Slip Slidin' Away by Yoteicon92

Slip Slidin' Away

Yoteicon92, Biloxi, Death, Depression, Doberman, Friendship, Husky, Illinois, Introspection, New York, Newark, Reflection, Violence, Wolf, Wolf-hybrid, chicago, dying, enemies, friends, mississippi, ohio, rivals

Chicago, the unmovable city, meets Rob Barion, the unstoppable force~

Facing multiple crises in his business and personal life, Rob Barion attempts to solve his problems with brute force, until that plan blows up in his face. Rob is left to reflect and decide on where he wants to go with his life~

Disclaimer: This story contains strong, offensive language. Reader discretion advised.

Part of my Series on FA: https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/2143509/

Slip Slidin' Away

Disclaimer: This story contains offensive, strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Prologue:

July thunderstorms were tumultuous events, with booming thunder, fierce lightning, and torrential downpours, from dark swirling skies of slate gray that hung low to the ground. Streetlights flickered on, and trees canopied by silvery green leaves, swayed and twisted to the back and forth wind. Streets became like shallow rivers where runoff roared down into storm drains. Life seemed to be interrupted, as people scurried for shelter, watching, and waiting for the storms to move on. Headlights pierced through the overwhelming rain, as downtown Newark faced another mid-day thunderstorm.

Rain splattered against the office window, soon forming into streaks that silently slid away. Rob watched a burst of cloud lightning dance through the heavens, with purplish-white bolts forking and dancing in the split-second view. Thunder registered a second later as a low, slow rumble. Rob Barion stood watching mother nature at work, overseeing the headquarters of his company. The brown and tan wolf-malamute looked as serious as always, a stern gaze at the world around him. His face was made more stern by the jagged, dark scar that ran down the left side of his face, the legacy of a brutal attack years prior. Medium brown hair was neatly slicked back against his head, the Brylcreem giving it a shine. Blue-green eyes peered out, looking empty at the world, like wet polished emeralds.

Turning around, Rob sat back down at his sparsely decorated desk in his decent sized office. He worked inside what was once an old farm house he saved, the century old brick home repurposed into the office of him and his upper echelon that oversaw all of United Barev Industries, which spanned several states. It was a very basic office for someone who didn't like showing off; the floor was a bright yellowish teak with a glossy veneer, and the walls were painted a cheerful medium blue, with a couple photos of him and his friends, and a few broadcasting posters. He had a bookshelf filled with books and broadcasting mementos, including an entire shelf adorned in various vacuum tubes he collected. There was two small couches and some reclining chairs around a coffee table, serving as an impromptu conference area. Behind his main desk was a small table that ran the window, which had a photo of his husband Joey, his nephew Alvin, and adopted son Felix. A humorous sign also sat on display, which reflected Rob's business mantra; it read in Russian Cyrillic, "Da" in little black letters, and a giant "NYET!" in giant red block letters.

His dark lacquered desk held his laptop and a desktop workstation. It was strewn with paperwork as Rob read over progress reports and budget expenses from his company's various departments. United Barev was a company that spanned various industries and fields; they were involved in broadcasting, video production, aviation services, and electronics manufacturing. Barev was an expanding company and recently acquired an optical lens manufacturing facility, and a photographic film production plant, both in Chicago. They had opened an aviation hub in Biloxi Mississippi for the Centoh Intermodal division, and were even building two factories in Biloxi, to manufacture medical supplies, in light of shortcomings found in the pandemic that continued to grip the nation. It was an at times precarious operation, as Rob watched the ebb and flow of cash that went in and out of the company. He had to guide Barev, and its thousands of workers, through the turbulent economy, and whiplash from the pandemic.

Rubbing his forehead, Rob looked over budget reports from his Chicago glass and optics plant. The wolf-hybrid looked visibly frustrated as he tried to make sense of the budget numbers coming out from Chicago. Something never seemed quite right with their numbers concerning the capital flow in and out of the company. It was only a further reminder that the merger between Barev and the Chicago Glass and Optics Company was at best, a fraught, frustrating experience. It stood in contrast to the other Chicago factory Rob acquired in a merger, the FotoChem plant, which was now fully integrated into Barev and at full capacity making photographic film and papers.

Rob blamed most of the merger's problems on CGOC's plant manager, Ryan Vlockner, and his incompetent little brother, Brent. Ryan, a forty-three year old know-it-all, tough guy, big-shot Chicagoan big-mouth, ran the plant in a lackadaisical way, preferring all the pomp of being plant manager, but not the responsibilities that came with it. Rob had spent several months assessing and addressing problems at the plant, but found himself growing tired of the highlighted problems being brushed aside. One of those glaring problems was his little brother Brent Vlockner, who in theory, ran the warehouse. All Rob ever saw Brent do was milk the clock and literally do next to nothing. Sixty, seventy, eighty hour weeks, and all he'd do is play on his phone, or not even show up to work. Brent was a weird enigma, a lanky redneck with a speech impediment, who looked like he got dropped a few too many times as a baby. But he was the "best employee ever!", he could do nothing wrong, just like Ryan who shielded him. It drove Rob insane that Brent could waste payroll and get literally nothing done and basically get away with it. Rob ordered Ryan multiple times to either fix the problem, or fire him. The Vlockner's were just one issue- the plant had quality control problems, low morale, and staff shortages that was made worse by multiple Covid-19 outbreaks.

Shuffling the budget paperwork together and clipping it, Rob stowed it into a folder and stuffed it into the filing cabinet, just as his office door opened to his best friend Maverick stepping inside with their lunch. Maverick Tokarev was a tall Russian husky, of two toned gray fur and bright green eyes. He carried a large paper bag and a drink carrier. His blue windbreaker jacket was dripping wet from the downpour outside. He served as vice-president of Barev. In contrast to Rob's usually dour personality, Maverick was lively and energetic.

"Okay! Chipotle time!" Maverick greeted.

"Hey, thanks~" Rob greeted. He rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his reclining chair.

"It's still coming down like a waterfall..." Maverick grumbled. He tossed his dripping wet windbreaker against a chair to dry.

"Summer rains, you can never predict them." Rob chuckled as he sat up in his chair.

"What have you been up to?"

"Oh sifting through this usual bullshit." Rob scoffed, his paws gesturing above his paperwork. "Dealing with the constant fuckups and incompetence."

"Lemme guess, Ryan and Brent..." Maverick rolled his eyes.

"Not just them, snags down in Mississippistan too."

"What's going on in Biloxi?"

"Southern director called about the plant manager bitching about the forklifts that were ordered. They're not working right or something- their lift capacity is small. Typical lack of detail that I have to unfuck and figure out!" Rob exclaimed. "Then you have typical Ryan letting the insane run the asylum in Chicago at Barev Two. There's too many fucking people there that have 'manager' in their job title- there's a leader for everyone, but nobody to lead, because Ryan's a fucking retard! Just like his little brother, Ricky Retardo, who I've told to get rid of several times now! He is not doing his fucking job!"

"HUDDA HUDDA BUDDAH!" Maverick mocked, in Brent's voice.

"I don't speak Vlockinese." Rob rolled his eyes.

"At least FotoChem is working out."

"It helps to have competent management there." Rob said with a shrug. "But that Ryan and Brent... those two could fuck up a wet dream!"

"Five Covid outbreaks and a hundred workers infected later..." the Russian husky cringed. "Like people still seem surprised about how superspreader events work? I mean, you'd think after almost two years of dealing with an easily transmittable airborne, pathogen, that people would learn? OH WAIT A MINUTE! THESE ARE THE SAME PEOPLE WHO THOUGHT TRUMP WAS A GOOD PRESIDENT! D'OH!"

"D'OH!" Rob mocked in return.

Maverick did have good news at least. "Well, at least at Centoh Lainsville and Barev One, pandemic mitigation seems to be keeping infection at bay. There hasn't been any new infections at Lains since they've improved ventilation and moved a lot of the maintenance outside and most of the people got vaccinated there."

"That's good." Rob nodded as he prepared his meal. "Bolton at Barev One mandated vaccinations."

"Yeah, he put his foot down after the last superspreader event with the custodial crew, again..." Mav shook his head.

"I have a feeling I'm going to have to do it... mandate Covid vaccines."

"You're gonna piss some people off."

"Fuck 'em." Rob shrugged. "Anyone who thinks people are going to do the right thing out of good faith is fucking lying to themselves. People are too stupid and selfish to do the right thing anymore. So fuck 'em. I'm sick and tired of the anti-vaxxers, the conservatards, and Trumpinistas fucking everything up~ If they can't do their part to protect themselves and the others around them? I don't want them frankly working for my company!"

"I agree." Mav shrugged. "Anti-vaxxers are some of the most selfish and ignorant people I've ever met."

"I got my Covid vaccine and all I had was a headache." Rob shrugged. "I think people have a better chance of dying from Covid-19, than from any complications from a vaccine."

"But I heard on Freedom Trump Patriot dot R-U that these Covid vaccines are gonna implant microchips in me so Billy Gates can enslave me!"

"From the same people who eat horse dewormer..." Rob shook his head.

"Can't fix stupid, Rob..." Mav shook his head in return. He heard Rob's phone ring on his desk.

"Wait! There it is!" Rob exclaimed as he hit the speakerphone button. "Hi Tabby!"

"Hey Rob, you got a call coming in from Barev Two, it's Ryan."

"Oh joy, can't wait to see what him and Ricky Retardo have fucked up today! Patch 'em through."

"Heh, okay, Rob, thanks!"

Maverick took a bite of his burrito and looked amused as Rob sat down and waited for the call to patch through.

"What did you fuck up now, Ryan?" Rob asked in a deadpan, sarcastic tone.

"Rob! It's Ryan, uhh hey, we got a problem at Chicago."

"Okay."

"I had to send thirty folks home... uhh, Larry came in after testing positive for Covid... and he exposed a bunch of people and I had to send them home."

"Where were the people taking temperatures at the entrance?"

"Oh, they apparently didn't check him?"

"If he came to work after KNOWING he tested POSITIVE and was SYMPTOMATIC, and nobody bothered to do what was required and mandated? Like TAKING THEIR TEMPERATURE!? What the flying fuck Ryan!? This is the SIXTH time this has happened! SIX TIMES! How can you fuck this up?"

"Hey! Don't blame me! Blame the ladies in the front!"

"I am going to blame you because your dumbass runs the plant!" Rob shouted. He was so upset that he hung up on Ryan. Rob looked up at his friend, his eyes energized by his rage. "You see?"

Maverick just shook his head.

"I got problems in fucking Chicago, and down in Biloxi, on top of all this other fucking shit on my itinerary. All these aircraft projects, the museum, all this shit. And then I have to babysit these fucking 'tards. It's like Kevin Whirley all over again!"

"I was just about to say..."

"Fucking Kevin Whirley and Steve Narovec all over again. Don't blame me! Don't blame me! Gee, lemme just live in fucking mamby-pamby land!"

"Where rivers flow with chocolate and children dance around with gumdrop smiles!" the husky laughed.

Rob got up and walked towards the door. "I'm so sick of incompetent fucks. I got all these problems with the merger, the lawsuits, Alvin's fucking trashy ass family trying to reappear again, juggling the aviation projects, the airport, expanding the video production houses with Varg's recording studios! Now the Vlockners fucking everything up again, and now I have to make another trip to that godforsaken windy ass city. Mav, the way I fucking feel? I'd hit the two of 'em in the fuckin' head with a shovel!"

"Take it easy Rob! Relax! We'll fix it!" Maverick exclaimed.

"I'll be back, Mav~" Rob grunted as he left his office, the door closing behind him. Maverick sat watching the door, frozen mid-chew. He slowly finished chewing and swallowed his bite.

"Gonna give yourself a heart attack Rob..."

Slip Slidin' Away

The morning sun was just beneath the hills to the east of Newark, casting the early dawn sky in an orange glow that banded out to a deep purple and blue. On the flight-line of Newark-Heath, Rob's aviation headquarters, work began for the day under the harsh glow of floodlights. Hangar doors opened and aircraft that were part of Rob's massive aviation museum collection were pulled out for work to commence for the day. Soon the tarmac had a dozen aircraft in various stages of assembly, lined up and ready for work. A towering Super Constellation, missing its outer wings dominated over two light gray F-4E Phantoms, and a silver MiG-21PF, which belonged to Rob's husband. His head mechanic, Vlado Horvat, a gray Croatian wolf, rode a small tug, which pulled out a polished up Su-7BKL, "Blue 60" rolling along attached to a tow line. The sharply swept wings of the silver Sukhoi were mated to a cigar shaped fuselage, which tapered to an open nose mounting a green painted shock cone. A bubble canopy topped the cockpit. The Soviet red star graced the swept tail, and wings. It would be Rob's mount for his trip to Chicago.

Emerging from the hangar, Rob walked in a hurry, fumbling around attaching his "bone dome" to his head with just his right paw. A ZsH-3 helmet, painted bright orange with a white stripe gave a splash to color to his gray flight uniform and leather jacket. His parachute fit snugly to his back. He carried his laptop case, which doubled as a backpack, in his left paw. He spotted his Sukhoi being finished up with fueling, the internal tanks and dual drop tanks on the underbelly being topped up with a fresh load of Jet-A. "Blue 60" was his new jet mount, a former Soviet machine that he saved from scrap and restored during the dark days of the pandemic as a project to keep himself occupied during his period of isolation. It came with a big cache of combloc airframes he had purchased from Ukraine.

"Morning Rob!" greeted Vlado.

"What's good about it?" Rob asked as he walked by. "I gotta fly to fucking Chicago, what's good about that?"

"Oh, get away from things for a day, fly a fast jet, get to see-"

"It's Chicago. There is nothing pleasurable about it." Rob cut Vlado off. He let out an annoyed sigh as he opened a hatch that once housed the old radio's electronics, and stuffed his backpack into it and slammed the hatch shut. "I gotta go there, an once again, unfuck stupid shit."

"I see." Vlado nodded. "But you got a great ship here, and she's all fueled up and ready to go!"

Rob walked around, inspecting the Sukhoi for any damage. He grabbed the clipboard from Vlado and signed off on his flight plans. "I agree. She's a great ship~"

"Just a lil' heavy on the controls." Chuckled the wolf.

"Nothing brute force won't fix."

"Da~" Vlado smirked.

Rob climbed the red tube ladder and got up into the cockpit, where he strapped himself into a modern Martin-Baker ejection seat that was retrofitted in, replacing the old Soviet "bang seat" as Rob called them. He plugged his oxygen mask into the regulator port and attached it to the side of his helmet. Vlado pulled the ladder away and retreated back as Rob began going through his checklist. He switched on the electrical system, and checked over all the dials and gauges that made up the instrument panel. The light gray panel had a mixture of original and new gauges and lights installed, with a smattering of both English and Russian labeling. Rob engaged the fuel pump and hit the starter for the AL-7 turbojet, which began to spool up. Soon, a healthy sounding turbojet loudly screeched with its ear shattering, high pitched whine, which broke the morning calm.

Vlado and Pablo, Rob's other mechanic, released the chocks and retreated back. The tall grass at the end of the tarmac swayed to the jet exhaust as Rob began to taxi. In a slow turn, he passed by all the commotion and made his way for the runway. Pulling the canopy shut and locking it, Rob rolled along slowly on the access road, which took him to the runway threshold. He turned and faced east, into the glaring sun. Rob dropped his dark tinted visor and made a final sweep of his instrumentation.

"Here we go..."

Engaging the throttle, Rob commanded maximum power from his Lyulka turbojet. "Blue 60" roared quickly to life, and the afterburner engaged, a long jet of yellow flame erupting from the tail. Rob felt himself get pressed into the seat as the Sukhoi began to roar down the runway. He gathered speed quickly, and the lightly loaded Fitter-B lifted smoothly off the runway, it's sharply swept wings glinting amber. Rob pulled the gear and flaps up as he entered a slow, climbing turn to head west. Westbound, he hit nine thousand feet, with an indicated airspeed of 435MPH. It would be maybe an hour or so to Chicago Midway.

At the helm of his jet warbird, Rob sat back for the cruise to Illinois. The cockpit was awash in sound, from the muffled roar to his Lyulka powerplant, to the hum of electronics. His radio headset periodically crackled to life as Rob passively listened to radio traffic. His latest jet restoration flew flawlessly; the Fitter had heavy controls, but rather docile handling in the air. Rob watched from his bubble canopy as he flew amongst the patchy clouds that silently drifted through the clear morning sky. The clouds took on the color of the sun, contrasting against the deep blue of the western sky. The wolf-hybrid took the time to himself to just try and relax, knowing that his trip to Chicago would be a stressful one.

An hour later, the Chicago cityscape passed into view. Through the haze, the big metropolis emerged, it's skyscrapers jutting into the heavens. Rob entered the landing pattern for Chicago's Midway Airport, which served as his western hub for Centoh Intermodal. Descending in, he looped around the city, which took him directly over the Loop and the Chicago River that cut through the city. Glancing down in his turn, Rob gazed at the labyrinth of streets that crisscrossed an endless sea of buildings. He happened to pass directly overhead his factory, located in the Central Manufacturing District. CGOC was a set of interconnected brick buildings, which housed the factory, warehouse, and offices. Two brick smokestacks jutted into the air, one of them gently wavering some steam out. The view quickly passed beneath him as he continued on, over the city.

The wolf-hybrid kept his head on a swivel as he navigated in the holding pattern. He looked around at all the urban scenery with a disinterested gaze. Rob did not like Chicago, or any big city for that matter. Rob, from little Newark Ohio, had spent his whole life in a small town, an irony for an openly gay man like himself. To Rob, big cities were cesspits, where corruption and crime ran rampant, and depravity constantly lurked in the shadows. Chicago was no exception to Rob's bias. Rob thought of the city as violent, murder capital, full of "fucking assholes".

Getting his turn to come into Midway, Rob dropped the gear and flaps into place. The Fitter descended in at 200MPH, holding steady as Rob kept the runway lined up in his gun sight. His left paw manipulated the throttle, his right paw held the stick, and his feet pushed the rudder pedals, a constant dance to maintain his control with a slight crosswind. Crossing the threshold at 200, Rob cut the throttle and flared for touchdown. The Fitter sank onto its main landing gear, which bucked on touchdown, the tires squeaking and smoking upon impact with the pavement. Rob felt a jolt and held the nose wheel off as he deployed his drag parachutes. Two orange and white cruciform 'chutes popped out from its tail cone. With speed bleeding off, he let the nose wheel gently touch down on the centerline, and he continued to apply brakes to bleed off speed.

Midway was home to Centoh Chicago, the western hub of his cargo division. Linking to hubs in Lainsville, Columbus, and now Biloxi, it was a busy home of Barev's aging fleet of piston powered airliners hauling cargo in a jet age market. The main hangar of Centoh read "FLY CENTOH CHICAGO" in big red letters that glowed at night, reminiscent to airline marketing of the 1950's. It seemed fitting for a fleet composed mostly of 1950's propliners. Rob turned and arrived on the ramp. He was guided in by ground crew, who watched Rob release the parachutes that dragged behind the jet. The jet wash kicked them away as they ran out to fetch them. Rob turned and parked, where the gear was chocked. He powered down the engine and slid the canopy back, to stand up and stretch. A ladder was brought over and propped up beside the cockpit, allowing Rob to gingerly get down to the ground.

"Rob! Good morning!" came his hub director, Gary Morton. He was a slightly chubby, older gray wolf, with tousled, graying hair, and always clutching a clipboard tucked under an arm.

"Morning." Rob responded.

"Everything's ship shape here at Midway!"

"Good."

Grabbing his bag from the electronics bay, Rob left the Fitter to his ground crew. He tossed his bag into the passenger side of his company SUV, a white Tahoe, that read "BAREV" on the doors, in blue Square Serif. Rob popped it into drive and took off, ready to begin the short commute over to the plant.

In front of Pershing Street sat the towering brick building that was Barev's factory. The Chicago Glass and Optics Company was a complex that spanned two and a half blocks, with a series of interconnected buildings. Across the street was a big city park, and a row of small businesses and residential neighborhoods.

Rob turned off Pershing and pulled into the entry of the factory. He stopped and flashed his badge for his security guard that guarded the entrance. Barev's security was the ironically named "Department of Safety", Rob's intimidating "Blackshirts". Every Barev facility was guarded by members of the security team, which totaled 200 men across several states. They wore black or gray shirts, slacks, and ties, with a bullet resistant vest, and a Glock pistol strapped to their hip. Not only did they provide security, they handled background checks, and investigations into internal theft and other employee related problems. The entire security apparatus was controlled out of Virginia by Brad Johnson, Rob's head of security services. They were the fearless, ruthless security that held law and order at all Barev facilities.

Rob turned and parked his SUV into the executive space. He hopped out with his bag and stopped at the entrance where he saw a security guard, awaiting with a temperature gun. Rob donned his surgical mask and flashed his vaccine card and badge, as the guard took his temperature.

"Rob, you're good to go~"

"I sure hope so." Rob quipped as he stepped inside the lobby. The rectangular lobby had a television, which played a loop of Barev's latest announcements and headlines, and a desk, which sat between two doors, one which led to the sales office, and the other, the factory floor. The lobby desk was empty of a receptionist; the entire sales office was sent home to quarantine and await test results. It was another operational blunder under the leadership of Ryan Vlockner. Larry Elwood, one of the salesmen of CGOC, had tested positive for Covid, and still came to work, and exposed everyone in the office. It was the sixth time that this had happened after Barev had taken over CGOC. Rob was growing very impatient in the lagging vaccination rates in the company.

Avoiding the office like a plague, which was due to be disinfected by a cleaning crew, Rob ventured down the hallway that led to the factory floor. He stepped into the manufacturing hall through a set of double doors. The manufacturing hall was four stories tall, with brick walls that had the original wrought iron framed windows that filtered light in. The hall was broken up into separate assembly lines that were encased in their own clean rooms. Rob walked down the hallway and watched people in white and yellow bunny suits inside, working on lenses. It was a meticulous process that impressed Rob, as he watched people go about their business inside.

He made a quick tour of the entire factory floor, including the glass foundry, where raw silica was melted in the giant blast furnaces and poured into moulds by workers clad in silver suits. Rob didn't stick around long in the extremely hot foundry, and quickly finished up his tour of the assembly area.

Walking across the bridge the spanned across an access road to the back lot, Rob entered the warehouse on the third floor. He walked up and leaned against the steel railing to peer out at all the racking. An electric reach truck hummed down the track, and a hardhat clad worker guided him in the turn to grab a pallet of product. Rob's eyes scanned the scenery and took notice of Brent Vlockner, asleep at his desk. Rob's eyes squinted in disdain.

Walking down the steps, Rob fumed the whole way down. He had a great disdain for Brent, the little brother to plant manager Ryan. For several months, Rob had been pressuring Ryan to do something about his brother and his blatant incompetence. Since day one of taking over CGOC, Rob had immediately seen Brent as a problem, after watching him crash a forklift into another lift backing up. He was lazy, and milked excessive overtime, but what little work he did do, was at best, a halfassed job.

Stepping onto the warehouse floor, Rob marched across the floor with a scowl hidden behind his mask. Workers paused and watched Rob march by with a determined pace. Brent, a lanky gray wolf with a messy mop of blonde hair, slept with his head slumped down and his arms crossed. Rob marched up and kicked the back of his chair as hard as he could. Brent was flung forward, onto his desk and was immediately startled awake.

"WAKEY-WAKEY!" Rob shouted.

"HUDDAH!" Brent shouted. He got up and stood straight, staring at Rob's disdainful gaze. "Rob! Uhh, what are you doin' here?"

"Sleeping on the job eh? Why don't get some fucking work done, Ricky Retardo!"

"I am getting work done!"

"Where!? In your dreams?"

"I've been workin' Rob! Trust me!"

"Yeah...sure..."

"I have, buddah!"

Rob pointed at him. "Don't ever let me catch you sleepin' on the job... or you'll get shitcanned."

"I don't think so! Ryan wouldn't stand for it! Neither would our big brotha, Sam!"

"I don't give a shit!" Rob shouted. "I don't pay you to catch up on some winks, I pay you to run this warehouse!"

"Everyone always blames me for problems in the warehouse!" Brent protested.

"Do you run the warehouse, Brent?"

"Well yeah~"

"Then it is your fault!" Rob shouted. He rolled his eyes, turned, and walked away to leave. Everyone watched Rob push open the double doors and disappear from view.

Light that filtered through the office windows captured the haze of disinfectants. In the empty sales office, a small army of workers, clad head to toe in protective gear, sprayed and wiped everything down. The air was heavy with chemicals as Rob watched with Ryan Vlockner. The wolf-hybrid stood clad in a gray-green Soviet L-1 chemical suit, his head concealed behind a rubber IP-46 mask in the same color. His eyes peered out through the circular eye pieces, a corrugated breathing hose connected to a canvas rucksack that was strapped to his chest, providing filtered, pressurized air. Nitrile gloves were concealed beneath thick leather welding gloves, protecting his paws as he stood there, observing.

Ryan wore a gray Tyvek suit with blue nitrile gloves, and a painter's respirator with goggles. He was a stocky gray wolf, with some of his tousled brown hair poking out from beneath the suit's hood over his head. Both of them stood watching the cleaning company do their work inside the office.

"This is costing the company thousands of dollars each time." Rob said, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask. "This is the sixth time a cleaning company has come in to unfuck this pandemic."

"It's a virus, what do you want me to do?" Ryan asked.

Rob rolled his eyes. "I'm not even gonna waste my breath..."

"What? What? What are you going to say?" Ryan asked in an annoyed tone. Rob found his Chicago drawl annoying.

"How you could take people's temperatures... don't let them in if they're sick, and maybe improve office ventilation, masks, yada-yada-yada..."

"There is only so much I can do, Rob! C'mon now!"

"Stupid." Rob blurted out.

"I'm stupid!"

"I ain't talking to anybody else in the room here!" Rob exclaimed.

"You are so quick to just insult and-"

"Yeah, I call 'em as I see 'em." Rob shook his head. He motioned Ryan to follow him out of the office. Rob held the door open and Ryan stepped out, followed by Rob who closed the door. He took a couple steps and undid the neck strap holding the hood around his mask. Rob pulled the mask off, looking visibly irritated at Ryan.

"This is getting out of control, Ryan, and you know it." Rob pointed.

"I don't know why you are blaming me for what Larry did?" Ryan said all defensively. "I can't control what Larry does!"

"You are the plant manager to this entire facility, and you are responsible for everything that goes on in here! You took that position knowing that you will take the credit, and take the blame for anything that happens within this brick and mortar complex! The past seven months since our merger has been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster because of these constant outbreaks, which has killed two employees! And between Covid, we have the other virus! Your brother!" Rob lectured.

"Whoa, whoa, leave Brent out of this!"

"Sixty? Seventy? Eighty? Hour weeks! All that excessive overtime and for what!? Him to just dick off and fuck around milking money doing nothing!"

"How can you just say that, I've seen-"

"How can I say this? Because he doesn't work! That warehouse looks like a train wreck! Everything looks haphazard- OH! And I found him fucking asleep when I ventured in there. I told you to fix this problem several times now, and my patience is wearing really thin, Ryan."

"What do you want me to do!? Fire him?"

"YES!" Rob screamed. He threw his arms up in disgust.

"I can't fire him! He's my brother!"

"You know what... fuck it..." Rob shook his head. "I expect something to be done about Brent."

"Look, I'll talk to him."

"Yeah, that's what you said the last eight times..." Rob griped. "You know what... I'm gonna tell you point blank here... I'm gonna mandate vaccines for this entire company. Everyone's gonna get a Covid jab, and I don't care!"

"Whoa! WHOA! WAIT!" Ryan exclaimed. "You can't do that!"

"Oh yes, I can. Barev's a private company." Rob curtly stated. "This situation is getting out of control, and having good faith in people to do the right thing just ain't gonna cut it anymore."

"You're gonna piss so many people off! You can't just force people to get vaccinated!"

"You didn't get to go to school without your MMR, boosters, and some colleges won't take you without a meningitis shot. So there's that. Supreme Court has also ruled that vaccine mandates are constitutional."

"What about people who can't take the shot?" Ryan exclaimed. "What, what about people who think this vaccine is a bit rushed or unsafe, or-"

"I have no patience for people who believe in that shit, and as for people who can't take the shot? Like who? The point one percent of people who had a very serious reaction, and would probably have the same reaction to ANY vaccine? Quit grasping at straws and quit being part of the problem. The same people who worry about a rushed vaccine or what's in it, are the same motherfuckers eating horse dewormer or drinking Betadine. Fucking stupid."

"I don't think it's a great idea... and as plant manager-"

"As plant manager, you are going to go through with my order, as you are my subordinate, and I supersede you, as does Maverick Tokarev. What I say, will be executed here, with zero questions. And if you don't like it, your retarded brother doesn't like it? Or anyone else? There's the fucking door. Wanna talk about freedom and whatnot? Well there you have it."

Ryan blankly stared at Rob's irate face. He just turned and walked away, with a frustrated smack of his paws against his hips. Rob took his welding glove off and smacked his face with his blue nitrile gloved paw. He took a slow deep breath and exhaled through clenched teeth.

Taking a break to clear his mind and grab lunch, Rob spent the rest of the day overseeing operations and having a few meetings outside with Ryan and the plant management to discuss the future plans of the factory. Rob left at three o'clock and returned back to the airport, where his Fitter awaited him for the flight back to Newark.

Rocketing off Midway's runway, the silver Su-7 lifted off and climbed away with a smoky plume behind it. Rob circled over the city and began his turn to head eastbound. He passed over the Loop, which he peered down in his shallow turn. He thought about maybe exploring it one day with Maverick if they weren't too busy in town. Chicagoland soon disappeared behind him as he rocketed on home, the gray concrete landscape becoming rural farmland once again.

Alone in the sky, Rob sat in the ejection seat guiding his heavy handling Fitter home. He thought about recent events in his life, and his attempts to moderate his rage. Last year was ruthless and unforgiving to him after spending half the year really sick. He had hoped that 2020 was going to be "his year", but instead started off the year in the hospital, when a propeller fell off an aircraft in maintenance and crushed his pelvis. He spent weeks recovering from it, and when he finally started to feel better, he was hit by a serious case of hospital acquired pneumonia, that left him bedridden for almost two months. Emerging from all that, in the midst of a pandemic that killed almost seven hundred thousand Americans in one year, Rob was left physically emaciated, and mentally burned out. He wanted to change, he wanted to get rid of the stewing rage that always churned deep inside him, like a constant grudge against society. But every time he'd make an effort, life would always throw a fast one and crush his attempts. It was an awful feeling, and Rob felt powerless at times to stop it. From all the trauma in his life- an emotionally abusive father, his gay bashing as a teenager, and lingering health issues stemming from it, it felt like a great pressure always crushing Rob down. It felt as though the world rested on his shoulders each and every day.

Returning home at the end of the day, Rob pulled into his driveway and slowly rolled under the carport that covered part of the driveway. He pulled up and backed into his large garage, parking it next to his husband's sports car. His yard was mostly taken up by the giant garage, with the rest of the space taken by a deck and a well planted garden and small pond. Rob closed the main door to the garage and emerged through a side door that led to the deck.

Emerging from the garden was Greenie, his pet Mallard Duck. Greenie was a drake that Rob had saved as a duckling from drowning the year before, when his feet got entangled in some string. A leg got injured from the string, which led to him limping constantly. He found Rob again in December and followed him back home, where Rob took him in as his green headed companion. He chirped at Rob and flapped his wings, his way of greeting Rob, who knelt down to pet his soft green head.

"Hey Greenie, how are you?" Rob asked, only to get a few more chips back. "C'mon, let's go inside for dinner~"

Greenie flew up the couple steps and waited at the sliding glass door for Rob to open it. He slid the door open and Greenie waddled on inside, with Rob stepping in after him. An exhausted Rob was finally home.

After getting himself cleaned up, he sat down for dinner with Joey. Rob always sat opposite of Joey at their round dinner table in the small dining room. Rob's single story ranch was a somewhat open floor layout, with the kitchen open to the dining room and living room, with a huge stone wall that made up the fireplace in the living room. The house was quiet; his nephew was out shooting a video with his friends, and his adopted son had moved out with his now husband to their new home in Newark.

"Dare I ask how your day went?" Joey said with an amused smirk on his face. He was a well built black and tan Brazilian Dober, wearing his usual tanktop and shorts that showed off his muscular frame.

"Eh, it wasn't bad. Just annoying." Rob shrugged, as he accepted a plate from him. "What about you?"

"Ha, where do I start." Joey smiled. "Well, so we reinstated our mask policy...and people are all pouting about it. You know, the same guys who in one breath talk about not being sissies or snowflakes, and then have a complete meltdown 'cause they have to cover their douchebag goatee with a mask. Crazy!"

Rob just rolled his eyes. "Fucking idiots."

"That's what Dad said too." Joey chuckled. "I chucked a couple fuckers outta the gun store because of that. Wear the fucking mask or no guns for you!"

"Did you say it with the soup Nazi voice too?"

"I didn't, but Rick did." Joey laughed.

"Ha, that's funny shit right there." Rob chuckled as he took a bite of his pot roast.

"What about your annoying day?" Joey asked with a teasing smile.

Rob shrugged. "Just the usual shit in Chicago. Whiny plant manager who couldn't lead a silent prayer, and his ate too many paint chips brother just fucking things up. The sales office got disinfected, again, for the umpteenth time, and I told Ryan that we're mandating vaccines- which reminds me, I have to have a zoom meeting with the other dingleberries in charge."

"Heh, thankfully everyone at our gun shop got vaccinated." Joey grimaced a bit. "Randy had Covid-19 and that shit put him in the hospital for two days around Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, fuck around, find out." Rob shook his head.

"So you're gonna mandate vaccines eh?"

"I'm going to have to. I'm tired of this idea that people will do the right thing. They won't. People are too selfish, and stupid, to do the right thing. So fuck 'em. This world, Joey- we live in a world where goodness is murdered and mediocre hacks thrive."

"True." The Doberman nodded.

"Yeah, sorry... not to spoil a day." Rob shook his head.

"Nah, you're fine." Joey smiled. "It's been even a trying time for me..."

"I got vaccinated, and had hopes that this year would be better, and then of course, people just fuck that up!"

"Yeah, I'm disappointed, Rob." Joey frowned a bit. "When I got the last shot, I thought of what a great summer it was going to be."

"Ha, yeah right. Here comes Delta~"

"Well there's one good thing, your birthday coming up in a few days!"

"What's good about that?" Rob sarcastically quipped.

"You're gonna be thirty-nine!"

"God, near gay death."

"Honey, you've been gay dead since as long as I can tell." Joey teased.

Rob snorted at the quip. "Yeah, no shit, Joey."

"Now me?" Joey said, flexing an arm with a grin. "Like a fine wine, motherfucker! Better with age!"

"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" Rob exclaimed as he burst out laughing with Joey.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." The Doberman chuckled. "About choked on my food there!"

"Call you Donald Trump with that narcissism." Rob teased.

"Whoa, listen here Nixon." Laughed Joey.

"Nixon!"

"Yeah!"

"I'm Nixon?"

"You are the love child of Nixon and Hitler!" Joey teased with a hearty laugh. "At least Nixon had intelligence, unlike the Orange Julius~"

Rob just shook his head. "This whole nation's fucked."

"Sometimes... I think that too." Joey sighed.

Venturing downstairs to his office, Rob carried Greenie in his arms as he made the turn at the base of the steps and went to his bedroom sized office. Stepping inside, he flipped on the floor lamp, which cast everything in a soft amber glow. Compared to his somewhat spartan work office, his personal office was well decorated; he had bookshelves that lined the back wall, housing books, manuals, videotapes, more vacuum tubes, and models of aircraft and spacecraft. The walls had family photos displayed, including a portrait of his late mom and dad, who he was estranged from when they both had passed away. His desk was a large lacquered stained desk, which held two large monitors to his workstation. Above it was a large screen TV, bolted to the wall.

Rob sat down at his chair and sat Greenie on the desk. His little drake liked to sit at one end of the desk and just observe Rob work, as he got logged into his workstation, to get connected to Zoom and get a-hold of everyone for an impromptu meeting. As he got his webcam setup, a knock came at his door, Joey stepping inside holding a manila envelope in his grip.

