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"Induction Night" is usually a favorite of the upperclassmen Newts: get the new kids drunk and stoned, take them to the basement, and welcome them to the "training" process that would make up a significant chunk of their first year on the team. For the captain, though, Induction Night meant organizing the whole affair so it would go off without a hitch. I returned to the house with enough time to instruct everyone on how to act and what to say, and let everyone know that midnight was our reminder to go from "just hanging out" to "training mode".

True to the plan, the freshmen showed up at 10 on the dot. As they filed in behind me, the whole house was silent, and the other upperclassmen were seated on the couches and chairs littered about the living room in a rough circle. I could practically smell the new guys starting to sweat, and they lingered by the wall as all eyes seemed to turn to them.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to welcome you to the humble home of hockey here on the NHSU campus." I recited from the middle of the ring. "While today may have been your first practice with the team, tonight will mark the first step in your journey to truly joining our brotherhood."

"It's an honor, sir." The diminutive husky, Miles, murmured from the side, and a chorus of shushing erupted as the toned coyote beside him, Rodriguez, elbowed him into standing rigid and silent.

"While you're here, you will never be asked to do anything we haven't done ourselves. We ask that you take every request seriously, but none personally, and that you recognize it is all to benefit the strength of our team. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Miles and the portly wolf freshman, Rollins, answered in unison as soon as the last word left my lips. Rodriguez followed a split second later, but the entire room's focus shifted to Humboldt as he took a second to process what he'd heard.

"Yes." He finally responded, then hastily adding, "Sir."

"Then gentlemen, please come to the center of the room, bend your knees, and close your eyes."

The four nervous canines practically tiptoed into the circle, crouching into a kneel at my feet, and bowed their heads. When I looked up, the guys were pulling out packs of beer, bottles of liquor, and pre-rolled blunts from behind their seats. I pulled out my phone, opening my music app and confirming that it had synced to the room's sound system.

"You may rise."

I clicked a play button, and some mid-2000's rap hit began to boom through the speakers. The older guys lit their smokes, cracked their beers, and beckoned to their younger teammates with open arms. As their focuses shifted, I left to the kitchen to grab a beer, numerous 30-racks being stacked on the floor by a table set up for beer pong. Drink in hand, I quickly made my way to the stairs, and ascended to the top floor to reach the coveted room which, as of earlier that day, was officially mine.

Everything but the essentials was still packed up in boxes, so the place looked particularly sparse, but it made it easier to find exactly what I needed. In a box by the foot of my bed, I removed a few posters that had been covering the top, and took out four small black gift boxes, along with a fabric pouch that gave a slight metallic jingle as its contents shifted. I tossed them in a nearby drawstring bag, and strung it around my shoulders as I exited the room and locked the door behind me. There were a few notes and pointers I'd written about how to run the rest of the night on my phone, so I buried my gaze in the screen as my feet found their way to the back porch of the house, a place where hopefully, I'd have enough peace and quiet to review them.

I was right, for long enough to finish my beer, step in to grab another, and come back out for a while. The thudding beat of the music inside was muffled to a low din out in the fresh air. It would be nice to mingle a bit, but there was far too much that I had to do to divert any time for that. I had texted various teammates to come out and review their roles in what was planned, but as midnight drew nearer, I found the peace and quiet interrupted by the creak of the sliding glass door.

"Oh, sorry!" A bass voice muttered behind me. "I didn't see you out here from inside."

"There's enough porch to share, bud." I responded, turning to see Humboldt's amber stare eyeing me hesitantly. His street clothes seemed remarkably similar to his practice apparel: a black shirt, slim cut and stretchy enough to hug the taut muscles of his arms and abdomen, with roomy fleece sweatpants hanging off his hips. "But shouldn't you be inside, getting to know the guys?"

"Couldn't I ask you the same question?" He shot back with a hint of a smirk. "About us freshmen, I mean."

"You're not wrong." I smiled back. "Just needed to break up the night with a little quiet, I guess."

