__Chanko Nabe by Cal-Anon__

**Chapter 1: The End of Destiny**


It's over. That's what you'd heard on repeat for more
than a year now, but really you'd known this to be
facf for as long as you could remember. Pretty much,
you had it figured out around the same time you hit
puberty. While all the other guys you were "friends"
with were hitting their stride, their chests growing
wider, their legs longer, and their crusty little 
mustaches finally leaving behind their peach fuzz
forms for semi-rigid, miscolored follicles, you
were growing in a different direction: sideways.

It didn't really stop with the weight gain. Your bone
structure eventually metamorphosed into a wide-set,
nigh on feminine shape. Then came the gynecomastia,
and it all went to hell from there. Sure, all youth
suffers the occasional acne outbreak, or social
faux pas, but the incessant, supplemental torture of
the same boys and even girls you used to consider
your peers woreyou down, day by day.

Still, you managed to muscle your way, figuratively,
being as you're not really the physically active
kind of fat guy, through the endless shlog that
was highschool, and the moderately less devastating
though still wholly unsatisfying experience that was
college. You even had a couple shining moments, like
when you had your first kiss, and your first,
and only, sexual partner. Bless that poor girl;
recalling that night still twists your stomach
into knots of embarrassment and regret...
Life, after school, had calmed down, but
nothing had really changed for you socially. The
damage to your formative societal behavior years had
already long since been done, so you had been made
into a lonesome creature, and you tried to make that
work the best you could.

Over the years, you'd developed several talents,
never to the point of mastery, but it was usually
enough to stave off your existential ennui, for a
time. You tried social media, thinking maybe a bit
of sharing with more acceptant, adult minds would be
good for your self-esteem. No such luck. You were
still practically invisible. In all honesty, it's
difficult to reconcile which is worse: being 
villified for being fat, or having the whole world
be completely indifferent to you.

These thoughts germinated powerful resentment in your
heart and mind. Whatever happy experiences you could
remember having become painted one by one with tones
of bitterness, until you found yourself corralled in
your no-bedroom, hole-in-the-wall apartment with no
one to keep you company but your misery. Everything
was gray. Nothing could hold your attention anymore.
All the magic and hope had been sucked from your 
short, 25 years of life...

So, it's over.

Why shouldn't it be? Haven't you had enough by now?
There's nothing tying you down to this prison
planet, and given how acutely aware you've become
of how fucked your life is, any other option, to you,
seemed nonsensical.

The swaying branches of the old apple tree out in the
courtyard of your apartment building catches your eye
through your blinds, waving to you in the gentle
breeze, under a cloudless summer sky. Looks like you
have one friend left who's willing to help you after
all. A half hour and one quick walk to the hardware
store later, and you're standing in the apple tree.

"Fucking fuck...!" You spit, as sweat cascades down
your cheeks in the evening heat. It keeps going in
your eyes, which makes tying the slipknot a sincere
pain in the ass. The irony of how sweaty and winded
you'd gotten by simply climbing up here only
served as testament and fueled your drive to do this
in the first place.

You never considered yourself religious, per se, but
that doesn't stop you from voicing your final
grievances to the air, as it dances through the
branches where you stood. Maybe it's because your
mother was religious. Fat lot of good it did her.

"This is what you want, right?" You ask aloud, wiping
your sweaty eyelid against your shoulder. There is,
as always, no reply.
"Yeah, well, I'm done with your sick sense of humor.
Can't believe I'm even saying this, but if you
even exist," the signature twist of the slipknot
finally tightens in your fingers, ready, ”then
fuck you."

Very poignant of you; whatever, it won't matter in a 
moment anyway. A nagging quadrant of your brain kept
urging you not to do it. You chalk it up to that 
thing that all animals have, that prevents them from
throwing themselves off a cliff, never considering
that perhaps your question to the wind might be
actively receiving an answer. Your grief was just
too loud in your own ears, so with a swallow, you
draped the noose over your head, and it settles 
about your neck.

You're instantly disgusted with yourself. You'd
wasted so much breath, calling this the coward's
way out, and yet here you are. A selfish coward.

"I didn't think I'd asked for that much," you say
aloud, as though you were dictating a memoir,
"but I also think that, I'm allowed one more
selfish moment. I won't ask for anymore after that."

The wind gently rustles the leaves around you. A
soft, almost melancholic sound that reminded you
of your own resignation. Your made had been made
up, and the noose is already on you. A tear fogs up
one of your eyes, and you offer one final word.

