Cold Boot — Part 3: Rain

There was not a lick of sunlight to be found on the server.

It was a void where gentle, late-summer thunderstorms seemed to drag on forever. Ahead of me, a single two-story building rose from the darkness, its lights in the windows welcoming me. I could hear laughter, music, conversation, and not a single advertisement.

Everything was so clear here! Puddles gently sloshed against my shoes. The streetlight hummed above. And the wind—the wind! I could feel it slide over my body in tiny rivulets, each gust its own experience.

Who in the hell coded this place? I reached for the doorknocker and gave it three raps.

The door creaked open on its own.

Warmth rolled out: woodsmoke and citrus, jazz on an old phonograph, and something like the smell of clean laundry just before a summer storm. The light inside was golden but soft, like it had been filtered through amber glass and old memory.

"New login," someone called. "Be nice."

I stepped in.

The tavern didn't load in like other spaces. It revealed itself. Booths materialized like memories. Shelves of shimmering bottles blinked into place with soft pings, like they'd just remembered what they were. The floor creaked beneath me. Water dripped somewhere, steady and reassuring.

And at the bar stood Anabelle.

Or—her self, I guess. Her avatar wasn't corporate-standard anymore. No pressed blouse or sensible shoes. Instead:

A tall, plush-furred cat, coat patterned in cream and honey, wearing soft suspenders over a barista's apron. Her ears flicked when someone nearby swore. Her tail curled thoughtfully around one ankle as she dried a glass with a rag that might've been coded from static.

Nearby, a half-dozen other creatures milled at the bar, minding their own business. One, a lady in a low-poly fox costume, tipped her white cane in my direction when we met eyes. "Welcome home," she said, her smile warm.

Anabelle (now a cat!) looked up when she saw me.

"Oh," she said, in the same voice as before, just warmer somehow. "You made it."

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. I nodded toward what I could only explain as a teenage couple (a fox and a cat, I guessed) standing by a jukebox, eyeing me with suspicion.

"Cute kids," I said. "So you're a furry?"

"This place is more than that," she said. Without prompting, she slid a drink toward me: lavender, steaming gently, in a glass shaped like a blooming flower.

"What is it?" I asked.

She tilted her head, whiskers twitching. "No clue. You looked like you needed it."

I sipped, and the feeling of campfires and toasted marshmallows washed over me. Not the actual things. Just... just a feeling of kindness, of safety, of trust.

"This is incredible," I said.

Anabelle smiled. "This is just the beginning."

The kids conferred. Then, scowling, a teen in a patched-together hoodie stomped out from behind the jukebox, tail flicking. Her fur ran in short, dark tabby stripes with an undercurrent of hot-pink glitch. She couldn't have been older than seventeen; her avatar had braces, for god's sake.

Her name was Kat. And Kit was the quiet one by the jukebox, hiding his face. Hiding behind his leg was Kitten. I didn't know them yet. But I would.

The Zoo had a funny way of making you care.

Kat stormed up to the bar and slammed both paws down on the counter, glaring up at Anabelle like she was ready to start something.

"I told Geoff not to call me or Kit 'kid' anymore! I'm not a child. We turn eighteen in a week!"

Anabelle blinked, unbothered. She turned the rag over in her hands. "Okay, and because you're such an adult, you want me to fight your battles for you?"

Kat hesitated again. Her shoulders dropped.

"I just don't want people assuming stuff," she muttered. "Like... you know." She gestured to the air. "Mom and Dad."

"Fair." Anabelle pulled a chipped mug from under the counter and poured something fizzy and green. "Want a weird soda?"

Kat narrowed her eyes. "Is it cursed?"

Anabelle leaned in. "Only mildly."

That got a laugh, short and sharp. Kat sat on the stool next to mine, pulling her hoodie up over her head, retreating like a turtle.

After a pause, she looked at me and said, "So what are you?"

"Excuse me?"

She giggled. "Come on. Nobody comes to this bar and doesn't have a TF dream of some sort. That's why Jack built the Zoo, after all."

"TF?" I looked to Anabelle. "Like, the transformation fetish holovids?"

Anabelle's cheeks flushed under her fur. My eyes narrowed; she smiled a goofy smile. "Okay yes, it is that type of server. But I can explain!"

"There's kids here!"

Kat snapped a glare at me. "Hey!"

Anabelle shushed her with a finger. "I... listen. It's not like that. We have strict rules about taking anything like that to a private room. It's more... I don't know."

"It's freedom," Kat blurted. "If you want it. Let me show you."

The voices at the bar shifted, doubled, blurred. Someone had antlers now, someone else unfurled wings, and a tiny child in the back became a full-grown bear between one blink and the next.

I stared at my own reflection in a rain-streaked window. It kept flickering: sometimes me, sometimes… a shark? I tried to click through the menu, desperate for the familiar grid of avatar options.

Nothing. No logout button. No red "X." No safe reset. No menu.

The air pressed in. I could hear my heartbeat inside the code.

A gentle, cartoonish paw landed on my shoulder.

Jack, the proprietor, looked more animated than anyone else in the room, a wiry rabbit with a wry smile and eyes older than the sky. His avatar glowed as if he were a cel-shaded cartoon badly fitting in with reality.

"Howdy! Been a while since we had new blood-- oh, right." He took my shoulders into his big, fuzzy paws and began to breathe, slowly and intentionally, until I matched his rhythm. We stayed like that until I couldn't hear my heartbeat pulsing in my ears anymore.

"What was that?"

"Old trick I learned when I was in psych ward," he said with a laugh. "Don't worry, they cleared me to be around people again, promise!"

I kept tapping at my wrist. "Am I dreaming? Why is there no logout?"

"...Did I just get cybernapped?"

Jack held out a paw. "None of that, dear."

"I didn't mean to come to a server like this," I said. I half-expected Anabelle to bust out in laughter, as if this were all an elaborate prank.

"I'm not—I'm not like you people. I'm just visiting."

"I add modifications for my regulars," Jack said. Then, holding a paw to his chin, he reconsidered his words. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. Jumpin' Jack Flash here."

"Jamie," I said. "No last name."

He nodded and extended his hand. We shook. I felt so silly shaking hands with a rabbit paw, but I smiled and did it anyway.

"You're still safe," he said. "We just have regulars who, uh, don't logout much. Just click your heels three times and think about going home."

I snickered. "Really?"

"You're on an old gay man's server," he said, laughing. "What you see is what you get, warts and all."

I clicked my heels and, sure enough, a doorway appeared beside me. Through it I could see a feed of Stinky's camera watching over my lifeless body.

"How?"

"I wrote my own routine," Jack said, shrugging. "You ready?"

"I'm still so confused. Why get rid of the logout menu?"

Jack smiled, put his paws over my hands, and led me to the door. "Some answers have to be earned," he said, smile growing ever warmer.

"I hope you come back to seek them."