"The Real Deal" - Chapter 4
"The Real Deal"
(C) 2017 Sinclair Diavante
Chapter 4.
Tony wasn't gonna put that collar on, no way. But the cuffs had to come off, that was a yes.
He twisted around and grabbed the ring, picked the long key, he knew it was the right one, but tried to imagine where the hole was. If these were arm binder cuffs, he'd be screwed. This was still hard enough, he'd never fucken tried this before. Any time he'd ever been cuffed, not like he had a key at the time.
He poked the end into the hole... tried twisting...
Clink.
Fuck.
They had slipped from his fingers and fell behind him.
Well, shit. He paused, thinking.
The dude wants to put a COLLAR on him, he wants to OWN him. What the hell does that even mean? And what kind of collar was that, anyway? Tony was tired of wearing one. He wasn't no fucken pet.
Dudes on the tier, barking at him, when he was new. Such a joke, new guy, collared, ha ha, look at that dog. Yeah whatever, everyone had to wear one. People just laugh to desensitize themselves of it.
He sat there, numb, confused, frustrated, ears flat. How much time had gone by?
Fifteen minutes was all he had. Prolly been five, already.
Maybe even ten.
Cops would come, see one of theirs, they wouldn't even care what the fuck he said. They'd beat him till he stopped moving, and then shoot him in the head, say they had no choice, they were defending themselves. No one would say otherwise. Public eat it right up.
Man, that was gonna hurt. He couldn't let it happen.
No choice.
He dug around, gritting his teeth, trying to grab the keys from behind him, but he couldn't even feel where they were at, they were stuck in the crack of the seat. His fingers were turning numb, trying to reach them, pulling so hard.
Van stopped.
Shit!
He struggled harder, but why was he trying again? Not gonna put that collar on, no fucken way.
You have no choice. Do it. Worry about the results, later. Maybe that was realistic.
Hands shaking, feeling nothing, trying to calm himself.
Calm down, man.
He stopped.
Relaxed, blood rushed back into his fingertips, tingling sharp.
Pictured the key, the hole, sweat dripped off of his nose, trying not to turn frantic. Panic was bad.
Wrong end of the key, he turned it around...
Back door opened, clunk. Hindpaws crunching on gravel, maybe looking in.
"Uh-huh," cop said to himself.
Twisting, turning, slowly walking away. Tony turned his head to look, saw his tail.
"Don't... don't leave, fucker!" he yelled, probably to deaf ears.
Sirens? Something coming, shit!
He tried to turn the key, but it wouldn't turn, it wasn't in right. Rotated the other way, but nope. It was spring loaded, popped in and out, he pushed, turned, yes, key's turning now, he couldn't pull it back out. Wiggled his wrist, but nothing.
Turned harder.
"Come on!" he shouted, frustrated.
Twist, pull, nothing.
He stared straight ahead. Was this it?
Try or die, the only choice. What it all got down to.
Try or die.
Tears, leaking down, blurring his vision, it was just the rain, still in his fur.
No, not rain. He was dry, hot in fact. He was freaking out.
Dude called him a wolf.
Doesn't he know?
Definitely sirens.
Tony, make it happen!
Twist, click, loosened, his wrist was loose, yanked on it, paused, something was cutting into his wrist, he yanked again, and tore free with an immediate sharp pain and blood, fuck!
Brought them both around and stared, cuffs hanging off one, shaking paws making the metal rattle, just a cut, caught on an edge, bleeding.
Pulled the key out, tried putting it in the other one, but there was a sickly pain when he tried to close his paw, fingers weren't working right anymore. He had to use his pinky to grip the key, the only finger that still worked, blood trickling, push, turn, ah. PULL, turn, click.
Tossed the cuffs onto the floor.
Right leg, up onto the seat, staring at the thing locked to it, green light flashing. Held the "key" near it, this wasn't a key. What the fuck?
Waved it near it, held it against it, slid it all around, looking for a hole, maybe a slot. Blood on it, now. Was he cut that bad?
No time to look.
Sirens, getting closer, ship was gonna take off... that was his ride.
Motorized whining, thing on his leg, it fell onto the seat, it's off, yes!
He stood up and leaned forward over the seat, and the next, thick pad digging painfully into his sheath, but he grabbed the collar, almost dropped it, way heavier than he expected. Hung there in his paws like a metal rope, two metal tags jingling on a D ring in the middle, one shaped like a bone.
He stared.
You have got to be kidding me.
He's gone, out of the van, then staggered, staring up, and up, wide eyed.
Wind whipping at his eyes, hard to hold open, he stared at a massive starship. Boarding hatch still touching the ground, airlock open. Brilliant point source light everywhere, shining on the ground, in front of the hatch, in the hatch, into the air, all over every surface. So much metal, shiny, black windows all over, four huge engines, all glowing a shade of blue he couldn't seem to focus on, wind pulling at his fur, this way, then that, frost falling from the engines, rolling across the ground. Two large yellowish red panels, trailing blue flames in the air, radiating so much heat, he could feel it.
Biggest ship he'd ever seen!
Dark clouds rolled by above, low in the sky, some actually parting around, and above the ship.
They were in an empty parking lot, and where the four immense landing pads had touched, the pavement was ruined, all sunk in, buckled, waves frozen like in water.