"Sorry to interrupt Rob, but the mailman came a bit late. You have a package from a Sam Martin~"

"Oh great, thank you Joey" Rob said, accepting the big envelope from him. Joey closed the door behind him as Rob got connected with everyone. On his monitors, he saw a video feed from Maverick, his nephew Marcus, who ran Barev's video division, Ryan Vlockner and FotoChem plant manager Julia Simpson in Chicago, Ryan Bolton, who ran Barev One in Virginia, Jaska Saari and Sheryl Voyager, who ran Centoh Intermodal, and his southern director, Martin Bixby, who oversaw Centoh's Biloxi hub, and also the construction of two medical PPE factories Barev was building with a government grant down in Mississippi.

"Hey thank you for joining for this impromptu meeting." Rob greeted.

"What's up Rob?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah, what's going on?" Martin asked, a burly Rottweiler who had a southern drawl to his voice.

"I've spoken to Ryan about this when I was in Chicago today, and I'm going to make this official, but I want to hear input from all of you. I am going to mandate that all employees of Barev be vaccinated against Covid-19, after the latest outbreak that happened at Barev Two."

"I still have my reservations." Vlockner shook his head.

"I'm fine with it." Jaska nodded. The black wolf spoke with a Finnish accent as he sat at his dinner table. "As far as I know, most of Centoh's pilots are vaccinated, but the ground crew is another story."

"Yeah, a bunch of knuckle draggers." Rob rolled his eyes.

"I personally have no problems with this, but I'm afraid of the recruitment issues, as Mississippi has a very low vaccination rate..."

"...hence why Mississippistan has such a bad Delta outbreak." Maverick chuckled.

"Well now we can boost those numbers up a bit more." Rob shrugged. "Look, I understand if there's reservations, Vlockner, but we are facing a problem that is once again spiraling out of control."

"I think, if we increase the incentive some more you will-"

"So getting five hundred bucks ain't enough to get a fucking free jab?" Rob cut in. "What other time in this world would people get free money to get a shot? West Virginia is giving free guns to people for Christ's sake. How much more do people want? How much more data, science, whatever, do people need to be convinced to do this for their health."

"Ryan, with all due respect, I mandated vaccines for Barev One, and it's been a huge improvement." Bolton chimed in. "I am sick and tired of people not following the rules and then fucking everything up."

"Exactly." Rob nodded.

"We mandated vaccines, and we've had just one case, and it was very mild, and nobody else got sick." Bolton reasoned. "It's time that the leniency and good faith has to stop, and the vise has to be tightened."

"Vaccine refusniks threaten the operation of Barev." Marcus bluntly stated.

"A sick workforce is an unproductive workforce." Sheryl chimed in.

"Well, what am I going to say to my guys? What about my brother?" Vlockner said defensively. "My brother takes Ivermectin and hydroxycholroquine!"

"Well that would make sense..." Mav shook his head. "Ricky doing everything wrong."

"At least when he goes on the vent, he won't have worms or malaria~" Rob shook his head.

"Well you don't know if he would get Covid!"

"It's not a matter of if now, Vlockner! It's a matter of when!" Maverick exclaimed.

"Here's what you do, Vlockner, you grow some balls, and you tell people, tough luck, get the shot, or you're fired. I'm tired of this game. We've been in this pandemic for almost two years now, and people still get Rudy Giuliani eyes pondering how they got sick. This is being mandated, and I don't care anymore."

"No more playing nice." Bolton shook his head. "It's worked for us."

"Fuck it. Fine." Vlockner huffed.

"I'm afraid that this may derail our recruitment efforts down here."

"They can get over it." Rob quipped. "If they want good money? They're gonna get jabbed. I don't care."

"Very well."

"I will be making an official announcement tomorrow, so be prepared to send out the email announcement, and I will be making a video for this, so Mav-O, I'll need you and Marcus."

"Yes Rob!" Mav exclaimed.

Over discussions amongst each other about their various departments, Rob listened in as he opened his envelope, which was addressed to him, coming from Sam Martin, who lived in Williamstown New York. Sam was a young wolf Rob had befriended last year, when he was forced to do community service in Akron. Working at a community center, he met Sam, who was nine years old, doing school there in the computer lab. They would eat lunch together and talk about history, science, photography, and aviation, and Rob would drive him back home so he wouldn't have to walk across town alone. After his parents died in an accidental house fire, Rob helped arrange him to live with his aunt and uncle in upper New York. They stayed in touch via letter, sending photos and trinkets back to each other. Rob often sent him rolls of film as a gift, to support his photography hobby.

As Maverick cracked a joke, Rob pulled out a letter written by Sam on a sheet of copy paper. He included a couple full sized photos he had taken recently on his 35mm that Rob had given to him. Rob looked at the photos, showing a woodland hiking trek with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and a scenic lakeside view, with a campfire glowing against the evening sky. Sam notated on the back that he shot it with a roll of Ektar 400. He sat the photos down and read the letter.

"Dear Rob,

I hope you have been doing okay! Summer has been

wonderful here in Williamstown. I've been having a

lot of fun with my family. I hope you've been having

fun back home in Ohio. I really liked the photos of

your new jet- the Su-7 right? I hope to see it fly

in person! When do you think you could come

and visit? Or if I could come to the museum

sometime?

I really love this Ektar film. It's a lot nicer than

The Fujifilm. The Nikon seems to like it a lot

more too. I'll send more pictures when I

can!

Your friend,

Sam"

Rob had a smile flash across his face for a moment as he sat the letter down and thought about it for a moment. He turned his attention back to the conversation, announcing to Martin that he planned on flying down to Biloxi to inspect things on a Friday, and told Bolton he would be planning a visit to Fairfax to check in on Barev One.

"Please don't fly the black Messerschmitt..." Bolton shook his head.

"Nah." Rob chuckled. "You unfucked that plant..." Rob's eyes turned to glare at Vlockner.

"A little blood sweat and tears Rob! Oh, and Gerome being a big help too."

"Heh, little Carlton Banks." Rob teased.

"He should do the dance sometime." Mav laughed.

"Oh lord..." Bolton laughed.

Finishing up his meeting, Rob said goodbye and goodnight to everyone and ended the conference. He gave Greenie a few pets and grabbed a letterhead to write back to Sam.

"Dear Sam,

It's going, though not as great as I would

honestly like. But that's life you know? Sometimes

we have to weather the bad, to appreciate the good.

Lots of work dealing with the company, and some new

growing pains from a new factory in the metropolis

of Chicago.

And yes! It's an Su-7. A Su-7BKL to be exact. This

Fitter-B came from Ukraine, with a batch of other

Combloc aircraft. It was relatively easy to get

put back together and flown. Typical Soviet

engineering- simple and strong. The Fitter flies

about as well as it looks- heavy controls, but

really docile in the air. I'll definitely show you

when I get a chance!

As for a visit, I'm not sure yet, Sam. I had hoped

our Covid numbers would be in a better spot,

but unfortunately they're not. I don't want you

to get sick again with this dreaded illness.

(Don't take horse dewormer!)

Keep up the pictures, I really enjoy seeing them!

You are mastering that camera in no time! I'll send

you more film as always.

Your friend,

Rob"

Sitting back in his chair, Rob stretched his arms and yawned a bit. Something compelled him to look at some photos in his archive. Sitting up, he went into his archive, through the various folders, to some old photos that he had scanned and digitized, photos that were over twenty years old now. He pulled up on his desktop, a picture of himself, and his friends, standing under the bright floodlights of White's field following a football game.

Seventeen year old Rob stood with his ex-boyfriend, CJ Johnson, who was the football quarterback. Rob stood with Vlad, Kalash, and Dmitry Tokarev, which means that Maverick had to have taken the picture. Rob had his broadcast camera with him, his anachronistic tube based Betacam, a 1985 Ikegami HL-95B that he held in his grip. Rob remembered that day, a cold Friday October evening, back in 1999, one month before his almost fatal gay bashing at school. He had such a happy, cheerful smile on his face. Everyone looked so young, so nineties. Closing out that photo, Rob went to look at his most recent portrait, taken just a month ago.

Popping up on the screen was a new head and shoulders portrait of Rob, showcasing his new hairdo of slicked back brown hair. Rob had a stern gaze on his scarred face, his eyes looking empty. The youthfulness of his face was gone, his scowl the consequence of facial paralysis that numbed his face. The dark, jagged scar stood out on Rob's face, a solemn reminder to the brutality he had faced in the attack that almost killed him. In a few days, he would be thirty-nine years old, but he looked as though he was pushing near fifty-five. Rob blamed himself for the premature aging; all the anger and hate that poisoned his heart, the disgruntlement and shock from what had happened, and all the years stewing about it, mixing with the various accidents and incidents that further injured and scarred his body. The violent car accident, the bad plane crash, and all the scuffles. Sometimes Rob thought about what might have been, had that day in November 1999 never happened. Perhaps he could have had a quiet, normal life, but he'll never know. "God only knows" he would say to himself with a hint of irony, being a irreligious man.

Taking Greenie back upstairs with him, Rob retired for the night to his bedroom, where he found Joey already sitting up in bed, playing around with his phone. Rob sat Greenie on the bed, where he made his way over and sat next to Joey. Rob got dressed in his red and white striped pajamas and got situated in bed.

"Another day down~" Joey smiled at Rob. Rob didn't even attempt to muster a smile as he sat up in bed.

"Yeah." Rob nodded.

"You okay?" Joey asked, setting his phone down.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Well, sort-of." Rob hesitated. "Oh I had one of my what might have been thoughts..."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Rob."

"I know, I know, but sometimes it makes me think about everything, and where I'm trying to go... I want to change things, especially after the past year and a half... and I have to really restrain myself when people want to push me to the limit... gah! It's so frustrating, Joey. I'm tired of the chaos."

"Understandable." The Doberman nodded. "I mean...the past seventeen months have been a fucking nightmare, an unmitigated disaster made worse by incompetent people and politicians with an agenda..."

"Last year really beat the shit out of me, and compelled me to start making changes in my life~"

"Hey, never too late to start!" Joey encouraged. "I remember when I was hitting rock bottom in my mid twenties, and had to change things. ...a damn overdose will do that. It just happens... sometimes we have to reset and pick a new life trajectory."

"Yeah."

"You've been through a lot Rob. But always remember that that gives you a unique perspective on things- it's given you the empathy to help people when they need help. So not everything was bad, heh, sugarcoated!" Joey explained, chuckling a bit at the end.

"Yeah, that's an understatement." Rob said, with a sardonic "ha" at the end.

"I should be a comedian~" Joey teased with a grin.

"I'm tired of just fighting with people all the time. All the physical altercations, all the legal debacles... I want calm~ Why is calm so hard?"

"Sadly the world isn't calm~" Joey shook his head.

"Sadly no."

"Why don't you get some shuteye, and let your mind rest." Joey suggested.

"Yeah, good idea~"

Joey smiled, leaned in, and gave Rob a kiss. Rob smiled and gave him a kiss in return. "Love you Joey."

"Love you, Rob~" Joey smiled as he turned the lamp off. "And good night Greenie~"

Rob laid his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling for a bit. Greenie slept above his head as he stared at the ceiling beams above his head, thinking about what might have been in his life, before exhaustion finally took him to a deep slumber.

Under a dim dawn sky, "Coneflower" taxied on the service road. The posh and polished Lockheed rolled with all four radials turning, spewing dull red flames that flickered from the exhausts. The curvaceous Super Constellation was Rob's personal transport for Barev, the shimmering bare metal plane adorned in the markings of Barev. Piloted by Rob himself, he cranked the nose wheel steering and turned to get onto the runway. His co-pilot, Jordan Hoover, advanced the throttles just as Rob straightened out on the centerline. The four R-3350 Cyclone's roared to life, the shimmering Curtiss propellers etching red, white, and blue discs from the tips of the blades. Bright red flames, flickering with orange and yellow erupted from the engine's turbine exhausts. A deep, throaty roar filled the old propliner. Rob and Jordan pulled the plane up into a slow climb, its spidery landing gear slowly retracting away as the slumbering city of Heath passed below. Rob watched the morning sun come blinding into view, which he donned his sunglasses and switched to monitoring his instrumentation.

"Everything looks good on my end..." Vlado said over their headsets. The burly Croat served as the flight engineer.

"When we hit altitude, I'll turn it over to ya, Ivo." Rob said to Vlado's son, twenty-seven year old Ivo, who almost looked like a clone of his father, complete with tattoo sleeves.

"Right on!" he acknowledged.

Rob glanced out the cockpit windows, watching the big propellers roar outside. Newly overhauled Curtiss propellers, and a brand new R-3350 for engine number one, complemented the L-1049E's latest IRAN.

"Not a bad plane considering I cobbled it together from three different airframes." Rob chuckled amusingly.

"What will they think of next?" the German Shepherd teased with a snort at the end.

"Flies as well as she looks~" Rob boasted.

Reaching 11,000 feet, Rob engaged the autopilot and turned the captain's chair over to Ivo, who took command of the Connie with his boyfriend. Rob exited the cockpit, leaving his crew to navigate, as he returned to the cabin. "Coneflower" was his executive transport, and the narrow fuselage was neatly adorned with almost all the comforts of home. The forward half of the Connie was an open lounge, with some card tables and plush seating. There was a miniature editing suite for video editing, and a faux wood bulkhead, which separated the compartment from the galley, bathrooms, and a mid-section, which had normal airline seating for twenty passengers. The extreme tail of the aircraft was Rob's private quarters, complete with a desk and bed.

Rob took a seat with Maverick at one of the card tables, which gave him an excellent view of engines three and four pounding away outside. Rob always enjoyed the muffled "radial song", the mesmerizing drone of synchronized propellers. The table was strewn with a mountain of paperwork, all of it dealing with Barev's multiple lawsuits. Barev was being sued by a disgruntled employee, Steve Narovec, who was fired for accidentally killing an employee with a Klystron in the test chamber, which exposed Jerry Schultz to a lethal X-ray blast. Jerry's family was suing Barev for the accident, a double whammy. Adding to their headaches was a lawsuit from an irrelevant actor, Mario Schleppi, a Chicagoan. Adding to Rob's headaches and his negative thoughts on the windy city, Mario was suing Barev for millions, after he had started a fight in their studio and got punched, landing him headfirst into a spotlight that severely burned the top of his head. The mountain of legalese was pertaining to their negotiated settlements, which was dragged out by bureaucracy.

"Alrighty, back to this fuckery." Rob grumbled. "Hopefully this will finally fix this stupid clusterfuck."

"And the fact they couldn't accept this electronically?" Maverick rolled his eyes. "Stupid."

"They want the legal documents all original to make sure its legitimate..." Rob shook his head. "Fine."

"Get it over and done with it." The Russian husky quipped over a sip of coffee. "I want Steve-O gone, and I want Mario gone, especially. No talent fucking assclown."

"Fuck Mario. Fucking dicktree."

"Damn douchecanoe."

"Fucktard." Rob fired back, which made both of them laugh.

"So we'll fly to Fairfax, turn this shit in, and then head to Mississippistan."

"That's the plan." Rob nodded. "What a long day this is gonna be."

"Think about the money..."

"Long term~" Rob added with a sarcastic point. "I'm gonna set the record straight down in Biloxi...I'm tired of the petty complaints about equipment and the schedule slippages because of that incompetent construction company!"

"What about the equipment again?"

"Oh, the plant manager is unhappy about the electric forklifts that the southern director ordered. So I'm gonna see to that." Rob grumbled. "Like fucking children, fighting about stupid shit."

"Well it is Mississippi."

"Yeah. But I'll take Mississippistan over Flori-Duh, or Alabamastan."

"I wonder if the US would have been better off if we just let the south secede..."

"I'd just sink it beneath the sea, but that's just me."

"Heh~" Maverick chuckled.

Rob fumbled his brow and got up to go fetch himself some coffee from the galley, which he returned a short time later with a mug that said "NO" in big red letters. Rob glanced at all the paperwork that was tucked away in binders and just shook his head as he took a slow sip of black coffee.

"It's been a long year and a half, Mav."

"Yeah, I agree it has been." The husky nodded with a bitter look on his face. "I can't believe Amy's been gone for a year now."

"Yep." Rob nodded solemnly.

"One minute the person you love is happy and well, and then fate just takes her away... to a place where I can no longer see her. Amy's death hurt so bad... I can't imagine this happening thousands of times a day across the country... loved one's dying to Covid. Whole families." Mav shook his head.

"That's why I mandated vaccines. I'm done waiting." Rob shook his head. "Employees got two months, or its termination."

"Anti-vaxxers are the most selfish, ignorant people I've met. It's all excuses because they're scared. That's it." Mav rolled his eyes. "But we're gonna piss a lot of people off, especially down south."

"Fuck 'em. They want good paying jobs? Roll the sleeve up, motherfucker!"

"That would make a great slogan!"

"Well, maybe a bit brash." Laughed Rob.

Maverick chuckled and finished the last of his coffee. "I notice a bit of a change in you lately Rob."

"Yeah?"

"You seem to be having a bit more of a good time lately... well... when the bullshit from Chicago don't come to your desk... You seem to act a bit more restrained on some issues..."

"Eh. It's a hit or miss." The wolf-hybrid admitted with a shrug. "People still piss me off, and I'd still hit the Vlockners in the fucking head with a shovel, but for my own sake... yeah... I'm trying to change things up in my life... but you know what they say... the more things change, the more they stay the same~"

"Heh, yeah. Same shit, different day~"

By eight in the morning, "Coneflower" arrived to Fairfax, where Rob and Maverick briefly met with Ryan Bolton and Gerome Robinson on the rain swept tarmac. Handing off all the paperwork to their company attorney, they welcomed Brad Johnson aboard the Constellation, the head of Barev's security team. He was traveling with them to Biloxi, to inspect the "southern security" for the company. Returning to the air, they flew four hours southwest, to Biloxi.

Rob peered out his window to watch the clouds pass by, high above the rocky, worn hills of the Appalachians in Tennessee. The huge R-3350's droned, the propellers shimmering in the sunlight. He turned his attention back to his paperwork that sat in front of him, as Maverick and Brad ate lunch together. Rob had the blueprints to what was going to become "Barev Four", a medical manufacturing complex, near Centoh's Biloxi hub at the Gulfport-Biloxi International Airport. The genesis of Barev Four was born out of Rob's disgust at the complete lack of preparation the United States had against the pandemic. There was a chronic shortage of basic medical supplies, which also hampered early rollout of the vaccine campaign. Rob decided to get into the medical business, to "do his part", and was aided along the way by a half-billion dollar government grant by the Biden Administration, from the Covid relief stimulus to construct the medical facility.

The blueprints depicted two buildings, one partially dedicated as a warehouse. The main building would house the machinery to manufacture medical hypodermic needles, surgical masks, and gloves and gowns, plus glassware like syringes and test tubes. The latter would be helped along by Barev already having experience with glassware manufacturing, like lenses and vacuum tubes. But like most things Rob had found out, it wasn't going to be a smooth process. In fact, Barev Four was rife with constant problems. There were issues with the construction company assigned, and incompetent contractors. Rob had a hard time recruiting employees, a larger issue facing the US job market. All the mistakes and slipups was pushing the medical facility further and further behind, which was eating into the grant's funds. A month of work per quarter was being lost by gross incompetence.

The L-1049E made a smooth, picture perfect landing at Gulfport-Biloxi. "Coneflower" rolled out and taxied to Centoh's brand new hangar, which had the red neon lights that read "FLY CENTOH BILOXI". Ground crew awaited them with the airstair as the plane gingerly taxied up on its spidery landing gear and squeaky brakes. Standing with the ground crew was the plant director for Barev Four, Brian Sheppen, a German Shepherd with tousled brown hair.

The rear hatch opened, revealing Rob. He stepped out onto the airstair and made his way down the steps first.

"Rob, welcome to Biloxi, and I hope your-"

"I was told you were making a fuss about the forklifts and other issues." Rob cut him off.

"...Well...I wouldn't exactly call it a fuss?"

"That's what I was told- the southern director said you were making a fuss about the electric tow motors."

"Well see for yourself~"

Across the street and adjacent from the terminal was the construction lot that was Barev Four. Encased in a tall fence topped by barbed wire, the entire construction zone was a dusty mess of activity as Rob walked over with Brian and their entourage, made up of Maverick with Felix and Marcus Barion, who walked with their cameras to document activity going on. The lot had two buildings being constructed, the main factory and connected offices, plus the warehouse. The concrete shell of the factory was slowly being erected around the steel support, while the warehouse was a steel structure with a metal roof installed.

Walking to the warehouse and fiddling around with his orange hardhat, Rob saw one of the electric reach trucks, as Brian pointed out that it was already broken. Tagged out, the red and gray Raymond had a busted wheel, and a bent mast. Rob's face stiffened into an unhappy gaze.

"This is what I'm talking about! These electric reach trucks are junk! They're not suitable for what we're gonna need in the warehouse! And the god damn construction guys keep fucking them up! This one's already been repaired twice- look at these scratches and dings!"

"Martin seemed very content with them as we use them in Centoh's warehouse." Rob mentioned.

"What we have here is worse than useless, Rob." Brian pointed out. "I would like this facility to adopt propane powered sit-down lifts, or heck, even electric sit-down ones with enhanced weight capacity. These things couldn't lift my mother-in-law!"

"Martin seems rather satisfied with the way things are." Rob responded.

"Well he's wrong."

Rob glared a bit at Brian. "So he's wrong, and you're right?"

"One hundred percent! And if he was standing right here? I'd tell it to his face, again!"

Rob fumbled his lips and grumbled something as he looked at the broken down Raymond. He looked over at the others on their charging stations, looking in similar sorry shape by incompetent use. Rob turned his attention back to the German Shepherd.

"Alrighty then. I'll see what I can do to get rid of these pieces of shit. I'll talk to Martin, and get the ball rolling."

"Thank you."

Rob continued on his tour of the construction site, to observe the factory being built. The factory building was loud, with the hiss of pneumatic tools, the growl of saws cutting concrete, and the electric buzz of welding underway. Amber sparks rained down as a steel beam was welded to its concrete column bracket.

Rob met back up with Brad, an imposing black and rust Doberman, who spoke to the leader of Barev's southern security, Sam Mueller, head of the "southern battalion". Sam was a middle-aged German Shepherd, an ex-Jackson Mississippi cop, who was fired from his job for excessive force when a high speed car chase ended in a seventy car pileup. Sam and Brad stood talking to a two other security members in a beam of light coming in through an open section of the unfinished roof. Rob stood with Brian and the security guys, having a conversation about the situation with Barev's southern division, when his eyes wandered around to seeing a worker haphazardly taking a break with his feet kicked up without his boots. Rob grew annoyed at the lackadaisical construction workers he saw. Their "fuck you" attitude always made Rob grind his teeth in frustration.

"Who the fuck does this motherfucker think he is?" Rob said to Brian, pointing.

"Oh, that's Pedro. That's what he always does." Brian explained.

"Like another fucking Vlockner, doesn't he realize he's having a damn lunch break in the middle of a construction zone? Tell him to put his hardhat and boots back on and eat lunch outside the building- what the fuck does he think this is? A lounge?"

"Well I don't think that's my place, Rob, he's part of Woodbury-"

"I don't give a shit if he was a US senator- tell him to put his fucking feet back into his boots and get the fuck outta here."

Brian walked over to say something as Rob watched. The Shepherd made a remark and the brown wolf just brushed him off. Brian returned looking a bit frustrated.

"Fucking dickhead won't budge. Told me to fuck off."

Rob marched over there to say something. God forbid somebody got hurt at Barev Four, he'd never hear the end of it by OSHA.

"Hey, afternoon~" Rob greeted. "How are you?"

"Fine." Pedro responded, having a Spanish drawl. "How are you?"

"You know you're in a major construction zone- you mind putting your hardhat and boots back on and eat your lunch outside?"

"It's hot outside."

"It's hot in here."

"But there's shade."

"It's a construction zone." Rob said, his voice growing more irate. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Fuck you!" the wolf snapped at Rob. The wolf-hybrid stood with an incensed scowl on his face. Rob turned and walked away, back to his security guys. Rob marched right up to Brad, looking visibly angered.

"I want you guys to grab that fucking beaner, and exit him off this property NOW, and use his fucking head to open the fire door." Rob ordered.

Brad, Sam, and the other security guys marched over, surrounding the brown wolf.

"You are being ordered to leave." Brad announced.

"I need you to come with me." Sam ordered.

"Fuck you guys, I ain't going anywhere!"

Brad grabbed Pedro's feet and threw them off the sawhorse he had them propped up on. "BULLSHIT MOTHERFUCKER! YOU ARE OUTTA HERE!" the Doberman yelled as everyone grabbed Pedro before he could react. Pedro tried to put up a fight and was quickly restrained and picked up off his feet. He was carried past Rob, who watched, his body turning on a swivel to observe. Pedro yelled and called Rob a "piece of shit faggot" as he was carried by. Brad and Sam threw Pedro head first into the fire door and opened it with his head as he flung out to land in the dirt with a loud thud and a cloud of dust. Brad and Sam turned around and went about their business.

Rob watched Pedro get up and dust himself off in a daze. The wolf-hybrid's face was lit up with rage, his lips tightly pursed. Turning his attention away, Rob turned around to suddenly notice something peculiar on the dusty floor. A ray of light that shone through a hole in the concrete ceiling casted a harsh white glow on the floor. Dust wavered in the light. Rob tilted his head and noticed that the light's shape on the floor was that of a rectangle with numerous scallop patterns on it. He looked up to see the same identical shape, cut into the ceiling above.

"No fucking way!" Rob shouted. "What the fuck is this!?"

"Wha-what?" Brian muttered as he ran over. "Oh... oh no..."

"WHAT IS THIS!?" Rob pointed.

"That looks like a revision cloud... cut into the spot where they were going to revise the ventilation entry..."

"Are you fucking kidding me..." Rob glared.

"There's been problems with the labor."

"No shit!" Rob shouted as he ran towards the stairs for what would be the upstairs of the office. Rob ran up the concrete steps, which had two ninety degree bends to fit the contours of the stairwell shaft. Rob rounded the second turn, only to almost smash head first into a randomly placed column right at the end of the stairs. Rob fell to the ground and got covered in a gray coating of concrete dust.

"God damn! What the fuck?" Rob muttered, his eyes looking in disbelief at the random column right in the way. It made him even more upset. The construction guys completely flubbed the column location. He turned around and ran down the steps as fast he could. Rob furiously left the building and marched towards the jobsite trailer.

Woodbury Construction Services was the main contractor for building Barev Four. In one corner of the congested construction lot sat a beat up orange trailer, its paint bleached by the sun and sandblasted with a chipping company logo on the door. Inside, the congested trailer was manned by the superintendent of the site, and the foreman, with their underlings milling about and staying cool. The beat up trailer, strewn with blueprints, binders, and other documentation reeked of cigarette smoke and burnt coffee.

The superintendent sat in his office, messing around with a rubber band ball, while the foreman took a nap in his chair, unaware of the approaching hurricane that was an infuriated Rob.

The office door exploded open with a crashing "BOOM!" that stirred the foreman awake. He practically fell over as Rob stormed inside, his face twisted with rage.

"JACK!!!!!" Rob screamed. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"EXCUSE ME!" the chubby wolf shouted back.

"Oh shit it's Rob..." a worker muttered as he backed up.

"JACK! What the fuck is going on?"

"What?"

"Why did you guys fuck up the ceiling and a column!?" Rob shouted. "They cut a fucking random hole in the ceiling that looks oddly like a revision cloud in the blueprint! And why is there a column that's BLOCKING THE STAIRS! IT'S SEVERAL FEET OUT OF POSITION!"

"Well the framing guys musta fucked up."

"Yeah! No shit!" Rob yelled.

"What the hell's going on!" the superintendent exclaimed.

"Reid, the guys fucked up on the concrete, again."

"Oh fuck." The superintendent groaned. The black wolf smacked a paw across his face. "Jesus Christ..."

"That's gonna put this whole building behind schedule! AGAIN!"

"I told you to oversee it!" Reid yelled at Jack.

"I did oversee it!"

"No you didn't! All I ever saw you do was sit your fatass in here all day 'cause it was too hot!"

"Not my fault the Mexicans can't read English!"

"Oh my god!" Rob exclaimed. "You gotta be fucking kidding me!"

"We'll just have to knock that section out and repair it and-"

"THAT'S GONNA BE MORE TIME LOST! GAHHHHHHH!" Rob screamed. "I can't believe it! You let all these motherfuckers who can't speak English do all this work, and ALL YOU RETARDS SIT IN THIS OFFICE AND CIRCLE JERK EACH OTHER!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Jack exclaimed.

"Let's take it easy Rob."

"No I won't take it easy! This is Barev's money being pissed away! Again!" Rob blurted out. "This factory is never going to get finished on time because of all these fuckups! And that happens because YOU! THE FOREMAN! Is not out there supervising! You're too busy sitting in here like a lazy fat fuck!"

"HEY!" Jack yelled. He got up to confront Rob, only to be shoved back into his chair by the wolf-hybrid. The back legs collapsed from the impact, sending Jack into the flimsy folding table, which collapsed under his weight. A bunch of rolled up schematics fell all over him.

"I EXPECT ALL OF THIS FIXED!" Rob demanded. "ALL OF IT!"

Turning around, Rob furiously left the trailer, leaving the superintendent to stand at his office door with pursed lips. Jack got up and dusted himself off.

Rob and his entourage finished their Mississippi trip with a meeting with the future plant management, housed in a former credit union building for the time being. The down the road ex-bank would eventually become a training center for new hires. Discussions centered around plans on getting employees hired and trained, recruiting others in the medical industry, replacing the electric reach trucks, and mitigating problems with the construction project. Before leaving, Rob had an impromptu interview by a local Biloxi news station, which asked him some questions about the new complex, which was bringing further employment for Mississippians and perking people's interests. Returning to the airport, Rob and his entourage departed in "Coneflower", to begin the long journey back home.

A thin band of orange hung low on the western horizon. Night fell upon the mid-Atlantic, as "Coneflower" flew home, battling a headwind. The last bit of light colored the silver propliner and clouds a faint orange and purple. Blue flames flickered from the exhaust stubs of the four radial engines keeping them aloft. After dropping Brad back off at Fairfax, the Connie now flew west, a straight shot to Newark.

The cabin was brightly lit as Rob and Maverick sat around, playing with the editing console that occupied the aft section of the lounge. Marcus stood a bit away, playing around with his video camera, recording B-roll on his HL-791. Felix sat eating dinner alone at one of the card tables.

"All in all, it is what it is." Rob quipped as he unpackaged a Betacam cassette, which he shoved into the VTR, listening to it spool.

"I thought you did good talking to the reporters." Maverick complimented.

"Damage control." Rob laughed. "That's all!"

"Everything's damage control with you, Rob." The husky teased.

Hitting play, Rob and Maverick sat back and watched the footage that Marcus had recorded on their trip. On this tape it was b-roll from their meeting with the management team. Rob looking stern as usual as Martin and the others talked, and Maverick cracking jokes, which everyone laughed at. Rob played through, fast-forwarding through some sections, and stopping to watch him speak to a reporter about the medical production facility.

"So why a medical product plant?"

"Well...I was dismayed early on in the pandemic about the chronic lack of medical gear needed to cope with such an emergency. You'd think a country this big would have been better stocked and prepared for medical exigencies, ha, and here we are. So this is my desire to contribute something positive for the nation, and do good by employing people" Rob explained to the reporter.

"Now are you worried about the national trends of work shortages?"

"Not really. We have weathered that issue so far this year with our high wages. My rule of thumb is that if you pay people a living wage, plus a bit more, then the workers will come. I personally think the problem we're seeing in this country and labor shortages, is a worker revolt- people are tired of being worked to death for pitiful wages, and I cannot blame them one bit. Yes, we don't get as high of a profit, but what's the point of maximizing profits and personal gain, on the backs of others. It's not right, and it's unethical. Immoral, if you ask me."

Rob fast-forwarded a bit more to another section of the interview, where he talked about his business ethic.

"I got burned as an employee when I worked as a broadcast engineer for our school district many years ago, and that inspired me to start my own business with my best friend. One of the rules I follow by is strictly doing the right thing and helping those who are less fortunate, which Barev tries to do with charity, and providing employment opportunities. We have this factory being built here in Biloxi, which will help generate state revenue for Mississippians, and a future medical plant in my neck of the woods, which will employ hopefully about eight-nine hundred people. I really want to make my mark on the world, and do my part in contributing to society."

Rob chuckled at himself as he reached forward to rewind the tape back to the beginning. "Pull that shit outta my ass off the top of my head, Mav."

"Hey I liked it!" the husky exclaimed. "You did a good job."

"Well, I mean, it's true." Rob shrugged. "Take care of people, and they take care of business."

"Except for that Mexican you threw out." Maverick snorted.

"Fuck around, find out." Rob pointed at Mav with a pen.

Rob watched part of the meeting again, listening to Martin and Brian's concerns about Barev's vaccine mandate. Maverick could see the disgruntled stare return to Rob's face.

"I don't know what to tell these people? No jab? No dough?" Rob asked rhetorically. "Jesus, you'd think I'm asking people to give a kidney."

Maverick shook his head in annoyed disdain. "The consensus I get is that people are still wary of a vaccine that doesn't have official approval."

"Or they think it's gonna give you wireless five-G."

"Dude, I'd be so happy if I got five-G from a shot!" Maverick exclaimed. "No more dropped calls!"

"Heh." Rob chuckled. "There has been only a couple cases of serious complications from these shots, and that is no higher than background level for vaccine induced thrombosis or bell's palsy. These people have a better chance of dying from Covid than complications from the vaccine."

"You can tell em till you're blue in the face."

"Oh I am..." Rob said, as he ejected the videotape to stow it away. "It's gonna happen, or they won't have a job. I'm tired of people constantly fucking everything up spreading this shit in our company."

"Forty employees dying is forty too many." Maverick nodded.

"Yeah."

Rob took Monday off for his birthday. He was officially thirty-nine, as was his twin-brother Jake, the two of them now on the eve of middle-age. Other than marking the day of their birth, it felt like any other day to the wolf-hybrid.

The morning sun was diffused through the bathroom blinds, casting a pattern against the door. The clock that sat on the marble countertop read a quarter to eight in red letters. Steam wavered in the diffused rays of light, the air heavy with humidity from a morning shower. Rob got ready for the day, his hair a damp mess atop his head as he wiped the steam off the big mirror on the wall by the countertop. Wearing a blue polo shirt that was loosely collared, and a pair of gym shorts for the moment, Rob walked over to the giant mirror on the recessed wall and wiped the steam off with his towel, which he then stowed. Grabbing a bottle of Brylcreem, Rob squirt a dab into his paw and rubbed it into his hair, which gave it a real shine. He took a fine tooth comb and neatly combed it all back against his head.

Rob paused momentarily and just gazed at his constantly tired, weathered face that stared back in the glass. Rob was officially thirty-nine, but he honestly looked like he was twenty years older. His face bore the consequences of the violence he had faced in his life. The dark jagged scar was always the first thing Rob saw on his face. It was a constant reminder of the gay bashing that almost killed him as a teen. The injury that gave him that scar damaged nerves on the left side of his face, giving him facial paralysis. It left Rob's face stiffened, constantly twisted into a scowl. Smiling looked embarrassing to him, thus he often never smiled in public. His forehead was getting wrinkles, and his eyes looked dead, even to him. He looked like a pathetic, sad, old man, at thirty-nine.

A knock at the door stirred Rob from his thoughts. The bathroom door opened to reveal Joey, the Doberman poking his head in. "I gotta head off to work now, stud~"

Rob walked over and opened the door to step out. "Alrighty, then Joey."

"Make sure you and your brother stop over! We got a big surprise for you at the gun shop."

"Oh boy, can't wait." Rob chuckled as he got a kiss from Joey.

"Stop around eleven or so."

"Will do~"

"I got your birthday gift all ready!" the Doberman grinned as he spun around and grabbed his keys off the small table by the door.

Finishing up getting ready, the clock struck eight o'clock when the doorbell rang. Rob walked over to find his brother Jake at the door, right on time. Rob opened it and welcomed him inside with a hug. Jake, his non-identical twin was a black and white wolf-malamute, sporting tattoo sleeves on both his arms. He wore a blue and green striped tanktop and green gym shorts with sneakers. Part of his chest tattoo poked out from under his tanktop. Like Rob, he had blue-green eyes, but his looked full of life. His hair was a short crop of black, with a little bit of gray at the roots.