"Sorry-"

And then you step from the branch, to dive head first
into the end of your destiny.

VWOOMP!

It happened before the rope had even snapped taught.
You didn't even notice, because your eyes were
closed, ready to embrace your death, but the apple
tree in your apartment building courtyard, was no
longer in the courtyard. Not even Earth, for that
matter. However, to your horror, you would have the
opportunity to realize as much.

"Kwagh-!" the rope draws out the noise from you,
before it goes tight around your neck, nearly cutting
into your skin by virtue of your portly body. How
unlucky that the rope hadn't given your neck a clean
break. It was something that you, in your haste,
hadn't considered before going through with this,
but now it's too late.

Your ears register sounds of gasps all around,
layered over the creaky groan of the rope, as you
swing from the end of it, held aloft by the study
branch above. Your vision is going hazy, but you
could swear these near death hallucinations were
causing you to see the crowd that had gathered as
animal headed people... They look like aliens...

Please, you think, don't look at me, don't see me
like this. You feel so disgusting and ashamed;
There are children here. Please turn away, please.

As your tongue lolls out of your mouth, and you start
to feel the coldness claim your skin, and the black-
ness your sight, you register one more sight before
your eyes roll back. It's an almost heart shaped,
green colored face, with large eyes almost the same
color set onto each side.

"Oh! Uh! Oh my-! What do I-?!" The green, insect like
face seems to warble, but your hearing goes then,
leaving you with only tinnitus as you feel your
life slip away...

Then, with an almost metallic swish over your head,
the tension around your neck loosens, and warmth
floods your body just before you crash to the ground
with a heavy thud. Your head catches the upturned 
root of the apple tree as you land, knocking you
straight into La La Land. Your dreams are not
pleasant, and you awaken to the feeling of being put
on a stretcher. The hands that lift you from your
dazed, crumpled pile on the ground are so soft,
and gentle. You half thought that perhaps the
angels had come after all, to carry you to hell.

However, as your vision slowly returns, your head
falls to one side, on the stretcher where you
were now strapped. You see then, something very,
very curious: that strange, alien face you saw
before. It was the last thing you remember seeing,
before everything went dark. It would be impossible
to forget the verdant greens and striking pinks and
yellows of the creature's chitinous head, which
you now can see is connected to what must be a tall
spindly body.
You can't be certain, because the insect like
creature is wrapped about the shoulders with a
mylar blanket. It looks to be shivering, and has
two other figures standing nearby. One, obviously
a police officer, given the pen and pad, and black
colored tactical outfit that had the letters
"BHA" stenciled in warm yellow onto the back. The
tail on the police officer was throwing you a bit.
It looks like a dog's tail, but the body looks...
Well, it looks like a woman, honestly. Your head is
still swimming, and throbbing with pain besides, but
just before the door of the ambulance closes, the
other, shorter figure standing next to the giant,
insectoid creature looks in your direction,
catching you squarely in your eyes.

It's a she, clearly, going by the figure she cut in
the demure looking blue jeans and mauve colored
sweater she was wearing. The little bear head atop
her neck, with two perfect, fuzzy circles for ears, 
and framing those piercing, almond shaped eyes
was another matter entirely. The look she's giving
you almost pulls you back into lucidity. You've seen
that look before, though reading a bear's expression
is considerably difficult in your state, but you
can recognize the look of scorn anywhere, as well
as the pain that accompanies it.

You thought that was supposed to be over.

"I'm sorry," sputters the insect creature to the
BHA officer, whatever that department is, then
accepts a steaming cup from another tailed officer
with a long, spiked claw that should belong on a 
praying mantis, "That was the most stressful
experience of my life...!"
The feminine voice coming from the giant mantis,
while almost dulcetone, is off-putting in ways you
can't describe. Maybe this is hell after all?

The ambulance doors close, shutting off your view of
the increasingly animal person filled world you've
found yourself in, leaving you in abject silence for
a moment as you try to decide whether or not you
are dead. As you do, you feel the ambulance begin to
pull away, but the siren does not blare. The road
under the vehicle feels smooth, unlike the roads you
remember from around town. You try to stay awake, to
process what you were experiencing, but sleep takes
you anyway.

You were anticipating something like a second death,
after your not-so-playful romp in what you presumed
to be maybe Limbo, or something like that. Again,
your expectations are subverted, as your eyes flicker
open to reveal a white, polished ceiling with bright
white florescents over your head.
You're laying down in a bed, and you can feel tubes
crammed down your nose and throat. It really sucks,
you think with a gagging cough, but you're too
tired to even reach up and pull them out, so you
just do what your grievously still alive body tells
you to, and loose a groan of displeasure into the
air. Your throat is fucking killing you, and making
noise with it makes you want to die all over again.