The variety of sounds it was making were louder than he could think. Hot, sticky, leaking down his right paw onto the ground. Collar in his left.
Sharp whines from the ship, rising, sirens real close, now. Guns, so many guns... several lit up, dark red at the tips, turned to point right at him. A round bubble near the belly of the ship dropped down, sank towards the ground, and emitted a strange warbling cry, crackling electricity ran along the outer surface of four large black hoses, leading to it from the engines, then they faded. The hoses stiffened, swelled up and tried to break free of their mounts, flexing and pulsing like snakes.
Dull bass shaking his chest.
Deflector screens popped, instant pressure in his head, sinuses, building headache, and right in front of him, debris on the ground near his feet scattered backwards on a hidden breeze, some flashed, like from a camera, and then it was gone.
Vaporized.
He took a step back by reflex, nausea building up quick.
Energy sputtered right in front of his muzzle, blue and white arcs, faint wispy fingers trying to reach out to caress him with the touch of death, pulling at him, wind was carrying blood droplets from his paw, and they spattered against the shield, sizzling and popping like water on a greased frying pan.
Another step back, to be sure.
He stared at the ship, still stunned. Looked down at the collar hanging in his paw, the tags, looked close. His name was engraved on one.
No way!
Ears swiveled backwards, automatically.
Approaching vehicles.
Wear it, or die, Tony. Is a collar really so bad? His voice of reason had kept him alive in prison so many times.
Fuck it.
What happened next seemed to take place all at once.
He lifted the collar to his neck and drew it around in back, pushing the ends together, until they clicked snug, it chimed twice and felt instantly warm.
Gunfire sprayed the shield right in front of him, projectiles barely missing him, bright points of light danced, flickered, and then vanished, an eerie moan from the ship, and one of the huge guns that had been pointing at him, it moved incrementally, tracking motion.
Tony spun around, and deep red pulses lanced out, bright as the sun, just a meter from him, striking the front ends of a long line of cop cars, six of them, one after the other. Each blast was a punch to his kidneys, pavement shattered, turned white under it, the fur on his back surely singed, he fell onto his haunches, holding his head between his knees, ducking his paws over his eyes and ears, mostly his ears, screaming.
The huge beams sounded like angry tearing fabric, he could see them right through his fingers and eyelids, and the air that reached his nose after the beam had passed through it smelled acrid, brittle, and hot. It had to be unhealthy to breathe, so he held his breath.
All the vehicles swerved, some tried to gain altitude, but each fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Not one exploded.
Relative silence, he looked back at the ship. The bubble at the bottom seemed to exhale and grow dim, black hoses fell limp, the pressure around him vanished.
He stood up and took a chance, approached the ship's outer hatch, all too aware of the weight of the collar around his neck, angry at what it might represent, but he was getting furious.
The tags were making a noise with every step.
Soon as the hatch was behind him, a loud hydraulic system raised it up, speaker in the wall issuing depressurization warnings, female's voice, repeating, and he passed through it into the interior of the ship, the door irising shut behind him.
The comparative calm silence inside was baffling, the barest scent of forest on the warm air surrounding him, soft foam under his dirty paws. Indirect lighting, red, from hidden sconces. Music playing in the distance.
"You're bleeding, none of those bullets hit you. Cuffs give you that much of a problem?" Tony turned, panting, and put his back against the wall, staring, anger shifting to wary assessment.
There was the cop, but he wasn't no cop. Wrong smell, stance. No belt, no weapons. An arctic breed, white, green eyes surrounded with the darkest black. Taller than him. Muscles that couldn't be real. He threw a white towel at Tony's head, he caught it and wadded it up against his wrist. It immediately started turning red, he looked down, twice, realizing the puddle under him was his blood.
"Maybe hit a little more than a vein." He sounded amused.
Tony said nothing.
"Lets get you fixed up. This way." Dude turned his back on him, walked away. Tony thought, jump on him! But no, not yet. Soon.
"Dude, what's your name, man?"
Dude stopped, turned around and stared at him, ears gone sideways, Tony caught a whiff of controlled anger.
"My name is Mist. I'm not your MAN, I'm not a dude, I own that," he pointed at his neck. "And now I own you. I already know, nothing I say is going to convince you of that fact. So lets get you fixed, shall we? That way, when the pain begins, you are not leaking all over my new floor."
"You're the fucking killer," he shot back. "They'll find you, sooner or later. That's fucked up, man. What that cop ever do to you? Guy prolly had a family, ever think about that?"
"Oh. I'm afraid you are right, I am a killer. I took one of my clones from cold storage, revived the body, laid it in that transport, and shot it." He smiled, and Tony noticed how sharp his teeth were, he could only shake his head, deflating.
"But... who are you? If you're not a cop, why will they care?"
"I already told you my name. Far as they are concerned, I was. Computer records will confirm it. They will hunt for you, give that body a burial at a big funeral. You are a cop killer, Tony Kratz. Accept it, own it, it is your immutable past, and I am your only future."
Mist stared at him, Tony's wrist was throbbing now. The towel was soaked through in one spot, his legs suddenly felt shaky and his hearing had been slowly vanishing, he fell forward in an odd position, on top of Mist somehow. That was the last thing he saw, his eyes and teeth.