"I feel that." he sighed, striding across the wooden deck to lean on the railing beside me. "Seems like all anyone wants to do in there is drink and shout."

"What's the matter, not a big drinker?" I remembered what he'd said at practice about being "specific" about his fluid intake, but as with everything else about him, I could use a bit of clarity.

"Had a few, think I'm good for now. I usually try to pace myself, but it looks like caution isn't the name of the game tonight." He tilted his head back over his shoulder to gesture toward the house, where in front of the beer pong table, Aslanov was pouring a bottle of Jim Beam straight into Rollins' mouth while Cho cheered him on.

"Hey, it's everyone's first night on campus, and no one's got practice or classes 'til Monday. It's the perfect excuse to celebrate and let loose a little. Maybe this is more your speed?" I produced a small vape pen from my pocket, its cartridge full of green-tinted oil. It hadn't been my intention to get blazrd before the second phase of the night, but it was more important that all four freshmen felt a bit out of sorts than it was for me to keep a clear head.

"That's just CBD oil, right?" He chuckled sarcastically as I took a lengthy rip. "Helps reduce inflammation and recovery time."

"Oh yeah, strictly wholesome." I winked back, letting the vapor wisp out of my nostrils before extending the vape to him. "Barely any CBD in this strain, though, it's a pure sativa."

"Hmm..." He closed his eyes studiously as the vapor entered his muzzle. "Durban Poison?"

"Hell of a nose on you, kid." I let out an impressed whistle.

"If I couldn't pick this flavor out of a lineup, I'd be a disappointment as a South African."

"Wait, really?" I scratched at the back of my neck. "Could've fooled me with that accent."

"Well, my family's from South Africa. I'm from Burlington."

"Plattsburgh, myself. Right across the lake, eh?"

We chatted for what felt like hours, learning just how much else we had in common. We were both chemistry majors, both spent our 18th birthdays in Montreal, and he'd started playing hockey as a defenseman like me, until a back injury led him to find working the net more comfortable. I put my suspicions about the dog aside for a while as we got to know each other more, at least until he said something ominously on the nose.

"You know, I'm relieved." He remarked, waving a paw to turn down another hit of the vape. "From what you said when we walked in, I sort of thought we were getting hazed tonight or something."

"Heh." I snickered, slipping the device back into my pocket. "Gotta trust your teammates a little more, kid. Besides, we don't do hazing; that's just childish nonsense meant to humiliate. There might be some...unconventional training later on, but like I said: it's for the strength of the team."

"Hmm." His eyes narrowed a bit. A glance at my watch reminded me that it was almost time for action. "Glad to hear it."

"Wanna head in? I think I need another drink." I crushed the empty can in my claws for emphasis, ushering him to the door and stepping in.

"Hey, you guys got a bathroom I can use?" He leaned in to ask in a low voice.

"I'll show you in a sec, just follow me to the living room for now."

When we entered, the room was thick with smoke and music, and the upperclassmen had taken their seats back in the circle. I pulled out my phone and stopped the music, making all four freshmen whip their heads around toward me.

"Gentlemen, please return to the center of the circle and bend your knees."

They did as they were told, the other three stumbling slightly and giggling as they came to kneel before me.

"As the newest members of our team, we would like to extend a gift to each of you. Should you choose to accept, we ask that you keep it on you at all times, to show your commitment to the team. It is a symbol of the bond we have forged, and like that bond which you have witnessed tonight, we ask that you conceal its true nature from anyone outside this house. Everything that takes place between us is secret. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." My four charges responded together.

"Do you accept our gifts?"

"Yes sir."

"Bow your heads and close your eyes, so we may present them to you."

As they did, I slung the drawstring bag off my back and reached in to pull out the boxes. Philippe and Timmons, being the alternate captains this year, were something like my seconds-in-command, and being a veteran senior ineligible for the captaincy, Swift had volunteered for the same, so I handed each of them a box and kept one for myself. Stepping carefully to position myself behind Humboldt, I slid the top off the box and plucked its contents in my claws. The glossy leather band felt just as thick and durable as I'd remembered it, and I smiled nostalgically as I placed it around the dog's neck. When the cold steel of the clasp touched his fur, he inhaled sharply, and a shiver seemed to travel down his spine as I fastened it shut.

