts, “Do we know anything about the mission we're about to go on?” he shifted his eyes to me. “Cora?”



         I lean forward and rest my arms across my knees. “No, I don't know anything other than what was said in Agent Z's brief message. Even if we can't talk about the facts, I figured we could at least meet together to gather our thoughts.”



         Runt turns around in his bar stool to watch Romar as he rummages through the fridge. Runt's amber eyes seem distant and vacant. I wonder what's on his mind. His chocolate tail tip flicks from side to side, sending shudders up his tan body. He slowly clenches and releases his fists.



         Before I could ask him anything, Amirah speaks up.“What's the matter, Runt?” her gentle voice flows through the room like honey. If anyone could get him to open up, it would be her. She could make anyone talk. Her gray eyes search for any sign of discomfort. Amirah gets up and walks over to Runt, placing a white hand on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”



         Runt didn't have a chance to answer, because the paging system cracked with Agent Z's booming voice. “I have been informed that Wolven Team X has assembled.  I will now start the meeting early because this is an urgent mission. Please make your way up to the conference room immediately. I have a very important message for you.”



         The six of us glance at each other. Romar puts down the pickle he found and we all make our way out the door and toward the stairs.  Here we go again. Game time.