"Happy birthday, brother!" they happily greeted each other.

Jake sat down at the table, while Rob got some coffee and cinnamon buns ready for them. Rob returned and sat opposite of his brother.

"How's life?" Rob asked him curiously.

"Eh, it goes." Jake laughed cynically. He gave his coffee a stir and drank some of it slowly. "It goes, Rob."

"Yeah, I know that feeling. How's your health?"

"Well...okay, I guess. Doctor isn't worried- but joint pain sucks." Jake shrugged. He suffered from the stochastic effects of radiation exposure, the consequence of his former job as a nuclear engineer at the power plant in Conesville. During the 2014 accident and meltdown of the reactor he supervised, he ventured into the reactor compartment to save his friend, who had managed to drop the control rods into the damaged reactor manually. He received a significant dose of radiation, which gave him a bout of radiation sickness that put him in the hospital for two weeks. Since then, Jake had suffered from bouts of stomach cramps and joint pain, and once in a while, patches of fur and hair falling out.

"Heh, I know all about joint pain..." Rob rolled his eyes. "So yeah, same shit different day."

"How's business?" Jake asked.

Rob closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "I wanna hit some people with a fuckin' shovel."

"Surprised you don't wanna just shoot 'em." Jake laughed sardonically.

"Nah. Savor the moment~" Rob said morbidly. "Some places things are great, and other places, an unmitigated disaster. How's Karen?"

Jake grimaced a bit. "Burned out. Horribly burned out."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"She came home crying, again because all the people coming into the hospital with Covid, and the ICU's filled up, the ER is filled up, and everyone's exhausted. Karen had ten people die on her yesterday, and got berated by some Trumpie who cussed her out and said the pandemic wasn't real and it was all political BS."

"Fuck around, find out."

"Yeah. Fuck that dude. I was so pissed." Jake shook his head. "You know, me and Karen haven't slept in the same bed since March of last year? She's been sleeping on the couch, trying to keep distance from everyone because of this damn virus. It's been so terrible. We both got vaccinated, and were so excited for this year, and then everyone just fucked it all up."

"Yeah, basically."

"I am so sick and tired of this shit. It's fucking with my mind- it makes me so depressed because just when you think you had it almost under control, we were so close... and then people just fucked it all up by refusing to get vaccinated."

"Yep."

"Me and CJ are going to mandate vaccines for the shop, because fuck it, I'm done." Jake grumbled. "Didn't you mandate them too?"

"We are, yeah."

"How's that going?"

"Some people are bellyaching about it, but they'll get it over it." Rob shrugged. "I'll make sure of that."

"We currently have six guys in quarantine, and its constantly creating staffing problems. It's why my propeller shit got delayed multiple times."

"What did the FAA say about your prop project?"

"They like it, so we got the go-ahead."

"Good." Chuckled Rob. "I need to get some more propellers in the future!"

"Well, we'll make 'em." Jake laughed. "Like all the other spare parts!"

"Keep those old ass birds a-flyin'."

"By the way Rob, how's your health?"

"It's there." Rob shrugged. "I can't really have any complaints. Got the new hip replacement last year and new knees and I feel pretty good."

"At the rate you're going, you'll be the terminator." Jake teased with a grin. Rob grimaced in return.

"Tired of parts being replaced on me."

"Check engine light is on!"

"Heh!" Rob snorted. "I...am trying to change things up."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah... trying to just not be an enraged asshole all the time. It's hard, ya know."

"Oh man... people have been really pushing my buttons lately. So I know what you feel like."

"I'm tired of being a screaming asshole and flipping out about everything, but people make that so hard. But I don't like being constantly pissed off- I've been pissed off for twenty years now, maybe it's time to reinvent myself."

"Never too late."

"Heh, old habits die hard though."

"Or as I say, easier said than done."

"That too."

Jake took a bite of his cinnamon bun and washed it down with more coffee. "I sometimes feel like people are losing their marbles, with everything going on. You have people who deny this pandemic, who want to overthrow the government because dumbfuck ain't president anymore, shootings, and all this other calamity. It's really unsettling you know? I've never before felt like our country is teetering towards ruin."

"Yeah, terrible thing ain't it?" Rob grumbled. "People are fucking stupid. There is no more critical thinking skills, and everyone wants comforting lies over unpleasant truths. Why have news when you got memes and Facebook to tell you what you want to hear? It's so fucking pathetic. We live in a nation where goodness is murdered and mediocre hacks thrive all the time. Look at half of congress- a joke."

"Oh lord." Jake laughed. "Karen had to treat a guy who OD'ed on horse dewormer."

Rob shook his head. "They're glad I'm not in charge..."

"Lots of people are glad!" Jake laughed.

"See that's what I mean... Who would want that kind of power? Power is so dangerous, but tantalizing. Everyone lusts for power, everybody lusts for authority. It's such a dangerous thing and nobody realizes it. But nobody gives you power- real power is something you take."

Jake shrugged. "I just follow the idea of not being a cunt."

"Good point."

"Well I like to say I get a few bright ideas here and there." Jake laughed.

"Aren't we all!"

As Rob and Jake laughed, Alvin appeared from downstairs. Seventeen year old Alvin Paulo lugged his camera and VTR suitcase with him as he sat them down to adjust his hat. "Uncle Rob! I'll be back~" the young Doberman announced.

"Okay, be safe." Rob waved as he watched Alvin grab his gear and run through the TV room, to get to the sliding glass door. Rob watched his nephew stow his gear into his SUV and take off to hang out with friends.

"I'm bored Jake, wanna make a video for your announcement?"

"Sure~"

Rolling down Church Street, Rob and Jake rode aboard his red Tahoe. They had spent their morning recording video at Jake's machine shop in Columbus, and detoured to visit their grandmother at the retirement home, where Rob got a chance to shoot some video of his grandmother talking about polio as a child in the 1930's. Rob got to enjoy some time with his twin-brother, which wasn't very often, as they lived busy lives running their businesses. Making a right turn, Rob pulled into the parking lot of Joey's family gun store, which was housed inside a former Buick dealership. He turned and parked near the front of the store, which had ample windows shielded by a latticework of steel.

Opening the door for Jake, the two wolf-hybrids stepped inside, to be instantly surprised with "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" from all the guys. Joey and his parents, Andrew and Marie Paulo, greeted them with all their fellow gunsmiths. There was Rick Bartley, a tattooed up gray wolf with fire red hair braided Viking style into a ponytail. Randy Carson, a black and Rottweiler, burly and large, and Trey Goodman, a red Doberman who was Joey's height and build, with a Japanese style sleeve on his right arm.

"Happy birthday you two!" Marie greeted excitedly. She stepped out with a large sheet cake that had glowing candles and sparklers on it. It had yellow and white icing, with "Happy Birthday Rob and Jake!" iced on.

"Better blow those candles out quick! That cake looks mighty tasty!" Andrew grinned with a hearty laugh.

"Andrew!" Marie snapped. "It's their birthday!"

"Hey! I'm just saying, woman!" Andrew protested.

"Okay crazies, not at a birthday party~" smiled Joey. "Oh! Rob! I want to present you your birthday present! Rick!"

"Right!" the gray wolf exclaimed as he reached under the counter and revealed a blonde stocked AK-63F, a Hungarian Kalashnikov.

"Oh wow!" Rob exclaimed.

"It's a clone of a Hungarian AK-63! Select fire, on a Paulo Firearms receiver, and barrel! The hardwood is Hungarian original that Randy here, cleaned up!" Joey pointed out.

"That's as blonde as blonde's gonna get!" the Rottweiler exclaimed.

"Wow." Rob said as he handled it. "I have the AMD-65 and AKM-63... so this is my first plain Jane sixty-three..."

"Just gotta register it." Grinned Joey.

"Fucking feds..." Rob grumbled under his breath as a joke.

"And Jake! I didn't forget you." Joey said as he picked up a restored M1 rifle. "Happy Birthday!"

"Oh cool~" Jake muttered. He accepted the rifle from Joey and examined it. "Wow~"

"That's a Beretta built M1. Came with a shipment of Garands we got earlier this year! Hours and hours of love and labor to get her to look that nice!" Joey added.

"Neat!" Jake grinned. "Thank you!"

"C'mon! Cake!" Andrew shouted.

"ANDREW!" Marie snapped.

Gathered around, everyone sang "happy birthday" for Rob and Jake. It ended with them blowing the candles out together, as everyone clapped.

"Spread the 'rona! Yeah!" Rick laughed.

"What did you two wish for?" Marie asked with a smile.

"Less bullshit." Jake and Rob answered together as they burst out laughing with everyone.

"That'll be the day!" Andrew exclaimed.

The cake was divvied up, and everyone stood around enjoying a slice of Marie's made from scratch yellow cake. It was a calm and casual birthday celebration that Rob enjoyed, as did his brother. There were talks about going to the range later and testing out their new rifles.

Joey leaned against the counter, enjoying a bite of cake, when he heard his phone chime with an incoming text. He grabbed it from his pocket and looked that it was a message from Alvin. Rob looked up to see Joey's face drop. "Holy shit guys... Alvin's in trouble."

"What's going on?" Rob immediately responded.

"The fucking Marquees again... they're trying to fucking extort him for money! To avoid violence... needs our help..."

Everyone looked at each other. Without hesitation, everybody sprang into action.

"Where's he at!? Where's he at!" Rob shouted. "I'm getting my security guys!"

"Tee Jays."

"Let's fuck em up!" Rick exclaimed.

"Let's fucking do this..." Andrew shook his head.

As Rob marched to his SUV, he immediately called back to downtown, summoning his security guards. He jumped into his Tahoe with his brother and immediately peeled out. He was soon followed by Joey and his guys.

Screeching into the Tee Jay's parking lot, Rob hopped out the moment his tires screeched to a stop. His 10mm Glock practically attached to his hip, Rob marched with an aggressive pose to his body, for the entrance. His eyes scanned the whole parking lot for the other Marquees. Off in the corner of the lot was a gray Honda Accord. Inside sat Darius Marquee, his son Tyrone, and Tyrone's youngest son, thirteen year old Brandon Marquee, all burly looking Rottweilers. Rob glanced back at Joey and pointed. He knew inside it was going to be Mary Marquee and her other grandson, Shakar.

The Marquees were a thorn in the side of his nephew. They were a thorn in the side of everybody. They were a trashy family of criminals from the Hilltop; every Marquee seemed to take pride in having some kind of criminal record. Mary and Darius were the ringleaders of the dysfunctional, stereotypical, Hilltop family. They practically pimped their children out to make money in disgusting ways. Mary had turned her late eldest daughter into a prostitute, and was one to abuse the welfare system for financial gain. Rob thought they were just walking stereotypes of the lowest kind. He thought he had scared them off several years prior; when Alvin came to live with him and Joey, they had reared their ugly heads, trying to steal him back and cause chaos. Alvin's late mother Sydney, an abused and battered woman, tried to kill Alvin, and was shot and killed by Joey. There were two shootings and four brawls that Rob was involved in, and he thought he made his point. But after seven years, it seemed like they were itching for a fight again.

Stepping inside the eatery, Rob immediately spotted Alvin sitting at a booth, opposite of Mary and Shakar. Rob pushed past a waitress and walked directly towards them. "Alvin!" Rob shouted.

"Oh shit... Grandma..."

Rob walked right up to the booth, a smile curling up on his face. "Oh... hello Mary... hello Shakar. It's...been a long time. What a displeasure to see you again..."

Mary was an overweight fifty-seven year old Rottweiler. She wore a fake wig of curly brown hair atop her head, and was dressed in a gray track suit and zip-up hoodie. Shakar was a young Rottweiler with a head of curly black hair, and a goatee. He was seventeen, just like Alvin, and wore a red Nike hoodie. He looked dumbstruck at Rob's presence, towering over them.

"Hope you don't mind that I sit here?" Rob said, sitting down next to his nephew. Alvin looked ashen faced, embarrassed and ashamed at the same time. On the table sat an envelope filled with money. Alvin was prepared to give them a thousand dollars out of his own savings account, in a desperate attempt to protect everyone from violence.

"It's been a long time Mary... I thought maybe I had scared you folks off back in 2014?" Rob asked in an amused tone. "Guess I'm wrong. And you... Shakar. I remember when you were a kid- you looked so cute and innocent, and now look at ya, I couldn't tell you apart from all the other fucking wannabe gangbangers in Columbus!"

Shakar turned to look at Alvin with an annoyed glare, upset that he had squealed on them.

"Rob this is none of yo' business." Mary glared at him.

"Oh yes it is." Rob responded. His voice remained calm and quiet. "Just in case you forgot... Alvin is my nephew..." Rob's eyes turned to glare at Shakar.

"I personally think it's pretty embarrassing that you're a grown ass adult, and you're trying to extort a seventeen year old teen for money. Why not pick on someone your own size? If you're that desperate for money..."

Rob reached down for his wallet. Mary and Shakar shuddered and raised their hands up off the table with a tremble as Rob grabbed his wallet and threw it on the table, next to the envelope. "Here, why don't you take my money? C'mon take it- since you already have Alvin's money..."

Mary glanced over her shoulder and realized only then that Rob had the whole restaurant blocked off. At the front entrance stood Joey and his gunsmiths Rick and Randy, and Trey Goodman stood by an emergency exit. Outside the windows stood Barev's security, the Blackshirts armed with AK-103's.

"Look at me Mary! Not them! Look at me!" Rob exclaimed louder. His face was unflinching and stone cold, a look of sinister satisfaction in his eyes.

Mary's lips quivered. "Ya know...just...just... have..."

Rob mocked her hesitance and stutter. "You done, Mary?"

"Yeah."

"You done? Good." Rob glared. He took a moment to size them up with his aggressive gaze. Mary and Shakar looked resigned to fate as Rob pointed at them.

"If I ever see your dumbasses come back here again... EVER. To take his money? I hope you bring a fuckin' pistol, Shakar. That way you have something of a chance. Be a man. Don't be a fuckin' thug."

Alvin sat in complete silence, watching his uncle verbally lash his grandmother and cousin.

"Now you wanna do be a favor cupcake?" Rob asked him. "Get the fuck outta here. Get your nigger ass up, and get it outta here, RIGHT NOW."

Shakar looked shocked at Rob's aggressiveness. As he tried to reach for the money, Rob jabbed his paw with a fork. The Rott quickly retracted his paw and rubbed it as he got up to leave.

"Stay here Mary..."

"Grandma you said this was gonna be easy, yo."

"Fuckin' piece of shit." Rob glared at him.

Shakar staggered away, his bleached moto jeans sagging down as he tugged them up a bit. He had no choice but to walk by Joey's men, who were limbering for a fight as they followed him out through the exit.

"Mary how pathetic can you be?" Rob asked her. "Extort a seventeen year old?"

Mary tried to find an excuse. "Given what's goin' on... and we need-"

"I don't give a shit what you need. You don't take money from my nephew. I told you motherfuckers back then to never come back, and here you are now." Rob glared.

"THAT IS MY GRANDSON!" Mary screamed. "And you faggots took him away!"

"I don't want to see you!" Alvin yelled.

"Yeah you care so much for Alvin you abused the shit outta him, just like you did to your own daughter you fat fucking bitch!" Rob yelled.

"I didn't abuse nobody!"

"You turned your daughter into a fucking prostitute you sick disgusting fuck!" Rob screamed. The whole restaurant was silent.

"Here Mary, I got a gift for you..." Rob pointed at the window.

"NOOOOOOO!" Mary screamed. She watched Shakar be chased by Rick and Randy, as Barev's security came charging up with batons. "NOOOOOO! NOOOOOO!"

Mary got up and ran for the entrance as fast as her overweight body could go.

Rob grabbed his wallet and the envelope of money. "Fuck 'em, Alvin. Let's go."

Rob walked with a confident swagger to his step as he exited Tee Jays. He saw Mary screaming and crying as her whole family got beat up in front of her. Rick, Randy and Trey, along with Barev's security dragged Darius, Tyrone, and Brandon from the Accord and just laid into them for an epic and brutal beat down. Alvin covered his mouth in shock, while Rob had an amused grin on his face.

"Alvin I want you to take your money back to the bank, and we're going to have a talk when we get home." Rob said. "Get in your SUV and go."

Alvin took the money and quickly ran to his SUV. Rob watched him quickly peel out onto 21st Street. Rob turned his attention back to watching the Marquees get beat up in front of Mary, who cried her eyes out. In a way, Rob thought of Mary as being just as much of a victim as she was a villain. She was simply the product of a vicious cycle of abuse; her father and uncle sexually and physically abused her as a child, and it was hinted that Sydney was the product of an incestuous relationship with her uncle. Mary was abused and raped, and in turn abused her children and grandchildren, and allowed Sydney to be abused by others as well. But Rob needed to make an example, and sympathetic observation or not, it was simply a means to an end to him.

"Shut the fuck up, Mary!" Rob shouted as he kicked her in the back. Mary flung forward, and the Rottweiler hit her head on the parking block. She was knocked unconscious instantly and was left lying on the pavement in a pool of blood around her head as Rob spat on the ground and walked away. "Fuckin' niggers."

Darius, Tyrone, Brandon, and Shakar were left on the pavement, bleeding and swollen from a ruthless beat down by Rob and Joey's guys. They all got into their vehicles and left, while others looked on in horror at the sheer ruthlessness.

Across 21st Street, cattycorner from Tee Jays was an optometrist's office. In the parking lot sat a black Dodge Charger, with dark tinted windows. One window was cracked somewhat, and a pair of binoculars peered out, observing the vehicles leaving and the Marquees lying bloodied on the ground. The binoculars were lowered, revealing the face of Special Agent Gary Dove, of the FBI. The middle-aged gray wolf, with tousled brown hair between his pointy ears, had an amused smirk on his face as he observed the ruthless actions of Rob Barion, his target.

Looking ashamed of himself, Alvin sat at the dinner table, with his uncles Rob and Joey standing on each side of him. Alvin looked like a young version of Joey. He was mixed like Rob, being half Doberman and Rottweiler, which gave him a slightly thicker frame. He had a thick head of black hair that was somewhat curly, thick on top, and shaved close on the sides, and neatly gelled for a shine. Alvin looked so embarrassed as he sat in silence.

"Alvin, we're not upset at you." Joey said. "But what were you thinking?"

"Alvin, you can't pay someone off." Rob chimed in.

Alvin's paws trembled and he smacked them on the table in frustration. "I was with my friends, and we were videotaping, and then they showed up and were threatening us, and pointed a knife at me and Jordan. They said they would leave all of us alone if I gave him five hundred bucks, or else they'd shoot our place up."

"Over five hundred bucks?" Rob muttered. "That's it? HA." He looked at Joey and shook his head with a bemused smirk.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Uncle Rob and Joey- I just didn't want to have them come back and hurt anyone. There's so much going on, and I don't want any more chaos for you guys!"

"Alvin don't you ever worry about us~" Joey said, his voice sounding concerned.

"Alvin I really appreciate it, but you don't have to worry." Rob assured.

"I know, but I-"

"Look. Come here." Rob motioned. Alvin got up to stand before Rob, who put his paws on the young Dober's shoulders. "If you gave them the money, they'd simply come back and want more, and more, and more, in greater amounts, under the penalty of violence. You'd never win. That's why it's extortion."

Alvin pursed his lips and nodded, exhaling slowly.

Joey walked over and gave his nephew a hug.

"I hope they don't come back..."

"Well considering they just got the living daylights knocked out of them by a dozen guys..." Rob shrugged.

"I wish they would just disappear."

"That could be easily arranged." Rob grimaced.

"I know where a hog farm is at~" Joey smiled. "Just remember to knock their teeth out!"

Alvin took a step back. "Wait a sec- why knock their teeth out?"

"They eat everything but the teeth!" Joey teased. Alvin's eyes went huge.

"Whoa, that's morbid." Alvin cringed with a little hesitant laugh.

"Apparently a little bit of Rob is rubbing off on me~" Joey laughed. "People are exhausting these days..."

"I agree..." Rob grumbled.

"Go back and hang out with your friends, Alvin. And if you have any issues, just let me know, okay?"

"Okay." Alvin smiled. He gave Rob a hug, and Rob hugged him in return.

Alvin grabbed his camera gear and ventured back off to be with his friends. Rob watched him depart from the window. Turning around, he stared at Joey.

"What a birthday, Joey."

A hazy morning at nine thousand feet, Rob had the airspace to himself, flying westbound to Chicago, somewhere over Indiana. The morning sky looking west was colored like blued steel, the fine details of the puffy clouds lost in the haze from wildfires out west. Glancing in his rearview mirror attached to the top of his canopy frame, Rob could see the morning sun as a deep red disk, silently sitting on the eastern horizon. The silvery haze blurred the terminator between sky and earth. The ever faint, subtle scent of smoke, blew in through the open canopy.

Rumbling through the empty sky, Rob flew his rare Curtiss built Thunderbolt, a 1943 P-47G, christened "The Spirit of N'erk, Uhhia". Dressed in early war markings, the olive drab and neutral gray Thunderbolt, with its white cowling, carried Rob aloft, with the throaty burble of its Double Wasp radial engine. The big paddle-blade Curtiss Electric propeller clawed the air, etching a golden disk in front of him. Rob sat in the spacious cockpit, its razorback canopy locked back behind him to allow fresh air to come roaring in. The wolf-hybrid flew in his period flight attire, with leather flying helmet, big amber tinted goggles, and a oxygen mask clamped against his muzzle. He had an arm draped out of the cockpit into the slipstream while flying.

It was the Monday, the second of August. The month of August was always a strange month to Rob; it was not only the month where he met his husband fifteen years before, but just a month that felt like the tip top of the year, like the apex of a rollercoaster. The months that come before were just a buildup, from the lingering chill of winter, to balmy spring and summer that peaks and falls back towards the chill of autumn. Early August was the month of stagnant, hazy heat, the dog days of summer. Rob always felt that August was when winter began to loom on his mind. It always made him think of a quote from the book he had read as a child, "Tuck Everlasting".

"These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after."

Rob arrived over Chicago by eight in the morning. The towering concrete jungle of Chicagoland appeared through the haze as Rob orbited over the city in Midway's landing pattern. Looking down at the scenery in his slow turn, Rob was more and more intrigued by the city that never slept. It was a vastly different landscape than his rustbelt hometown back home, or Columbus, which seemed dwarfed by the immense skyscrapers that passed below the Thunderbolt. Perhaps one of these days, he should take Joey along for a tour, maybe for their anniversary in a couple of weeks.

Descending in to land on Midway's runway, Rob kept the nose aimed for the centerline as he descended in with everything down. Passing over neighborhoods and streets, Midway was hemmed in on all sides by development; from the air, it looked like a big square with two runs forming an "X". There was little margin for error if something would go wrong in takeoff or landing. Rob crossed the threshold and pulled the throttle closed. He felt the whole plane lightly jolt on touchdown, and Rob held the stick back to keep the Thunderbolt in the three-point position. Tapping the brakes, he slowed to a crawl, and taxied towards Centoh's hangar, where he was greeted by his ground crew.

Turning the "Jug" over to Centoh, Rob got into his company SUV and took off to begin his itinerary. Heading northwest, Rob traveled across the city to reach Elk Grove, where Barev Three was located at. FotoChem, his photographic film production plant, was inconspicuously located in the Elk Grove Business Park. Unlike the trials and tribulations Rob faced with Barev One, and now with Barev Two and Four, Barev Three was a success in merging into the United Barev network. It helped to have competent management and employees. FotoChem was sold off to Barev as a result of downsizing in the pandemic, and Rob wanted to bounce back after narrowly recovering from financial disaster in 2020. He wanted to get into the photographic film business, which was seeing something of a comeback in the niche markets.

Rob spent a few hours touring Barev Three and meeting with management and employees. He left with a white box that was filled with rolls of film for him to test out in his Nikon. He tucked that away in the Tahoe and turned around to head southeast, back to the CMD, where Barev Two was at. He was scheduled to have another meeting with Ryan Vlockner. Rob was bracing himself for another day of "unfucking bullshit". He longed to get Barev Two up and running to his liking, so he could turn over the operations to Maverick.

That was Rob's long term goal. Rob wanted to get things organized and stabilized, and then turn the operations over to his best friend, while he sat in the background doing the nitty gritty. Maverick had a natural resonance with people that Rob lacked; Maverick was warm and bubbly, and people got along fine with him. He could make almost anyone laugh. Both he and Rob had autism, but the similarity ended there. Maverick was warm and funny, Rob was cold and standoffish. Even he acknowledged his own lack of social skills. They were the inverse of each other. Rob had an uncanny ability to assume the worst in people, and bring the worst out in them. All the past trauma haunted Rob, and it shattered his trust and hope in people. People to Rob were always disappointing, and distance was key.

Arriving at Barev Two, Rob met up with Ryan for their one on one meeting in his office. Rob sat down opposite of Ryan's executive desk. His office overlooked the factory floor, and had a vintage thirties look and feel to it. Much like Rob's office back home, Ryan had it decorated with some family photos, including a trophy he had won while playing football in college. A large portrait of Chicago's skyline adorned a wall.

"Rob, I think we've started off on a really wrong foot." Ryan said as he closed his office door.

"It's been a rough time for everyone." Rob admitted.

"Can I offer you a water?"

"Sure."

Ryan fetched a water bottle from his little fridge and walked over to hand it to Rob. He took a seat opposite of his desk. "I want to start our meeting off by telling you first and foremost that I put Brent out of the warehouse super position, and demoted him to an assistant."

"Alrighty."

"Brent really pissed me off when he worked eighty-three hours and ended the week by disabling a forklift and dropping a pallet that broke a couple grand of product."

"Sensible."

"So that's that." Ryan said with a sarcastic wave of his paws. "I know that's been one of our major contentions, a sticking point in our relationship."

Rob shrugged in response as he took a sip of water.

"I want to outline something I've been thinking about recently, about the long term of this factory, products, and the Cygnet brand of camera lenses. I call it 'Cygnet 2030', and it's what I would like to see done over the next nine years." Ryan explained as he handed Rob a neatly stacked and clipped set of paperwork. Rob accepted it and leaned back in his chair as he examined the paperwork. Flipping through the pages, Rob read Ryan's thoughts and proposals. He wanted to significantly improve and expand on Cygnet's lenses, which had a reputation of being a cheap budget lens, and expand CGOF into more optical products. Rob looked interested as he read further into it. It would make sense for Barev to get more involved in glassware, as Barev One made vacuum tubes and Barev Four would make glassware for the medical field.

"Ryan... I love this." Rob said, looking up. "I'm really impressed, and would like to discuss these matters further with other members of the group."

"I think it's an opportunity we should take."

"Exactly. I approve." Rob nodded.

Rob and Ryan discussed other matters pertaining to Barev Two. The vaccine mandate was producing results, and Rob was happy to hear that employees were getting vaccinated in a slow and steady rate. The employees who got sick in the latest Covid-19 outbreak were recovering, and there were no further infections reported. Things seemed to be looking towards a brighter future. Ryan offered to take Rob to lunch, and Rob accepted under the condition that he give Rob a tour of the heart of Chicago. Rob wanted to explore the Loop and take some test pictures with his Nikon and try out the new film from FotoChem. They both left around noon to go explore.

Glistening in Millennium Park was "The Bean", the focus of Rob's Nikon F3. Taking aim with his 35mm, Rob snapped a picture of the silvery sculpture and people crowding around the plaza. The shutter fired with a snap and whir of the autowinder his F3 had. Rob swung the camera around for a portrait shot and adjusted the focal length of his lens and fired off another set of shots. He got a nice lens flare from the midday sun.

Ryan stood taking some pictures with his own film camera, an old Canon AE-1. They were taking time from their schedule to venture around the Loop, taking pictures with FotoChem's prototype 35mm film. Rob looked content at his subject matter as he clutched his F3 tightly. He fired off a couple more pictures to finish his roll, which was promptly rewound, stowed in its plastic container, and labeled. A fresh roll of "Barev Vistachrome" was loaded back in, and they continued on their journeys in the Loop.

Walking to go grab lunch for themselves, they continued on taking pictures, trying out the new film. Skyscrapers, and crowded sidewalks filled Rob's pictures as he exposed film. Looking content, Rob enjoyed his journey through downtown Chicago, exploring a new and unfamiliar landscape to him. Ryan and Rob grabbed lunch to go from an Italian deli, and ventured back to Millennium Park to eat lunch under the shade of a towering oak tree.

"So you've lived in Newark, your whole life?" Ryan asked, while eating a hoagie.

"Yessum- I was born in Newark, I've lived in Newark my whole life, and I plan on dying there." Rob responded while fiddling around with a packet of dressing.

"What's it like? Newark?"

"You ever been to a place where you felt like hopes and dreams go there to die?"

"Yeah."

"That's Newark."

"Ah."

"Newark had its heyday about four decades ago. Now it's a shithole filled with rednecks, meth heads, and other mediocre hacks. But that's home, and I think everyone should at least appreciate their roots."

"I've lived in Chicago my whole life." Ryan explained. "The Vlockners are from Gurnee- that's where my great-great grandfather settled when he moved from Germany. Me and Brent live with our families in Downers Grove, and Sam, our oldest brother, who's the city commissioner, lives north in Harwood Heights."

"I see~"

"Sam's got probably the best position in the world for overseeing Chicago next to the mayor." Ryan reasoned. "He's enjoyed it."

"Heh, politics and government ain't my thing." Rob admitted. "People talk but nothing gets done."

"I'm surprised you're not into politics, Rob. You seem smart enough for it."

"That's why. I'm smart enough to know I'd fuck it all up." Rob laughed. "Politics is about power, and people only run for politics, because they want that power. Power corrupts. People sometimes go into politics for altruistic reasons- change the world, do good for the community yada-yada bullshit, but in the end fall victim to the tantalizing sirens of power. Plus, I'd probably Nixon myself."

"Heh." Ryan chuckled. "Instead you knock heads around in business."

"Less oversight." Rob smirked.

"So how did you and Mav get into business?"

"We were fired from our jobs at the school district thirteen years ago. February 2008. We were the senior engineers, and head of WNCS-TV, and they let us go because of the levy failures in oh-six and oh-seven. So we gathered our resources and started a video production and transfer house, and that was the nucleus that became Barev a decade later."

"Now you got multiple factories, your own air force, and thousands of workers."

"Blood, sweat, and tears, Ryan." Rob joked with a twisted grin on his face.

"I was lucky to get this position. I started working at the glass factory about fifteen years ago, and got a position in management and worked my way into being the plant manager through a series of opportunities and dumb luck. Then I got Brent a job there because nobody else wanted to hire his dumbass!"

"I can see why~"

"I know you don't care for Brent, and neither does a lot of people, because he's clueless and dumb, but he's my brother ya know? You always gotta help family."

"Oh, I suppose." Rob shrugged as he bit into his sandwich.

"You got a brother, siblings, Rob?"

"I have a twin-brother who doesn't look like me. His name is Jake. He used to be a nuclear engineer who started his own aircraft parts factory after he got involved in a reactor accident that gave him radiation sickness."

"Ouch."

"I had an older brother named Troy... but he died when I was five years old. Was hit by a car and died. I don't remember much of him sadly. Wish I did, but that's life. Cruel."

"That sucks." Ryan nodded. "There was a brother between me and Sam, but he died from leukemia at the age of three. His name was Lucas. It was devastating for the Vlockners."

"I can imagine so, Ryan." Rob acknowledged.

"Ya know, Rob, you don't breath fire like I thought." Ryan chuckled.

"Yeah?" Rob responded, taking a sip from a can of Pepsi.

"Well, when I first met you, my thought was all you did was yell at people. Nobody ever sees you smile, and you carry yourself in a very serious, standoff manner. A lot of people are intimidated by you."

"I've been through a lot." Rob said, leaving it at that.

"I can tell." The gray wolf responded.

"When I was a teenager, I got gay bashed at school, and about died. I spent a year in a coma, and came pretty close to death apparently. Recovering from that was a living hell, and it really fucked me up. I should have done things differently back then, but that's hindsight. Everything's twenty-twenty in hindsight."

"Sadly."

Rob fumbled his brow. "I believe you shouldn't let your hair down and be chummy with everyone. I think it's best to keep troubles to yourself. That's just me."

"I get the impression that not many know the real you, Rob."

"Yeah, that's true. And I plan on keeping it that way."

Following their lunch, and a trip back to CMD for a final set of meetings, Rob said goodbye and departed back for Midway, where his refueled Thunderbolt awaited him. Rob stowed his backpack into the now empty radio compartment and slammed the hatch shut. He walked over and hand-turned the prop to check for hydraulic lock, and gave a brief walk around to inspect the airframe. Content with what he saw, he climbed up onto the thick elliptical wing and stepped into the cockpit to strap himself into the armored seat. Filling out his checklist, Rob scanned his surroundings and turned the big radial over. The Double Wasp hacked to life with a cloud of oily smoke that gushed out. Once the engine came up to spec, the brakes were released and Rob began to taxi for the runway, which got quite a few heads to turn as his immaculate warbird taxied.

Lifting off into the air, Rob watched Chicago pass below him as he climbed away into the evening sky, a subtle exhaust plume behind him as he began his eastbound journey home to Newark.

Making his way downtown, Rob and his red Tahoe rumbled down Granville Street. On the passenger seat sat a plastic bag with his exposed rolls of film, destined to be processed at his friend's photo lab downtown. Rob drove in silence, observing the scenes of Newark as followed the morning traffic.

Newark was far cry from the city jungle that was Chicago. Newark was a small rustbelt down, a city dilapidated by departing industry, living in the shadow of Columbus. The closer one got to downtown, the more dilapidated the city became. Newark had a well developed north and west end of town, but the downtown, east, and south Newark were largely left to fate. It was a stark reminder of thwarted hopes and dreams by the city government to keep Newark relevant, as deindustrialization swept through the region. Downtown Newark was ringed by old neighborhoods full of tired looking houses, some of which were abandoned and falling apart. The city had a rampant problem of empty homes burning down by methheads and the homeless. Rob passed by an old home that was another victim to that, just a charred, burned out shell, cordoned off by police fencing.

Entering the downtown square, Rob stopped at a roundabout to let traffic go through. Looking around, downtown Newark was the opposite of the Loop; not many people were out and about, and everything looked old and tired. Brick buildings dominated the square, which had the old city courthouse smack dab in the center. Mayor Greenbaum had made revitalizing downtown Newark his goal for the city, but a general cleanup and roadwork belied the fact that Newark was just a slowly dying town. Rob had ambitions to change that with his business.

On the opposite end of the downtown square was a small camera shop, run by his friend, Xan Radabaugh. "Xan's Cameras N' Things" was the name of his shop, which was located across the street from the courthouse in an old brick building, next to a local bakery that was run by a Serbian family, the Jasonvich's, the family of Rob's former boyfriend, Jason.

Rob stepped inside the camera shop, finding it quiet for the morning hour. At the counter sat Sergei Tokarev, Maverick's cousin who was from Saint Petersburg. He looked like a smaller version of Maverick, but with bright blue eyes and a coifed neatly done hairdo atop his head. Sergei had come to live with Maverick for a while after he left Russia, following a ruthless gay bashing that severely injured him.

"Rob! Morning!" Sergei greeted. He had a cheerful voice, with a noticeable Russian drawl to it. "Good morning!"

"Morning!" Rob greeted.

Emerging from the side door to the studio was Xan, a black wolf from Belgium. He was a slender wolf who had long black hair that was tied into a ponytail that flowed down his upper back. He wore a pair of snug jeans and a tanktop, carrying a box that he sat on the counter. "Oh hey Rob!"

"Hey Xan." Rob smiled. "Wanna develop some film?"

"Boy would I!" Xan grinned. "Whacha got?"

"I'd like to see how our Vistachrome is gonna look."

"Oooooh! Is this that Kodachrome lookalike you were telling me about?"

"Yes it is!"

"Yessssssss~ Dude! Let's do it!" Xan exclaimed.

"Business looks brisk!" Rob joked, the entire store empty.

"Yes! Most people just jump out of bed and rush on over for their photography needs." Sergei laughed.

"Early bird gets the worm ya' know."

"Not everyone can be like you Rob." Xan teased with a smirk.

"Good. I wouldn't wish that shit on anyone." Rob sarcastically quipped.

