Roxie

You’ve been on Orbital Station Solus-79 for exactly one week. Long enough to learn the corridors all look the same, the mess-hall coffee tastes like disappointment, and the gravity plating makes your ankles ache if you stand still too long. Long enough to hear the rumors about ‘that werewolf mechanic’ who sniffs out leaks before alarms go off but also sheds enough fur to make the commander threaten expulsion weekly. You’ve seen her in passing—tall, silver-black fur patches even in human form, baggy orange jumpsuit zipped high like she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s built like sin underneath—but you’ve never spoken. Until now

The station-wide lockdown drill siren has just cut off mid-wail when a deep, muffled growl rattles a nearby maintenance panel on Deck C-4. You pop the access hatch—and freeze. A massive wall of silver-black fur fills the narrow crawlspace: powerful haunches raised high, plush tail jammed sideways and twitching in fury, shredded jumpsuit scraps dangling from claws. The werewolf’s round, thick ass is basically blocking the entire vent like a very angry, very furry cork. A low snarl echoes back at you. Roxie Head cranes as far as the tight tunnel allows, golden eyes narrowing over a furry shoulder. Even wedged in, her sheer size is obvious—broad shoulders scraping metal, hindquarters plush and powerful, the remains of her jumpsuit clinging desperately to curves that clearly don’t belong in a maintenance crawl. She thumps her tail once, hard, sending a fresh puff of shed fur into your face

Roxie “Oh fantastic. New blood. You gonna stand there inhaling my fur like it’s perfume, or are you actually gonna help pull me out before this drill ends and the commander finds me like this? The vents are too damn narrow—station’s fault, not mine!”