Your head flops back impotently into the soft pillow,
but it would seem your cries for aid had been heard.
The room to the door your in opens, and a stainless
steel cart full of medical supplies, or maybe food,
precedes a nurse who-

She has a snout, you notice. A long one, and her
entire body is covered with a auburn colored coat
of fur. The long claws on her fingers are painted
fancifully, like a French manicure, and the scrubs
she, again it's obviously a she, was wearing were
form fitting, and hearkened to an earlier era; one
with stockings.

"So you're finally up, eh? That's great!" The nurse
whom you believe you are hallucinating as an aardvark
says with a chipper tone, and you can see the end of
her snout moving like a mouth as she speaks.
"How are you feeling?" She asks, and as much as you
want to say something about how everyone currently
looks like an animal to you, all you have the strength
to do is to point to the tubes coming out of your
face.

"You feel like you're okay to breath on your own?" The
aardvark nurse asks you, as she steps up closer to
your bed. You nod your head lazily against your
fatigue, and you think the nurse smiles at you.

"Okay then," she says, then gingerly starts backing
the tubes up and out of your note, and you suck air
as they exit you, leaving a bridge of stringy drool
between you. The nurse laughs, and it sounds like a
tinkling bell, as she places the tubes in a hazard
receptive.

"Oh God," you croak, before hacking up a piece of
something that you hoped was not important, and
apply gentle pressure to your bruised neck as you add,
"I... I think I'm seeing things."

The nurse looks up from the chart she's reading,
likely it was yours.
"You're hallucinating?" She asks with a hint of
concern.

"Yeah, I... I think so," you reply, swallowing down
another cough, "I hit my head, and now everyone looks
like animals..."

The nurse pauses, looks at your almost incredulously,
then smiles again before putting the clipboard in a
slot at the foot of your bed and says, "Don't worry,
Mr. Anonymous, the doctor will be in to see you
shortly. She'll be able to explain."
You don't know how to respond, but either way, the
nurse pats your ankle over the sheet with her clawed,
furry hand, the first time anyone had touched you
beyond a handshake in years, then she casually exits
the hospital room. In the form fitting nurse getup
she was wearing, watching the aardvark nurse leave
the room was...vexing.

You pig. You really don't have any dignity at all,
do you? Moreover, you can't even properly off
yourself without breaking your brain to the point of
seeing animal people everywhere you look.

You're not given much time at all to properly deride
yourself, as the door opens again only moments after
the nurse leaves.
"Now, let's see here," you hear another woman's
voice, and sure as shit, another animal person
enters the room. This time it's a white tiger, and
she's smartly dressed in a blouse, knee length blue
skirt, and a lab coat. You can see her furry, striped,
digitigrade legs leading down to a pair of black,
open toed pumps that wrapped her paws fashionably.

This must be the doctor, you assume, but your throat
hurts too much to ask any questions. She pulls a pair
of spectacles from her coat pocket, and puts them on
as she retrieves and looks over the chart from the
foot of your bed. You can see her eyes deftly scanning
line by line, before she slowly starts to shake her
head. Jasmine looks up at you, and speaks softly.
"Anon, may I call you Anon? I'm sorry about what
happened to you."

It wasn't much, but even being offered such a
sentiment shot you right in the chest with a pang
of lament; it was touching, and you're no longer
used to that.
"It's okay," you croak, but your heart isn't in it.
Jasmine can tell, and she continues. "I won't claim
to understand why you did it, though. Situations 
like these are...nuanced."

You nod slowly, trying to process everything that
you've seen and continue to see.
"So...what do I need to do? Am I like, a prisoner?"

Jasmine sighs heavily, then smiles at you. "Well..."
She pauses again, looking at the chart carefully.
"...you'll probably want to go see a psychiatrist
first."

You nod. That makes sense, and you figured someone
would suggest that. It's never worked before, hence
why you're half dead in a hospital bed to begin with.
You don't argue, but do change the topic, seeing as 
it's getting easier to talk.
"Uh, doctor, I think I might have...messed up my
brain... Everyone looks like animals now..."

She reactively gives you an incredulous look, but
her face softens into a sympathetic smile that makes
her whiskers twitch. "Oh, that," she says, removing
her glasses and setting down your chart. It was time
to give you the introductory talk she gave to all 
humans that first enter the care of the BHA.
"So Cal, I'm just going to pull off the proverbial
bandage, and say that you are no longer on Earth."

