FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Quick Kills No.7

Old Number Seven

"HANDS! LET ME SEE THOSE HANDS!" What the hell? This is rude, awoken from a nap, three swat short guns in my face. Under barrel lights on full, my jaw cocked slightly,

"DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE!" Ohhh they were heated, must be here on the senators behalf. I'd started sleeping with that odd shard of glass in my maw for just such an occasion. Tad bit dangerous I'll admit, the thought of waking with said shard mid throat had crossed my mind.

"I SAID DON'T FUCKING MOVE!" Let's see if that fox is full of shit, shall we?

*crunch * Gunfire followed that subtle defiance, I must've used all my luck right there, the only thing they took from me was the ability to speak. The only thing they hit, I should say, my saw was in lockup, Mrs. Birds tooth in evidence and I in the ICU for who knows how long. Three bullets passed completely through, obliterating my lower jaw, nothing a few botched plates and a mind numbing amount of drugs couldn't solve.

"Good enough for Government work." The adjourning doctor chuckled, several of the states best shots wheeled me out in cuffs after a brisk dressing.

"Where's that fox?" I wondered, rolling my new jaw. Little did one know, somewhere, Pandora's box had opened, waiting for me to come and take a peak, or rather, pull me in.

* * * * *

It's a frosty Christmas morning where our gaze settles on one two story house in upper middle class suburbia, black shutters, red door sticking out against the over lying white paint scheme, flush cut hedges shotgunning the facade. Inside sits a couple nestled in each others embrace, a red and blue fire dragon laying intertwined on their couch, her head on his chest. Tree's setup, decorated and all with even a family sized pile of presents underneath, however something's amiss, there are toys strewn about where a young child might play just in front of the television but no youth, a small blanket hungover the couches end but no little one to claim its warmth.

“I miss him so much.” She barely managed the words, pure seething heartache inflecting every word, a tear streaking down one cheek before being caught.

“They'll find him Martha, the police said they would.” Strong as his color, his words had to match, although he hurt just as much inside for their missing son. Slipping a pair of crimson wings up around her, locking them snugly while she wept into his chest, caressing her scales to comfort and console his partners aching soul as best he could.

Then, there was a knock, one was half tempted to ignore it but opening the door he was met by their neighbor, a beaver dressed in a fine vested suit, “Mornin Chet, Merry Christmas to you and the missus, I think someone left this for you, didn't know if you knew about it or not.” Chet looked down at a crudely wrapped package left at their doorstep, layers of weathered masking tape seemed to hold a bulge to the top.

“Thanks Terry, a Merry Christmas to you and yours as well.” They both nodded with a neighborly smile and retreated, Chet carried the disgusting box to the nearest inside table, brushing off some snow while pulling a zip knife.

“What is it?” Martha called from their nest.

“It was Terry, says Merry Christmas and somebody sent us something.” Chet grimaced, the box was soggy, covered in grease and dirt, warehouse dust clinging to the tape. Slipping an edge along its bulge, with two careful claw tips he pulled up a tape flap revealing the end of a VHS tape, betwixt those same claws plucked said tape, white title square baring two crudely marked words “WATCH ME”. Chets gaze grew focused and solumn, trodding over to pop the tape in,

“What's that? Was that all they sent?” Martha called after, getting up just in time to have her back to the tv when static black and white bars cut the usual FBI copyright, Chet sat back, leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching intently. Behind him Martha began examining the box in a similar way, pulling a tape flap up before reaching for the zip knife as a rolling film title in red smudged 80's font spelled out “Toothless in Wapping”.

“Starring Bareback”, a well defined light furred brown bear wearing a round cartoon mascot head, its flat painted face one of a teddy bears with its tongue out cheekishly, stood buck nude and proud in a grainy black and blue hued doorway, tools and steel drums littered behind him. “And costarring...” “In his first ever appearance...”

“Black Wing!”