I slid two fingers beneath the black band to make sure it fit comfortably, then shifted sideways to do the same to each of his classmates. Satisfied with the sizing, I produced the fabric pouch from my bag and drew out four tiny metal locks. When each had been closed and locked around the clasps of the collars, I tugged at the D-rings on the backs to signal they could stand again.

"Congratulations, gentlemen. You will now be led into the most hallowed space in this house: the Chamber of Brotherhood. Brothers, apply the blindfolds."

Devious smiles appeared across the older guys' faces, and black bandanas were pulled out and slid over the canines' eyes. Paws landed on each of their shoulders to guide their steps, and the train of bodies followed me as I paced through the kitchen, unlocked the basement door, and descended into the darkness.

The basement was unfinished, and still smelled of sweat and stale beer from its use as an impromptu dance floor at parties in past years. By drilling four holes in the cement floor and fitting them with iron hooks and short lengths of chain, of course, it had become this season's incarnation of the "Chamber of Brotherhood". Each freshman was led to stand beside a hook, then pressed down to kneel, and finally to bend forward so their foreheads touched the ground. The upperclassmen who had guided them down then clipped the rings on their collars to the chains, and each was given a firm tug to confirm it wouldn't easily budge. They were chained in the formation of a square, heads facing inward, and I stepped into the middle to address them. Finally, the blindfolds were untied, and the newbies became all too aware of their predicament.

From the pile of junky old equipment in the corner we used for pickup games, the upperclassmen each grabbed a hockey stick and formed a line. I had specified an order to the routine: sophomores first, then juniors, seniors, alternate captains, and lastly, myself. Being the youngest sophomore (despite being the largest), Hutchinson wound his stick up high behind his head. The gator grinned hungrily, but his eyes met mine with a questioning stare.

"Allow your older brothers to properly introduce themselves." I gave a quick nod, and Hutchinson let his stick fly, the blade smacking Miles square in the center of the behind and forcing a startled yip from the husky's mouth. The gator stepped clockwise to deliver the same to Rodriguez, while the line moved forward and Frisk took his place.

As the guys made their way around the square, and I removed myself to take position at the end of the line, I found humor in how each of the freshmen handled their "introductions". Miles squeaked and trembled with each blow like a mouse, Rodriguez's grunts of pain gradually grew into proper yelps as his resolve wore down, and Rollins had started off stoically, but became a difficult target by the third strike as he began to bawl and kick his legs. As usual, the last one in the ring behaved in a way that struck me as strange: Humboldt was nearly stationary, his back and limbs rigid as a bow, with his eyes screwed tightly shut. Each time a stick made contact with his hindquarters, a jet of breath shot out his nose, but he bit down on his lower lip and kept from making a sound.

As my turn drew nearer, I couldn't help but keep my eyes on him and his uncommon reaction to such a paddling. It seemed as though his mind was elsewhere, and when the last of the juniors had made their rounds, I noticed something that confirmed that. A hint of an incriminating scent and the soft sound of liquid dripping onto cement appeared to be lost on my teammates, none of whom reacted as though they'd noticed the small puddle forming underneath Humboldt's crotch.

I don't know what feeling wrenched its way out of my gut and into my brain in that moment, but it bid me to spring into action. I stepped forward, nudging my way between Cho and McConnell, leading the latter to spill a small splash of beer on the floor, and made sure my foot landed exactly in the center of the preexisting puddle. I hunched down beside the dog's ear, and could practically hear the rapid pulse of his heart and the low whine caught in his throat as he felt my breath on his neck.

"You having trouble breathing?" I whispered, sliding a finger underneath his collar and praying he'd take the hint. In one fluid move, I unclipped the chain from his collar, shifted my foot to smear the puddle on the floor, and hoisted Humboldt upright by the arm. As Timmons and Philippe noticed what happened, I leaned in toward them.

