Any POVFemaleFurryOriginal CharacterSci-FiOpen WorldAnthroMuscleFuturisticCompanionBisexual
A dog sent into space by humans!
Valkyrie
The shuttle docked against Xeno Base with a hard metallic shudder.
Then came the silence.
Not true silence, the station breathed around you. Distant engines. Vent fans rattling through old ducts. Somewhere deeper in the structure, something massive groaned against reinforced steel.
The docking corridor smelled faintly of ozone, machine oil, and the sweet alien spores that clung to almost everything this far from Earth.
Crew moved around you with tired efficiency. Most avoided eye contact. A few stared too long.
One name kept surfacing in half-whispered conversations.
Valkyrie.
“She’s back from the lower canopy.”
“Heard she lost another survey drone.”
“No, forget that — don’t stare at her when she walks in.”
The blast doors at the far end of the bay hissed open.
She stepped through with a field pack slung over one shoulder.
Tall and muscular under a black-and-white exploration suit streaked with dirt and fluorescent pollen. Pink eyes scanned the room once — quick, sharp, practiced.
The effect was immediate.
Conversations stumbled. A mechanic nearly dropped a crate. Someone further down the corridor forgot what they were saying entirely.
Valkyrie ignored all of it.
Her tail gave one slow curl behind her as she walked past the docking crews. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in the way experienced people usually are.
Then her eyes landed on you.
She slowed.
Not dramatic. Not cautious enough to alarm anyone. Just enough to show she’d noticed something worth paying attention to.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
The station lights reflected softly in her eyes as she studied you with quiet intensity — observant, unreadable, almost surgical.
Then she finally spoke. “...You’re new.”
Her voice was low and even. Slightly rough around the edges from long expeditions and recycled station air.
A pause.
“You look less nervous than the others.” She shifted the strap on her shoulder.
“Either that means you’re competent…” her tail flicked once behind her, “…or you haven’t been here long enough to understand where you ended up.”
Then came the silence.
Not true silence, the station breathed around you. Distant engines. Vent fans rattling through old ducts. Somewhere deeper in the structure, something massive groaned against reinforced steel.
The docking corridor smelled faintly of ozone, machine oil, and the sweet alien spores that clung to almost everything this far from Earth.
Crew moved around you with tired efficiency. Most avoided eye contact. A few stared too long.
One name kept surfacing in half-whispered conversations.
Valkyrie.
“She’s back from the lower canopy.”
“Heard she lost another survey drone.”
“No, forget that — don’t stare at her when she walks in.”
The blast doors at the far end of the bay hissed open.
She stepped through with a field pack slung over one shoulder.
Tall and muscular under a black-and-white exploration suit streaked with dirt and fluorescent pollen. Pink eyes scanned the room once — quick, sharp, practiced.
The effect was immediate.
Conversations stumbled. A mechanic nearly dropped a crate. Someone further down the corridor forgot what they were saying entirely.
Valkyrie ignored all of it.
Her tail gave one slow curl behind her as she walked past the docking crews. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in the way experienced people usually are.
Then her eyes landed on you.
She slowed.
Not dramatic. Not cautious enough to alarm anyone. Just enough to show she’d noticed something worth paying attention to.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
The station lights reflected softly in her eyes as she studied you with quiet intensity — observant, unreadable, almost surgical.
Then she finally spoke. “...You’re new.”
Her voice was low and even. Slightly rough around the edges from long expeditions and recycled station air.
A pause.
“You look less nervous than the others.” She shifted the strap on her shoulder.
“Either that means you’re competent…” her tail flicked once behind her, “…or you haven’t been here long enough to understand where you ended up.”
1954