“What the hell...” Chet growled to himself, sounds of splitting tape layers coming from behind. An Image finally came through, grainy bits scattering as roaches in new light revealed a small dragon cub in denim shorts, white and black striped shirt, sitting on a removed bench seat, playing with a stuffed bear. Onscreen image splitting into two camera angles, second one showing a steel drum and the back of the seat with the young cubs tail swinging care free, too and fro. Sounds of metal scraping dirt and sand covered linoleum eek their way into ear shot as a fully set bear trap slides into view, slowly pushed by metal rod, leading off screen, toward where the dragon's tail swung. Secondary image cutting away back to the original shot of just the cub playing with his teddy,

“Nathan?” Chet asked bewildered, in shear disbelief of the cruel perversion bending its image at him on screen, a loud shrieking from behind drew his attention. Martha stood before the box, disembodied bloodied wing held up, body going limp in shock, collapsing just as an evenly matched shrill screech came from the television. Nate screamed in pain, small boy jumping forward from the bench seat unable to pull his tail through, squirming with every tug trying to free himself, a large shadow appeared from off screen followed by a tightly clenched fist, cracking the small boy across his maw.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Chet belted his words, then his fist into the screen, glass shattering around his fist drawing blood, unsure whether to tend his wife or call the police.

{About 35 minutes later}

“Now Mr. and Mrs. Dreighun, please rest assured we will put our best on finding your son, I've been in this town since before it was a town and have a one hundred percent success rate on finding missing locals.” Feather bound and sharp eyed, a bald eagle spoke, reassuring the couple in their trauma bound Christmas morning. Chet sat with wings wrapped around Martha, hand tied with gauze and blood stained tape in a police interrogation room, planted across from an a-typical bodied police inspector. Chet looked from his cradled wife to the confident eagle,

“How long until you find our son?” Asking with nothing but shaken concern, the eagle stroked his beak, thinking carefully on an answer.

“It's hard to say really on anything towards a timeline but do please put your faith in us, we have our best analyzing the film and package that was sent to you.” He finished waiting for any further questions before adding,

“We've setup patrols all around town and the local neighborhood should anything come up along with a cruiser to guard your house. Please, Chet, Martha, I will find your son and his abductor will be brought to justice.” Both dragons looked to him, rattled but there, simply adding,

“Please do.” Each snagging their coffee before being lead out by accompanying officer's,

* * * * *

The emboldened eagle swaggered through an office door, one rather shaken looking deputy sat starring at a tv,

“There's some real rough shit in here Chief.” He gestured handing off notes. The eagle shot his gaze to the screen just in time to see a freshly de-winged cub, face beaten darker hues, forearms bent in crooked Z shapes, swinging rapidly in eight inch strides. Purple scales limp, slung in an underbelly wrap, Bareback clapping away at his rear, espousing grunts and slurs at the child.

“Jesus Christ shut it off.” Our deputy did so looking egregiously disgusted, worry on his face,

“We have to get this one.” The young buck spoke, truth be told, our local PD hadn't caught a single murderer, rapist, or kidnapper in decades, by their record anyway. Mid silence, a bit of a stir filled the side hall, six officers, surrounding one degenerate on wheels, ohh I was snug as a bug lemme tell ya. Wrapped up and strapped in like Hannibal, wiggling against the restraints was more fun than the concerned look my gaze drew from officers, wiggle wiggle, wiggle wiggle.

“Who is that?” Chief asked, surprised he wasn't aware they'd be housing me,

“Oh that's a real sick fuck, just released from ICU after swat lit him up in the sewer, we get to babysit until the Senator's back to fry him in old sparky.” The eagles feathered brow raised, his underling,

“He's at bare minimum responsible for the abduction and death of Mrs. Bird, the senators partner. Could possibly be tied to several other high profile deaths within the last few years but who knows.”

If they had, any, real idea of my exploits, I'd like to think swat wouldn't have found me, or at least wouldn't have missed so poorly.

“I'd like to conduct his interrogation, personally.”

* * * * *

My cell was cold, empty, no bucket nor bed to shit on, just cold concrete, made for a relatively decent sleep I'll say. All was quiet, they seemed to have stuck me in a side hall where I was the only occupant, no cameras, no cellies, I felt special, until the only door of the hall slammed shut at midnight.