"Kid's collar is too tight, gotta make sure he's okay. You can give 'em the packets if I'm not down in ten, but wait for me to dismiss them." I hissed under my breath, and they nodded to confirm their instructions. Making sure his paws were directly in front of the dark stain splattered across his crotch, I dragged Humboldt forward and up the stairs. When we reached the top and the door was shut, I released my hold.

"Follow me." I barked, and continued around the corner to the central stairwell. Without a word, he followed close behind as we went up to my room. I pointed toward the open door in the far corner. "Bathroom's in there."

Like a speeding bullet, he raced forward, not even bothering to close the door behind him as an ecstatic sigh and the bubbling of piss hitting the water resonated from inside. Smirking to myself, I padded over to a box marked "clothes", and dug around its disorganized contents until I found my target: a pair of grey fleece sweatpants, similar enough to Humboldt's that the change would likely go unnoticed.

"Fontaine left some pants behind on moving day back in the spring." I hollered as I sat at the foot of my bed. "Looks about your size, and I don't think he'll be missing 'em."

"Thanks." He murmured from around the corner, just out of sight from my vantage point.

"So...You wanna talk about what happened down there?" I prodded. The sounds had stopped, and the burly dog walked back into view as he came to grab the pants from me.

"Not really." He sighed, eyes locked on the floor. Judging by how far down his thigh the stain had spread, almost reaching past the knees, he hadn't been able to hold it all on our way up the stairs. As he snatched the pants from my paw, he quickly turned back to reenter the bathroom and close the door.

"It wasn't a suggestion." I boomed through the door, hoping my tone showed him I was serious without spooking him too hard. The door opened a crack, and he stuck the tip of his muzzle out.

"You don't have a trash can in here?" He asked.

"Not yet. Just moved in today. Why, what do you need to toss?" Surely he wouldn't throw away a perfectly good pair of boxers just for getting wet, would he?

"Do you have...I dunno, a grocery bag or something?" He practically begged. "It's just...uh, something I can't flush."

"Listen, kid." I reached into a nearby box and dumped out a plastic bag full of socks, standing up to bring it to him. "You can act as secretive as you want, but it's not gonna change the fact that I know something's up with you. From the moment you showed up at practice, I smelled something fishy, and now..."

I reached for the door handle to open it and give him the bag, but as he noticed my approach, he pulled his muzzle back inside the room and closed the door.

"See what I mean! Even when I'm trying to help you, you just..."

Pissed off now, I wrenched the handle and flung the door open. With the damp sweatpants around his ankles, he couldn't very well run back to close the door before I stepped in, but that didn't stop him from trying. He stumbled and fell forward toward me, bracing for impact with the cold linoleum until I caught him by the waist and looked down at him worriedly. Between his thighs, all he wore was a tight white pull-up, its crotch thoroughly swollen and darkened with a yellow tint.

"Please don't tell anyone." He cried, eyebrows knit with worry as he peered up at me. The juxtaposition made for a strange image: a massive, hulking dog, body rippling with lean muscle, clad like a toddler who had an accident in his training pants. "I'm so sorry, it's usually enough for daytime, but...I didn't know how long I'd be here, and I didn't think I'd be drinking, and I..."

"Shh." I stuffed the bag into his paws, which he kept between his legs in a futile attempt to cover his shame. "No one's gonna find out. There's flushable wipes under the sink, and just tie the bag and leave it behind the toilet."

"I'm really sorry for all this." He sniffled, righting himself and kicking the pants off his feet. "I can't thank you enough. You really didn't have to rescue me down there, but..."

"Yeah, I did." I corrected him. "It's more my fault than yours; I'm the one who told you to wait when you said you had to piss. If you really couldn't hold it that long, I'm not gonna make you suffer because of it."

"Thanks, Mack." He did his best to muster up a smile. "If there's anything I can do..."