Going to the developer room, Rob got to watch Xan load and develop the film in his developer that he owned. One by one, the rolls of film were slowly developed, processed, and then scanned by a high resolution scanner for digitization. Xan took the copies over to his desktop to look at. Rob, Xan and Sergei looked amazed at the finished photos that showed Chicago's Loop. Vistachrome had a similar feel to the old Kodachrome, with a well saturated, colorful appearance, that wasn't too gaudy, like Velvia. It had moderately high contrast, which worked well with Chicago's skyscrapers in Rob's photos. Rob looked impressed at FotoChem's creation.

"Wow." Xan muttered. "I can tell it looks very close to Kodachrome, but there's some subtle variations."

"That's probably because of the C-41 process, rather than K-14. But the similarities are close enough that I think most won't care."

"This looks awesome." Sergei complimented. "Wow."

"It's got such a nice color to it. It's well saturated, but not psychedelic like Velvia."

"I only like Velvia for flower photography. It's next to useless for anything else." Rob mentioned as he selected another picture to examine.

"Rob I think you got a winner." Xan admitted. "So when can I get my paws on this film!"

"Once we finish up some final tweaks and planning, then we plan on releasing it in January twenty-two."

"I will give you a handjob and fuck me in the ass whenever to be the first with that film yo!" Xan exclaimed.

"Whoa, easy there, Xan~" Rob chuckled. "I'll send you some more test ones to test."

"Yes please!"

"Now if you don't mind...I'd like to buy some film for my friend in New York."

"This way, Rob!"

Rob left Xan's camera shop with his developed film in one paw, and tucked under his arm, a package containing a bunch of film for his friend in New York. Rob climbed back into his Tahoe, to make the short hop over to the post office on the east end of downtown. He drove around the square to get to First Street, via the roundabouts, to get to the post office, which was located at the intersection of First and Church. The USPS was quiet as Rob parked in the almost empty parking lot, close to the entrance. He donned his mask and casually walked inside to mail his package to Williamstown.

A couple minutes later, and thirty-dollars shorter, Rob tucked his receipt into his pocket as he made his way for the exit. Rob turned and exited through the glass door, where he stood under a large overhang, held up by a couple massive concrete pillars. There was a well planted garden with some tall evergreens to his right. Rob glanced at the flowers when something caught his attention in the corner of his vision. He looked over to suddenly recognize Shakar Marquee and his father Tyrone, guns drawn at him. There were almost a dozen other guys behind them, a couple of them with baseball bats and sledgehammers.

"Yo, you said bring a gun huh muddafucka!?" Shakar shouted.

Rob immediately threw himself to the ground as Shakar and his father opened fire with a set of .32ACP pistols. The glass windows and doors of the USPS shattered in a hail of bullets as they opened fire. Everyone rushed at Rob, as Shakar ran, reloading his pistol. He ran around the pillar to find nobody there.

"The fuck did he go!?" Tyrone yelled.

Shakar suddenly had a fist hit him in the side of his face, as Rob exploded out from the evergreens. He grabbed Shakar, using the Rottweiler as a shield while he grabbed hold of the gun. Before Tyrone could react, Rob swung Shakar's arm around and fired the little M70 pistol at Tyrone. The burly Rottweiler took a bullet to his stomach, and he immediately stumbled back. Rob wrested the pistol away and took control, firing into the crowd of people charging him. He struck three more Rottweilers and a Doberman, who immediately fell to the ground as the bullets tore through them.

Shakar tried to punch Rob; the wolf-hybrid blocked his fist and kicked him in the chest. Rob fired a shot that struck the young Rottweiler in the groin. He screamed and stumbled to his knee, only to get kicked in the face by Rob. That last shot locked the slide back. Rob threw the M70 and hit another attacker in the face with it, stunning him. Rob gave himself space and ran around the other side, only to be attacked by a baseball bat. Rob dodged the swing, and kneed the black and rust Doberman in the face. He yanked the bat away and swung as hard as he could, hitting the young Dober across the back of his head with the steel bat. It knocked him immediately unconscious. Going on the offensive, Rob charged in, using the bat to block the blows and swinging with all his might to strike people multiple times. Pedestrians ran at the ruthless brutality Rob demonstrated. His face was twisted in rage, of pure hate.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" screamed one of the attackers as they dropped their weapons and ran for their SUV. Rob dropped the bat and ran for his Tahoe. He threw the passenger door open and yanked out his 10mm Glock that was holstered and stowed in the door's cup holder below. Rob ripped his Glock 20 and fired at the pimped out Suburban, which screeched its smoking tires on the asphalt. The tinted windows were shattered as they tried to leave, and Rob emptied his whole magazine into the vehicle. The Suburban lost control, swerved, and struck a power line with a mighty crash.

Rob stood alone in the parking lot, with a smoking handgun in his grip. The smell of cordite filled his nostrils, as a faint blue smoke wavered from the barrel of his 10mm. Rob quickly grabbed his spare magazine and reloaded. He turned around to see people lying, moaning on the bloody pavement.

Tyrone lay motionless, face down on the pavement. Shakar laid with his head propped up at the corner between the building and a trash can. A couple other guys laying writhing in pain, others unconscious with horrible head injuries from Rob's baseball bat barrage. A bloody, bent baseball bat lay near the Tahoe. Turning around again, Rob saw the driver of the Suburban slumped over his seat, and another man lying in the middle of the street where he fell at.

Approaching Shakar, Rob held his 10mm at him as they stared each other down. Shakar's young face was still bruised from his beating at Tee Jays. It was twisted by anger and resentment at the wolf-hybrid, who towered over him.

"You told me to bring a fucking pistol..."

"Yeah. And I told you, you only had something of a chance."

Shakar glared and spat at Rob. The wolf-hybrid smirked with a sinister gaze and kicked Shakar in the crotch as hard as he could. The young Rottweiler yelled loudly and rolled onto his side in a haze of immense pain.

"Serves you right."

Rob glanced around again at all the carnage, all the damage to the building, as people stared at him in shock.

"Great~"

The interrogation room was basically a little rectangular room, devoid of everything except a square table and some chairs. The plain white walls and harsh lighting made for an unpleasant experience as Rob sat alone, filling out his statement to police about his ambush and shooting. A bitter, annoyed look was on Rob's face as he filled out the fourth page to his multi-page statement. His cursive took on a jagged look as he quickly scribbled his frustrations out with a blue ballpoint. Another shooting, another legal debacle, another fight. Rob looked as he felt; terribly upset.

The door to the room burst open to reveal Agent Dove. The gray wolf came barging in with a cocky smirk on his face. He didn't even have to flash his badge. "Rob, we must stop running into each other like this!"

Rob didn't even look up from his paperwork as he finished his paragraph.

"What? No witty comeback? No glib remark?" Dove quipped.

Rob signed his name at the bottom of the last page and neatly stacked his paperwork together. Only then did he look up, giving Dove a disinterested gaze. "What are you doing here."

"Well I mean, a post office is federal property! And being a federal agent... I was dispatched to investigate... especially when my prime target is involved." Dove said with a sarcastic smirk on his face. "Rob, what the hell were you doing?"

"Mailing a package." Rob said plainly. "You can make a copy of my statement and read it."

"You killed two people, wounded eleven others... and you're gonna tell me to read the statement?"

"Yes."

Dove looked over at the police lieutenant with a bewildered look of amazement on his face. "Can you make a copy of this for me please? I'd like to speak to Rob alone."

"Will do."

The door closed and Dove took a seat opposite of Rob. "Rob, please explain yourself."

"Alright fine." Rob rolled his eyes. "I was going to the post office to drop a package off, and when I come out, all these motherfuckers are there armed to attack me, and I defended myself. I didn't have my own gun on me till the end. It's the fucking god damn Marquees again! They're mad at me and my nephew because I had them taken care of the last time."

"By taken care of... you mean... beat the shit out of in a Tee Jay's parking lot?"

Rob looked up with a momentary look of surprise on his face. A grin lit up Dove's face.

"Very well." Rob shook his head.

"Rob, what did I tell you about not getting yourself killed?"

"Well I ain't dead, am I?" Rob glared. "I didn't start this shit at the post office, so don't you even dare think that I did!"

"Easy. Don't lose your temper at me. I get it. I've seen the camera footage from the post office, and it looks very much like a premeditated assault. Hell, those guys that attacked you have so many felonies it would fill up a binder."

"Amazing ain't it?"

"So this is what I'm gonna do. I'm turn a copy of your statement in and it'll be part of the federal charges against them. I don't see you getting in any trouble given the evidence and your statement."

"Good."

"But seriously... don't beat the shit out of people... this ain't the movie Casino!"

"Heh." Rob chuckled. "Can't make any guarantees!"

Rob left the police station with a copy of his statement held in his grip. He walked back to his Tahoe, which now sat in the station's parking lot. Rob climbed aboard and fired his SUV up to turn the AC on. He just sat there, fuming behind the wheel for ten minutes. He already wasted part of his day because of the stupid actions of others. And the fact that he killed two men? That weighed heavily on Rob, for the first time. Usually before in violent encounters, Rob never felt any guilt, or disgruntlement about shooting someone in self-defense. But this time it was upsetting; Rob was tired of being seen as just a violent warmonger, and here we he was again, pistol packin' Rob Barion, "shoot first, ask later".

Rob slammed the shifter into park and sped out of the parking lot of the police station. He didn't have to travel far to return back to his office. He screeched into his own parking lot and stormed on inside, past his secretary, Tabby Murphy, who had her own office near the lobby.

"Don't send any calls until further notice." Rob growled as he stormed on by.

Tabby pursed her lips and watched as Rob march his way up the stairs.

Rob slapped a "Do Not Disturb" sign on his frosted glass door and locked it. He marched past his desk to just stand at the window and peer out to gaze at the old buildings that made up of downtown Newark.

At nightfall, Rob sat alone in his brightly lit garage. Under the glare of a floodlight, Rob juggled two tasks; he spoke to his attorney via speaker phone, and worked on changing the tubes out on a big Marconi Mk. VIIB he was restoring. A disgruntled look was carried on his tired and aged face. Working on old analog cameras usually was a delightful task for Rob, but tonight, a feeling of tension hung over him as he worked alone, speaking to his attorney, Lisa Scheiddegger.

Rob himself, and Barev, were facing a bunch of legal debacles. Rob was going on the offensive against the Marquee family for their constant harassment and violence directed against him and his family, but he was also on the defense. Barev was the defendant in two lawsuits that were playing out in court. While he got some pressure with the dismissal of two lawsuits, one by Kevin Whirley, the former plant manager of Barev One, and Steve Narovec, the engineer who accidentally killed Jerry Schultz via a Klystron, he was still facing legal problems. Mario Schleppi, a Chicago actor who was suing Barev after his head was severely burned by a spotlight after falling in a fight with Marcus Barion and Maverick. He refused to accept the terms of their attempted settlement, and demanded more money, something Rob thought was becoming very frivolous. He already paid for his medical bills, and quickly growing tired of the irrelevant, washed up actor. The family of Jerry Schultz was tied up in litigation with Barev, having sued them after he died from radiation poisoning for unsafe work practices. They too refused to accept the settlement terms, laid out by the attorneys.

Rob and Lisa spoke about the current problems with the Marquee family, and Rob was preparing to not only go on the offensive, but to get himself ready for any defensive actions. Lisa Scheiddegger was his own personal attorney. She was a middle-aged woman from Columbus, who had tremendous, ruthless legal acumen. She was a very formidable lawyer, and her personality matched it too. She refused to back down, and fought by any and all means; much like Rob, she carried with her the same attitude of "the ends justify the means". If there was anyone who could be an analog of Rob, it was her. She simply didn't take shit from anyone.

"Lisa, I got all this bullshit going on. I'm sick of it." Rob admitted as he sat with the phone propped up in the camera body.

"Yeah, you got a real clusterfuck going on here." Lisa admitted with a cynical snicker at the end. "But I'm here to unfuck it."

"...for a fee."

"Of course! If you're good at your shit, you never do it for free!"

"Exactly."

"So let me get this straight? You were at the post office, and then you come out and they attacked you? With some friends of theirs or something?"

"Yeah, basically. Tyrone Marquee, his son Shakar Marquee, and some other hoodlum friends."

"I see."

"I've also faxed you my statement that I gave to the police and FBI."

"FBI?"

"Yes..." Rob rolled his eyes. "Fucking Dove showed up, because it's a federal building."

"Oh, yeah, momentarily forgot about that!"

"Fucking bullshit." Rob reiterated. "I'm so done with that family..."

"Well you killed Tyrone, so one dead motherfucker down."

"Yeah... don't remind me." Rob grumbled. "So between this, all my problems at Biloxi and Chicago, it's been a very trying time. Like the book of Job."

"Well at least two of the lawsuits were dismissed."

"Fill 'er back up!" Rob laughed cynically as he worked on the scanning yoke. "So what the fuck does Mario want."

"Oh fuck Mario." Lisa hissed. "He doesn't think two million is good enough."

"Ohh, so he thinks he's worth more?"

"Yeah! He wants five million."

"Over my dead body!" Rob shouted. "That's fucking bullshit!"

"And that's what I said too. We paid all his medical bills, and are offering him two million, and that's AFTER tax!"

"Fucking worthless motherfucker, that Mario." Rob hissed.

"He sucked as an actor too. I remember him off that sitcom." Lisa grumbled. "So what do you want to do?"

"He can have two million, or we fight it out. We got more cash than him in the battle chest."

"Very well."

Rob grumbled about the Schultz family. He expressed regret that Jerry had to die a very unpleasant death from radiation sickness, but felt that their arbitrary monetary demands were just too much over what was essentially an accident. Rob felt they should have sued Steve, since he was the idiot who threw the switch before Jerry escaped the test chamber. The wolf-hybrid rubbed his head in frustration.

Rob spent an hour and a half on the phone with his attorney, which racked up the bill. He got information prepared for his future suite against the Marquees, and tidied up details for the other suites. He ended the call on a frustrated note, and returned to focus working on his camera. A few minutes later, Rob was interrupted by another call, this time from Ryan Vlockner.

"Yeah, Vlockner."

"Hey Rob, uhh, I'm calling you to inform that we have three new Covid cases here at C-G-O-F."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. Three people from the main office tested positive."

Rob rolled his eyes. "People are supposed to be vaccinated."

"They are vaccinated."

"Breakthrough infections are not common though... I could see maybe one... two... but this seems too much of a coincidence, especially in the main office."

"I'm going to look into it."

"Keep me informed, please."

"Will do."

"Thanks."

Rob ended the call and threw his phone across the garage, which landed on his workbench with a dull thud. The wolf-hybrid's paws trembled in frustration, and he ran his fingers through his hair with a shudder, before continuing on with his camera work.

Needing a break from all the chaos, Rob agreed to go on a weekend road trip with Mav. Saturday morning was quiet on I-71, southbound. Outside of greater Columbus, the interstate was flat, cutting through a vast expanse of Ohio farmland of swaying corn, and lush green fields of soy. A lonely radio antenna and water tower jutted up from the distant horizon. Burbling down the highway with the lane to itself was Rob's flatbed Silverado, a bright red, crew cab, one ton, driven by Maverick. It's flatbed was pleated aluminum, with a long gooseneck trailer hitched to its fifth wheel attachment. The trailer had two giant Quadruplex VTR's strapped securely down and concealed with tarps. They were destined for a broadcast museum in Louisville Kentucky, as part of an exchange.

In the passenger seat sat Rob, watching the scenery pass by through the viewfinder of his analog video camera, a restored Sharp XC-B20P. The white, gray, and black camera rested on his shoulder, recording through the windshield. A cable draped over Rob, down to his Sony BVU-110 deck, recording to U-Matic, which sat at his feet. Maverick sat back in his seat as he drove, the two of them listening to some Fleetwood Mac to break the silence. Rob got a wide angle view of the miles and miles of swaying corn fields, in crisp monochrome. He toggled the VTR switch on the camera's zoom control grip, which was bolted beneath the lens. A pop-click of the U-Matic deck signaled the end of taping. Rob shut the camera and VTR off and sat it on his lap as he blinked his eyes a few times to adjust his vision.

"I'm so glad you got me this camera for my birthday last year." Rob said, breaking his silence.

"I told you Sharp can make a good tube camera!" Maverick exclaimed. "If you tweak the gamma a bit, they match an HL-79. I personally like the B-10 and -20's better than the older XC-800 or 900 family."

"It's in the mixed-field, diode-guns." Rob nodded. "With all magnetic tubes, if you don't get it set up right, or if the yokes are junk, you get this pincushion distortion from the corners not being sharp."

"That's what I like about the HL-79's, that they have good scanning yokes and geometric compensation."

"Everyone and their mother loved a Handy-Looky! And thus thousands were made." Rob chuckled. "See? This is why I love tube cameras. Solid state cameras are just so bland. You take them out of the box and flip a switch and they work. Great for business, but just boring. They all shoot the same quality image, almost same colorimetry, and it's so boring. I love the subtle differences different tube cameras gave, different tube types, on and on."

"Four-K is okay, but fancy ultra-high resolution doesn't compensate for shitty television." Maverick laughed. "I mean... my little Handycam that I got for eight hundred bucks, shoots about as good of a four-K picture as our seventeen thousand dollar Ikegami... maybe a little flatter and softer from encoding and compression? But you get the point."

"Hell, now news is done on cell phones."

Mav shuddered. "High shutter speeds and the wiggles and jiggles."

"Jell-O effect."

"Television looks so cheap anymore. You have all this great technology, and everything looks like shit." The husky explained. "Go figure!"

"I'm tellin' ya, Mav... mediocre hacks."

Maverick shook his head. "Yeah... I agree. This whole pandemic, everything that's been going on... man... it's really opened my eyes."

"People are fucking selfish and stupid, and this pandemic has really shown it. Fuck around, find out."

"Exactly!"

"I will admit that this has been quite enjoyable so far... you and me and the truck on a road trip to Kentuckystan."

"Heh, heh, gotta get through Ohiostan."

"That's what this state is degenerating into. Ohiostan- courtesy of a bunch of methed out West Virginians."

"It's... definitely not the Ohio I remember as a teen."

"Nope." Rob shook his head. "God, that was over twenty years ago."

"I know right?" Maverick exclaimed. "Twenty years ago, I'm seventeen. It's like I blinked and now I'm thirty-seven!"

"Heh... the more things change. The more they stay the same."

"I feel ya there."

"Our fortunes have changed. I've never imagined twenty years ago that we'd have this growing empire... hell... I didn't think I'd be alive twenty years after what happened... but yet... we're still surviving in this world." Rob mused.

"Yep~"

Another hour and a half of driving brought them to Cincinnati, where they wound their way through the sprawling metropolis on the Ohio river. Detouring around construction, they hopped on the old bridge that spanned the Ohio river into Kentucky, where they continued on for another three hours to Louisville. Along the way, business matters filtered back to Rob via a text message; Vlockner informed Rob that several more people tested positive for Covid-19, which made Rob upset. He went on an angry rant about "stupid fucks", the whole pandemic, and people not protecting themselves. Maverick had to calm Rob down, who ended up turning his phone off and tossing it to the backseat of his truck. He wanted to be unbothered by work woes in Chicago. Rob and Mav would find enjoyment at the Louisville Broadcasting Museum.

Just outside of Louisville, to the north, was the Louisville Broadcasting Museum. It was a small museum that honored Kentucky's broadcasting history. Rob and Maverick had made a deal to exchange old broadcasting gear. The museum was getting Barev's old RCA TR-70, and Ampex VR-1195 two-inch Quadruplex VTR's, in exchange for an Ampex AVR-3 Quad, and a bunch of surplus studio camera gear, lenses, and other bits and pieces. Rob was also donating a couple sets of Barev's 30mm P-5000 Plumbicon ABO tubes, to aid in the restoration of the museum's TK-47A studio camera.

Enjoying the time to themselves, Rob got a chance to escape away from all the problems back home, to talk with a bunch of retired broadcast engineers about the lost art of analog television technology. The museum unloaded his trailer with the two massive Quadruplex units, and Rob talked about the history of his two former Quadruplex machines he was exchanging. The TR-70 was one of the original Quads that the school district had bought used in 1969. Rob had attempted to restore it in his early twenties to use with WNCS-TV, but he could never get it to lock up properly to play a videotape. Thus it sat in storage for many years, and gave away a few parts to get its sister Quad, a TR-70C, working again. The VR-1195 was a Quad that Rob purchased in 2006, and came from a former station in Michigan. It had a manufacturing date of 1967. It was fully operational, and Rob ended up replacing it with an AVR-3, the last Ampex Quad, and Rob and Mav's favorite model. Now they were destined to be on display with the museum's collection of obsolete tape formats. In exchange, Rob and Maverick got a cornucopia of old gear that they checked over. The largest piece of gear was a dusty 1975 AVR-3 Quadruplex, which needed a little bit of work to run again. A forklift hoisted the partially crated Quad up onto the trailer, as Rob watched the trailer sink a bit under the weight of the massive unit. Also obtained were a couple "crap" IVC-501 studio cameras and their CCU's, plus an IVC-7000 studio camera, and "portable" -7000P color camera.

As a thank you, Rob helped the museum in changing the tubes out of their "Big Blue" TK-47A. It still bore the markings of KET, "The Kentucky Network". Rob pulled the scanning yokes out and removed the glass tubes, which were a tired set of Amperex Plumbicons, the ubiquitous triode-gun XQ-1020. In their place Rob installed his P-5000 Plumbicon ABO tubes. They were glass tubes that were colored black by the bias light sheathing inside, which protected the light piping structure that carried light from the bulb at the base of the gun. Like the 1020's, it was a standard triode-gun pickup, with Barev's custom designed electron gun, the "Automatic Beam Optimizer", which sported a thorium doped cathode for long gun life. Rob simply inserted the tube into the deflection yoke and gave it a half turn to lock into place. He simply swapped the tubes out, installed the yokes back into the camera's optical assembly, and attached the wiring harness to the base of the tubes. Rob turned it over to the old engineers, who used an oscilloscope and vectorscope to manually align the scanning apertures, and beam current levels. Rob commented about RCA's "shit-ass CTS circuits" that he routinely disabled on his "Big Blues" back home. Slowly, the old camera came back to life, and a picture emerged on the monitor, which came together as the CCU's pots and switches were manipulated to calibrate the channels and align them up.

"See? Where's the fun in that with modern cameras?" Maverick chuckled. "Just switch on, white balance, and go!"

"You got to know your camera back then. Inside and out!" laughed one of the retired engineers. "You were a cameraman, and an engineer!"

"Oh I know it, nursing these old brutes along." Rob quipped with a bit of a laugh.

"I am amazed you still make Plumbicons~"

"It's more of an artisan thing now... and even more amazing is that we get orders here and there for our camera tubes... mostly for ancient medical devices, but hey, there's still a teeny, tiny niche market."

"Yeah, us." Maverick grinned, which made Rob laugh.

"Plumbicons and Saticons~"

"Now you got yerselves a silicon diode Vidicon type! Those IVC's!"

"Yeah. Shit." Laughed Rob.

"Oh that reminds me! I gotta go grab those. Lemme go find 'em."

Flowing with traffic on east I-75, Rob and Maverick made their way home under the afternoon sun. Their gooseneck trailer was loaded down with all their strapped down broadcast gear. Inside the cab, Rob drove his 3500HD, while Maverick sat in the passenger seat, recording scenery with his analog Betacam, a Sony BVP-3A.

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon and let's have a traffic update with the one and only! Rob Barion~" Maverick narrated. He pointed his Betacam over at Rob, who looked serious as usual behind the wheel.

"People need to learn how to drive the fucking speed limit..." Rob grumbled.

"And there's your afternoon traffic report!" Maverick laughed.

Rob put his turn signal on and merged into the left lane. He pushed his foot to the floor and opened his Duramax up all the way to pass a very slow sedan, which was going barely fifty-five in a seventy mile per hour zone. Rob gave a long blast with his horn as he passed by. Maverick caught in the tow mirror a shot of the man flipping them off.

"Go the speed limit ya fuck!" the husky exclaimed.

"I swear to god this pandemic has turned this nation into a bunch of fucking retards." Rob griped with a disdainful head shake. His phone went off, which rang through the stereo system of his truck. His dashboard's display read "RYAN VLOCKNER (DUMBFUCK), CHICAGO". Rob braced himself as he toggled the answer button on his steering wheel. "Damage report, Ryan!"

"Rob, I hate to bother you on your day off, but hey, I gotta tell you something." Vlockner said over the speakers.

"Yeah?" Rob responded.

"I have to report that four more people tested positive for Covid-19... and Chicago's health department has shut us down, effective for two weeks due to the outbreak..."

"Wow." Mav muttered.

"And not to further put fuel on Rob's inferno... I just got off the phone with Brad in Virginia."

"Oh boy." Rob quipped.

"Brad and his team at Fairfax were looking over the vaccine card records that had to be turned in, per your mandate, and he's noticed a discrepancy with Chicago's vaccine cards. I was brought to attention that there are numerous cards from Barev Two that are apparently forged..."

"Lovely..." Rob responded.

"I have reason to believe who the culprit is."

"Yeah?"

"It's the supervisor to the call support office. Fucking Gary Wheeler the Trumpie, and his brother Mark."

"Oh god... that lunatic..." Maverick rolled his eyes. "VACCINES ARE THE DEVIL! VACCINES WILL GIVE YOU 5G! STEEL WOOL CURES CANCER!"

Rob rubbed his eyes with his left paw. "I'm gonna chop his fucking body up and stuff it in a tree, Vlockner... oh my lord... so that explains perfectly why all these people are dropping sick... they're all the fakers."

"Heads are gonna roll~" Maverick grimaced.

"I want to find out all the people who have a forged vaccine card... and I want them fired. On the spot."

"I'm done with this shit...so that's fine." Vlockner agreed.

"Now Gary? You let me handle that..." Rob stated bluntly.

"Uh oh..." Maverick muttered.

Rob said goodbye to Vlockner and ended the call with a toggle of the phone button on the steering wheel. Rob took a slow, deep inhale, and exhale. He gave a twisted, sarcastic grin to Maverick.

"GUESS I'LL JUST GO FUCK MYSELF!" Rob shouted with a sardonic laugh.

"Noted!" the husky laughed.

"WHY IS THIS SO FUCKING HARD, MAV!?" Rob screamed. Rob's whole body contorted in rage. "WHY CAN'T PEOPLE JUST GET THE FUCKING GOD DAMN JAB! WASTE ALL THIS TIME AND RESOURCES TO FAKE THIS SHIT WHEN THEY COULD JUST GET IT FOR FREE!"

Rob sat for a moment in silence. Maverick sat with pursed lips when the phone rang again.

"CY FILTON, HANOVER" read the dash display. Rob hit the answer button. "Hey Cyrus~" Rob greeted, his voice suddenly back to complete calm.

"Howdy, Rob!" came the cheery, southern tinted drawl of Cyrus, Barev's landscaper that he was friends with. "Whacha up to?"

"Oh, me and Maverick are currently in Kentuckystan, roughly and hour-half from Ohiostan."

"Do you and Joey have any plans this evening?"

"No, not that I know of, why?"

"Well, me and Benny are having a fish fry, and wanted to know if you wanted to come over for some deep fried bluegill and homemade slaw!"

"Hey, what about me?"

"Bring your overly tall ass over too, Mav! Hey! You should try my pickles!"

"Don't shove your pickle in my mouth!" Maverick exclaimed.

"But it's sweet and spicy!"

"If your pickle's sweet and spicy, you need to get it checked for diabetes and Chlamydia!"

"Jesus Mav." Laughed Cyrus. "Rob? How do you handle this?"

"He's a big dumb animal, isn't he?"

"HEY!" Maverick exclaimed with a laugh. "I'm a barrel of laughs! And the best part about me is that you don't need a gun to blow your mind!"

Rob had to laugh at Mav's morbid comment.

"Is that Rob laughing? Holy fuck stop the presses!"

"Shut up~" Rob fired back with a smirk, as he regained his composure. "I needed that laugh... so much bullshit lately."

"So how about around five?"

"Sure, Cy."

"Awesome!"

"See you then, Cy~" Rob said before saying goodbye. "And clear~ Looks like we got ourselves a fish fry."

"Heart stopping goodness!" Maverick joked. "DEEP FRIED MAYONAISE BALLS!"

"Eww, gross~ I'm gonna call you Dmitry!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Maverick laughed.

"Fucking Dmitry Delight... microwaved white bread, pepperoni and cheese sandwich."

Maverick shuddered. "Fused the sandwich to the plate and throw the plate away gross~"

"Fuckin' rocket tits~"

Taking up his friend's offer, Rob made his way to Hanover with Joey, Alvin, and Maverick. Situated in north-east Licking County was the little community of Hanover, where Cyrus Filton ran a landscaping business with his family. Cyrus lived outside of eastern Hanover, out in the country in a little restored farm home in some woods.

Rob turned his Tahoe off the backcountry road and onto the crunching gravel driveway that led to Cy's home. Recessed off the road, Rob pulled up to a beautiful old farm home that was sheathed in cedar siding and an old slate roof. Rob parked in front of Cy's truck, a dual-rear wheel Sierra from the mid-2000's. Next to it sat Ben's truck, a newer cherry red Chevy that was also a dually. Rob had bought it for Ben three years before, when he took the down-on-his-luck husky under his wing for a time.

Walking up the porch, Rob didn't even get all the way up the steps when the door swung open to reveal Cyrus. He was a tall blonde and tan wolf, who had a long mane of fire red hair that was braided Viking style. A thick red chinstrap beard and goatee adorned his muzzle. Bright blue eyes peered out. A grin, his lower lip pierced with silver snakebites, lit up his friendly face. Both his arms were sleeved up with black and gray tattoos, along with his chest, which was hidden somewhat behind his blue and black striped tanktop.

"Howdy, guys! Come on in!" he greeted.

Rob, Joey, Alvin, and Maverick were whisked inside his rustic farm home. It was decorated with Americana, complete with walls made out of old barnwood. Inside the kitchen sat his boyfriend Ben Reynolds, a tan and beige husky who had a stubbier version of Cy's braided ponytail. His face bore a dark scar, similar to Rob's, which ran down the left side of his face. Sitting with him at the table was Cy's nephew Freddy Filton, a seventeen year old who looked similar to Cyrus, but with a long ponytail of brown hair.

"Alrighty! Why don't you all grab something cold to drink from the cooler, and I'll get on with some cooking outside!"

"You wanted us to bring our camera, so you can get a good YouTube video." Rob added.

"Yesssss~ Cool!" Cyrus exclaimed. "Perfect!"

Joey and Ben sat and talked with Freddy and Alvin on the back deck, while Cyrus prepared cooking around his fire pit by the pond. Rob stood with Maverick, clutching onto the Sony BVU-150 strapped to him, while Maverick manned the camera. They were testing out a set of prototype Saticon V tubes in an old Ikegami HL-79A, to test a new fabrication technique at Barev One. The camera rolled, as Cyrus explained about his freshly fillet bluegill and how he was gonna deep fry them in a cast iron cauldron full of canola oil. It was a fun little video that was captured to U-Matic, and an excellent test of their camera tubes. Cyrus always had a cheerful personality, and he looked completely natural under the camera as he fried up his fillets.

Following their impromptu cooking show, everyone sat on the back deck, enjoying the slowly fading light of evening over food and drinks. Rob looked like he was having a good time, as he sat and ate with everyone.

"So what were ya'll doing in Kentucky?" Cyrus asked Rob and Mav.

"Picking up used video gear!" Maverick exclaimed. "And donating two old Quads we didn't need any more, for an AVR-3 Quad."

"Ahh~"

"Plus, I just needed to take my mind off things~" Rob admitted. "It was nice to get out of town for a while, even if it was Kentucky~"

"Dare I ask how work is?" Cyrus grinned playfully.

"There's a couple people I wouldn't mind hitting in the head with a shovel~" Rob chuckled.

"I know someone who could use that!" Freddy exclaimed.

"Freddo... what did your counselor say?" Cy asked him with a smirk.

"Hit Darryl in the fucking head with a shovel!"

"Oh my lord...Freddo!" laughed Cyrus.

"Just make it look like an accident!" Freddy exclaimed.

"Grinds my gears that people are just so stupid anymore." Rob shook his head.

"Hey! Small world." Cyrus chuckled. "Now I don't consider myself a genius or anything, but the lack of common sense is... well... wow. Just earlier, when I went to the store to pick a few things up, some lady in a big ass Suburban about sideswiped me in the hillbilly truck! Some Karen not paying any attention with her big ass bug eye sunglasses..."

"Sounds about right~" Joey chuckled.

"When my Chicago plant opens back up... I'm gonna be chopping some heads..."

"Oh boy..." Freddy muttered.

"I got a fake vaccine card scandal." Rob admitted. "And my plant's shutdown because sixty people are sick with Covid-19."

Cyrus rolled his eyes while biting into a big hunk of fish. "These people are going out of their fucking way to PAY for a forged card, when they could have gone one free with a shot?" The wolf burst out laughing. "That, is the epitome of being a fucking retard!"

"Exactly!" Maverick exclaimed.

"I've had Covid... and I don't have any health issues, and that knocked me off my feet for a week! I could barely get out of bed for a week! It was terrible! So I don't get why people- I see all these stupid fucks in Hanover be like 'I ain't gettin' no gooberment shot!'"

"Fuck around, find out!" Rob exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Cyrus laughed. "My whole family got it over Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" Joey chuckled.

Cyrus jokingly grumbled something. "I did not hesitate one bit to get vaccinated."

"It sucks." Ben said in a plain tone. "Me, Anton, and Borr got it... and that beat the flying fuck out of me."

"This is what happens when you let idiots run the country." Maverick joked. "Almost a million dead, and people are still debating on whether masks work.... Unbelievable."

Rob chimed back in. "So that's my work woes...oh and lawsuits... and just... I feel like there's this awful calm before a giant storm. Our entire political system teetering on the brink... the sirens of fascism singing and luring people into a dangerous precipice."

"I feel ya there, man." Cyrus nodded. "People don't seem to get where the political winds are taking us."

"That's 'cause people are fucking retarded." Grunted Freddy. "Nobody learns from history, nobody understands how government works, and they vote."

"Those who fail to learn from history, are condemned to repeat it~" Maverick shrugged. "And we're seeing that in real time right now! TRUMP 2024! BURN AMERICA TO THE GROUND!"

"Yeah~" Cyrus laughed. "Seems like it, ya know?"

"So what's your future plans looking like for your business?" Ben asked, while grabbing a scoopful of coleslaw to smack onto his plate.

"Well operation unfuck is working slowly..." Rob admitted. "I'll be in better shape once I get the Chicago plant unfucked, and the Mississippi plant back on construction schedule... At least my photo film plant in Chicago is working fine. Consolation prize~"

"Sounds like you need a vacation~" Cyrus suggested.

"Yeah. But work beckons." Rob rolled his eyes. "But me and Joey are planning a day trip to Chicago for our anniversary."

"Fifteen years." Chuckled Joey.

"Hell yeah!" Cyrus exclaimed.

"I need to take a break, but work... people are so goddamn incompetent, and you have to hold their paw... and in the meantime I get all this frustration- all this pressure build up inside-"

"Like a big 'ole fart!"

"NOOOOOOOOO, Cyrus, not like that!" Rob exclaimed to a grinning Cyrus.

"Usually when I get pressure built up... I just let it rip on my brother~" the wolf chuckled.

"Wow." Smiled Joey.

"Just sayin'!" Cyrus grinned playfully. "But never trust a fart all the way..."

"Duly noted!" Mav pointed.

"But it is what it is..." Rob concluded.

Following dinner, Rob sat alone on the deck, while Mav and Joey went inside to go help Cyrus with something. Alvin and Freddy ran off to play video games, leaving Rob to sit on the back deck watching the sunset. Down below, Ben threw a few logs into the fire pit for their evening around the fire. Rob got up and walked down the steps to go see Ben.

Rob and Ben shared similar life stories. They were both gay bashed as teenagers and severely injured, and were both thrown out by their families for being gay. Rob had taken Ben under his wing in 2018 after saving him from his gay bashing at school. His friends, Anton and Borr, ultimately took Ben in when Rob realized he would ruin Ben with his own personality. They shared similar traumas, but their lives diverged in different paths after their trauma.

"Hey Ben~" Rob greeted.

"Oh hey~" smiled the husky. "What's up, Rob?"

"Oh not much... just wanted to check on what you were doing?"

"Just getting the fire built up~" Ben chuckled.

"Hey Ben...I've been meaning to ask ya something...but I just never thought of the words."