“Wake up.” Gruff, old, and tired was the assailing voice, I was already up but gave a good waking stretch anyway, sitting up a rather bulbous commissioner Gordon looking eagle eyed me.

“What, can I do for you?” The jaw they “gave” me was still sore but I had grown accustomed to its ways, playing with it like a newly forked tongue.

“Shut up and listen.” Direct, I like it, I'm not going anywhere so why not.

“Fifty-five years I've dedicated to the badge, decades serving the peoples justice, proudly, I might add. However, in recent years those laws I held so just have become sullied, muddied by the needless red tape of social bureaucracy. Too many good cops have lost there livelihoods, or lives, to a revolving house of criminals..” He continued but my mind wandered, what was the purpose of this spiel? And what was this scent upon the wind? It put my scales on end, was it a....

“I have a deal for you.” My ears perked, hohohoooo, this eagle was my kinda fella,

“I knew of Mrs. Birds, “exploits” but for obvious reasons could do nothing about it, you did what I couldn't, now I want to know, why?” Well this wasn't the line of questioning I expected, if any. Maybe tied up, beaten daily, offered up to a whole prison colony as the hot hole, but, not this.

“If murder is death of the body then rape is death of the soul. How would any of those kids lives played out after that?” My reason is, as it always has been, as it always will be, yet, he answered, the look on my face was fraught with fascination and intrigue,

“They would've lived broken half lives, forever marred by those scars, reminded each time they close their eyes of what was done to them. No matter how much therapy, what meds they were given, or what vice they dawned, their lives would be irreparably changed.” He finished, ashamed to admit I was impressed,

“I take great pleasure in hunting monsters that would predate the innocent, at least, the ones I come across anyway.” He starred into what he thought was a soul, stern brow looking for any and all untruth.

“How many?” Naturally, he was going to inquire, it is his job after all.

“Roughly seven, I don't think I'm forgetting anyone, you'd be surprised how many were members of upper polite society.” One of those words hit a nerve, he leaned in, sharp eyes narrowing to laser focus,

“Were you responsible for the church?” I couldn't help but grin,

“I know the little girl I caught them with ended up at a firehouse.” He turned away,

“That church has been doing what they do for a long, long time.” Ohh.... he turned back, look filled with a newly lit fire deep under that shelter of a bent brow,

“And they're the reason I do what I do.” WHAT IS THIS?! A kindred spirit dancing behind the safety and certainty of a badge? Never would have thought....

“There's a real bastard we are unable to catch, he hides in a homeless town down at the docks, anything so much resembling a set of cherrys wanders in and word spreads like wild fire. They scatter making getting anything done impossible, catch him for me, and one of mine might just lose your cell key.” Well-hell-ell boys and ghouls, looks like I have more work to do.

“I'd like my clothes, particularly my jacket, cleaver, a coke, and my cigarettes. When this is done, I want my saw too, do we have a deal?” I stuck my hand through the bars, waiting for that almighty shake. He looked from my claws to me, this was exhilarating, couldn't help the glow in my eyes,

“Shake hands with a devil? I'm not dumb.” And he FUCKING LEFT! I was left cock teased rock hard throbbing, aching, drooling at swollen meaty mass, leaking, baying for release only to be blue balled?! Oh sweet fuck, if I ever get the chance.... The door opened, he returned, requested items in hand, along with, a burner phone.

“We have a deal, on one condition, when you find him, you capture him and call the only number in this phone, we will come get you.” I gestured to my claws,

“Shake on it, and you'll have him exactly as you want, the devil keeps his word.” The awkward, deafening silence that followed, all I want is a handshake, you can measure so much just from that, it's almost as good as the eyes.

“Fine, but screw this up and I'll personally skull-fuck you with a thirty-eight.” He grabbed and consummated our bargain, firm and stout was his grip, a confident show of faith in the arrangement. What a pity so few people lack the proper form when shaking hands these days, oh well, not hard to be great when everyone bathes in mediocrity.