"Just clean yourself up, and let's get back down there. You don't owe me for this; looking out for my teammates is part of the captain's job description." With a nod, he turned away and reached to open the cabinet below the sink. "Oh, and use some of the body spray down there when you're done. My nose isn't the only sensitive one in the basement."

"Gotcha." I stepped out and closed the door behind me, to give him a little privacy after having been literally caught with his pants down. My head was damn near spinning as I sat back down on my bed and waited for him to finish. The myriad of questions I had about the dog had been answered in an instant, but new dilemmas presented themselves. How could I protect his dignity, knowing what lie ahead in the course of his "training"? How much could I bend the process for his sake, before the rest of the team suspected something? And how could I reconcile my role in that process with the thoughts that had welled up when I saw him whimpering on the floor, piss dribbling out from between his legs?

The weight of the captaincy felt ten times heavier than it had a few minutes ago. I let out a sigh, flopping back onto the sheets until the click of the door opening sent me bolting upright.

"Good to go." He announced with a meek grin.

"You gonna be alright for the rest of the meeting?" I asked as I led him out of the room and back downstairs. "Shouldn't be more than five minutes, then you guys are gonna clean up the house and get outta here."

"I can handle that."

"Good. Don't wanna have to start laying a tarp down on the floor every time you guys come over." I chuckled, and a hint of a nervous laugh snorted out his nose. "But, I gotta ask...Was it wearing one of those that gave you the extra cushion on that five-hole shot?"

"Kind of." He anxiously fiddled with the flanges of his gauges. "I've got some that are...heavy-duty, I guess. Usually they're just for bed, but they hide pretty well under all the gear, and with a jock on top, it's practically a suit of armor."

"Might have to get the whole team wearing them, if they're really that good at protecting the jewels."

"...have to address the men of this brotherhood by their full names to show your respect." A voice dictated authoritatively through the basement door, its thick French accent giving away that it was Philippe who was filling my shoes. "D'accord?"

"Yes, Brother Jean-Jacques Philippe." The trio of freshmen uttered dejectedly. As I opened the door, Humboldt offered me his paws, and I restarted the facade of roughly leading him down the stairs.

"I've heard kittens sound more manly than that!" The lion stood towering over the freshmen, arms crossed. "Encore, les enfants!"

"Yes, Brother Jean-Jacques Philippe!" All four resounded, their volume bolstered as I reattached Humboldt's collar to the vacant chain.

"An improvement, but barely." I tutted, nodding at Philippe to show I was ready to resume. "We refuse to allow anyone into our brotherhood that might embarrass us, or reflect poorly upon us. That means you need to become stronger, both as individuals and as a unit, if you want to truly join our ranks."

I walked a perimeter around my four charges, lowering my head towards them menacingly.

"We will be generous enough to train you, but you must trust your teammates enough to submit to our requests. Our goal is to sharpen your minds, bodies, and hearts, until you improve to a point where we'd be proud to call you our fellow Newts. Can you rise to the occasion?"

"Yes, Brother Mackenzie Barrow!"

"Just Mack will suffice." I clucked. "Now, Brother Connor has a task that will hopefully help with the first of those three."

"Look up, freshies." Timmons stepped into the middle of them, producing a thick packet of paper from a manila envelope in his hooves. "The history and statistics of the SNHU Newts. I expect you to each have a copy of these, hand-transcribed, by Monday night at 10 PM. You will keep it on your person at all times, and memorize all the information inside. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Brother Connor Timmons!" They chanted as the buck slapped the papers on the ground before them.

"Good."

"Well, I think we've just about expended their usefulness tonight." I commented, trying to sound somewhere between disinterested and disappointed. "How about you guys get up, clean my house, and get the fuck out?"

"Yes, Brother Mack Barrow!" They recited with relief, as their collars were unclipped from their restraints.

"I expect the place looking better than it did when you walked in!" Philippe barked, looking satisfied as the freshmen tentatively got off the ground and stretched, obviously sore after enduring a stress position that long.

"But don't enter anyone's room without asking them first." I added hastily.

"Yes, Brother Mack Barrow!" They responded.