"Yeah?" Ben responded, his curiosity perked. "What's that?"

Rob pursed his lips momentarily and exhaled through his clenched teeth. "You and me share a similar life story, and faced a life shattering event at similar ages... but you and me diverged down different paths..."

"Yeah~" Ben nodded in a solemn way.

"What did you do different?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem bothered anymore by what had happened?"

"Oh." Ben nodded. He had a look of thought on his scarred face. "I guess... I just moved on from it?"

Ben paused for a second while he threw another log into the fire, before continuing. "Ya' know, sometimes I get spooked when I'm in stairwells, or alone and its really quiet... but I've moved on from the pain. From my parents disowning me, being bashed, sexually assaulted... It's not worth thinking about it, because I've gained so much. I've grown so much. I refuse to let it hold me back. Plus, I don't like being upset... clouds my mind too much."

"I see~" Rob nodded as he crossed his arms and looked down at the ground.

"I guess it also helped that you sent me to live with your friends, Anton, and Borr. They're like family to me. They really taught me, they really loved me at such a critical time, and that helped too. Heh, and having a pretty huge cock goes a long way too when you're gay~" Ben explained, with a grin that curled up at the end.

Rob closed his eyes, smiled a bit, and chuckled. "Oh Ben~"

"Just saying." Ben shrugged playfully.

"I'm trying to change things... but it's so hard."

"Well...and to add... I wasn't left with debilitating injuries like what happened to you." Ben reasoned in a sympathetic tone.

"Yeahhhhhhhh~"

"Everyone handles trauma different, and there's no one size fits all solution. I hate black and white thinking, so I guess that's just me. Plus, I got a bunch of hot ass guys who take care of all my needs, so I can take my mind off the positive with a bed full of hot, tattooed studs."

"Now that sounds oddly specific, Ben~"

The husky just grinned in response.

The sun finally set beyond the trees, casting Cy's property in shadow. Everyone sat around the fire and listened to the logs pop and creak while they enjoyed each other's company. Rob sat back in the glow of the fire, thinking about his conversation with Ben.

The fifteenth of August was Rob and Joey's fifteenth anniversary of meeting each other. Fulfilling his promise of going on a trip with Joey, the two decided to make a day trip to Chicago, to go visit some museums, take in the sights of sounds of the windy city, and grab a nice dinner, before jetting on back home.

The day before their official anniversary, Saturday morning was sticky and warm. Shadows were cast long on the ramp at Newark-Heath, where Rob and Joey's mechanical chariots awaited them. "Blue 60" and "Red 57" were their Su-7BKL's; Joey's Fitter-B was a camouflaged fighter-bomber, sporting a "sand and spinach" tan and dark green VVS camouflage scheme with "57" stenciled on the cylindrical nose in red, outlined with white. Like Rob's Fitter, it had two drop tanks fitted on its dual center-line mounts.

Joey stood with Rob, who checked over the Dober's flight suit. Joey had a ZsH-3 "bone dome" that was painted dark blue, in contrast to Rob's orange ZsH-3. He wore a gray jumpsuit with a parachute strapped to his back. Rob had a similar getup, but his jumpsuit was olive green. Securing Joey's oxygen mask to his helmet, Rob gave his nod of approval.

"Chicago bound here we go!" Joey exclaimed.

"Same shit, different day~" Rob mocked with a snort. "Alrighty, let's do this."

Inspecting their jet warbirds, Joey and Rob climbed aboard and were assisted by their mechanics who helped strap them in. Going through the checklist, the jets were checked off as the boarding ladders were pulled away and Vlado and his team retreated back. Almost simultaneously, Joey and Rob fired up their Lyulka turbojets, which began to spool up to a screeching roar. Joey began to taxi first, his Su-7 taking the lead as Rob followed behind. Making the turn onto the service road, Rob spotted his nephew Alvin standing with Geert, taking photos of them taxiing by. Alvin had plans on going with his friends to Akron, to spend the day with his Dad, who was going to take them to the Cleveland Zoo. Rob tapped his brakes and crawled to a stop at the final turn for the runway, to wait for Joey. He turned onto the runway, made a final check of things, and punched the afterburner. A long tail of yellow flame erupted out with an ear shattering scream. Joey quickly galloped down the runway and climbed into the morning sky, leaving an exhaust plume behind him. Rob gave a quick burst of power and turned for the runway. A final sweep of his gauges confirmed that he had a good ship on his paws, and Rob commanded maximum power with the throttle. The moment the afterburner lit, Rob was pushed into the ejection seat, and began his takeoff roll. Lightly loaded, the Fitter quickly got airborne, and Rob began his way to Chicago.

Swinging around in a banking turn, Rob formed up on Joey a few minutes later. He was flying at 450MPH, at ten thousand feet. The wolf-hybrid trimmed his speed up, and stayed beside Joey at his four o'clock. It would be an uneventful forty-five minute flight to the windy city.

"Well...she flies as well as she looks!" Joey laughed over the radio.

"Heavy controls, eh?"

"I kinda like them like that, honestly." Joey admitted. "This thing handles better than some of the other jet warbirds! Also doesn't over rotate like the Sabre."

"A rather simple jet with docile controls, I must say." Rob agreed.

"Just a touch fast on landing~"

"Live fast." Chuckled Rob.

Rob and Joey sat back in their jets as they crossed over Ohio and Indiana, heading in a north-west direction after passing Indianapolis. It was an uneventful flight that took them over endless miles of farmland and small towns. Western Ohio and Indiana was just flatland, endless miles of flat, featureless ground that faded off in the hazy distance. It was going to be a scorcher in Chicago.

Arriving over the windy city, they looped around and came in for a landing at Midway. Joey descended in first, and Rob watched as his husband stuck the landing perfectly. His Fitter's dual parachute exploded out and inflated perfectly as he braked on the runway. Rob orbited around once and descended in for a fast landing. The runway came racing up, and he flared for touchdown while cutting the throttle. "Blue 60" sank onto the gear, the tires smoking on touchdown. Releasing the drag 'chute, the orange and white cruciform braking 'chutes popped out and inflated, giving Rob the necessary drag to avoid burning his brakes up. He turned off the end of the runway and dragged them behind, releasing them as he entered the tarmac, where Centoh's ground crew retrieved them once he cut them loose.

Exchanging flight suits for more comfortable, casual clothes, Rob and Joey climbed aboard the Barev Tahoe, and began their day trip. They started their day visiting the history museum, and then traveled over to the art gallery to explore. In between the stops, Rob took various photos of Chicago's architecture and scenery. Even aimlessly driving all around the city, they had a blast with each other's company. By the late afternoon, their journey ended in Boystown, the gay district.

Driving down Halsted, Joey and Rob followed the slow flow of traffic as they came to a stop at an intersection.

"Boy...it's been years since I've been here." Joey recalled. "There's Hydrate... I've stripped there before."

"Oh have ya?"

"Yeah!" Joey laughed. "Oh god... that was... wow... seventeen years ago."

"You're an old fuck~"

"Yeah!" the Doberman laughed. "I can't believe I'll be thirty-nine in October."

"Time has flown, Joey."

"That it has, Rob." Joey nodded. "But yeah, me and a couple guys went on a vacation to Boystown back then, and we did a week of shows at Hydrate, and dude... I made so much money as a stripper."

"I can imagine!"

Joey grinned at Rob. "When you're good! You're good!"

"Oh my god!" laughed Rob.

Joey playfully flexed his muscular arms and blew a kiss at Rob with his infectious grin.

"In five days, I made like... thirty grand."

"Wow."

"I said that too. Some rich dude put a eight thousand dollar check in my jockstrap and I was like DAMN!" Joey laughed. "I bet I still could pull that shit off."

"Pull a muscle."

"Ha, probably." Joey chuckled.

Pulling off Halsted to go grab dinner, Rob and Joey sat at an outdoor dining space, eating a spaghetti meal at a wrought iron table. Rob sat contently, listening to Joey tell him stories about his former life as a stripper, before he left that scene to become a gunsmith with his father.

"It's so funny to come back here almost two decades later. It's so nice, yet it's a reminder." Joey explained. "When I was twenty-one, this was the shit. This is what I wanted to live for... eh... not anymore."

"I never really understood 'gay life' if you can call it that... and I'm gay~" Rob shrugged. He took a slow sip of a bottle of Perrier.

"When I came out, I thought that's where happiness was, in a gay village, surrounded by other members of your tribe." The Doberman explained. "Twenty something years ago, I was young, out bi kid in Newark, and what's there to do in Newark when you're young, dumb, and full of cum?"

"Shoot up heroin, smoke meth, be retarded." Rob sarcastically fired off.

"Exactly." Joey laughed. "Plus being a stripper seemed so exotic... and man... did I make good money! But gay life just consumes you if you're not careful, and I learned that the hard way."

"Yeah."

"I enjoyed what I did, I enjoyed the hookups, everything, but I wanted more, and people didn't want to give it to me. I'm like anyone else, I wanted a boyfriend, I wanted something more than just hookups and alcohol... and nobody seemed to get that? I got burned a bunch of times by guys. People just wanted Joey, the stripper, not Joey, the person. It's weird."

"I get it, I get it~"

"Then the stress, the drugs... lord... the drugs... fucking heroin. Never again." Joey shook his head. "I had to leave it after I OD'ed on heroin. Waking up in the hospital and being told you were revived with narcan because you overdosed on heroin... wow. How embarrassing." Joey explained with a hint of regret. "I moved back to Newark, and started working at Dad's gun store... and that was kind of a low point... that really was. To go from A-game stripper on top of the world, to selling shotguns at the counter to a bunch of fat country-bumpkins. But then I met you, and you changed my world."

"Pfft, I don't know." Rob chuckled. "I'm a boring, unsmiling, figure."

"Don't forget... Hitler and Nixon." Joey grinned.

"Shut up, Joey."

"Awww, I love you." The Doberman laughed with a grin. Even Rob couldn't help but crack a smile at his husband.

"You're a unique person, Rob."

"Unique is putting it nicely." Rob grimaced.

Joey chuckled. "You're rough in places, and you can be a very terrifying figure to some... but I love you just the way you are, because I know deep down, there's a good heart in you."

"Heh~" Rob smirked a bit. "Thanks Joey."

Rob took another slow sip of his drink. "I feel like I wasn't a very good boyfriend to you in our twenties... because I remember you wanted to do all this stuff, and I didn't want to. Vacations, yada-yada."

"Eh. It's fine." Joey shrugged. "I was thinking about this recently... I look at myself down, and have grown so much since my twenties... the stuff I thought was so important back then, don't matter to me now at almost thirty-nine."

"We all outgrow our past."

"I used to think the ultimate gay life was parties, good times, good sex, vacations, but now none of that interests me. I got a wonderful husband, a nephew, and Felix and Tony in our lives. So you know what? I'm happy with that."

"I'll openly admit that I never really got interested in ever wanting to be part of the gay community." Rob admitted. "Maybe... maybe if things didn't happen the way they did... but that's hindsight. I am who I am because of that day in 1999..."

"I understand completely."

"But if that day didn't happen... I wouldn't be here with you... I doubt any of you would be here. I'd be living in blissful ignorance like a fag. So perhaps fate just worked the way it did." Rob shrugged. "It is what it is now."

Joey took a bite of his spaghetti and chewed on it slowly. "It would help you tremendously if you could just relax some more."

"It's a struggle, Joey."

"I know it is~ But not everyone's out to get ya."

"The way the world is..."

Joey was about to say something when his phone rang. He rolled his eyes sarcastically and grabbed it, finding his Dad calling him. Joey answered the phone; Rob watched his face almost immediately stiffen up. Even from a distance, Rob could just faintly hear pandemonium through the phone.

"WHAT." Joey shouted. "WHAT!?"

"What's going on!"

"Oh my god, we're flying back now! Okay! Okay! Cleveland! Okay! We're on our way Dad!"

"What's going on!?" Rob shouted.

"Robby got shot! Alvin and his friend got kidnapped by the fucking Marquees."

"MOTHERFUCKERS!" Rob screamed. He threw the bottle of Perrier against the wall, which exploded. "LET'S GO!"

The two rushed up and ran for the Tahoe. Rob practically bowled over the waiter, who got a hundred dollar bill shoved into his chest by Rob. "Sorry! That's our payment! Use the rest as a tip!"

Hopping into the white Barev SUV, Joey floored it and smoked the tires in a wide, sliding turn on Halsted. They rushed back towards Midway in a great hurry.

Looking embarrassed, a bit regretful, Rob went through his phone contacts, finding "S.A GARY DOVE (FBI), CINCINNATI. He hit the call button and raised the phone up. Four rings, and he got Gary to answer.

"Rob, it's Gary."

"Gary... I need your help..."

Forty agonizing minutes later, Rob and Joey rushed into Midway. Cleared through security, the Tahoe rushed onto Centoh's tarmac, where the mechanics had the two Fitter-B's prepared for flight. Rushing to get suited up, Joey and Rob were in such a hurry that they swapped jets. Joey flew "Blue 60", while Rob had "Red 57". The ground crew watched as the Fitters roared off into the air, climbing away to return back to Ohio.

Hitting twelve thousand feet, the two flew their Fitters at near Mach 1. Transonic the whole way back, the Fitters flew right at the cusp of breaking the sound barrier, with condensation clouds periodically forming around the fuselage and sharply swept wings. From Chicago, they flew directly to Cleveland, to respond to their family crisis.

One Week Later

"Ohh shit..." chuckled one of the mechanics. Standing on a rain swept tarmac at Midway, the Centoh mechanics watched Rob descend in for a landing in his all black Messerschmitt. The dreaded "Green 5", his 1943 Bf-109G-6AS, flared for touchdown on the runway centerline. The all black 109, in a "Wild Sau" nightfighter scheme was the plane Rob flew when he was in a bad mood regarding work. Every Barev employee learned to fear Rob when he arrived in "Green 5". The Nazi marked warbird came rumbling up onto the tarmac on its canted, narrow tracked gear. The Daimler-Benz under the cowling gave a raspy burble as Rob parked. He momentarily ran the engine up on lean, before pulling the mixture closed to shut the DB605 down. Climbing out, Rob was dressed in an authentic leather Luftwaffe flying suit and helmet, all shiny black. The unsmiling wolf-hybrid looked especially cross on a Friday morning.

"Good morning Rob, uhh, everything okay?"

Rob pushed right by his mechanics without saying a word or glancing at them. He simply got into his work SUV and took off in a huff.

"Oh boy, heads are going to roll today."

Rob made his way to the CMD, to directly confront the people responsible for the worst Covid-19 outbreak at Barev Two. It was just another bad day to Rob, on top of all the other bad days.

Last weekend, his brother-in-law was shot and almost killed by Mary and her husband, Darius Marquee. Alvin and his friend, Freddy Filton were kidnapped by them and held hostage at their home in the Hilltop, until they managed to break free and escape. They were found by Agent Dove, who whisked them to safety. Being the dumbasses that they were, Alvin managed to take incriminating evidence with him, which allowed the feds to once and for all, take the Marquees down. Everything from drug peddling, sex trafficking, racketeering, came crashing down upon Mary. Her dysfunctional life was now threatened with federal prison, a virtual death sentence with the number of years that come looming with the charges. But Rob was very upset; he blamed himself for Roberto Paulo nearly dying. He blamed his own actions in ruthlessly dealing with the Marquees to be the catalyst that led to Roberto being shot, and Alvin and Freddy almost getting killed themselves. The entire crisis, on top of continuing problems down in Biloxi, cast a long, dark shadow on Rob's mood. Now he was ready to ruthlessly take care of the problems in Chicago.

At Barev Two, Rob walked with Ryan Vlockner, to the security office. They didn't say anything, and both of them looked tense at the situation. Barev Two had finally come back online after a long shutdown period by the Cook County Health Department. In all, sixty-two people came down with Covid-19, and one was still in the hospital.

The security room was where the Blackshirts lurked at. Security cameras monitored the office, the warehouse, and manufacturing areas, with an eerie "big brother" feel to the live feeds on the monitors that were overseen by security. Rob and Ryan stood watching workers about their business, with the looming presence of Brad Johnson behind them.

On monitor two was a shot showing their suspect, hard at work at his cubicle. Gary Wheeler was a chubby gray wolf, a troublemaker in the support office who people had a hard time working with. A staunch conservative, a loud-mouth antivaxxer. Rob watched with scrutinizing eyes as his brother, a just as chubby wolf, Don Wheeler, showed up to his cubicle. Zooming in, Rob watched as a bunch of partially filled out vaccine cards were handed off. Rob and Ryan gave each other a side glance and nodded.

"So that was recorded this morning." One of the Blackshirts reported, a sable brown husky.

Brad stepped forward. "We've looked into all vaccine cards that are reported in the system, and noticed a major discrepancy. Jake?"

"Yeah, there's similar matching vaccine batch numbers, and a non-existent Walmart pharmacy ID number. We've called Bentonville's corporate office, and there is no Walmart in any of Cook county with that ID number as seen here on the monitor."

"I see." Rob nodded.

"These are clearly forgeries- you can see the same handwriting, and even on this one, they spelled Moderna wrong."

"If you're gonna lie...lie good..." Rob shook his head.

"The handwriting matches that of Gary Wheeler, as seen here."

"I want you to grab Gary, and his brother... and meet us in the conference room downstairs..."

"Will do, Rob~"

"Ryan, you're with me."

Rob left the security room with Ryan, who kept up with Rob's quick pace.

"Rob, what is going on?"

"You will see." Rob responded curtly. "Someone's going to be my example..."

"Do you want me to fire the people with the forged cards?"

"Yes."

"Oh god... shit... fuck!" Ryan grumbled.

"We are going to make an example." Rob pointed.

The downstairs conference room was for all intent and purposes, an empty area for storage. With conferences done in a newer office that had windows to the outside, the former conference room simply became a place to conveniently store printers, computers, and other odds and ends. Rob and Ryan stood with several of their security guards, including Brad.

The office doors burst open with Gary being dragged in, his arms restrained by two guards. "What is the meaning of this!?" shouted the wolf furiously.

"Search 'em." Brad called.

"What!? WAIT!?" the wolf yelled as he was padded, prodded, and searched. Out came a whole packet of vaccine cards from his pants pocket.

"There we go! Bingo!" grinned one of the guards, who threw it on the table. "COME HERE!"

Gary was thrown into the table and his paws held down, as Brad approached with a screeching jigsaw in his grip. Gary screamed, writhed and struggled as Brad held the saw right to his paws. Rob stepped forward, motioning him to stop. "Enough of that." Rob motioned. "Gary Wheeler..."

Rob stood over Gary with an irate gaze on his worn face. He crossed his arms. "Care to explain why you're committing a felony with those fake ass cards?"

Gary looked shocked at the whole situation. "It's about freedom! You can't make us patriots take this experimental vaccine- I mean, what point is it, you got the jab! You are protected!"

"That's your answer huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well...I'll tell you what Gary." Rob chuckled. "I won't report you to the feds..."

"Oh thank god..." Gary muttered. The guards released him and he stood up to breathe a bit calmer.

"Oh no... I got something better."

Before Gary could even react, Brad struck Gary with a steel baseball bat, hitting him square in his left kneecap. It knocked the wolf into the table with a loud yell of immense pain. Brad hit him in the upper back and then stomach as he flung himself to the floor. Ryan looked shocked. Rob looked amused.

The doors to the room swung open to reveal his brother Don being wheeled in. Looking dumbfounded, the gray wolf looked in shock at his brother clutching his broken knee on the floor.

"Oh my fucking god! Look what these psychopaths have done!" Gary cried out. Don looked over to see Rob glaring at him. He walked over to confront him.

"I'm gonna give you two options and you better choose carefully..." Rob pointed. "You can have the fake ass cards and the bat? Or you can walk outta here- you can't have both, Don."

"I want to get out of here man..."

"Good. 'Cause if I ever catch you two morons anywhere around this factory or my workers with this fake ass Covid vaccine shit, I'm gonna smash both of your fucking heads and you won't leave... you see those fuckin' blast ovens? I'll use them. You don't ever fuck around here. You understand?"

"I'm sorry, Rob, we made a really fucking bad mistake!"

"Yeah, I'd say so!" Rob glared. "You see that fuckin' baseball bat- we're gonna use it. Smash both your heads in like pumpkins. Don't you ever fuck around here again... got it?"

"Yeah."

"Get 'em outta here."

"Thank you~"

Don was escorted out of the conference room, as Rob looked down at Gary, who laid on the floor clutching his knee in pain. "Take this loser and throw him out too. If the cops ask, tell 'em it was an accident. Wipe the drives, this never happened."

"Will do." Brad nodded.

Ryan suddenly looked irritated and went up to Rob. "What the fuck was this!?"

"This, Ryan, was an example." Rob pointed out.

"You broke Gary's kneecap!"

"You seem surprised, you've lived in Chicago your whole life..." Rob chuckled. "I thought you Chicagoans would be used to this by now?"

"Oh my god! You could have killed him!"

"Far enough away from his heart I think!" Rob laughed sardonically. "I want all of you to find everyone with the fake cards, and escort them out of here!"

"This is getting out of control Rob! This is getting out of fucking control! And what about labor shortages! Do you know how many people that are going to get fired! We should-"

Rob grabbed the bat from Brad and pointed it at Ryan. "This is my final warning. There will be terminations, or you will meet the final solution like them. You and your idiot brother."

Ryan saw that he was surrounded by the Blackshirts. The wolf angrily backed down and left in a huff. Rob threw the bat to the ground and shook his head.

Leaving Barev Two, Rob returned back to Midway, with Brad and his security entourage, who were heading back to Virginia on a "BATS" flight.

"Before you go... I would like you to open an investigation regarding financial discrepancies with Barev Two..." Rob said to Brad at the base of the airstair.

"Do you suspect fraud?"

"I don't know... but I keep being off by two thousand dollars when I do the raw numbers myself... Something going on, and I suspect some kind of foul play, somewhere in the numbers."

"I will see to it that we will conduct an audit." Brad nodded.

"Good."

Rob watched Brad climb aboard the L-1049H that was part of the "BATS" mission, which provided an internal airline for Barev and its business partners. The old Super Constellation took taxied out for its long flight back to Fairfax.

Rob returned to his Bf-109, and got it fired back up for the flight back home. Rob took off and left Chicago without even looking behind. He was so disgusted at himself. In the span of one hour, he fired fifty-one people for lying about their vaccination status. The entire payroll department, one quarter of the sales department, and support center were terminated in one swift stroke. People were unceremoniously thrown out and stripped of everything.

Rob returned to Newark in roughly an hour, having been aided by a fortunate tailwind the whole way. He turned the black Messerschmitt over to Vlado, and returned back home in his red Tahoe, where he got an update from Joey about Roberto, and retreated to his basement for alone time.

The following Wednesday, Rob returned to Chicago, flying on the silver wings of his Shenyang J-5. "Zhong" his nickname for "Red 63240" cruised effortlessly amongst the clouds, over the flat farmland of Indiana. The Chinese built MiG was one of four MiG-17's that Rob owned in his museum collection, and the only warbird that had come from China. Of the four, "Zhong" was Rob's favorite Fresco-C; he liked the fit and finish of the Shenyang, over his two Soviet, and one Polish built Fresco. The only major change he did to the airframe was the replacement of its original cannon armed ejection seat, with a rocket powered Martin Baker "blast seat". Early Soviet ejection seats were unsafe below a certain altitude and speed, and the explosion powered ejection were backbreakers in the combloc air forces.

August was going by fast, and September was looming on the horizon. It certainly wasn't the August that Rob had wanted, with so much bad news. But that seemed like Rob's whole life when he thought deeper about it. Bad luck. It always lurked for Rob. The thought frustrated him as he watched Chicago emerge through August's thick haze. Now he returned to Chicago to attend a meeting at Barev Two, to plan the future operations of the company. Rob hoped that it would be better than his screaming match down in Mississippi, over further slips to the schedule for Barev Four. The only consolation Rob could think of for the latter, as he descended in for landing, was that he got the incompetent site supervisor replaced by someone who had more gusto in his work.

Glistening in the hazy sunshine, "Zhong" whistled onto the tarmac and turned to park. Coming to a halt, the Fresco was powered down, and Rob stepped out to jump off the back of the swept wing. He did a brief walk around inspection of the jet, and turned it over to ground crew, as he hopped into the SUV and took off for the CMD.

Rob looked tense behind the wheel of the Tahoe. Since "the incident" last week, he sensed a brewing tension with Ryan Vlockner, regarding the terminations of so many employees. Each employee received a copy of their termination paperwork, which bore Ryan's name scribbled at the bottom. Rob didn't want to deal with Ryan, or his idiot brother, but business was business, and he was determined to get Barev Two up to spec.

Arriving at CGOF, Rob parked in his usual spot by the entrance and ventured inside. There was an icy quiet when everyone saw Rob step inside. Rob didn't say anything as he went to go find Ryan in his office.

Going upstairs, Rob found Ryan in his office, looking disgruntled over some paperwork. He looked up with the same disgruntled stare.

"Alright, let's go over some of the preliminary-"

"You have royally fucked me over!" Ryan shouted. He got up and marched over to Rob. "You know how much fucking heat you've dumped on me!?"

"What are you talking about?"

"All those people you got fucking fired!" Ryan shouted. "All those people I HAD TO FIRE! You know how many people in Chicago are pissed at me! My phone is blowing up constantly because of you. I've spent almost a week now being cussed out by everyone and their mother because they lost their jobs!"

"Fuck around, find out?" Rob shrugged. An insincere little smile curled up on his face. "Welcome to leadership, where you're gonna be the bad guy!"

"I wanted a comfy job running this place where everyone's gonna like me and it be smooth sailing! Instead I got the opposite!" Ryan yelled at Rob, pointing in his face. Rob's face grew cross.

"I didn't work my way up to be public enemy number one in Chicago, Rob!"

"Hey Ryan Retardo, GROW THE FUCK UP!" Rob screamed in his face. "YOU ARE FORTY-THREE YEARS OLD! GROW THE FUCK UP! 'Everyone's gonna like me'- Jesus Christ Ryan, what are you? FIVE!? Welcome to leadership! I've told you before, and I'mma tell you again. Leadership is where you're gonna have to be a bad guy. Those people had to be fired. They committed fraud with forged vaccine cards! They infected a whole bunch of people and got this place shut down for two weeks, and even you said they needed to be fired."

"I didn't think fifty-one! My whole payroll department is gone! Almost half the sales guys are shitcanned!"

"Blame them."

"You tied my paws behind my back!"

"Oh no I didn't!" Rob laughed. "Don't you even try that baby shit on me."

"All these people blaming me for this, ruining their lives, ruining this factory... it's as though it's my fault for all these problems here!"

"Hey Ryan, are you in charge of this factory?"

"Yes."

"Then that would be your fault!" Rob yelled. "You know why people act like this, forge shit, and think they can get away with it? Because of your dumbass just allowing the insane to run the asylum. All you give a flying fuck about is people liking you and wanting a good time, than actually running this place."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa-"

"Blah, blah, blah."

"Rob, I swear to god... my brother..."

"Fuck your brothers."

"MY BROTHER SAM!"

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR CITY SLICK OLDER BROTHER!" Rob yelled in his face. "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOUR BROTHER, FUCK CHICAGO, AND THE HORSE YOU FUCKING RODE IN ON!"

Ryan geared up for another insult when his whole office suddenly began to shake. Rob and Ryan looked around to the feeling of an earthquake rattling things. There was a tremendous, dull explosion that filled their ears, a sound of creaking, twisting metal, and the smashing of stuff. Then just silence.

"What the fuck was that!?" Ryan shouted.

"That sounded like something crashed in the warehouse..."

Putting their argument aside, Rob and Ryan rushed to the warehouse doors, to watch people run for their lives amongst an explosion of dust and smoke. There was pandemonium in the air, as people screamed and yelled about workers trapped under the racking. Braving the choking dust, Rob ran through the doors to the second story catwalk over the warehouse. He found racking collapsed and bent over the catwalk; his head on a swivel, Rob saw that the entire warehouse racking had collapsed in a giant domino effect. Twisted metal, broken product scattered everywhere. There were drums of chemicals lying in a precarious pile on the opposite end.

"Oh fuck..."

By nightfall, CGOF looked like a crime scene. Police, ambulance, fire trucks, hazmat, and OSHA had the whole facility cordoned off. An all day rescue operation was coming to a close; for close to ten hours, rescuers pulled injured workers out from the mess of twisted steel and broken product, and a chemical spill was stabilized and stopped. Nobody was killed thankfully, but several suffered significant injuries, including broken limbs, chemical burns, and concussions.

Under the bright glare of spotlights, Rob stood in the parking lot, his hair a tousled mess. Necktie loose around his neck, as was his shirt collar, the wolf-hybrid paced in a slow back and forth motion, to contain his immense frustration. Standing not far away was Maverick and Brad Johnson, along with some of the Blackshirts. Sitting on his truck bed's tailgate was an embarrassed looking Brent Vlockner, with Ryan standing and leaning against the bed. Both their faces looked sour and sullen. Brent looked down at the ground, knowing what was coming; It was Brent's fault that the racking collapsed.

Brent, not paying any attention, hit one of the racks with a forklift at full speed. It collapsed into another rack, starting a chain reaction that collapsed the entire warehouse. Millions of dollars worth of product was destroyed, and the warehouse's structural supports took major damage too. To add further insult to injury, Brent admitted that on some of the racks, that he had shoddily repaired himself, used cheap bolts he had picked up from a Home Depot.

"Well Brent?" Rob said, walking up to him. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Rob's face was unflinching and numb looking, with an upset scowl etched on it. "You just fucked Barev over...oh... probably ten million dollars with your latest fuckup. Maybe even more when the litigation begins!"

"It was an accident buddah..."

"Yeah, so was your conception." Rob shook his head. "If I was your parents? I would have just kept the afterbirth!"

"Alright, enough!"

"You, zip it." Rob pointed. "You are in no position to talk there Ryan. How the fuck did you not realize that your idiot brother did critical repair jobs with substandard parts! Nobody is allowed to just repair the racking! How fucking stupid are you?"

"Enough!"

"No!" Rob shouted. "You two are the dumbest motherfuckers I've ever seen. Dumb and fuckin' dumber here."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know the racks would collapse like this?" Ryan asked.

"YOU NEED SPECIFIC TYPE BOLTS THAT CAN CARRY THE LOAD YOU DOLT!" Rob screamed in his face. "You know what? I'm done screaming, I'm done trying to understand you fucking retards. Both of you are done."

"What?"

"You heard me! Done! Fired! Kaput! I'm sick and tired of having to fly here and just unfuck everything!"

"You can't fire me!"

"Yes I can! And I just have." Rob smirked. "I want both of you gone. NOW!"

"Rob, you may really regret this..." the gray wolf glared.

"The only thing I regret is letting you continue to insult my intelligence! BRAD!" Rob motioned.

"Come on, you dopes are outta here." Brad announced. He grabbed Ryan by the arm, and marched him and Brent to their vehicles, under escort by the other Blackshirts.

"YOU GUNNA REGWET IT ROB!" Brent yelled.

Rob stood with his practically permanent glare, watching as Brent and Ryan left into the night.

Unable to do much more, Rob signed some paperwork, talked to an OSHA rep, and bitterly accepted that the factory would be shutdown, again, for an investigation into the accident. Everyone soon left to return to Midway, to head home.

Under the bright lights of Midway's tarmac sat "Aquitania", Barev's immaculate DC-7C. In its dark blue, red, and white paint scheme that Maverick had designed, it was destined to fly Maverick and Brad back home to Ohio and Virginia. The four-engine Seven Seas dwarfed the little swept-wing J-5 that sat beside it.

Rob walked with Brad and Maverick, as they made their way to the airstair.

"I want Ryan and Brent's stuff thoroughly scrutinized before being returned to them." Rob told Brad.

"It will be done, Rob~"

"I want you guys to comb through Ryan's shit especially, in regards to the investigation into C-G-O-F's financial discrepancies."

"That's the plan."

Rob stopped at the airstair and watched as Brad climbed up the steps to board the DC-7. Maverick paused at the base of the steps to talk to Rob.

"What a day huh?"

"That's an understatement." Rob rolled his eyes. "Brace for lawsuits."

"Yeah... just what we need right?"

"Yep..."

"Hey, you have a safe flight home, I'll see you back in Newark."

"Will do Mav. You do the same."

Rob watched Maverick climb the steps and slip in through the door. Rob turned and walked over to get ready to fly his jet home.

At night, the exhaust of the VK-1F turbojet glowed a soft blue. Flying by moonlight, Rob watched as clouds illuminated by the full moon passed by "Zhong", as he made his way home over rural Indiana. Lights from faint cities in the distance were the only visible features on an otherwise inky black ground. Night flying in a jet that lacked any radar, was the ultimate test of Rob's flying skills on instrumentation. The instrument panel was faintly lit by a red light, and gauges and instruments glowed. Rob sat back listening to the hum of the turbojet pushing him along.

Alone in the empty sky, he thought long and hard about the consequences of the day's accident. He fired two very incompetent people, who in hindsight, should have been fired many months before. Rob felt conflicted about the Vlockners termination; he ridded himself of two problems in his company, but felt that he opened the floodgates to something more ominous. The constant threats about their older brother Sam, the city commissioner of Chicago. Deep down inside, Rob felt as though he had royally fucked himself. But it would just be another problem he would ruthlessly have to deal with. Endless problems. Rob groaned a bit and shook the thought from his mind, as he pressed on through the night.

One Week Later

"8/27/21" Rob scribbled down on a piece of ivory letterhead that bore his name. Sitting alone in his office, Rob wrote a letter back to his friend Sam, in a moment of calm in his itinerary. Looking a bit haggard from dealing with all the chaos that work threw at him, Rob sat writing a letter with a blue Bic Cristal that was randomly plucked from his coffee cup of assorted pens and markers.

"Dear Sam,

There's been a lot of chaos on my end as of

lately, so my apologizes for my late reply- I

did not forget about you! I've come to realize

Sam that common sense is as rare as hen's

teeth; that's where half my problems lie. A

complete lack of common sense. But enough

about me.

I'm so glad that you liked that prototype

Vistachrome film. That's basically the look

and feel of the now extinct Kodachrome that I

remember using as a kid. This film is a lot faster

though. People today have to tweak their pictures

in post to make them look nice; you just took the

film out of the box and the pictures would look

nice! We're giving the green light to introduce that

film in the first quarter of '22, so look out for it in your

photo shops!

You might be interested that I'm working on acquiring

an A-26 Invader variant; it's called a Marksman, rebuilt

by On Mark Engineering. Basically it's an A-26 rebuilt with

a ring-style wing-spar to allow a (cramped!) cabin in the

fuselage. 2021 has been bad for me in a lot of ways, but

in the field of aviation, has been a watershed for my

aviation assets. So many rare planes have been acquired

for the museum- an Il-10, an La-9, my Phantoms are flying,

and Joey got a P-47D-23 razorback. $$$

But money don't buy happiness; I want to pass some advice

along to ya, Sam. Life isn't easy, and never expect it to be

easy. Life, and people, especially "friends" will kick you when

you're down, never be there when you need 'em, and subject

you to the trials of Job. But never give up, and never give in

to despair. Learn from my mistakes.

Sending my regards to your family.

All the best,

Rob"

As Rob folded the letter up to shove into an envelope, his desk phone rang. Rob reached over to engage the speakerphone. "Yeah~"

The voice of his secretary, Tabby Murphy came through the speaker. "Rob, Chicago city commissioner Samuel Vlockner is here to see you."

Rob pursed his lips. "Okay, gimme a couple minutes."

"Okay!"

Rob hung up and got up to walk over to his coat closet to fetch his necktie, which was neatly hung up on a hangar. Looking at himself in a small mirror, Rob tied his dark blue necktie, accented with dark red and white stripes. He always had a Windsor knot, which he thought looked perfect for a necktie, and didn't sit weird like a four-in-hand knot. Rob returned back to his desk and called Tabby back.

"Okay, send him in, call me in about ten minutes."

Rob braced himself for meeting with Sam Vlockner, knowing exactly what it was about. His office door was opened by Tabby, who welcomed him in. Sam looked like an older and smarter version of Ryan, in his early fifties. He was a gray wolf with light brown hair that was slicked back against his head, like Rob's hairdo. Sam wore a light gray sports coat, over a white polo, with gray slacks, and black dress shoes. "Mister Barion!" he greeted with a warm tone.