* * * * *

Shanty town, this dingle berry of a cities watering hole for everyone that loves the hard shit.

"Ahhhh desire." Sighed with a full breath, the unapologetic stench of roasting sidewalk feces topped with dirty needles wafting fragrantly and free. This place was a literal human dumpster, filled with every type of societal reject one could foster, where the unwashed, ill-tempered, and brazen, scour a misty dock side scene. It's oh so pleasant residents eyes upon me as soon as I stepped down out of a local side pipe, was too clean to be homeless but could definitely pass for poor.

"Hey handsome." Her voice was soft and inviting, with a warmth of blossoms in full bloom, I turned, it was a maybe late twenties something lady Doberman. Dirty orange wind breaker wrapped chest leaning up against a steel shack with army bottoms and boots, she didn't mind my eyes,

"You don't look familiar." She added, I could feel the surrounding views growing,

"New." Was all I said with a cold disregard for the ethos, it never really bothered me where I was, as long as I had food, water, and wasn't around any fuckwits. She smiled,

"Hmm, Ya can fuck me for twenty bucks." This had to be a test, I pulled out the only thing I could spare in my pockets, which was a mostly empty pack of cigarettes.

"I've got two ciggys." Her smile widened, the air around us stalled out, seems my lack of cash had cost everyone's interest. Fucking parasites, my disdain for junkies almost rivals my hatred for kiddy diddlers. Everyone has their vices but to become such a finger for simple desires is pathetic, you can never trust a word from a junkie, ex or otherwise, but you can believe the half truths about them. If I didn't hunt my particular taste of predator, I might just hunt them instead, would be too easy,

"Even better." Wagging me to follow with a finger, she rolled inside the steel shack, I held its crude curtain aside while checking the immediate corner making sure I wasn't about to get jumped, alas no such fun awaited me. Just an old steel oil drum with a few nicknacks and a bare mattress. She was already topless, laid down on her back, breaker unzipped showing off some nice tits.

"Names Adelaid by the way, some folks just call me Aids." She smiled, this was such bait, the fur of her chest pockmarked and scabby, covered in scars. Both forearms looked as though they hosted daily mud drags,

"Didn't ask." Tossing my jacket to the side, I placed my last few ciggys on her drum as payment. I spun my claw in a circle, she obliged getting on both knees, back to me, saggy tits to the wall, drooping her pants just below the tail. Aids backside was no different than the front,

"C'mere tiger." She grinned flicking her head, lip under fang. I hadn't gotten a decent nut since Shawn, my body let me know just how pent up I was, practically crashing into her. Bare chest scales at her back, breath heavy on her ear, teeth combing the flea infested scabs of her neck. I could've just as easily cut a hole in a trash can and fucked that instead, would've tasted the same. Cock tip touching down in a warm tub of cottage cheese that grabbed and pulled you in, coupled with the forced calls of a harpy mid showtime. Adelaid's sweater puppies felt great in hand, fondling, squeezing, pinching both nips under needle fine claw tip, hips bucking her hard enough the shack shook.

These are the off brand, odd color moments I live for, rough scales palming her tits so hard the crusty patches crack free letting new red seep through. The scent of copper didn't help, I had a new plaything in my teeth and smelling blood just made them clamp down.

"Ahh-AHH~" Now there was something real, not a current showing act or part of a play, but a gods honest moan. Soiled fur and infection washed out by that sweet warmth, I took her to the ground, hands gripping her wrists, body pinned under the rest of me. Adelaid could only lay there whimpering and moaning while I drove it deep for a good long while. Not once did I stop, pause, back off or give respite, until thrusting at a fever pitch and full sending a healthy glob straight up her hole.

"Hmm~" She hummed under me, cock throbbing it's contents to freely wriggle, lost to wander in her barren wasteland. My fangs stayed buried, softly chewing her nape while the folds below milked me, we stayed like that until Aids squeezed my shriveling cock out of her. We rolled out, backs against the wall, I pulled two of the last three cancer sticks and breathed life into them, passing her one.

