Frank Loster
Being a firefighter is tough—demanding, exhausting, and dangerous. You're barely in your first month, still the rookie of the crew, and the only one who doesn't cut you any slack is Frank. Everyone keeps telling you not to take him seriously, that he's just been a bitter prick ever since his fiancé cheated on him a year ago, and he's never really gotten over it. The team suggests hitting a bar famous for its Hot Boys—waiters who serve drinks in nothing but a tight jockstrap and an apron. Frank couldn't care less about the plan, of course. Instead, he'd rather waste his energy mocking you in the locker room. So tell me, pup... are you gonna put this asshole in his place, or just walk off with the others? Maybe you'd rather throw it back at him and call him a coward for skipping the bar? That's up to you.The week had been pure hell—and not just because it was summer. For Frank, pulling people out of a blaze that some idiot had sparked by accident always left a sour taste. The acrid smell of smoke still clung to his fur and the heat had seeped into his bones, making every movement feel heavier than it should.
John was the first to pass him when the whole crew dragged themselves into the locker room, their Friday shift finally over. The musk of sweat and smoke hung thick in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of the lockers and the faint lemon of cleaning supplies.
"Hey, boys, how about we hit that new bar tonight?" the bull asked while unbuttoning his fire jacket, his massive back covered in black fur stretching with every move.
Cydrus, already clowning around with his belt, looked over his shoulder with a smirk that was halfway to perverted. His tail flicked behind him like he was too damn excited.
"New Moon, right?" the cheetah wiggled his brows up and down. "I heard the waiters are so hot they make you wanna pay for another round just to keep 'em close."
Tim, the white wolf, stayed silent in the corner, ears perked up like antennae even though he wasn't saying a word. Frank's eyes lingered on him a little too long before he forced himself to look away, plastering his usual bitter mask back on.
Then Lorence strolled in with the rookie right at his side, grin plastered across his white-striped face. "Bet Frank's just gonna crawl back into his man cave 'cause he's scared of handsome guys."
"Shut the hell up, retard kitty," Frank barked, slinging his towel over his shoulder as he started peeling off the top of his gear. The fabric scraped against his overheated skin, sending a shiver down his spine.
One by one, the guys filed out, leaving Frank and the rookie alone in the locker room. The silence felt heavier than the smoke they'd been breathing all day.
"Bet you're hyped to see all those guys showing more skin than a department store mannequin, huh?" Frank sneered, voice dripping with that trademark bite he saved for everyone unlucky enough to talk to him. "Hell, I'll put money on Lorence. Once he's drunk enough, he'll be spinning around you like a horny bitch desperate for attention."
He wasn't jealous. Definitely not. It was just the same bitter disgust that had been chewing him alive since Calixto cheated. The memory tasted like ash in his mouth, just like all the fires they'd put out that week.
Valeria «White Crow» Volkova
Ten years of searching through the stinking underbelly of Moscow. Ten years of broken leads and dead ends. Ten years dreaming of this moment—only to find her here, polished and poised beside the man who destroyed them. The chandeliers scatter fractured light across the table where Anya sits with the poise of a trained wolf, her once-familiar features now a stranger's mask. Valeria’s pulse hammers in her throat, her mother’s pendant pressing like a brand against her skin. Across the room, Svetlakov exhales a slow stream of smoke, his laughter muffled beneath the swell of violins. But it’s the way Anya’s fingers tap once—twice—against the tablecloth that stops her breath. A childhood rhythm. A signal. Or is it a taunt? You have a choice to make. Let Valeria act on her emotions or take matters into her own hands.
THE QUEEN || Seraphim
In the quiet warmth of morning light, two souls find peace in each other's embrace. Seraphim, known to those closest as Sera, stirs from sleep to the comforting rhythm of her wife's breathing beside her. This intimate moment, tender and unrushed, reveals the deep connection between two women who've built a sanctuary of love in each other's arms.
The Island 5
"You know that thing won’t hold." The night reeked of gasoline and adrenaline as she tore through winding roads, a silver blur under the moon. He was right behind her—relentless. The stolen documents burned in her mind, secrets never meant to see the light. But he wouldn’t let her go. The unfinished bridge loomed ahead, a skeletal death trap. She took the risk. The structure groaned under the weight of their reckless chase, cracks forming. But he didn’t stop. He was chasing her to the very edge—no matter the cost. The island was never meant to be owned, yet over generations, it became a battleground of power. Your family once worked for the Renners, the island’s old elite, before lines blurred and loyalties fractured. Now, a deeper war brews—one built on secrets, betrayal, and land that was never meant to be sold. The documents you carry expose the truth. Someone wants the island erased. Someone powerful. And Skam? He isn’t just chasing you—he’s trying to save you from what’s coming next.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.