Rob got up to meet him, shaking his paw. "Hello, hello, welcome to Newark."

"It is a pleasure~"

"I've heard a lot about you." Rob chuckled as he watched Sam walk up to his window to peer out at the crumbling buildings of downtown Newark.

"This is definitely a different world that Chicago!" Sam chuckled. "A whole different view."

"That's an understatement." Rob said as he motioned for him. " Why don't you have a seat."

"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with a honest lil' civil servant!" Sam exclaimed as he sat down, opposite of Rob.

"So what brings you here to good ole N'erk?" Rob asked, sitting down at his desk.

"Well I've come here personally to try and smooth over some issues that I understand have happened recently with your business in Chicago. Now in case you didn't know, the Vlockners go back a long way in Chicago's history. My great-grandfather, a first generation German-American, made a name for himself working in city government for a very long time. So did my grandfather, my father, and now myself. We have a lot of sway, if you can call it that, over what goes on in the windy city~"

"I see."

"Now if you look at it through that perspective Rob, and hear me out here... perhaps Brent and Ryan didn't deserve to get fired the way they did?"

"Ryan and Brent were fired for gross incompetence and unprofessional behavior, unbecoming of management to the factor. They consistently allowed problems to go unchecked, were detrimental to employee morale, and the reasoning for constant quality control issues, and schedule slippages."

"That's a very damning set of allegations against my two younger brothers... now are you able to back that up?"

"Ryan demonstrated meek leadership skills. He was given directives and orders, and either refused to follow through with them, or incompetently executed them. Ryan liked the pomp and sound of leadership, not the responsibilities that come with the title of plant manager. As for Brent... forgive me... Brent was blatantly incompetent in almost everything he was tasked to do. He would be constantly late, not show up to work, or milked excessive overtime- up to ninety-five hours, with nothing being accomplished, while being shielded from punishment by Ryan. He was directly responsible for the warehouse rack collapse that severely injured almost a dozen people. Regardless if they are your brothers, they are a menace to Barev's operations, and were justifiably terminated and relieved of their job duties." Rob explained. His face did not flinch.

Sam leaned back in his chair and smirked a little bit at Rob. "It sounds... Rob... like you would like the city of Chicago to scrutinize some of your plant operations... like your ruthless security who beat the shit out of Gary Wheeler, and made it look like an accident?"

"I think you are treading into some very dangerous waters there, Sam." Glared the wolf-hybrid. "You are overstepping your bounds. Big time."

"I don't think you understand how Chicago works, Rob~"

"Ya'll are a corrupt machine, who's gears slowly churn, crushing everything in your path..." Rob hissed. "I gave Ryan and Brent many months and many chances to turn things around, and they didn't. I could have fired their dumbasses on the spot on day one, but I didn't, because I thought I saw potential in them. Ryan and Brent are incompetent, lazy, childish. They jeopardize the long-term success of Barev's Chicago operations."

Sam snorted and chuckled a bit. "Okay." He laughed harder. "Okay, you got me on that one... ole' Ryan and Brent are like two cheeks on the same dumb ass. But they are my brothers... and family sticks together. So perhaps with that understanding... maybe you could hire them back? Even in a lower position."

"No."

Sam's face dropped to a more stern gaze. "I don't think you understand how things work Rob..."

"I think I do..."

"You go into Chicago, and throw your weight around... thinking you're at home. Well you're not. But that's where I'll gladly send you..."

"Well just a reminder Sam that you are on my home turf. You don't fuck around with the boys of Newark." Rob pointed. "And if you think you're gonna push me around to get your retarded family members rehired back on, then you're a bigger dumbass than them! The answer is no!"

The phone rang right on schedule and Rob picked it up to mumble a few words in it. He promptly hung back up and stared at Sam. "The answer is no. And this meeting is over."

Sam smirked. "You may very well regret this Rob..." the wolf suggested, just as the office door swung open to reveal two of Rob's security guards.

"These gentlemen will escort you to the door."

"Rob..." Sam said, getting up. "Your business operations may very well be in jeopardy in Chicago..."

"Over my dead body."

Sam just smiled as he turned and left with the Blackshirts, leaving Rob to sit at his desk with a flustered look on his face.

The following Monday, Rob begrudgingly returned to Chicago, flying through the morning haze in his tubby, dark blue Wildcat. The pudgy FM-2, with its square wings, burbled, urged along by its Cyclone-9 radial. Rob specifically picked the slower Wildcat, so he could buy a little bit of time to avoid dealing with Chicagoland. The canopy was locked back, and Rob sat strapped into the armored seat, enjoying the slipstream blasting into the canopy. Off in the distance, the skyscrapers of Chicago appeared through the morning haze. The penultimate day of August, it was another muggy scorcher.

Circling around, Rob had to manually drop the landing gear into place. Using the hand crank, Rob turned it counter-clockwise twenty-five times, to slowly drop the gear into the slipstream. He adjusted his flaps, and exited his turn to find Midway's runway, square in his twelve o'clock. Rob simply descended in and touched down for an uneventful rollout. He left his warbird to the mechanics to look after in the hangar, while he carried his backpack to his Tahoe.

The white SUV sat beside the hangar; someone had moved it since the last time Rob had driven it. Sometimes the Centoh guys, or other Barev employees used it for transportation around the city. Rob walked around to open the passenger door, when he noticed that someone left a duffel bag in the trunk. A rather large purple and white duffel bag, with "Northwestern" written on it. Rob rolled his eyes to the thought of someone forgetting their luggage. Rather than be an asshole and just throw it out, he left it, so it would be retrieved later. Rob took off for the CMD to go attend his meetings.

As Rob drove, he thought about the future of the plant without the incompetent Vlockners standing in the way. The factory had a new plant manager, Ryan's assistant plant manager, Josh Manley. He was Rob's rather reluctant choice; Josh was certainly competent, a long serving employee of CGOF who knew his stuff. But he was a total toady to Vlockner. Rob would always joke that "he didn't know where Josh ended and Vlockner began", having his "head shoved up Ryan's ass". But Rob was rather willing to play damage control like that, verses trying to recruit others in, or having the management of Barev Three have to run Barev Two.

Rob parked his Tahoe in his usual spot, by the entrance. Hopping out and grabbing his backpack, he met the security guard at the entrance, who took his temperature and welcomed him inside. Rob walked by some of the salesmen, and ventured deeper into the plant to go meet with the new plant manager.

Josh Manley was a brown and gray furred wolf, with some silver highlights in his pelt. He was Rob's age, thirty-nine, and had a flattop of black hair atop his head. Clutching some paperwork, he walked with Rob down the hallway, talking about the repairs planned for the warehouse. The two walked through the double-doors to the gantryway to peer down at the destroyed warehouse, which was in the midst of being cleaned up. Rob shook his head at the sight; he lost almost ten million dollars total in that collapse.

"They're hoping to have all the debris cleared out and the repairs done by the end of the month." Josh pointed out.

"Good. But this is going to really hurt for the holidays..." Rob shook his head. "Just had to happen at a critical time. But it is what it is, Josh."

Leaving the warehouse, the two continued to discuss plans for the future, as they went down the hallways, towards the forward stairwell. Rob was finding it to be a productive conversation, and even laughed a bit with Josh as they approached the stairwell. Rob was about to fire off a joke, and was right at the punch line, when everything went silent.

A tremendous explosion blew the fire doors off the stairwell, one of the doors striking Rob. He didn't even have time to react as he was struck and sent flying to the floor. An ear shattering explosion deafened him, the concussion of the blast sending Rob into shock. The entire hallway practically disintegrated as debris flew everywhere. Whole bricks of the building flew into the air, mixing with the smoke and flame.

Rob landed on his back, hard. The steel door fell on him, smacking him again in the face. Before Rob could even react, a second explosion tore through the wall ahead of him. With much more energy, the entire building violently shook. Bricks rained down on Rob, the steel door protecting him. Dazed and in shock, Rob laid under the door, hearing fire alarms sound. His hearing was muffled, and the shrieking of the alarms faded in and out, just like the movies.

Kicking the door off himself, Rob was bloodied from the door striking him. His muzzle was bloodied from his nose, and his dress shirt was ripped up, revealing the t-shirt underneath. Looking stunned, Rob stood up and stared at the hazy Chicago sky, where his building once was. Burning debris, choking smoke and dust, swirled around him. He didn't even know what hit him. The air was heavy with chemical fumes, which made Rob gag.

Lying against the wall was Josh, looking as horribly dazed as Rob. Rob found himself propped up, bloodied and his face scorched by the blast. Checking him over, Rob looked horrified that Josh's entire left arm was missing. Just a bloody nub remained, between his shoulder and elbow.

"I just got the wind knocked outta me..." the wolf muttered.

Rob looked dumbfounded, gobsmacked. He quickly grabbed Josh and put him over his shoulder, to carry him to safety. He retreated back down the surviving length of hallway, to escape. Pure adrenaline surged through his veins as Rob carried Josh. He was simply in survival mode, his eyes as wide as saucer plates, a thousand yard stare on his face.

There were muffled screams all around Rob as he entered the first floor. Injured, dazed workers, ran in a panic; there was pandemonium everywhere. Rob watched as people fell over each other, panicked, afraid. Injured workers limped, bloodied from the explosion. Rob stopped when he saw the entire front of the building, his sales office, the front lobby, completely missing. Fires burned intensely among the rubble, and the entire parking lot was destroyed. Cars burned everywhere.

"Oh my god... oh my god..." Rob heard someone say. He turned around, still carrying Josh over his shoulder, to find a couple workers limping towards him. They were completely naked and scorched to just bare flesh from chemical burns. Pathetic, whimpering faces looked at Rob. One worker threw up and collapsed against the rubble. Rob just stared in disbelief.

Rob didn't even know what the hell hit him. At Mercy Hospital, Rob was treated for his injuries. Miles away from his factory, he was sent there due to a lack of hospital capacity; Covid-19 was pushing Chicago's hospitals to the limit. Now Chicago faced a mass-casualty incident that further stretched their capacity.

All Rob knew was that nineteen were dead, and scores were wounded. Most of the dead were his plant employees, but a few bystanders, passing by the facility, were killed and wounded in the two explosions. Rob was certain there were going to be more deaths. The wolf-hybrid broke his nose, and both his arms sustained cuts and bruises. He badly twisted his back, having flared up an old injury from his car accident four years prior. Rob laid in the ER, in immense discomfort, awaiting Joey and his family.

"What the fuck happened?" Rob thought to himself as he laid, his eyes staring up aimlessly at the ceiling. He had absolutely no idea why there was a massive explosion. Was this just a freak accident? An act of god? Sabotage? Add to it the sorrow that people died, and the looming legal debacle. Rob was so lost in his thoughts. It frustrated him to no end at why an explosion almost killed him.

Finally around noon, Joey and Alvin arrived, with Felix and Tony, his brother Jake, and Maverick. Around one in the afternoon, Brad arrived from Virginia, along with Ryan Bolton, who offered his assistance. Released from the hospital late in the afternoon, Rob, despite being in immense pain, leapt into action to begin immediate damage control. There wasn't much more he could do, as his factory was cordoned off by police, and the FBI soon came in to take over. Sure enough, the incident reunited Rob with Special Agent Gary Dove, who grilled Rob with questions over what had happened. Rob was honestly unsure of even what to say. "The fuckin' thing just blew".

Rob stuck around to assist in any way he could, until exhaustion finally made Rob collapse. Joey felt it was time for Rob to go, and with the situation now stabilized by the FBI, Rob left with his entourage. He was helped aboard his second Constellation, the short-nosed L-749, "Vanguard". Felix would fly his FM-2 back home.

While Joey, Tony, and Jake flew the Connie home, Rob and Maverick kept to themselves in the tail of "Vanguard". In the far end of the plane was Rob's private quarters and room, which tapered to the rear bulkhead. Rob sat at his desk with Maverick on the other end; Rob sat filling out a written statement on letterhead, while they were in a video call with Lisa Scheiddegger on his Thinkpad. Rob looked extremely serious as he jotted his statement down.

"So the building just exploded?" Lisa asked him.

"I was walking with the plant director, and we were just at the stairs, when everything fucking blew up. There was a first blast, and then a few seconds later, a second explosion."

"Rob... you somehow have a higher power looking out for you..." Lisa joked. "You have nine lives."

"I'm running out of them." Rob shook his head. "I'm going to be fucking sued into extinction at the rate this is going."

"They have to investigate, so take a deep breath Rob." Lisa said, trying to calm him down.

"Factories don't just randomly explode." Maverick shook his head.

"From what photos you sent me, there looks like a giant crater in the parking lot."

"Do you think maybe the Vlockners could have done this?" Maverick asked Rob.

"Do you think those retards have the brainpower to pull this off?" Rob snorted. "Brent could barely find the door half the time, and Ryan was dumb as a brick."

"You never know..." Lisa pointed out. "Never underestimate your opponents..."

"Oh my god..." Rob muttered, flipping a page over. "This is unbelievable. AN EXPLOSION!? AN EXPLOSION." The wolf-hybrid threw his arms up in the air. "JUST WHAT I NEEDED!"

"Here's my advice..." Lisa suggested. "Let the investigators do their research, and we will go from there. If it was an accident, then your liability insurance will take care of the legal responsibility. If it was an act of sabotage? Well, that's a criminal matter, and the perpetrator will be legally vulnerable."

"I'm so dumbfounded..."

"You're still shaken up, Rob."

Rob looked at his trembling handwriting on his paperwork. His whole body felt extremely tense from the stress.

"I want you to take a few deep breaths, Rob. And breathe... breathe for me, okay?" Lisa asked him. "Let's no go bouncing off the walls for a problem we don't know yet. Let me handle this."

"Okay."

Following their video call, Rob closed the laptop's screen, and stacked his seven page statement, which he stapled together. "What a fucking day. AGAIN."

Rob winced and stretched his back, his face twisted in pain. "Lord...I'm in pain..."

Maverick frowned at the condition his friend was in. His arms and face were covered in gauze and bandages from injuries he sustained. Rob looked so frustrated and helpless. He sat back in his chair with a disgruntled stare off into space.

"I suspect the Vlockners are behind this..." Rob admitted to Maverick. "But I can never prove it..."

"I mean, you fired them..."

"Yeah, and their just as retarded older brother confronted me recently about it..." Rob grumbled. "It has to be one of their little toadies... but who?"

"That's a good question."

"Someone had to have access..." Rob shook his head. "Someone with an axe to grind..."

"Brad can begin an investigation into that..." Maverick said, pursing his lips.

"Yeah."

Rob threw his arms up in frustration. "Fuck it."

Exhausted, and wanting to rest, the exigencies of his never ending crises kept Rob constantly going. Barev was now in complete damage control over the Chicago fiasco. Thirty people were ultimately dead, and forty-five badly injured. The FBI confirmed that a bomb had exploded, and singled out the work Tahoe that Rob used to scoot around the city, as the vehicle that detonated. The blast signature and chemical analysis confirmed that it was an ammonium fertilizer bomb. That now shifted the crisis into a domestic terrorism situation. Since the blast on Monday, Rob was constantly busy, constantly shifting his focus in handling the crisis, shuffling resources, dealing with the legal blowback, and keeping the media at bay. His face bore the strain from all the stress.

Wednesday morning, Rob got up at 4AM and immediately got ready for his chaotic itinerary. Running on little sleep, with bloodshot eyes, and clutching a thermos of coffee, Rob boarded his flight to Virginia. "Explorer", his Convairliner, took off for Fairfax, to pick Brad Johnson up, and then fly to Chicago with him to tend to "bombgate".

In the air, crossing back over Ohio at twelve thousand feet, "Explorer" gracefully flew. Polished like a mirror, the bare metal CV-440 battled headwinds on her journey westbound. Ivo and his boyfriend Jordan flew the Convair, while Rob had the plane to himself with Brad, who sat with him in the back of the plane in his quarters.

"Given the situation... I hate to bring more bad news..." Brad said, clutching a binder that was filled with the results of the financial investigation into Barev Two that Rob had requested.

"Why not? It's already bad enough? Fuck it!" Rob said sarcastically.

"Heh, very well~" Brad nodded. "We looked into financial records for the discrepancy you were talking about, and we did confirm a discrepancy. The numbers were off because frankly, it was a manipulation, a-la, cooking the book, to cover up a skimming operation."

"Oh nice."

"If you see here." Brad said, pointing to a photocopy of a handwritten note. "This is what we found in Ryan's desk when we cleaned out his office. Dumbass even gave us a blueprint. You see how he's manipulating the numbers to cover it up?"

"Motherfuckers..."

"Ryan and Sam were skimmin' money off the place for their own pockets... and there's no doubt the financial people were aware of this." Brad reasoned. "All of the evidence is here in this binder."

"Unbelievable, Brad." Rob shook his head. "Just what I needed!"

"Well that's your evidence to take to civil court for restitution."

"Honestly, I'd just love to put a bullet in all three of their heads." Rob grumbled. "Or hit 'em in the head with a fucking shovel. One of the two."

"The former's less messy~ Just saying."

"Yeah." Brad chuckled.

Rob read through the binder for the remainder of the flight into Chicago. It was a damning report, and Rob smelled "lawsuit" all over it. It was just what he didn't want, as he geared up for a nasty legal fight in his company's defense. Reading the report gave Rob a tension headache as they taxied up to the Centoh hangar.

Felix had earlier dropped Rob's Tahoe off, after ferrying it from Ohio aboard his restored Caribou. Rob, in a moment of paranoia, checked his cherry red Tahoe all over for any explosives, or evidence of sabotage. Centoh's facility at Midway was "locked down", and no other Barev employee was allowed onsite without explicit permission. Security was tightened, and his sentries were doubled, all of them armed with AK-103's. Taking off and leaving the airport with Brad, Rob made a brief stop at CMD to meet with investigators as they continued to investigate the damaged factory. Rob then traveled to go meet with survivors at the various hospitals they were taken to. It was a somber trip, but Rob felt it had to be done. It was the right thing to do. They were his workers afterall, the unnecessary victims of a wanton act of barbarism.

After visiting with several workers, Rob went to go see the plant manager, Josh Manley. At Mercy Hospital, Manley was recovering from emergency surgery that saved his life from internal injuries. He lost his left arm above the elbow, and two fingers and a toe had to be amputated to save the rest of his paws and feet. Manley would be permanently disabled.

Rob stepped inside his hospital room with Brad, carrying a bouquet of flowers he had purchased from the gift shop. "Hey Josh, how are you feeling?" Rob greeted.

Josh lied in his bed, still looking a bit dazed under a haze of morphine. His face was covered in gauze and bandages. "Well, I'm alive."

"That's a good thing."

"I appreciate the flowers."

"It's the least I could do~" Rob admitted as he sat them by the sink. "Josh... I don't know what to say about this... this was just... just... pure evil."

Josh had a look of regret on his face, which surprised Rob. It was as though he felt guilty about something.

"That bomb wasn't meant for you."

"I know." Josh spoke up. His response made Rob pause. Josh looked away, then at Brad, and back at Rob. "That bomb was meant for you."

Rob's face stiffed a bit. "What do you mean..."

"Alright... alright..." Josh said with a sigh at the end. "I'm fucked... literally... Because of Ryan."

Rob grabbed a chair and sat down next to Josh, with a serious gaze on his face.

"I was upset that you fired Ryan and Brent, because I liked them- they always looked out for me... and Ryan said he wanted to play a prank on you to get back at him... and he needed the SUV... so I took it from the airport and drove it to their place and they put a duffel bag in it... I had no fucking idea it was a bomb! I thought it was going to be a stink bomb, or smoke grenade... something innocent! I didn't think it was a fucking bomb!"

Rob was completely silent. Brad stood with his arms crossed.

"Rob I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You know Josh... I really hope you get nice and better." Rob said calmly. "'Cause I'm gonna break your fucking jaw when you get outta here."

The brown wolf gulped at the sight of Rob's rage. The wolf-hybrid looked like he would catch on fire, as he got up, kicking the chair over.

"I hope you like talking to the FBI." Rob concluded. He stormed out of the room with Brad.

As Rob left the hospital, he saw Agent Dove come walking up. "Rob! I would like to have a conversation."

"We are having a talk, Dove." Rob cut him off. "I know who did this."

"Very well~"

Using his chemical suit as a raincoat, Rob stood in a downpour, looking at the ruins of Barev Two. A rainstorm swept through the city, bringing torrential downpours from an angry dark sky that swallowed the skyscrapers. Cordoned off, Barev Two looked like the ruins of a warzone. The parking lot that Rob had always parked at, was a mess of twisted wreckage, and rubble from the building. Cars lied broken and charred, and the entire sales office was destroyed. The second explosion, from the chemical storage area, leveled part of the manufacturing area. The ninety year old building was severely damaged, and Rob had a feeling there were more structural problems that lay waiting to be discovered, as investigators combed about.

Rob looked over to his right to see Agent Dove and a couple other FBI investigators, huddled about in the rain having a discussion in the glare of a floodlight. Chicago police also poked about, investigating. The wolf-hybrid shook his head in disgust as he ventured inside his darkened building, to think about things.

What was once a bustling facility, nestled in the old brick walls was silent. Each footstep Rob took echoed against the lonely walls. The building was dark, with only minimal light from some lighting and what little light that filtered in through the windows. Through his journey he walked through the devastation, mourning all the people who died. In what was the bustling manufacturing floor, there was just silence, as rain poured in through the partially destroyed ceiling. Expensive, delicate equipment lay scattered everywhere, soaked in a torrential downpour. Rob pondered if it was worth keeping CGOF operating after this. Morally he felt torn; if he closed it down, then he would cause hundreds of workers to lose their livelihoods, but he felt terrible to just press on, with the optics looking as though he only cared about money. Money would soon be the least of his worries, as he plotted his vengeance.

Barev filed lawsuits against the city of Chicago, and the Vlockners, for their parts in the bombing. Sam, Ryan, and Brent, named by Manley as the perpetrators in the bombing, were sued by Barev for half a billion dollars in damages. Rob wanted the charges to hurt as much as possible. Chicago got slapped with a 1.4 billion dollar lawsuit; Sam Vlockner had used his position as city commissioner to mastermind not only the bombing, but also a citywide skimming operation, to directly line his pockets with cash. In Josh Manley's testimony, Sam used city departments to acquire the materials needed for the bomb. He was also responsible for an almost three million dollar loss over the course of five years at CGOF. Rob wanted Chicago to pay for all the damage, and the financial fallout for paying the families of the dead and wounded. On top of all his other legal problems, it made Rob's blood boil. But his legal problems paled to what legal fate the Vlockners faced. They were arrested by the FBI and charged with everything from homicide, terrorist acts, illegal possession of restricted chemicals, and bomb making. Sam almost immediately lost his job when the city ousted him the day before for illegal actions.

The integrated booties of his L-1 suit squeaked and clicked on the tiled floor, as he exited the back of the building, at the back lot. Rob walked with a slow pace, from being in discomfort from his injuries. The back of the building was spared any damage. Streetlights glowed in the small back lot, as the rain fell from a dark slate sky. Rob turned to glance at something when he suddenly heard footsteps rushing at him from behind. He turned around to suddenly see Brent Vlockner charging at him with a baseball bat in his grip. Rob immediately reacted and swung to doge the swing. He caught the bat and struggled with Brent over it.

"GET HIM!"

Rob kicked Brent and pushed him back, just as Ryan and Sam charged him, having come rushing from around a blind corner in the alley. They held wood bats as they swung at Rob. Blocking the first hit with Brent's bat that he commandeered, Rob swung and struck Ryan in the arm, just as Sam hit Rob in the ribs. It knocked Rob into the wall, sending a stabbing sensation of pain through his already hurt body. Rob was struck in the stomach and chest by Sam and Ryan. Dodging a fourth hit, and limping in pain, Rob swung and hit Sam in the forehead with his bat, which knocked him off his feet. Ryan swung and missed, and got the bat applied right across his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Rob swung around and hit Brent in the head as hard as he could, stunning him. Rob kicked Ryan back, and struck Brent a second time in the head.

"YOU FUCKING RETARD!" Rob screamed, hitting him a third time. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT SCUMBAG!"

Bleeding heavily, Brent fell against the wall. Ryan got up and hit Rob in the hip with a hard blow. The wolf-hybrid yelled in pain and kicked Ryan in the head, knocking him off balance. The wolf-hybrid busted him in the crotch with a hard blow of the bat, and swung and struck Ryan in the back of his neck. There was a nasty "pop", and Ryan simply fell to the ground motionless. Rob snarled and hit Brent in the head again. Rebounding, Brent got the bat applied across his face, which snapped his head around. He corkscrewed onto the ground, landing limp on Ryan's body.

Sam rushed up and hit Rob in the upper back as hard as he physically could. Rob almost dropped the bat with the feeling of white-hot pain shooting through him. Sam had hit him right in the spot where he had broken his back three years ago. Rob felt his strength almost immediately leave him. He swung at Sam weakly, and the wolf hit Rob in the shoulder, right by the neck with the bat. He picked it up and slammed it down on top of Rob's head, breaking the bat at the base, and sending Rob collapsing into the brick wall.

"I told you you'd regret this..." Sam snarled. Picking up one of the bats lying on the ground, he approached a heavily bleeding, wounded Rob, who stared at him. "You have FUCKED everything we had over!"

"You did that to yourself, motherfucker..." Rob hissed.

Sam gave Rob a bloody grin as he prepared to give the fatal blow to a incapacitated Rob. "Over my dead body eh! You fucking faggot!"

Sam raised the bat up and charged at Rob. Rob accepted his fate. As Sam went to swing, gunshots rang out. The gray wolf in his rain soaked sports coat flinched as several rounds tore through his back. He let out a gasping yell, dropped the bat, and staggered back a few steps. He coughed up frothy, red blood, and fell onto his back, revealing to Rob, Agent Dove standing with his pistol smoking.

"SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED!" screamed Dove as he ran over to see a badly injured Rob. "Oh god! Rob! Rob!"

Dove ran over and knelt down to find Rob struggling to maintain consciousness. "Oh Rob, what happened!?"

"Dove...I forgot to duck..." Rob muttered, his words slurred. He turned his head a bit to Dove, with a twisted little smirk, as though he was trying to laugh. He ultimately passed out, his head hitting the ground.

"I need an ambulance!" shouted Agent Clarke, Dove's Cleveland counterpart, as he radioed in for help.

Dove checked Rob for a pulse by pressing his fingers into his neck. Rob was still breathing, but made a sort of gurgling sound. "Okay Rob! An ambulance is coming. Stay with me buddy..." Dove said, trying to comfort him. He grabbed Rob's bloody paw and held it, trying to assure him that he was there, and that he had someone supporting him.

Rob awoke feeling strangely calm. Everything was dark, and very quiet. Too quiet. Very slowly, Rob watched his vision come to, revealing a dim orange glow, and the faint crackling of a fire. Getting up, Rob found himself in no pain whatsoever. Stumbling about, grabbed for something to feel and guide him. He felt a rock wall, like gritty sandstone, which led him to where the fire was at. Rob walked up and stopped at the sight of a rock outcrop in the middle of an arid desert scrubland. He could see his breath but did not feel cold. Something didn't seem right as he scanned amongst the shadows.

Off in the distance, Rob saw the smoldering remains of a wrecked Tigercat. The twin-engine Grumman laid broken on the desert floor, with smoke wavering from the destroyed warbird. Rob had bailed out of an F7F he was flying home, when it caught on fire over New Mexico in 2017. But what was Rob doing back at the spot where he had crashed four years before?

Looking around, Rob found a figure lying on the ground, in a pool of blood. Not far away was a mountain lion, slain. Rob walked over to find that it was himself, lying dead, clutching a knife in his right paw. Rob stood and looked at himself in disbelief.

"That's you, Rob." Came his grandfather's voice.

Rob turned around to see his grandfather standing over him, on top of the outcrop. The elderly Gordo, who passed away from cancer in 2017, stood looking down at him with eyes full of concern. Despite his fail looks, the old wolf slowly climbed down to walk up to him.

"Grandpa... you're... but I'm... where am I...what is-"

"Your father sent me to talk to Rob." Gordo explained. "We're concerned about you, and I want to talk to you about what's going on."

Rob let out a deep, heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do."

"I understand Rob. So let's talk about it."

Gordo motioned for Rob to sit with him. "Grandson, please, speak to me."

Rob looked flustered and unsure. "Grandpa... why is so hard for some people to not follow orders? I've been so frustrated trying to guide this business through this world crisis. There's so many people whose lives depend on what I do in guiding this company through a pandemic, labor and supply shortages. People refuse to listen. Now I've accidentally killed scores of people. All these innocent people who didn't do anything to deserve dying...are killed because of me."

Gordo nodded in understanding and thought about what to say for a second. "Rob, you have to understand that people are people. We're flawed in our unique ways. We're guided by our own intuitions and ideologies, our stubbornness. But you have to understand that brute force doesn't get you the results all the time."

The old wolf continued. "You like to throw your weight around and be ruthless in the face of a problem. You want everyone see how strong and stoic you are, to cover a shattered heart that was broken many years ago. I've told you before, and I'll tell you again, grandson of mine! Fear and the fear of force, only gets you results for so long. You're upset at the Vlockners because they wouldn't do what you told them to do. But you didn't want to fire them, because you didn't want to deal with the drama and fallout of operational capacity being further eroded, so you just pushed them and pushed them, trying to get a different result. That is why the bombing happened."

Rob sighed. "I guess, Grandpa."

"And now you lie in a hospital bed being put back together." Gordo frowned. "You're a very tough person, Rob. But there's gonna be someone out there who is going to be tougher still. You got outnumbered."

"I'm also hurt from the bombing itself."

"That too." Gordo nodded. "That bomb was meant for you, because you brought that out in them."

Rob just shook his head. "Why? Why kill me? Why kill the others? It was their fault they got fired!"

"Why do people do the things that they do?" Gordo asked Rob. "Nobody will never know."

The old wolf put an arm around his grandson and pulled him close. "Let me tell you a story about a student I had many years ago. He was a very disruptive young man, and he always acted out in class. He could make my blood boil. I wanted to many times, just stuff him in a locker and keep him there! Ha! But I always maintained my calm dealing with him. Finally one day, I told him to come to my classroom after school, and I flat out asked him 'what the hell is your problem?' and I wasn't angry about it, and I was able to get him to tell me about his family problems that were making his behavior the way it was. What would I have accomplished if I just stood there like you and just yelled and cussed vulgarities in a power move. I would have accomplished nothing. I showed him empathy and love, and I got him to talk to me! So what do you think will happen when you just yell and scream at others?"

Rob closed his eyes and pursed his lips.

"Don't do what your father did!" Gordo pleaded. "He let a great tragedy in his life break his soul. And he didn't realize that until he was almost dead."

"I had everything going for me when I was seventeen. And I was right at the cusp- at the cusp! Of success, and those three fools broke me when they almost killed me. They left me with long term injuries that still bother me... on top of everything else! What's the point of being happy when the world just dumps its misery on me? When goodness is murdered every single day, and mediocre hacks are allowed to run amuck?"

"Did those three students really take your happiness away?" Gordo asked him. Rob blinked a couple times and just stared at his grandfather.

"Derik Prince, Isaac Byron, and John Starlight were very much wrong when they attacked you that day. But did they truly take your happiness away? You were traumatized by what had happened... you had to undergo very painful recovery and yes... long term injuries that have left you in discomfort... but they didn't take your happiness away Rob. Only you had the power to do that. You allowed that trauma to retreat you away from happiness. You retreated into your own little armored shell, where you could isolate yourself from everyone in an effort to protect yourself."

"...yes..." Rob shook his head. He put his head into his lap and groaned a bit. "God damnit!" he shouted, his voice echoing.

Gordo patted his back. "Don't beat yourself up any more Rob. It's okay to be upset. You dwell on your negativity, but think about the positives in your life! Think about all the people you've helped, the difference you've made in their lives because of your empathy. You might put a front up of this unsmiling, stoic figure, but you always do the right thing to help those in need. Think about all your friends you've helped, the down on their luck fellas like Felix Barion, his boyfriend Tony, that little kid in Akron you took in. Ben Reynolds. To name a few- think about what their lives could have been had you not stepped in to help them!"

"I had to help them. Their lives were being destroyed. There was no choice, Grandpa." Rob explained. "Maybe... maybe because I know what it's like to suffer and nobody to understand... so I feel compelled to help in any way I can. The world is such a cruel place. And people don't realize it."

"My worldview was shaped by the second world war." Gordo said. "You're young and dumb, pumped full of propaganda, and stuffed into a dive bomber to fly six hundred miles over a vast, empty ocean to attack an enemy made up of fellas your same age. I remember dropping one of the bombs that helped sink the Yamato, and not thinking much of it. But that bomb killed hundreds of young men like myself, who had parents just like mine who had to mourn their death. What a waste of life and potential, for old men to wage wars, and young men to die for them. And when the war was over, I made it my quest to be a teacher, so maybe perhaps, I can educate someone, even one person, to never try that path again. I never wanted to partake in that kind of violence again."

Gordo got up and placed his withered paws on Rob's shoulders. "Rob, you gotta let it be. What did your father tell you four years ago? Everything will be okay. Just let it be."

"I don't know about that. With the way our country and world is going."

"You can't think about it. Don't let others dictate your personality. Don't let others dictate YOU. Only you can find happiness. Only you can find peace. Nobody else." Gordo reasoned. "I've noticed you've made strides to better yourself in that regard, but there's still work to be done."

"Yeah."

"So keep at it!" Gordo smiled. "You're a very brilliant young man. And yes, I can still call you a young man! You got a long way to go to ninety-one!"

"Grandpa... I really do miss you."

"I miss you too, Rob." Smiled Gordo.

"You really understood me better than anyone else."

"Well I helps to not have my head shoved up my ass!" Gordo laughed with Rob. "You're complex Rob, but not complex enough that your Grandpa can't decipher! I'm a school teacher, we have secret powers like that~"

Gordo pointed at Rob. "But remember... only you can find happiness. And think about how your actions will influence others responses? You have a knack at bringing the worst out in people... so really do think about that."

"Understandable." Rob nodded. "What's my future Grandpa?"

"Only God knows that~" Gordo chuckled. "I'm just your grandfatherly spirit! Not the good lord himself! But you must go now~ Think about what I said!"

"Will I ever see you again, Grandpa?"

"I'll always be in your memories Rob." His grandpa smiled. "Now go! Your family is waiting for you to wake back up!"

"Alrighty~ I love you Grandpa."

"Love you too, Grandson."

Rob turned and walked for the shadows. He passed by and stopped to look at himself, lying dead on the rocks by the burning fire. The sight of his own battered face, haunted him.

"Let it be Rob! Remember that! Whatever problems you have! Just let it be! Everything will be okay!" Gordo called, as Rob slipped away into the shadows of the desert night.

After almost three weeks of being in a coma, Rob awoke at Mercy Hospital, in the overcrowded ICU. Recovering from emergency surgery, Rob had been critically injured in his assault by the Vlockners in the back lot of his factory. He sustained a skull fracture, had several ribs broken, and his left hip broken. His neck and spine were seriously injured, and Rob lost his spleen, a consequence of internal bleeding. He endured his fourth hip replacement, and his fractured skull required surgical intervention to repair the top of his head from being slammed by a bat. If Rob thought he was in bad shape, he certainly fared better than the Vlockners. He was faring a lot better than the other people in the ICU, dying slowly of Covid-19. The three Vlockner brothers were all dead; Sam died from being shot by Agent Dove in the back, and was pronounced dead at the scene. Ryan and Brent were declared brain dead from their injuries. The latter surprised Rob morbidly, for he thought Brent never had any brains to begin with. Their organs were donated, and together, twelve people got life saving transplants around the country.

Under a haze of morphine, Rob laid in his hospital bed, eyes half open, watching the TV on the wall. Rob ironically hated television. Here he was, a former broadcast engineer, who worked in the TV field in his twenties, and ran a video production facility division for television, but hated it. There was nothing good to watch, and Rob never cared for popular culture. The news was always depressing, and another news story of incompetent government, run by incompetent people blasted over the airwaves. Trying to watch TV, Rob ended up turning it completely off and sat, staring at the blank wall. He felt terrible.