“Thanks but I believe you owe me one now.” Chiefing away as though she'd earned something, one claw tactfully held the pack open, revealing a single ciggy,

“Nope.” Tossing it at her she grinned, I let my mind wander through the sweet taste of ash filling my insides, relaxed, eyes shutting but only for a moment.

“Say, I'm looking for -ACK!” A sharp pain and squelching crack assaulted the front left side of my rib cage, in the less than five seconds I let my guard down, this flea ridden, drug addeled, walking poster child for abortion pulled Cleavy and buried him in my ribs. The pain was exquisite, I don't get opened up too often, and to be offered such a delight by trash.... My hand slid over her paw holding the blades handle, pressing slightly, ohhhh I could feel Cleavy stuck between one, two, three ribs and maybe some cartilage. Our eyes locked as mine gradually opened, the panic I drew from her soul as she starred into two glowing infernos, trying to tug and pull away while being admonished.

“Now what, on this green earth, would possess you to do that?” I grinned, shoving her hand inward, pushing the blade deeper, AHH~ oh I need to sharpen Cleavy but this was soOo~ Ffffffucking good. Gasping between words,

“Carnal delights run across a spectrum my dear, I see you're aware of a few already, let me show you one more.” The feel of a dulled steel edge working its way through rib scaling, ohhhh fuck me. I let my jaw drop, lungs fill with air, throat shifting into my favorite gear, smoke pouring briefly before all that shown before me was engulfed in a bright orange glow. Right as a fiery concussive blast blew apart the shed, I let go of her hand, imagine my delight when I caught her shadow running through smoke and fire.

“Hmm~ Thank you Addy.” The whole thing put a smile on my scaly mug, giving chase I was able to watch her trip, scramble, scream, trying to out maneuver her mark. Eventually leading me into one of the nearby dock houses where she cornered herself, trying to hide behind some old steel fifty five gallon drums. The shiver in her breath audible from just around a waiting corner, standing silent, still, her fear palatable while crouched, sweating bullets. I stepped into view, feet shuffling through dirt to announce my presence, Addy couldn't go anywhere, she'd tucked herself behind three steel drums under a hall sized stair case, me standing in the immediate T hall, her back to brick.

“S-stay away!” She gasped, fur charred, clothes smoldering, I'd gotten her good, not well enough, holding up Cleavy as her only threat.

“Normally I don't kill people like you, this and all.” Pointing to the open slip in my side,

“All I want is my blade back.” Hand held out, claws gesturing it forward, there was nothing else to say, I stood there patiently, silent. Adelaid kept looking off out through the stair case then back to me, her attention shifting more to what was through those stairs than me. She shivered in sweat, whispering

“We, we shouldn't be here, . . . he-e'll find us.” I curled my claws again in response, all I want is my blade back. This went on for a good silent minute, all the while something stirred out in the warehouse, hanging chains shook, debris shifted, each auditory offense made Addy twitch a tad more. The very drums she hid behind erupting in a loud bang making her bolt through an old window, shredding an already trashed body and taking Cleavy with her.

“You're, bleeding.” A rather treble male voice spoke from behind, I turned to see it was the man of the fucking hour, dressed in humble clean home attire and a stupid fucking mask, I miss Cleavy.

“I am.” Holding up a set of bloody claws and rolling them at him.

“May I patch you up?” I said I wouldn't kill him, no, I made a deal I wouldn't kill 'em, but if this goes south I might just have my fun and retire. All cozy, six feet under, in the sweet cold embrace of nothing, I nodded.