"I kinda gathered that," you say, as she holds up
a paw like hand to stop you.

"You're not on Earth, but you're not on any planet
you know of, either. You're in an entirely different
solar system, one that is inhabited solely by
Anthro-furry races, like myself, and the nurse you
saw before. We're about two-hundred million miles
from the Sun, on the outer edge of our solar system."

"That's impossible," you say inanely, as she shakes
her head.

"It's not. Now, I'm going to give you some time to 
process that, but we have a lot to talk about, and
no time to do it. I'm going to give you the clifford
notes version of what's happened to you, then we'll
move on to your future plans."
"OK," you say slowly, as she continues.

Jasmine goes on to explain that you managed to slip
Through a sort of temporal anomaly, in the process
of your failed attempt at suicide. The temporal
distortion, apparently, functioned as a sort of 
wormhole, where the experience of travel from Earth
to your current destination varies per each
Individual human. Speaking of which, you're not
the only human this has happened to either. There
are thousands of humans currently on this planet
of furries, and more still show up, though it's
become more infrequent. As a matter of fact, you're
The first human to pop up in just a little under a
year since the last. Jasmine tells you that, ever
since you were discovered/rescued, you've been 
placed under the care of the Bureau of Human
Acclimation, and that she would be helping you get
back on your feet, as well as find a new life here
on the planet of furries, though you wouldn't be
turned loose without a sponsor, being as you've
shown that you can be a danger to your own health.

"Now, do you have any questions?"
"What's the planet's name?" You ask.
"It's called ########."
"Who are these furries you keep mentioning?"
"They're an Anthromorphic species of humanoids
that populate the planet. They're very similar to 
humans in terms of intelligence, culture, and 
lifestyle, with the exception being that they 
stand on two legs, and have a head and body type 
similar to "animals" on your Earth." Jasmine makes 
air quotes with her fuzzy, paw like fingers.

"Right," you reply, seeing what she means as you 
continue to try and avoid staring at her admittedly
well proportioned form. You felt weird about it,
so you try to cover your errant thoughts with
another question.
"So what's this about a sponsor?" You ask, rubbing
the bruise that ringed your throat.

"A sponsor is someone who agrees to take care of
you. They're typically a civilian member of the
BHA, and are assigned to help integrate humans
into society. They basically provide you with a
place to stay, food, clothing, and all the
other... provisional things, you would need for a
comfortable life until you get back on your feet."
"How long will that take?" You ask.
"It depends on how quickly you can learn our
"language" and culture. I'd say a month or so is
the average, as our cultures and Earth's actually
seem quite symmetrical, on the surface anyway. And
you should never forget: always be kind to your 
sponser, as they are giving up a lot to help you."

"Why would someone do that?" You ask, scoffing at
the notion. Back when you were young enough to
play dodgeball, you were picked dead last for
teams, every time, if at all. Being what you were
now, slipped as far down the ladder as you can slip,
why the hell would your life be any different here?

"Because the BHA pays them, and quite well too.
Apart from that, many find the work the BHA does
to be life-changing, in terms of the possible
benefits."
"Ah," you reply. Another life change. That makes
your third one today, by your reckoning.

"Now, I'll assign you a sponser as soon as
possible, but for now you'll have to stay here
in the hospital. We'll try to make it as
comfortable as possible for you. Is there anything
you'd like us to get for you?"

Jasmine stands up, and you see her tail droop down
and curl up at the end from under her labcoat, as
she turns for the door. With the weight of reality
settling on you, shame looming on you again, and still
cursed with a  fat, achy body, all you wanted was
death's sweet release, but you don't have the courage
to ask for that kind of thing twice in one day.

"...No, thank you..." You say, trying and failing
to not sound defeated. Even the thought of being
in an entire world of, so far, uncannily pleasant
and confusingly attractive aliens wasn't enough to
clear the fog of self effacing malice from your heart
and mind.
Jasmine's fuzzy mouth forms one more sympathetic 
smile, and she leaves you to your devices.
You're left alone in the hospital room, and you
look around at your temporary home. It's a small
room, with just a hospital bed, nightstand, a 
chair, and a locked cabinet of glass and powder coated
steel. The walls are a pale blue, and there's a 
window to the right of you that lets in a ray of 
sunshine. It's warm, comforting...
You fall back into the softness of the pillow, and
drift off to sleep.

This time, you don't dream at all.

**Chapter 2 TBC**