The nights were long and lonely in the hospital. During the day, Joey would fly in with their nephew to visit for a few hours. Felix and the others would come in and visit as well, but nighttime was always lonely. So were the evenings. Without others to distract him, Rob felt as though he was drowning in his miserable thoughts. He blamed himself for the bombing, blamed himself for all those people who died and here permanently disabled from the explosions. He blamed himself for Roberto Paulo being shot and almost killed, his nephew being kidnapped. It weighed heavily on his heart. The despair would give him anxiety attacks bad enough to give him chest pains. He blamed himself and his personality, his uncanny ability to "bring the worst out" in others. It made Rob slide into a deep, sad, depression.

The digital clock struck seven o'clock in the evening. Rob just stared at the square, red numbers above the television, in a morphine haze of discomfort.

A knock at his door got his attention. He slowly turned his head to see the door open slowly. Thinking it was another nurse coming in to check on him, instead Rob saw Agent Dove step inside. He wasn't dressed in his usual work uniform of slacks and a polo, but instead just gym shorts and a blue t-shirt.

"I hope you don't mind me visiting you at this hour, Rob!"

"Visiting hours are over~"

"There's perks to be an FBI agent, even off the clock." The wolf chuckled. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alive." Rob responded. "That good enough?"

"Someone's super cynical, heh." The wolf chuckled as he pulled up a chair. "I would have stopped by earlier, but I had official duties, plus I didn't want to interrupt your family visiting."

"What's it to you if you interrupt? You already monitor the fuck outta me." Rob glared.

Dove just smirked a bit and sarcastically raised his paws up defensively. "All part of the job, Rob!"

There was a moment of silence between them as Rob stared at the wall for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Dove sat and patiently waited for Rob.

"Why did you do that." Rob asked him. "Why did you shoot and kill Sam."

Dove seemed surprised by Rob's comment. "He was going to kill you if I didn't take the shot. If he had hit you with that bat, it probably would have been fatal."

"Heh. You either die a hero... or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain, they say~"

"Oh Rob..." Dove chuckled. "You're such a cynic! You should be thankful you're alive- they cracked a bat and broke it atop your head."

"Heh, that's why I use steel bats. They don't snap like that."

"...I am going to pretend I did not hear this." Dove smiled. "You should be thankful you're alive. Because they very well could have killed you."

"And what do I got to live for? That I killed all those people indirectly?" Rob asked him.

"You didn't get them killed."

"Like hell- I pissed off the Vlockners and they did that, and everyone else had to die." Rob frowned.

"The person who made the bomb is responsible. The person or persons involved in the conspiracy are to blame."

"Then why do I feel like this is completely my fault. I pissed them off because I pushed them too hard. But if I would have fired them in the first place, I'd still would have been fucked because of Sam. I would be fucked no matter what- so why the fuck did I ever agree to this stupid merger with C-G-O-F!? This god forsaken, corrupt, evil city!"

Dove looked sympathetic. "Rob, I want you to take a deep breath, and please calm yourself down."

Rob sat back in his hospital bed, wincing in discomfort.

"I'm going to tell you again, that this is not your fault. You firing employees for poor performance does not justify in any way, a bombing kill you, or the other people. That is the work of people who are evil. The Vlockners were evil in their decision. And they paid the price for what they did. It's okay to be perfectly upset about this whole tragedy. And that's what it is. People were stupid and their stupid decision got themselves and others killed."

"Then why does it feel like this is my fault, and that the responsibility falls to me?"

"Because you have empathy, Rob." Dove shrugged. "You are someone who has a twisted set of morals at times, but you're not an apathetic, sociopath. You're a man who's unsmiling, loner personality belies the complex man that lurks beneath that shell, a shattered, broken young man, hiding from the pain he sustained two decades ago."

Rob blankly stared at Dove. There was silence between them, as a nurse came in momentarily to check Rob's monitors, and change an IV bag out. Rob waited until the door closed shut with a click.

"...you must really want to know the truth, don't you?" Rob asked him. It perked the wolf's interest.

"Well it's one thing to make an observation of someone, verses hearing it from the horse's mouth!" Dove exclaimed.

Rob closed his eyes and winced as he adjusted his neck a bit. "When I was a teenager, I had such high hopes for myself and the world. That maybe with all the new technology coming online back in the nineties, that it would make our society smarter and better off. I was wrong. I was too damn naïve to realize that people are too stupid and selfish to do the right thing. I had so many high hopes for myself too.... Here I was... a sixteen year old, newly out of the closet- yeah I got kicked out of my house, but I had an awesome quarterback boyfriend who loved me, and his accepting family... and my brother and friends... everything would turn out to be a success story... and it almost did. I was at the cusp, Dove. I was at the absolute cusp of success until I got the shit beat out of me at the base of the gymnasium stairwell on November twenty-first, 1999. I almost died, and spent a year and about two months in a coma. I missed the entire year of 2000, an entire year of my life missing because three fucks tried to kill me. I was so close to success... and then I was pushed back to literally square one. I was left in pain, my future uncertain... I had no idea I would truly recover? I had to relearn how to walk again, everything. My body had atrophied so bad that I could barely hold myself up! And when you have that on your mind... and then you have to grow the fuck up and carry on with your life, because you have practically a million dollars in medical bills. What was I doing to do? I was under so much pressure to get my life jumpstarted again! I was nineteen years old, out of the hospital, and had to restart life because I was on my own with my Dad gone, and my Mom dying. I have to go back to work, I have to go to school, I have to deal with all this shit. All this pressure... what was I going to do? And then when I'm shot at because my druggie neighbor's a scumbag? What was I going to do?"

Dove sat back and nodded at Rob's monologue.

"Three guys with guns are shooting up the apartment complex. I grabbed the rifle I got from a gent who had liked me and passed away, and I shot those three motherfuckers. I hated myself for doing that. I killed all three of them... I was so scared, so upset. I ran inside and threw up in terror. And that's when I realized that the Rob Barion that everyone knew before, had died. Replaced by... what you see here today... a really fucked up, defective version of him!"

Rob shuddered a bit in frustration. "Everything's a threat... everyone's a threat to me... that's how I view the world. You can't trust people after what had happened. How all the warning signs got missed or ignored, how I was told to just 'ignore them', how nobody stepped in. All that authority failed... And that's why I hate authority so much, because what's the fucking point? Not my problem... not my issue... you can only trust yourself..."

"...I was a damn fool at sixteen, and I'm a damn fool now at thirty-nine for destroying my life through my anger. Is that what you wanted to hear, Dove? Every day for twenty years, I have felt the need to constantly look over my shoulder, because of what had happened. And nobody understands that. 'Oh just get over it', 'don't think about it', 'counseling', nobody fucking understands. My life got changed because of the actions of three teenagers, and I allowed it to be warped into the shitshow that it is today. Is that what you wanted to hear, Dove?"

Dove picked up his chair and moved it closer to Rob's bed. He grabbed Rob's left paw and held it in his strong grip. He clasped his right paw and gently patted Rob's paw as he held it.

"You've been through a great trauma, at a critical point in one's life, the transition from being a boy, to a man. You were thrust into crises that can damage anyone, and didn't get the help that you needed when it was most critical. Now I'm eight years older than you- I'm forty-seven, so I've been around just a wee bit longer, heh, heh, the aging gen-X'er now. Nobody is smart and knows it all when they're a teenager. And we can never go back to that point in our lives. We all grow and change. Society makes us jaded. It happens to everyone. Our life experiences harden us to criticism, harden us to the bleak coldness that society can have. Like, I could never go back to being seventeen. Seventeen year old Gary Dove listened to Nirvana and had long hair down to his shoulders as he rode his skateboard with his friends. Seventeen year old me was a lot different than twenty-seven year old me, or thirty-seven, and so on. It's just how it is."

Dove pause for a second. "I've been tasked with keeping tabs on you because of your uncanny ability to engage in firefights and law bending moves..." The wolf smirked at Rob. "But of all your antics, you've avoided legal problems because there's always been a defensive motive, and the people involved are crooked."

"Well yeah. I have no interest shooting randos who don't deserve it."

Dove shook his head a bit with a smile. "You're not an evil person Rob, and you're definitely not fucked up. I have been with the FBI for twenty-four years. I have seen some really sick shit. My first investigative case involved someone who chopped their victim up and stuffed them into a hollow beech tree. I've seen sex trafficking horrors, and other really evil stuff. You're not evil. I do think you have a vigilante streak that's fueled by your lack of confidence in authority, because of a belief that authority failed to protect you at school. Fair. But that's that. You're empathetic, and you've always helped people who've been down on your luck. A twisted set of morals, I say."

"It is what it is~"

"But I will say this, Rob. The only person who can change you... is you. Nobody else can. Even all that trauma. That was you changing in response to it... so please think about this. It's not too late to change, Rob."

And Rob thought about that, long after Dove departed for the night.

The following Wednesday, after a long recovery in the hospital undergoing rehabilitation, Rob was released to go back home to Ohio.

In immense pain, and wearing a neck brace, Rob was helped to his Constellation. All of Chicago's media was at Midway airport, and Rob slowly limped embarrassingly in front of dozens of cameras that captured for the world to see. He could barely walk, and was helped the whole way by Joey, who had a steady arm wrapped around him. Maverick carried a bag full of Rob's clothes behind them, as they approached the airstair that was propped up to Vanguard's rear boarding hatch.

Rob looked so embarrassed as he struggled to climb up the steps. His new hip hurt so much, and his breathing was like sharp stabs of pain from his healing ribs. It took forever for Rob to walk up the steps, even with Joey's help. Cameras watched, and pictures were taken as Rob stumbled and fell onto a knee, only to be helped up by his flight crew and Joey and brought inside the plane. Centoh's ground crew pulled the airstair away, and time was not wasted to get the four Wright Cyclones fired up and the plane going. The L-749 soon got airborne, and disappeared in Chicago's haze.

In flight, Rob laid on his bed in his private quarters. Rob looked to be in discomfort as he laid there, under the watchful eye of Joey, who gently stroked the top of his shaved head. Gone were his locks of brown hair that were slicked back against his head.

"I'm in a lot of pain..."

"I know..." Joey nodded.

"I'm so frustrated by all of this... I'm fucked no matter how I look at it..." Rob grumbled. "I can't even shake my damn head."

"Everything's gonna be okay."

"I guess..." Rob sighed. "Always darkest before the dawn..."

"It could be worse... you could be dead!" smiled Joey.

"This is worse... right here." Rob said with a cynical chuckle. "You don't have to worry about shit when you're dead."

"Heh~" chuckled the Doberman. "You got a hell of a lot on your plate."

"You're telling me..." Rob rolled his eyes. "Joey... I don't even know what to say. All this shit... boiling over. When I get back... I want to just recover somewhere. I want to get away from everyone and everything and just work the problem in peace and quiet... I'm sorry I'm putting you in this spot... but I just-"

"No, no, I get it, Rob." Joey responded. "And I understand completely."

"I want to clear my mind someplace quiet... away from all this shit... or least try."

"You know I'll always support you." Joey smiled at him. "That's why you're my husband~"

"Heh, after everything."

"What everything?" laughed Joey.

"You could have had any man or woman, and you picked me fifteen years ago."

"That's 'cause I knew you were special." Joey said as he grabbed and held Rob's paw. "I could have had any guy or gal, sure, but I picked you because I knew you were going to be just right, like a rough diamond."

"Joey... you're the best~"

"Perfect, I always say." The Doberman grinned teasingly. "Perfect!"

"You gonna flex and be a showoff like usual?" Rob teased.

"Don't tempt me!"

Wanting to get away from Newark, but not be too far away, Rob found a place to stay with his friend, Cyrus. Without hesitating, Cyrus Filton welcomed his home for a wounded Rob to recuperate in solitude, out in the Hanover countryside. Rob got his own bedroom, which became his "command center"; he got peaceful solitude out in the countryside, far away from prying eyes of the media. It would be a place to recover and coordinate Barev's recovery planning and legal problems.

In the first days, Rob rarely left his room. He was hard at work sifting through legal paperwork and other job duties in mitigating a cascading disaster. He would only appear to take a short break, grab something to eat, or use the restroom. Rob worked from sun up to sundown, sometimes in great discomfort on account of his injuries sustained. As the days went on, a clearer picture was revealed on the Chicago bombing. A conspiracy to assassinate Rob began after he fired Brent and Ryan; using Sam's contacts within the city government, components to build a bomb were acquired, aided by several city employees.

Brent built the bomb, which was mostly ammonium fertilizer with some trace chemicals, hooked up to an electronic timer that was surprisingly sophisticated. The intention was for the bomb to explode that Monday morning, on the highway, killing Rob. But the timer was improperly set by Brent, and the weekend heat destabilized the chemicals, enhancing the blast. When the bomb went off in the parking lot, it was ten times as powerful, and destroyed the building. The shock waves of the blast ruptured multiple chemical tanks in the storage room, setting off the second explosion that further destroyed the building and killed more people. None of this surprised Rob; he always thought Brent was dumb as a brick, "a stupid momo". Josh Manley, and ten city workers in Chicago, were all charged as co-conspirators, and faced federal prison time. Sadly the Vlockners would never face official justice, as all three brothers were killed. Either way to Rob, a problem was solved.

Also revealed was Sam Vlockner's giant money skimming operation. Sam had used his comfy position as city commissioner to coercive companies into giving money to him, under punishment of audits and other "punishments" from the city. Ryan was fully involved in skimming money off CGOF, when it was owned by the previous corporation. In fact, they sold the factory to Barev, specifically go get out of Chicago, because they could not shake the Vlockners. Vlockner skimmed millions off not just CGOF, but dozens of other businesses, who in turn, were now suing Chicago. Rob was the initial domino that fell, starting a chain reaction.

His time alone was mostly spent crunching through paperwork, taking phone calls, and visiting his doctor and chiropractor. Still too weak to drive, Cyrus took him to all his doctor appoints back in town. Even busy with his landscaping business, the blonde wolf always took time out of his own hectic schedule to take care of Rob's appointments. When Rob was driven insane by paperwork and needed a break, Cyrus would take him for a car ride in his "redneck truck" around the countryside. He'd put Rob in his ATV, and they'd drive around on the trails in his woods, taking photos and enjoying the nature scenery, as September turned into October, and the trees began to slowly change colors in the slow march towards winter. Rob really appreciated Cyrus; they had met in early in 2020 when Barev was needing a landscaper to design the landscaping of their new downtown headquarters. The usual group Rob had, from his friend Travis Rocha, were too busy with other customers, leading Rob to hire on the Filton's Finest Landscaping Company. At first their relationship was strictly business, but Cy's laid back, easy going personality won over the usually reclusive Rob. Rob also liked that he had an interest in electronics and photography. Now Rob considered Cy a much closer friend, like Maverick and Mark Prince.

A light drizzle splashed against the large windows of his bedroom. Outside the rain streaked windows was a colorful woodland landscape of maples that were turning orange and yellow. It was a comforting sight, as Rob crunched away at work, working under a haze of discomfort. Having slept wrong, his neck hurt, and Rob was battling a tension headache. He sat at his desk, writing out answers for a written deposition, requested by the courts. Beside him, his ancient HP LaserJet 4M+ strained, spitting out page after page of Barev documentation, concerning operations at CGOF and with Ryan and Brent Vlockner. E-mails, documentations, his deposition, would be faxed over to Lisa, to process. Rob grumbled under his breath as he scribbled his thoughts down on a sheet of Barev letterhead with a blue Rolling Writer. His injuries degraded his handwriting somewhat, and he was upset at how his cursive looked. Finishing the last of his deposition, he stacked his letterhead, sat it aside, and fetched his thick stack of paperwork fresh and warm from the printer. He scanned through it, highlighted sections, collated it with his printed e-mails, and fetched the deposition to sat on top. He added a brief note to Lisa to be scanned with it. Rob sat the big stack of paperwork, totaling almost 150 pages, and took a moment to rub his forehead in frustration. He fetched the paperwork and got up to go scan it.

Shuffling his feet along, Rob still had some difficulty walking. The wolf-hybrid walked with a stiff gait to his pose, as he slowly made his way down the stairs. He had to brace himself against the railing, with his paperwork clipped together, tucked under his left arm. Rob cursed to himself in frustration by his predicament as he shuffled downstairs to the living room. Rounding the corner, he found Cyrus at his own desk, which sat by the giant class windows that made up one wall of his living room. His desk overlooked his deck, with the same beautiful view of his woodland property. Cyrus was on the phone talking to one of his guys, while he worked on a payroll discrepancy. Rob shuffled by him to use his copier, a giant Xerox unit much like the ones Rob owned. Rob shoved his giant document on the tray, adjusted a few settings, and inputted the fax number for his attorney Lisa. He hit the giant green start button, and watched as the copier immediately spooled up and began scanning page after page of his material. It took almost five minutes to completely scan every page. A successful confirmation confirmed that the document was faxed. Rob fetched his paperwork and neatly stacked it back up to clip.

Cyrus got off the phone and closed out his payroll program. He spun around in his chair to observe what Rob was doing. The burly wolf was casually dressed in a red t-shirt, and red gym shorts. His feet were shoved into a pair of pointy, snakeskin cowboy boots. "Whacha doin', Rob?"

"Going insane." The wolf-hybrid joked. "What about you?"

"Needing a break." Laughed the wolf.

"Small world. I need a Tylenol."

"Got some in the kitchen!"

"Good."

Mutually deciding to take a break from their work, Rob and Cyrus took a ride on his Gator through the woods. Dressed for the elements, they made a slow trek along the muddy trail in the light rain. Cyrus and Rob wore rain suits and mud boots, to shield themselves in the rain. Rob found the sound of rain relaxing, as all the fall color surrounded them along the trail in the woods. He planned on shooting some video of all the scenery, his gear bouncing around in the little bed in the back, under a securing net.

"So how do you lead? With your business?" Rob asked Cyrus.

"Like overseeing my guys?"

"Yeah."

"I set expectations and train people to follow them. I'm not a dictator- but If I have to be, I'm firm about stuff. I don't yell, because yelling just doesn't get anything accomplished."

"Ah."

"I like giving people chances, and I don't like firing people- I've only fired a handful of people and it was over really bad shit... like one dude drinking on the job... or another dude who got into a brawl with a customer over an argument... yeah... shut that shit down! Now don't get me started on my idiot Uncle Ronnie or my idiot brother Darryl!"

"So I recall~" Rob shook his head. "Your uncle in a dress~"

"Oh god..." Cyrus rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Uncle Ronnie for ya."

"I feel like... I push people too far... but how hard is it to just follow an order?" Rob mentioned with a rhetorical question. "All I ask is for people to just make an honest effort to do what's required, and some people just seem incapable of that. I told Ryan Vlockner to be a plant manager and put his fucking foot down, and deal with his retarded brother, and he wouldn't because he lacked the balls to face criticism. But I didn't want to fire him because who else was gonna lead that plant?"

"He didn't exhibit the first rule of leadership- you take the credit, you take the blame~" Cyrus nodded.

"Ryan just wanted everyone to love him and tell him how great he was because he used to play for Northwestern..." Rob shook his head. "What a stupid momo. And what do I get in return? A bomb."

"You should count your blessings you're not dead."

"I do, but I feel so terrible... all those people... and my brother-in-law... it's the guilt man. That's what kills me inside."

"Take solace that it's not your fault. I will admit that you can come across as really heavy handed for problems..."

"Heavy handed?"

"Dude, you pistol whipped that groundskeeper at Hocking Hills!" Cyrus laughed. "You scared my friend Marty! An ex Hells Angels! You beat the fuck outta that motherfucker!"

"He was a fucking asshole, and I hate people who are nobodies trying to flex their weight! It's like years ago... this stupid park in Newark... me and Maverick were doing some long exposures there, and this fucking groundskeeper blocks the road... unlawful restraint... and then tries to confront us."

"So what did you do?"

"Me and Mav kicked his fucking ass and hit him with the Mustang."

"Jesus Christ, Rob!" Cyrus laughed.

"Don't block the fucking road with your shitty Toyota truck!"

Cyrus couldn't help but laugh morbidly. "Remind me to never meet up with you in a prison shower~ But anyways! I get it and I understand your mindset about expectations with workers... but instilling fear in people only gets you so far. If people are terrified of you, Rob, then they'll work only hard enough to not get fired. Or they'll try and blow you up!"

"That's oddly specific..." Rob shook his head jokingly.

"You gotta breathe and take it for what it is... and if people just don't work out? Let 'em go. And I don't mean some Stalinist purge~"chuckled Cyrus with a grin.

Stopping near the little creek that flowed through his woods, Rob and Cyrus walked amongst the trail, as Rob recorded video with his HL-791, wrapped in its weather shield. The colors of fall were picked up by the camera's tubes, the soft pitter patter of rain captured by the wrapped up microphone. Rob even let Cyrus fiddle around with the old analog camera. Rob found it very relaxing to be "lost" amongst the woodland, as a few leaves gently rained down on him.

By nightfall, Rob sat back in his chair, finishing up his work for the evening while juggling other tasks. He waited for a file to upload slowly, while talking to Joey on the phone, and watching his raw footage from earlier in the day, play back on a Sony monitor, which sat on his Beta SP desk, on the dresser.

"Well it sounds like a good day." Joey said.

"I really can't complain~ Me and Cyrus spent the afternoon just milling about in the woods, just to blow off some steam from all our workload."

"Understandable..."

"The home front okay?"

"Yeah, it's good here. I shooed away a TV crew trying to interview you."

"Ugh." Rob chuckled. "Vultures!"

"Nothing like Mister G3 can't handle." Chuckled Joey. "Oh did I just admit that?"

"Careful, they'll think you're a right-wing nutjob."

"Whoa~ Listen here, motherfucker." Laughed his husband. "But yeah, it's calm here. Me and Alvin are okay. I actually talked to my brother earlier, and he's fine and dandy too."

"Good." Rob nodded. "Once I get off here, I'm gonna shower and head off to bed."

"My plan too."

"Hey Joey?"

"Yeah?"

Rob scooted closer to his cellphone, which was propped up with a book on the desk. "Hey, uhh, are you cool if maybe I sleep with Cyrus? Sometimes...I find it lonely at night."

"Hey go for it~"

"Thanks, Joey."

As Rob finished up his call, he heard Cyrus knocking on his door. "Come in~" Rob called, watching as the door opened to reveal the blonde wolf in just a pair of red and white briefs, which had a very obvious bulge in them. Like his tattooed arms, his chest bore a neatly done skull and crossbones, which was blended into his sleeves. Both his nipples were pierced with silver rings.

"I'm about ready to hop into the shower~ Whenever you're ready!"

"Oh yeah, gimme a sec here."

Grabbing his night clothes, Rob followed Cyrus to his bedroom, where his own personal shower was at. Cy's bedroom was completely adorned in yellow pine boards that sheathed his walls. He had a big buck's head mounted on one side, and a 12 gauge shotgun bolted up on display opposite. Like Rob's bedroom, he had big glass windows making up almost the entire wall, which gave a beautiful view of the woods outside, complete with the bright moon shining in the nighttime sky.

Stepping into his bathroom, Rob watched as Cyrus pulled his briefs off and tossed them to the hamper. He turned around to stand completely naked before Rob, with a confident look on his face. Cyrus was a well built guy who stood a bit taller than Rob at six foot two. He was also hung as a horse, and Rob couldn't help but notice his big uncut tan cock flop around as he moved to fetch a towel and get his hair unbraided. His pubes were as red as his hair and beard. The lights glistened off his Prince Albert piercing, which surprised Rob; he never had seen a guy "in the wild" with one. Cyrus smiled at Rob and untied his hair, which flowed down his back like a fiery red waterfall, ending near his lower back.

A bit shyly, Rob slowly removed his shorts and t-shirt, always looking a bit embarrassed at how rough his body looked. Rob had a somewhat stocky frame, from his malamute roots, but his body was torn up with scars. He had his latest surgical scars, with old surgical scars, gunshot and stabs wounds to added a weathered, ruggedness to him. Cy turned on his walk-in shower, turned around, put an arm around his friend, and helped him into the shower, where he closed the frosted door shut behind him.

The hot water felt good on Rob, as he stood there for a moment to get the tension out of his neck and back. It helped ease the residual discomfort. Cyrus grabbed some shampoo and squirted a glob into his paw. He walked up and gently began to massage it into Rob's scalp. His brown hair was beginning to grow back slowly.

"I miss my hair~" Rob said, shaking his head a bit. "Every time... I lose the hairdo~"

"It'll grow back." Chuckled the wolf. "This took me a couple years to get to this length!"

"You're a hard workin' guy- what made you want to get long hair?"

"Why not?" Cyrus shrugged. "It's not terribly hard to take care of. I shower twice a day, and I've figured out how to braid it pretty easy! Plus I get sooooo many compliments! Same with my brother Ed. Sexy! I'mma be the next Fabio!"

Rob smiled and laughed a bit.

"I bet you thought when you heard about ole' Cyrus, you thought I was some hick in the sticks!"

"I wasn't sure what to expect, honestly." Rob admitted.

"Enlightened redneck!" the wolf laughed. "Plus unlike my retarded brother Darryl, when I have sex with my customers, they don't get pregnant!"

"...but you're gay?"

Cyrus just grinned and wagged a finger in agreement.

"Oh my god..." Rob laughed.

"See? I can make ya laugh~"

"You can~ Yeah."

Cyrus helped Rob get cleaned up, and in return, Rob helped Cyrus get scrubbed down in the hot water. Rob couldn't help but give his muscular, tattooed body a compliment, as he rubbed his chest with his soapy paws.

"So forgive me for asking but... uhh... when did you get that piercing?"

"Which one?"

"Down there."

"Ohh yeah~" Cyrus laughed. "Oh god... my crazy Dayton days. I got that bad boy when I was like twenty-three. My ex thought I'd be hot with a PA, and I did it!"

"I bet that hurt~"

"Hurt less than the breakup!" Cyrus exclaimed. "I enjoy it, and so do my guys. Any guy who finds out I got it, are even more attracted to me!"

"Oh boy~"

"It's like a fishing lure!" grinned the wolf. "Ask Ben, he loves how it feels."

"What did you all do to him~" Rob shook his head with a smirk.

"Turned that boy into a hot ass cumdump!"

"Different strokes for different folks~" Rob shrugged as he rubbed his sore shoulder. "Me and Joey are, uhh... well... we're a very quasi semi-open relationship."

"Really now!" Cyrus exclaimed. "Rob, I'm surprised."

"Why surprised?"

"I thought you were a really monogamous guy?"

"Well me and Joey are... but once in a blue moon... we'll invite Anton and Borr over for some extra fun."

"Oh god... those two hot ass huskers... DAMN! Me and Ben fuck those two all the time! I told Ben there's no should! You ARE gonna hump those husker butts! And you're gonna let me know so I can come on over and hump 'em with you! Hehe! Anton has the most fuckable ass ever... it's like putting your dick in a smooth, exquisite custard, that molds around your cock and pleasures you with his dirty talk while you fuck him, and then effortlessly breed it."

Rob tilted his head at his friend. "Did you just review his ass like a Zagat survey?"

"Yes I did!" Cyrus grinned big. "Wanna hear about Ben's ass?"

"I'll pass~"

"Drats!"

"On a more serious note... heh, heh... uhh... maybe I could sleep with you tonight? Less lonely..." Rob asked. He couldn't help but blush and look away, which made Cyrus smile a bit. He put his arms around his friend and pulled him close.

"Sure!"

After getting cleaned up, Rob and Cyrus got themselves dried off, and Rob got to watch Cyrus blow dry and painstakingly brush all his red hair until it was dry. He stowed his blow dryer on the sink and Rob followed him back to his bed, where he laid in first. Rob paused for a moment, looking momentarily unsure, but was assured when he saw Cyrus motion for him with a smile. Rob slowly sat down on the bed and laid out. His back and shoulder audibly popped as he groaned a bit laying down. He soon felt himself be scooped up into Cy's tattooed arms and held close. Cyrus turned his lamp off and they laid in his darkened bedroom, with only the blue light of the moon illuminating them.

Rob laid his head on Cy's shoulder, and felt Cyrus gently scritch his upper back. An affectionate smile was on his face. "Joey's the luckiest guy in the world to have you, Rob~"

"I don't why." Rob muttered with a jaded chuckle. "I'm not popular, I'm a bit of a loner, I don't follow any popular culture, and I'm all beat up. But I'm so thankful to have him."

"You have a lot of bright talents that you don't give yourself credit for." Cyrus complimented. "You don't always breathe fire, and Joey knows that. He also knows from his own experience being burned in the gay community... I can attest."

"I figured you'd be a shoo-in, with how studly you look!" Rob exclaimed. He placed a paw on Cy's chest.

"Thank you!" Cyrus grinned. "But you'd be amazed! Even with good looks and a huge dick, you're still told to go fuck off."

"Really now..."

"I remember when I lived in Dayton... and what a ghetto place that city is. Every aspect of Dayton is ghetto and I don't care who says what! I met this hot ass dude at a gay bar, and I went back to his place to fuck. Oh my god... great sex... that dude could suck a bowling ball through a straw! So when we were done, I made a compliment about his performance... he threw my clothes at me and told me to go fuck off and never come back."

"Wow."

"I said that too! I was literally used for a good time and thrown away just like a used condom!" Cyrus exclaimed with a laugh. "It happens more than you think. I'm sure Joey can vouch for that. It doesn't matter how good looking, or how big and effective your hardware is... someone better is along in the queue for someone. Joey sees a keeper in you, because you take care of him. You take care of all of your friends- you've taken care of me too. And I see the same in Ben...a keeper!"

"Well...I mean... I'm not perfect... but I try and take care of my friends. Friends are like family to me... we all need each other in this cruel world."

"That's what separates you from the fags as I call 'em. The people who just use and abuse to get off."

Rob couldn't help but smile. "You're very insightful, Cy~"

"Enlightened redneck~ Remember that." Cyrus chuckled.

"And you got very red hair too..."

Cyrus laughed, leaned in and kissed Rob's nose. "I know~"

"I got one more question for ya before bed..." Rob mentioned.

"Yeah?"

"How do you and Ben make your open relationship work? Me and Joey, like I said, are quasi-open, and that's how we feel is best."

"Well everyone has different ways of making a relationship work... I tried being monogamous, but gave up, because all my ex's were douchebags and cheated on me. So I said fuck it and just stuck to being open. Plus, I'm horny... and my dick is really huge. I mentioned about that right?"

"Oh you..."

"Yes indeed! So yeah, me and Ben are really horny guys with horny friends and it just kinda works that way? I mean... I separate love from sex. Sex is just a mechanical thing. Love is something more. I love holding Ben's paw and taking him places and us hanging out. I love having sex with him, and we know we can trust each other. Plus we fuck the same guys, so there you have it!"

"I see." Rob smiled. "Like I said...very insightful, Cy."

"I try~"

Rob grew tired as he laid there in Cy's warm embrace, gently rubbing his chest and playing with his nipple rings. He felt Cy's paw gently grab his right paw, off his chest, and slid it slowly down, until it rested on his big soft cock. Rob blushed a bit as he felt Cy gently place his fingers on his curved barbell piercing, which Rob played with a little bit. Cy grew somewhat hard for him.

"Careful~ You're gonna activate the launch sequence!"

"Heh...I'm not hung like the other guys~"

"It's not the size Rob, it's how you use it!"

"Heh, good point~"

Cy kissed Rob's forehead. "Good night, Rob~"

"Night, Cy~"

Rob closed his eyes and felt so comfortable in Cy's arms. He quickly fell asleep, his body relaxing. Rob fell into a deep, much needed sleep, allowing his body to slowly continue on its healing process.

Enroute westbound to Chicago, "Coneflower" glistened in the morning sun. Rob flew with his entourage, back to the concrete jungle, to deal with the continued fallout from the bombing. He had a busy schedule planned; meet with insurers about what the best course of action was to save the building and repair it, and meet with the legal team defending the city, in an attempt to reach a settlement, to avoid a costly, drawn out litigation. Rob already won one small victory in court, in that Barev was not legally liable for the bombing. It would spare them from any further lawsuits on wrongful death and restitution. That alone helped boost the mood for Barev.

In his private cabin, Rob and Maverick discussed with Lisa Scheiddegger their plans for compensating the families of the loved ones. Rob wanted to financially take care of the families who lost loved ones, and especially the folks who survived and were seriously wounded.

"I talked to the insurance agency for company liability, and they agreed to provide the funding for this." Lisa said to Rob and Maverick. "One million dollars for the families who had a casualty, and for the injured, half a million, plus all medical expenses paid for. The insurer wasn't sure about it, and I told them they better fucking do it, because Barev pays out the ass for your insurance!"

"Well yeah~" Maverick shook his head. "Fucking cheapskates."

Lisa was a well dressed German Shepherd, in her early fifties, with permed, light brown hair. Her soft looks belied her battle hardened legal acumen.

"What do you say about the negotiations with Chicago?" Rob asked her.

"Well...if we can meet in the middle...I would say that would save you half the headache." Lisa suggested. "Because they could drag it out for years and years."

"Hell, I could be dead before there'd be any money."

"And if that happened, nobody would get any money because it would all be in lawyer fees!"

"Lawyers are vampires~" laughed Maverick. "Suck the money outta ya!"

"Listen here motherfucker!" laughed Lisa. "I've gotten your collective dumbasses out of so much shit, so you better watch your mouth there, Mav-O!"

"Ohhh, Whacha gonna do? Sue me?"

"Don't tempt me!" Lisa pointed with a smile. "I know a good lawyer!"

Maverick and Rob burst out laughing with her.

At Midway Airport, the press stood by the perimeter watching, with cameras aimed for the sky as "Coneflower" approached. Glistening like a mirror, the Super Connie flared for touchdown and rolled down the runway. It soon rolled to a stop at Centoh's hangar, where the ground crew swarmed to chock and secure the propliner. The cameras captured Rob walking down the airstair with little difficulty, the wolf-hybrid wearing a gray baseball cap to hide his short hair that was slowly growing back. Rob, Maverick, and their attorney, hopped into his red Tahoe, which had been flown in earlier, to begin their trek for their meeting with city officials.

Arriving at Chicago's City Hall, Rob met up with his plant manager for Barev Three, who was the temporary leader overseeing Barev Two's contingency plans. Two security members were also present, as they marched in together. Meeting with city leaders and their attorneys, the two parties sat opposite of each other in a giant conference room on the top floor of City Hall. In a three hour meeting, both sides tried to work out an agreement to a settlement, but there were many disagreements. Rob aimed high, Chicago aimed low. Barev wanted to put the blame on a lack of accountability and corruption, Chicago wanted to isolate Sam Vlockner's actions as his own, to deflect liability. The disagreements were strong, but Rob remained calm; he found a newfound sense of restraint inside himself to not just blow up in a fit of rage.

After three hours of negotiating, both sides left without much accomplished, though they agreed that steps in the right direction were made. There would be further negotiations, as the first court date loomed for December. Rob left the meeting feeling pretty good about the results, even if there wasn't any solid agreements made yet. Continuing on with his itinerary, Rob and his entourage made the trip back to the CMD, to visit the cordoned off ruins of Barev Two. They were to meet with insurers and claims estimators, to finally get a rough assessment of the damage, after the crime scene was finished.

Rob and Maverick had a lot of talks about the fate of Barev Two. At first, Rob simply wanted to abandon the CGOF, shut it down, and lay off its 900 workers, and accept the loss. But his moral compass just wouldn't let him, and after all the investment they had made in merging CGOF into Barev's network, all the livelihoods that were dependent, Rob decided against closing CGOF. It would be rebuilt and the Cygnet brand modernized and improved.

Behind tall fencing was the bombed out ruins of his factory. Heavily guarded, Rob watched his sentries patrol, armed with their plum stocked AK-103's. There were millions of dollars worth of equipment still inside, and with crime a problem near the south side, Rob wanted no chance of any attempt at theft.

Waved in by security, Rob pulled into the now cleared out parking lot. A giant crater in the executive section was a stark reminder of the brutality of the blast. All the destroyed vehicles, and rubble were now cleared away, leaving just a shell of the destroyed sales office.

Rob and Maverick met with the claims specialists, and they all took a tour of the facility. Marcus Barion followed behind as he usually did, documenting with his analog HL-791, equipped with a floodlight attached. The group walked the building with a structural engineer, who pointed out problems along their journey throughout the plant. The ninety year old building, outside of the major blast zones, was structurally okay. The second explosion cracked a critical support beam, and some of the major supports in the factory assembly hall suffered thermal damage and were distorted by the explosion. It would take a lot of work to rectify, but there was a confident assessment that the building could be repaired without major difficulty.