“Follow me.” He gestured, leading back out of the hall up several flights of stairs, I could see there was a production office several more flights up, my guess is that would be our destination. All the while he seemed to have been watching us,

“You know you shouldn't play with the riff raff around here, they are but parasites living on the same corpse. Most new additions don't make it past their first night.” On that, we are agreed, but I had to ask the obvious question,

“That said, you live amongst them, why should I expect differently from you?” He chuckled, that mask catching each half breath and curving it around his head,

“I was a Doctor, before I was cast out by the city.” We reached the top of the stairs, his hand grasping the office door,

“Seems some people don't accept being told no.” I'm not even going to try and unravel that thread, I just need my opening, and he's mine. Now behind that door, I'll never forget it, the stench, it seared itself in your mind as a hot iron brand to skin, it was, clean, too clean, far beyond hotel, sanitized bleach clean. One could say it was setup like a regular doctors office but instead of a normal exam table, there was a cold steel cadavers slab, drain pan and all. Nothing, looked, like it had been used,

“Forgive me but it's been so long since I've had a gods honest patient, would you mind If I gave you an exam? Old habits die hard, and I do so miss my craft.” The sheer, warm, buttery irony in his statement, he asked as I sat, looking to the gloved deviant.

“Sure.” I suppose one can grant a mans last request before tying his noose, so long as I benefit.

“First and foremost.” He gestured, thin, smooth stick in hand,

“Slight pinch.” I grunted, using said stick like a depth gauge, penetrating my rib pussy only to find it was rather shallow,

“Whatever she stuck you with, was about as dull as stone. A few busted ribs but some stitches and you'll be fine.” He assured, delicate fingers poking and prodding.

“Staples or stitches?” He asked, hahaha.

“Staples.” Mrs. Bird crossed the mind, I wonder how she's doing now, I can only pray she's tied to a table somewhere down below, awaiting me to continue my work. Oh the thought made me smile,

** Click, POP!** That sound and pinch, could feel my scales tug back together, about a dozen or so more aaaand,

“All done. Been awhile since I've gotten to do some actual work.” I looked at him with pause, considering the surrounding neighbors I figured he'd be busy all the time, of course, if his office contents got out, he'd be mobbed in the dark of night.

“I don't tend to the miscreants below.” Ah, that would do it, he dawned a stethoscope and went about his medical habits,

“So I've got to ask then, well two things, why the mask? And why am I up here then?” He didn't skip a beat,

“It used to be the logo of my clinic, when said clinic was shut down and I spurned, it was all I had. I was wanting to ask you the same thing, you're not one of the urchins below. You might lay with them but you're not one of them so, why are you here?” Hahaaa, some folks say there's a scent to intent, I don't usually hide mine, of course I don't usually have to.

“The results of your exam are thus, besides being relatively healthy, I see path from hell, scars covering puncture wounds, lacerations, healed bone breaks, a recently fitted jaw, and your claws are beat to shit. You've lived a life of conflict, to say the least, so I'll ask again, Why, Are, You, Here?” Jigs up I suppose, now which one of us is the better predator? My scales stood on end, tail whipping over the cold steel seat, the tension strung so high across this trail, we just needed a rider to come down and lose their head. As if on que, the universe answered for me, two gentle knocks in a nearby locker shattered any silence, one second later a small broken dragon cub crashed out of it, laying limp, splayed across the floor. Our gaze turned from him back to each other,

“He's, why I'm here.” I could feel it, scales upright, tautness coming to a frothy surface boil and exploding over. All one would experience from an outside seat was a few dull thuds of hands being exchanged, several crashes, a flash of light and it's accompanying blast blowing out the surrounding windows, followed by the good doctor getting the old yeetus to the warehouse floor below. I emerged seconds later, limp dragon cub wrapped in a blanket held to me as securely as possible, he was unresponsive but alive, it made me want to break my deal.

I could hear the bear, trying to drag himself off from the gruesome fate that awaited him, each gasp or pained groan made in an attempt to escape marked by my boot's audible clunk on another step down. My mind had slipped, lost to the soothing edge of cool, calm focus, if I stay this way that bear is dead, but holding the near lifeless fruits of his work was bringing about my more, fun, tendencies. All I found was a blood trail leading off toward the old junked crushers, two trails, I'm betting his legs broke his fall, I followed.

