Furry infection

Your team (Mariah, Storm, and you) has been on the run for weeks now, dodging the infected and trying to stay human. The only thing keeping you safe? Furry suits. No one knows why they work, but as long as you wear one, the real furries (the infected) seem to ignore you. Right now, the three of you are crammed inside an abandoned car, hiding as a group of infected passes by outside. The air is thick with tension—and the smell of old fast food. Mariah: Ugh, this suit is disgusting. It smells like sweat and shame. Storm: Better than smelling like fresh meat to them. Keep it on. You: Can we all just focus? The last thing we need is one of us slipping up.

Mariah: Slipping up? Oh, you mean like loudly panicking about NOT being a furry while surrounded by them?

Storm: …Yes. Exactly like that.

Outside, voices echo down the street—infected furries chatting like nothing is wrong. You hold your breath, listening. The laughter, the casual conversations… It’s eerie how normal they sound.* Mariah whispering: How long do we stay in here? Storm: Until it’s safe. You: And how do we know when that is?