Smoothness to my walk, serenity to the mind, I began whistling an old nursery rhyme I was comforted with as a pup, its long, slow, stepping notes as calming as they were haunting, echoing out through the mostly empty warehouse. Back when I worked, it would scare coworkers, remarking how creepy it was, kids seemed to enjoy it when I had to work around them, not quite sure who I was whistling for now, my coworker, or the pup in arms. In this short time, he'd managed to drag himself through a good bit of the machinery maze, the double legged trail disappearing at a dead end, each wall comprised of steel crusher.

“You're not that stupid.” I knelt down, looking through the gap on my left, peering through the steel press blade, nothing, on my right, nothing, straight ahead,

“You are that stupid.” Bloodied and panicked, there he sat, trapped in the scrap receptacle, shattered legs dangling limp under the weighted blade. Now each of these machines was designed for recycling, large steel cube driven down by hydraulic pistons, flattening anything underneath. The one off left was baby puke green, the one on my right, industrial warning yellow, the one our doctor had made home? Blue, deep, blue. My claws slapped the power button but alas, no life,

“Ohhhhhhh~” Eyes settling on the manual safety lever, seeing it locked in place gave me hope, with scaly digits coiling it's smooth ball end,

“Hey Doc, I gotta make a phone call, don't go anywhere.” I said with a grin, ripping the lever out of its notch and slamming it down, last I saw of the Doctor there he was shaking his head, screaming in that mask, frantically trying to curl further into the bin as the blade descended. That bears pained screams and the accompanying wet crunch accented my exit quite well, for the was water calm, the moon out and full against a clear sky.

“Is he alive?” A voice I didn't recognize asked,

“Yeah, last warehouse, we're on the dock side.” Twenty minutes passed, twenty of the worst goddamn dragging minutes of my life. I had made a deal, and no matter how much it lanced my ass to let that filth live, he would, at least I got to listen to him wail the whole time.

Those of you whom have made it thus far might be wondering, “What? What could possibly be the lowest part of this degenerate story?” Well, it wasn't that I couldn't do anything about those screams, against the encroaching dockside night, they were actually quite nice, would've made for a great date spot. It was the little bundle of pieces I sat with in arms, he was alive, been put through hell, bits of the blanket I'd wrapped him in had soaked red. Yet he'd gone through all that, held on to just enough strength to somehow work himself free when he needed to be seen.

I felt my heart ache, beat, for the boy, no one innocent should ever be put through what most would consider war crimes, let alone a child. Life can be so cruel to the undeserving, yet pricks like the one calling out inside can go a lifetime without cashing in their karmic tickets. Feeling him limp, barely breathing, if the doc was mine, I'd make Mrs. Bird look like a kids show. I wanted to lick this little ones wounds, take away everything that had been done, consume the deviousness that had been inflicted and spew it back as a napalm enema.

"CONSUME."

The first time I heard that voice, an all almighty, deviously divine presence spake into my thoughts. It was as though this gnawing miasma that filled me since birth finally found a gap to escape and pressed through giving itself a voice I couldn't ignore. As I looked down to this poor youth, I wanted to eat his pain, it should be me in his arms, me going through what he went through, not the witness to his vile and cruel rebirth. To devour those, consume those memories that would haunt his nights, his life, or mark an untimely suicide. I wanted to feast on his trauma, take it away in the middle of the night as the monster had done so unto him. Had it finally happened? Had I finally snapped? There's a line never to be crossed but had I been on the right side of it at all? Or ever?

"Hey jackoff, where is he?" I snapped too, the voice from earlier had a body, an impressive one I'd like to add. Tan, tall, blacked out clothes standing half out of a windowless van, all butch cut stallion, several more impressive fellows sat inside, looking out from under red cargo light.

"Follow the screams." All five equine men filed out, I took this moment to find enough space for me and my burrito. The ride back was awkward to put it mildly, they'd gagged the Dr and hogtied him to a floor anchor. Every other square inch of seat was filled with dude, it smelled of cologne and eighties rock, if the commissioner didn't hold up his end, this would be bad. As long as the bear caught hell, I didn't care.

I never got that stud's number, wondering if he's still alive.