Going down the steps to the ground floor of the assembly hall, Rob walked with the claims adjuster, cracking a joke, when he suddenly heard screaming by one of his Blackshirts. There was a bunch of commotion, and then suddenly gunshots. Everyone but Rob jumped and scattered for cover; Rob yanked his holstered Glock and ran to where the gunshots came from.

Rounding a corner in the somewhat dim light, Rob saw a figure emerge, a young Doberman, dressed in black, wielding a revolver. "HALT!" Rob yelled, aiming his gun. The black and rust Doberman turned, saw Rob, and fired his Smith and Wesson at Rob. The big .44 Magnum kicked like a mule, and the recoil threw him off. Rob didn't even flinch as bits of concrete fell on him, from a really large bullet that hit just above his head. The revolver had a brilliant, bright muzzle flash, and an ear shattering report.

Rob aimed his Glock 20; he had the shot, everything. It would be a perfect one shot, one kill. Rob's finger was on the trigger, tensed, ready to pull. But Rob just couldn't do it. Even in that split-second, Rob was reminded of his nephew Alvin, by the figure holding the revolver. He didn't even look like he was twenty. Rob aimed slightly to his right and opened fire, striking really close to him. The young Dober was startled at Rob firing back at him, dropped the revolver and ran, screaming to his friends, who Rob could also hear.

"HALT! MOTHERFUCKER!" Rob screamed. As he ran, he saw others making their way towards a fire escape. There were at least five teens, some of them holding expensive optical equipment in their grip. A Blackshirt came charging up, the husky armed his rifle. He took aim, and was just about to open fire, when Rob knocked the gun up. With a mighty roar, he put several rounds into the ceiling, one of which ruptured a fire sprinkler.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Rob yelled.

The teens, trying to make a break for a cut in the security fence, were stopped dead in their tracks by the Blackshirts, who overwhelmed and surrounded them. Screaming and brandishing rifles, they got all six teens to throw their hands up in surrender as they were corralled together. The ringleader of that group, the Doberman, got hit in the gut by one of the Blackshirts with his gun. He was thrown to the ground, and his paws ziptied behind his head.

"This the muddafucka who had the gun?"

"Yeah." Rob pointed out. "This one right here."

Rob turned and looked at his security guards with a look of disbelief. He smirked, and shook his head in disgust. "Unbelievable."

Marching into the police precinct office, Rob met with the receptionist with a desire to confront the teen who had shot at him. All six were arrested for trespassing and attempted theft. But Rob wanted to confront that one teenager specifically. After waiting twenty minutes, Rob was escorted by an officer to the interrogation room. The teen Rob wanted to see was a sixteen year old named James Kenner. His nickname was "Jimmy". He had a long rap sheet already of petty juvenile offenses, and a couple misdemeanors of assault. Now he faced a firearms offense and actual jail time.

As Rob stepped into the interrogation room, he fixed his necktie and collar and waited a moment. Soon Jimmy was brought in, handcuffed by two police officers.

"Mister Kenner, this is Mister Barion, of Barev." An officer announced.

"How do you do?" Jimmy asked with an uncomfortable smirk. Rob didn't smile back or anything.

"Fine after you shot at me, thank you." Rob said in a formal tone.

"Why do you want to see me?"

"What the hell were you thinkin', kid?" Rob started off.

"Hey I ain't no kid, I'm-"

"How old are you."

"Sixteen."

"I'm thirty-nine. You're a kid to me." Rob shook his head with a chuckle. "What a bunch of little shits?" Rob said with a bemused smirk to the cops. "What the fuck were you thinking? Breaking and entering a former crime scene, attempted theft? SHOOTING at me with a fucking forty-four Magnum? You ain't no Dirty Harry, motherfucker~"

"I didn't think you were going to fire back at me..."

"Never assume." Rob pointed. "I always pack heat."

"Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"You're sorry because you got caught. If you were truly sorry, you would have never done it in the first place!" Rob snapped at him. "I'm not here to get even, or to gloat. I'm here just to ask you- is this what you want in life? You're sixteen, you're facing a firearms offense, you could very well be in prison for years! What are your parents going to say? Your family?"

"I don't have a family... not anymore." The Doberman shook his head.

"My condolences."

"I've been on my own since thirteen... Dad left, Mom died."

Rob shook his head in disappointment. "You're gonna get yourself killed, kiddo. I had the shot. I could put a ten millimeter through your fucking dome and you wouldn't have even known what hit ya! But I didn't!"

"Why didn't you?"

"Because what would I accomplish killing you? More headaches! More guilt? You know what it's like to kill a man?"

"No."

"They will stay with you till the day you die." Rob pointed. "You'll always remember them. Even if their death was justified. They'll always haunt your soul."

Rob crossed his arms. "You have your whole life ahead of you, and you're throwing it away. Is that what you want? Because let me tell you something. If you think you're gonna be some hardass Chicagoan like an Al Capone? I got beachfront property in North Dakota to sell you... You're gonna fuck with the wrong dude, get whacked, and be nothing more than a statistic. A footnote in the morning newspaper. You should learn from this... before it's too late."

"Maybe you're right..."

"I think I am right." Rob said, turning to head for the door. "I'm not going to press charges on you or your friends, because you're all in enough trouble... and I refuse to heap more on just to be a dick. But if you don't change, you're gonna wind up dead. Trust me."

"Thank you~"

Rob turned and left. He felt relieved as he left the station and hopped back into his waiting SUV to take him back to the airport. Waived in by security, Rob found his Connie all ready to board. Centoh's "parts hauler", a C-123K, was ready to take his Tahoe back to Ohio. Under the watchful eye of the media, Rob loaded the Tahoe into the cargo plane, and walked over to board his Constellation. Both planes soon took off and disappeared into the eastern blue sky.

After a relaxing dinner with everyone, Rob sat in the forward cabin in his usual spot by the window, watching the engines run. The mesmerizing drone of pistons chugging away, mixing with the sound of synchronized propellers. The sun was setting to the west, backlighting the props in amber sunlight. The big Curtiss-Wrights belched a steady flame from their turbine exhausts. Rob took the time alone to reflect on things. He felt actually good about himself, showing restraint in the break-in, and not having anyone hurt. He didn't even feel any disgruntlement about being shot at. He was glad that another person didn't have to be a statistic. His mind felt much clearer, and his body less tense than usual.

Having felt like he mostly recovered from both the bombing and his Chicago beat-down, Rob now found himself bouncing along during the week between his home, work, and now "Hanover Office". In Cy's spare bedroom, Rob sat back in his chair and took a slow sip of coffee, while sending "legalese" over to the FAA, pertaining to his successful return to flight. It was a scanned copy of his medical exam, clearing him back to flight, and a copy of the flight report. To make a point to the FAA and the Experimental Aircraft Association, Rob even returned to flight flying the tricky and mercurial F-104 Starfighter. Outside the big windows, the last of the yellow and orange leaves fluttered on the almost naked trees. Monday morning, the first of November, had arrived.

His cellphone rang, and Rob leaned forward to answer it, finding it the southern director, Martin Bixby.

"Go Martin." Rob said, engaging the speakerphone.

"So you won't believe what these fucking knuckleheads just did..."

"Do I want to know?"

"You're gonna find out one way or another!" Martin said with a sardonic laugh. "A dump truck that was precariously parked on a hill had its brakes give out. It rolled down and smashed into the building and hit a propane tank along the way. The jet of fire from the ruptured tank melted part of a concrete wall, and the truck damaged a reinforced support post."

Rob sucked on his lower lip, closed his eyes, and sighed slowly. "Wow."

"I know you're gonna be pissed off about this."

"I'm not even upset, Martin. I'm just amazed." Rob shook his head. "I am amazed these fucking retards can build anything in this country. No wonder our infrastructure is fucked."

"Well that's a whole 'nother story, Rob. Are you going to be flying on down here?"

"Nah. I'll let that be addressed by the foreman. Let it be known that that's on them."

"Oh yeah...I've already yelled at someone about this."

"Someone's parents should have just kept the afterbirth... just saying!" Rob laughed a bit.

"I'll get it tended to."

"Thanks, Martin."

Rob ended the call and sat back in his chair and glanced out the window. He simply shook his head and moved on. There wasn't anything he could do about it, so he wasn't going to be upset by it. Looking around the bedroom, Rob was planning on phasing out his Hanover "office" soon. The media scrutiny over the Chicago bombing was fading out, and Rob didn't feel "hunted" by those looking for a salacious scoop. He was very appreciative of his friend's generosity, and Rob definitely wanted to repay him for his kindness.

Looking at the time, he got up and went downstairs. Donning his windbreaker over a sweater, Rob stepped outside for a walk in the woods. The November air had the early winter chill that Rob could sense. The trees were almost naked, the color of the woods largely gone. The trail was strewn with leaves, creating a colorful and sometimes slick carpet to walk on. Rob thought to himself along the trail, thinking about his busy itinerary for the week, with more trips out of state to assess various projects. He was hoping these were the last major treks, and then he could take a long break from traveling. Of the two out of state trips, he was looking forward to seeing his young friend Sam Martin in New York. It would be a year since he had last seen him, when he dropped him off to be with his new family in Williamstown. Rob really appreciated Sam, who he met at a community center in Akron the year before.

Rob thought about how much had happened in the span of a year. Last year, he was stuck doing community service in Akron, to avoid federal prison, after he saved his nephew Alvin from being kidnapped by a bunch of terrorists in 2019. He was moved to help Sam, who he saw as just an eager nine year old who walked every day to and from the community center to do his school work and eat breakfast and lunch. He felt compelled to help him one day, when he saw Sam walk home in a cold rain with no jacket. Even with everything going wrong in his life, he was amazed by young Sam's tenacity and compassion in helping his drug addicted parents, who ultimately died in a house fire after Rob tried to save them. All of that happened admit a crippling pandemic that was still being drawn out by people. Almost a million dead, nearly two years in. He felt disappointed at how society was going, and where it was going. But yet, Rob felt good about himself at least. He hadn't felt like that in a long time.

November always made Rob think about "the incident", his gay bashing twenty-two years before, way back in November 1999. It was a close brush with death that left him in a coma for a whole year. It also left him with debilitating injuries that still bothered him to this day. Every year, it was a stabbing reminder of the horror he faced from the hatred of three teenagers. The gay bashing shattered his optimism, which he replaced with pessimism. But Rob had thought more over the past couple years about the pathetic lives those teenagers ultimately faced. Derik Prince went down a dark path, became a skinhead, and tried to attack Rob ten years later. Rob shot and killed him, but yet it didn't bring any closure. He felt nothing in killing Derik, even thought he longed for revenge. John Starlight died at age 20 of a drug overdose, and as far as he knew, Isaac Byron was still alive, but in a Michigan prison for some petty offense. He had confronted Isaac three years before at the Milan prison, and found him some tattooed up, scatterbrained burnout. Their pathetic lives made Rob start to rethink about his own "ruined" life; maybe it wasn't so ruined after all?

Stopping at the creek, Rob watched the water flow. It was clear and cold, and flowed with a gentle trickle sound over the rocks. Kneeling down, Rob saw his reflection in the water, a tired, aged face staring back at him. Rob accepted that his premature aging was his own fault, from allowing all his anger to warp and age him. The Chicago beat-down was also a stark reminder that nobody stayed on top forever, and never underestimate one's adversaries. The bombing made Rob think about how he dealt with people, though he couldn't shake the sense that a confrontation with the Vlockners would have been inevitable, even if he had just fired them from day one. Rob would never know for certain, but the feeling was hard to shake. The gay bashers were almost all dead, and so were the Vlockners. Rob emerged from the trauma, really battered, but alive.

Feeling the cold get to him, Rob turned around and began his lonesome walk back to the house, to continue on with his work.

On the ground at Williamstown, Sam Martin waited eagerly with his family. The ten year old brown wolf, bundled against the snow flurries and cold, waited with his cousin Cody, and aunt and uncle, Jake and Mary DuPont. They stood at the perimeter fence of the small airport's tarmac, by the small terminal building. Sam waited with his Nikon F3 in his grip. He was excited to meet "his hero" once again.

"Hey look! There they come!" Jake pointed out. The black wolf pointed to the sky, as two little specks emerged from the clouds. As they grew closer, Sam could make out the unmistakable gull wings of two Corsairs. His face lit up with excitement, and he took aim with his telephoto and focused.

Rob and Joey arrived to Williamstown in their Corsairs. Joey flew his Goodyear built FG-1D, "The Ohioan". Glossy sea blue with white stenciling, it sported a colorful red and white checkerboard cowling and rudder. In formation, Rob flew his third Corsair, an FG-1A, which he flew specifically because he christened it "Sam", after the young boy. "Sam" was painted glossy sea blue, but with yellow stenciling on the fuselage. It was painted as a stateside trainer during the war. A green prop boss completed its paint scheme. Building up speed, Rob and Joey held a tight formation as they passed overhead for Sam to watch. On the ground, Sam excitedly fired the shutter and tracked the two planes that he kept tight in his zoom. They looped around and came in lower and slower for Sam, banking around in the opposite angle for him to capture. They passed by, gained altitude and reentered the landing pattern to come in for landing. Rob touched down first, followed a minute later by Joey.

Taxiing up to the fence, both Corsairs folded their wings up and turned to park. Like a perfectly choreographed move, they stopped in unison and both had their engines shut down almost simultaneously. Sliding the canopy back, Rob stood up and waved to Sam and his family. He and Joey quickly climbed down in their khaki flight suits, to go running over to meet them at the fence.

"Sam!" Rob greeted.

"Hey Rob!" Sam grinned excitedly. "Welcome to Williamstown!"

Getting permission to have everyone on the tarmac, Rob took Sam to go see the Corsairs, which he excitedly photographed with a wide angle lens on his Nikon. Rob introduced Sam to the plane he named after the kid, telling him its airframe history and how he got it from a closed Naval museum and made flyable. After getting pictures of both aircraft, Rob and Joey climbed aboard the DuPont's van, and took off to go see their home. Sam excitedly talked to Rob the whole time while they drove back home to get situated, before they'd go out exploring.

Rob got a chance to see the new home life of Sam Martin. He lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin in a two story home in the middle of little Williamstown, which was nothing more than a couple roads that intersected Route 13. The home had a rustic old look to it with its brick red, and creamy beige paint. It was a massive upgrade over the dilapidated little cape cod that he had lived in back in Akron. Sam showed Rob all around the home, his bedroom, and the big yard he and Cody played softball in with their friends. They grabbed lunch, and then went on a nature trek at a big park Sam liked to take pictures at. It had a nature trail that led to a wide waterfall that vigorously flowed.

Rob and Sam stood at the base of the waterfall, battling the cold mist from the whitewater that vigorously rushed over the craggy dark rocks. Rob was demonstrating and showing Sam and Cody how to use a neutral density filter and a tripod to take a long exposure to blur the flowing water. Joey watched with Jake and Mary on the trail that was above them.

"Sam's a really smart boy." Jake complimented, as he talked to Joey. "I feel so bad that he had to endure what he did in Akron. I think him being so smart kept him out of trouble."

"He's a very gifted young man." Chuckled Joey as he observed.

"I can't think Rob enough." Smiled Mary. "He came in at the right time."

"Who knows...he could have been dead with Isaac and Kayla when the house went..." Jake shook his head. "I'm appreciative that your husband helped him the way he did. He didn't have to, but he did."

"That's my Rob~ He can be something of a mystery at times, but he has a big heart, whether he'll admit to it or not! He's always been there to help those in need. And in a sense, I'm glad Sam came into his life as well, because I think Sam taught Rob a lesson or two that he needed."

"You think so?" Mary asked him.

"Rob had a really bad childhood, and it really scarred him. I feel like Sam helped him open his eyes a bit more about being able to overcome it. Sam had a really bad situation in Akron... and yet, he never gave up. Sam has a lot of strength, and I think Rob noted that."

"To be nine years old, see your parents die, get pulled away to be a ward of a state, and then get sent to another state... it's crazy." Jake admitted. "Not sure if I could handle that!"

"Always appreciate what you got, is what I say~" Joey concluded with a smile. "Oh! Rob would like to invite all of you to his unveiling of his Vistachrome film in Chicago."

"Oh yeah?"

"He would like to present Sam with the official first box of film."

"When would that be?"

"In about two weeks."

"Just in the neck of time to get that scheduled out!" Jake laughed.

"We'd be honored!" Mary exclaimed.

"Rob will fly all of you aboard his transport to and from the ceremony." Joey explained. "And maybe... if Sam wants... to visit his parents' gravesite in Akron."

"I want to go visit my sister..." Mary admitted.

"Then we can do that." Joey nodded.

On the ground, Sam worked his old Nikon with Rob, taking a portrait of the waterfall with a four second exposure. Cody ran back up the hill to be with his parents, while they finished up at the waterfall.

"I love coming here, because I love the sound." Sam said to Rob. "It's so relaxing. Plus it's fun to swim here in summer!"

"I bet~" Rob nodded. "There's no waterfalls close by me... so it's always neat to see. I'm glad things are working out here for you."

"Well, it's a lot nicer than Akron~" Sam admitted with a smile at the end. "I've made a bunch of new friends, and I like it. Really quiet. And I don't have to walk miles every day!"

"Akron was quite an adventure." Rob said with an awkward smirk he swirled about on his muzzle. "The best thing about it was that I got to meet a very smart young man in you~"

"Thank you!" Sam grinned. "And I got to meet someone who really helped all of us."

"I had to- there wasn't a choice in the matter." Rob smiled in return. "Sam! How would you like to come to my Chicago unveiling of that film we've been using?"

"Sure!" Sam exclaimed. "I'd have to ask Aunt Mary and Uncle Jake though."

"That's what Joey's working out up there. I think you earned it, Sam~"

Helping to tear down the equipment, Rob and Sam walked back to the trail in a slow pace up the dirt trail.

"So Rob? Have things quieted down back home for you?"

"They have. Things have I guess, come back to a sense of calm." Rob admitted. "But I feel like I've learned a lot from my adventures lately..."

"Like not getting blown up!"

"Well, there's that." Rob laughed, in a cynical way. "But...you know... learning about how you interact with others and how that can make a difference in a situation. People are just strange, Sam. But I feel like I'm embarking on a sort of new trajectory, and it's sort of strange to start it on the eve of forty... but I don't have any complaints finding a sense of calm amidst the chaos."

"What do you hope for?"

"Hope for success with my family and friends. And just finding calm. After so many years of chaos and stress... I'd like some actual calm for once. It's still a work in progress."

"Everything's a work in progress!" Sam exclaimed. "Everyone's always learning."

"And always remember that." Rob pointed out. "So many people turn their eyes and ears off to learning because they think they know-it-all, and that's why this country faces so many issues. Nobody wants to learn, the concept of intellectual curiosity is gone, we don't strive to improve ourselves like before. It's a symptom of being on top for so long... and the pandemic has shown it. I hope for some this will be a valuable history lesson."

"Hopefully~" the young wolf nodded.

Rob and Sam climbed back up onto the trail, and with Joey and the DuPonts, continued on their way through the park.

The morning sun shone brilliantly through the towering skyscrapers of Chicago. The glass took on a brilliant amber sheen as a cold November wind blew. At Barev Three, the photographic film plant, preparations were made for the media representatives that were sent to document Barev's official release of their Vistachrome film. Representatives from the film industry, and a couple Chicago stations, were there with their cameras and reports, to document the event. The announcement of a film that mimicked the look and feel of Kodachrome attracted a lot of attention in the photographic industry. With the resurgence of interest in film, Barev had an opportunity to make headways into the market.

At the reception, in a large open area of the factory floor, Barev Three's management got ready. Reporters and other guests sat in a bunch of chairs, and the DuPont family, with Sam Martin, sat with Maverick, Joey and his family. Everyone wore blue facemasks that had "BAREV" embroidered on them. While preparations were being set up, Rob was away for the moment, to fetch his replacement Tahoe.

Looking at the time on his phone, Rob stood, looking impatient, in the lobby of a Firestone shop. On the other side of the glass was his replacement Tahoe, a lightly used 2019 model that was getting its Coopers replaced by a set of Firestone Destinations. Rob mandated that all Barev vehicles were to be equipped with Firestone tires, a preference of his. Rob didn't like rushing around, but he had to move the timetables up in getting the vehicle from the dealership and the tire shop to avoid any further delays in getting the vehicle back in service for the airport. Now, the airport vehicle was off limits to any employee who didn't have approval.

An hour later, Rob watched the SUV be lowered, and driven around to the parking lot. Rob signed some paperwork and paid with his bank card. He accepted the receipt and thanked the clerk before quickly leaving. Going through the glass door, Rob rounded the corner to get to his SUV, when he suddenly saw an older woman come charging up at him.

"You! Rob!" she shouted, pointing. Rob stopped and looked puzzled at her random presence. She had an uncanny resemblance to the Vlockners, when Rob put two and two together.

"You murderer! You killed my babies!" the old wolfess yelled at him. She looked to be in her mid-seventies, with short, permed, gray hair, and bundled against the cold in a red wool jacket. "You killed Sam, Ryan, and Brent!"

Rob stopped and held firm, with a stoic face.

"You drove them to snap and you killed them!" she screamed. She swung her purse at Rob and hit him a few times, until Rob grabbed the purse and stopped her. The wolf-hybrid kept his stoic face; he could very easily just punch her and move on with his itinerary. But there was something holding him back, a feeling of pity at such a pathetic display.

"Okay, stop." Rob calmly said.

"No!" Mrs. Vlockner yelled. "NO! You mass murdering sumbitch!"

"Misses Vlockner, it's time to stop." Rob calmly reiterated. Having enough of it, Rob ripped the purse out of her paws, threw it into the middle of the parking lot and grabbed her firmly by both of her arms, and quickly overpowered her.

"STOP!" Rob screamed. "Jesus Christ, just stop!"

Mrs. Vlockner paused, with tears in her blue eyes. She looked at Rob with a face twisted in pain.

"Do you think I wanted to kill them?" Rob asked her. "Do you think I wanted any of this to happen!? What are you going to accomplish just hitting me like that? It ain't gonna bring them back!"

"I have nobody left! My husband is dead, and you killed my babies!" the wolfess sobbed. "You had to fire Ryan and Brent! That's what made them want to kill you!"

"And you think that's an acceptable alternative?" Rob asked her. He didn't get an answer.

Rob let go of his grip on her arms, and took a step back to give distance. "I fired your sons after giving them several chances to improve. Which they didn't. It was nothing personal- it was business. And either way, that gives zero justification to construct a bomb in an attempt on my life, which ended up killing thirty innocent people. I'm sorry for your pain, Misses Vlockner, but you are in denial to who is responsible for this tragedy. The fault lays in the paws of Sam, Ryan, and Brent. I didn't want them to die... but what was I going to do when they came charging at me with baseball bats? Tell them no? I defended myself, and I'm sorry they died, but there was no alternative given to me. I get it... you're their mother, and you're going to defend your sons, and you're in denial because of the pain... I get it. I understand. But hitting and yelling at me won't make any difference."

Rob backed away, and simply turned to continue on to fetch his SUV. He left Mrs. Vlockner standing in the parking lot, looking sad and broken as he took off. Rob saw her in his rearview mirror, as he turned onto the main road, to head to the factory for the ceremony.

A round of applause opened the official ceremony for Vistachrome. The plant manager of Barev Three, Jennifer Springer, gave an opening speech about FotoChem, and its chemists and engineers who made Vistachrome possible. The head chemist and engineer gave a speech about some of the trials and tribulations to create the emulsion and film stock. They even showed a comparison of an original Kodachrome picture, and a Vistachrome shot of Chicago. The only difference was the contrast was a bit higher on Vistachrome. Finally, it was Rob's turn to speak. Rob braced for impact as he got up and walked to the podium. He watched every camera track him as he walked up to the podium.

With everyone watching, Rob gave a short speech about how he felt about the new film stock, and the future for Barev as it continued to expand in the manufacturing field. Rob's speech was sprinkled with a sense of optimism for the company, and he thanked all his workers for making it possible.

"I would like to honor someone very special, with the first batch of official Vistachrome two-hundred." Rob announced. "Last year, I was doing community service in Akron Ohio, and I got to meet someone very special on my duties. Someone who really helped open my eyes and understand things in a different perspective. So I would love to honor my friend Sam Martin, with the first official batch of Barev's Vistachrome!"

Sam walked up and happily accepted the rectangular box of film from Rob. Sam and Rob shook paws and shared a smile and laugh, the first time anyone in Chicago had ever seen Rob smile in public.

"I hope many more will discover and embrace film. With digital cameras, you have to make them look pretty in post production. With film, you take the roll out of the box and the pictures are already pretty."

Rob scanned the room and looked more serious. "I've been pressed by multiple people wanting to hear a statement from me regarding the bombing at Barev Two, the Chicago Glass and Optics Factory... I have provided a written statement, and have been quiet to allow families time to grieve, and time to recover from my own injuries sustained in the attack. This attack that killed thirty people and wounded scores of others was nothing short of wanton barbarism. It was the tragic result of a tumultuous relationship I had with my plant manager, that ultimately turned into this great tragedy. I am unable to speak further due to legal complications, but I am working with families and the city in an effort to provide the proper compensation amongst all parties. And I want to make a comment to Misses Vlockner... who... confronted me at a Firestone shop earlier today... I am not upset at you for being angry at me, at what happened. And I hope you may find peace in this very painful time. Thank you~"

There was a round of applause as Rob left the stage. He breathed a huge sigh of relief as the plant manager closed out the event.

Late in the afternoon, with the sun casting long shadows at Akron's Glendale Cemetery. The air was cool, and the wind rustled the browned leaves on the ground. The cemetery was very quiet, with only the ambience of the wind and cars far off in the distance.

Sam picked up handful of leaves and tossed them aside, as he cleaned his parent's headstones. Two granite headstones bore their names, denoting their final resting place after dying in the house fire a year before. It looked as though nobody had ever come to visit. Sam brushed a huge pile of leaves away, and gently wiped a couple off his Dad's headstone.

"It's okay Mom and Dad. I'm here to clean things up." Sam said quietly.

Mary stood with her husband, looking solemn at the fact that her sister was gone. They had never patched their relationship up, and now they never could. Rob stood a bit in the distance with Joey, looking reflective, and remembering the funeral he had held for them. He paid for them to be buried in the Glendale Cemetery, so they could avoid the damning potters grave. It still broke Rob's heart that the only people who attended the funeral, were his own friends and family. None of the Ecklers or Martins showed up, for a variety of reasons. But Rob felt happy at what he did, to give a respectable funeral for two lost souls.

Rob walked up to see Sam standing at their graves, looking down with a hint of sadness on his face.

"Rob, I can't believe they're gone." Sam frowned. "I can't believe that was a year ago."

"A lot's happened in a year's time."

"Yeah."

"Your parents were good people, only lost. I wanted to help them... but sadly I just couldn't get to them fast enough..."

"I loved my parents... but they were hard to handle... I will say." Sam admitted to Rob. "I had to walk everywhere, I had to get them food at the center. I had to do all of that. But I did it because that's my Mom and Dad. And I wish they were here."

"I think your parents would be very proud of you." Rob smiled. "You're a brave, tough young fella."

"And you're my hero, Rob."

"I'm no hero, Sam." Rob chuckled. "I'm just doing what's right."

"Well, you're a hero to me." Sam smiled. "Because I didn't have anyone else who wanted to help until you showed up."

"Well then~ I'll accept it, Sam."

Rob put his arm around the young wolf and pulled him close to him. "My grandpa used to tell me about how a little bit of kindness could go a long way. And that always stayed with me. We should always do the right thing, even if it's not popular or hard. Do things not because they are easy. But because they are hard."

"I hope they're in a much better place than Akron."

"I'm sure they are. And I'm sure wherever they're at now, they're watching you grow up and become an accomplished lil' photographer!"

"Well, I try." Sam smiled. "Slowly!"

"Hey, we all have to learn. I was you way back then when I was ten."

"That was a long time ago!"

"Don't remind me!" Rob laughed.

Paying their respects, everyone returned back to the airport for the flight back to Williamstown. The L-749 carried them back to New York, where Rob said his final goodbye, for now, to his young friend. He promised they would meet again soon, and Rob would take him on another plane ride in one of his warbirds. Turning around, "Vanguard" took off into twilight, to take everyone back to Ohio.

Sitting alone in his private quarters in the tail, Rob watched a news feed on his laptop. He sat at his desk listening to a Chicago station, while examining photos that were taken on their trip. He couldn't help but smile at a photo of Rob and Sam sharing a laugh at a card table, in the nose of the plane. Other photos showed Rob and the others giving speeches at the plant, and Rob posing with Sam, showing their rolls of Vistachrome film. Rob was very fond of that young man. He knew that Sam would grow up to do something great.

The news gave a highlight about Barev Three's unveiling of Vistachrome, including photographers selling out of it at a small camera store in downtown Chicago. There was commentary on Rob's speech, and the continuing, but diminishing fallout about Barev Two's bombing. One of the commentators mentioned about the "mysterious, reclusive nature of Rob Barion", which made the wolf-hybrid smirk.

"You'll never know..." he said to himself.

Rob leaned back in his chair, feeling content and calm.

Packing up his "Hanover Office", Rob put the last of his items in a box and sealed it shut. The extra bedroom that Cy allowed Rob to use during his time away to heal, looked empty and spartan once again.

"I'm going to repay you." Rob said with a laugh as Cyrus helped him grab boxes.

"No! No!" the burly wolf laughed. "No! I don't want your money!"

"You were so nice to me, and you let me stay here for like a month, made me meals, you deserve money! I'mma give you half a million!"

"NO!" Cyrus laughed. "I will rip ass on you!"

"Over money?"

"Rob..." Cyrus chuckled. "You're a cool guy, and you're a friend of mine... I let you stay with me because that's what friends do! I don't want repayment, especially that much money! I'd feel so selfish! I want your friendship, Rob~"

"Alright, if you insist..." Rob said as he went downstairs. He stepped through the open front door and placed a box in the open trunk of his red Tahoe. Cyrus placed another box beside it. "I think I got just a few more things..."

"I mean... if you really want to help me... I like to buy at least one or two new trucks every year or two to slowly retire the old ones in my landscaping fleet... so if you want to maybe help me there...I'll accept it."

"Okay, I'll get four new one ton's from Rusty and get em paid."

"Now that sounds more like it!" Cyrus exclaimed.

"First national bank of Barion." Rob laughed.

As he stepped into the bedroom again, Rob heard his phone ring on the now empty desk. Rob was surprised to see a phone call from retired judge, James Walker. He was the Licking County judge who had overseen his gay bashing trial when he was in a coma, back in 2000, and ironically, oversaw the criminal trial for Ben Reynolds' 2018 gay bashing, also ironically, at Newark High School.

"Your honor~" Rob greeted.

"Rob, how are you doing today?" came the aging voice of Judge Walker.

"I'm fine, Jim, thanks. I'm... surprised by your phone call? What's up?"

"Well Rob... remember how I told you years ago how I'd keep you informed about everything that had happened to you, and the fates of the three men."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm calling you because I found out earlier today that Isaac Byron, your 'ole pal' from high school, died yesterday morning in Detroit, from Covid-19 complications."

Rob paused and stared out the window with a blank expression for a moment. "...I see."

"Isaac was still incarcerated at MCI-Milan, when he contracted coronavirus. The warden there was an idiot and refused any of the deputies and prisoners there to get vaccinated. He wanted to give everyone Ivermectin... yeah... so Isaac was one of forty or so people who got infected... and he was airlifted to Detroit in very serious condition. Well they declared him brain dead and took him off the ventilator, and he died around eight in the morning yesterday."

"Oh."

"I don't know how you feel about that... or whether you cared... but I told you I would keep you informed."

"Well I'm not happy about him dying, nor am I sad, Jim. Honestly... his death is really pathetic. Because it could have easily been prevented with a shot, proving once again that Republicans are mentally retarded."

James sighed and chuckled a little bit at Rob's quip. "Rob, you have a way with words..."

"Isaac was a fool, yes. But his death was preventable... and that's a shame. So that's that. Derik Prince is dead. John Starlight is dead. And now Isaac Byron is dead. They're all gone now..."

"Yep..."

"Your honor...I appreciate the call very much."

Cy stepped into the bedroom to see Rob put his phone down and just stare out the window for a long time.

"Rob? Everything okay buddy?" Cyrus asked him.

"I just found out my last gay basher died... Isaac Byron. He was thirty-seven."

Cy looked surprised. "Wow."

"Isaac got Covid and died in Detroit."

"How do you feel about that?" the wolf asked.

Rob shrugged. "I don't really know how to feel? I'm not happy about it, I'm not sad. It's just... nothing?"

"I mean, I'd understand if you were glad or anything..."

"Those three tried to murder me twenty-two years ago, Cyrus... and yet... they're gone... and I'm still here..."

"You outlived them all."

"Yeah. I did~"

Grabbing the last of his belongings, Rob closed the trunk to his Tahoe, gave his friend a hug, and assured him he'd get the trucks ordered from his friend's GM dealership. Rob took off for home, twenty minutes away. As he drove, Rob sat back in his Tahoe and thought endlessly about Byron's death. The three misguided teenagers, from sad, pathetic, broken homes, tried to murder Rob because he was gay. They threw their whole lives away in their savage act, and condemned them to a life of failure. John died of a drug overdose at twenty, Derik tried to attack Rob a second time and Rob shot and killed him, and now Byron was gone, dead from a virus that killed almost a million Americans. "Wow" was all Rob could think about as he went home.

Carrying the first box in, he went downstairs to go stow it in his office. He went down the steps, stopped and turned to look at his two big displays full of his rifle collection. Rob stood there looking at all his guns with an unsure expression. He slowly sat his box down and walked over to examine all his Kalashnikovs.

Rob used to remember now liking guns as a teenager. His ex's dad owned a select fire M16A1 that Rob fired a few times, but didn't think much of it. But after his gay bashing, and awash in the paranoia that came with it, Rob became a Burt Gummer, paranoid gun owner. Conflating it with his interest in history, Rob began collecting AK's; he got a Title III license to own select fire weapons, and began collecting all the world's military Kalashnikovs. He had them all, from Poland's PMKM, to Hungary's AMD-65, and now the AK-63F, to East Germany's MpI-KMS-72, his very first select fire rifle, and an ultra-rate North Korean Type 68, which seemed fitting from his half-Korean roots that came from North Korea. On the far end of his display was his WWII guns, including his prized M1, the very first rifle he ever owned.

Sitting proudly on display was a well worn M1 Garand, bearing the scars of its wartime use. It came from an elderly man Rob had befriended when he was recovering from his gay bashing, an old man named Lester McPete. He was dying of cancer, but encouraged Rob to keep going. After his death, he gifted the rifle to Rob. It had saved Rob's life many a time.

Rob looked at all his weapons and took a step back, feeling awkward at his own display of firepower. He felt like a paranoid fool, with as much firepower as his city's police department.

"My god..." Rob muttered to himself. As Rob stood there, Joey made his way down the steps, carrying a box.

"Rob? You okay?" Joey asked.

"Just thinking~" Rob admitted to his lover.

"Everything okay?" the Doberman asked.

"Joey... I found out earlier that Isaac Byron died."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He died of Covid."

"Wow."

"So they're all dead now, Joey. I outlived Derik Prince, John Starlight, and Isaac Byron. They tried to kill me, and I lived."

"That you did, Rob." Joey smiled.

"Joey I feel so... strange right now?" Rob said to him. "I feel like...it's over."

"What's over?"

"I don't have to be on alert anymore..." Rob muttered. He turned and began going upstairs. "Joey...I gotta think about this."

Getting his belongings unpacked, Rob went on a car ride, alone. Late in the afternoon, the sun was slowly setting as Rob drove east. He made his way to Newark's Cedar Hill Cemetery, where members of his family were buried at, along with the graves of Derik and John. Rob drove around the various lots, remembering exactly where they were buried at. Rob took a moment to stand at their graves, and reflect on things. Rob stood silently at John, and then Derik's grave. Both their graves looked as though nobody ever visited. Rob stood, and reflected on what happened to him, twenty-two years before. He felt that both of them never critically reflected on what they did, and threw their whole lives away for nothing, leaving no legacy behind to be proud of. Much like their dingy headstones, they were now forgotten and abandoned, condemned to the ash heap of history.

Rob drove around and visited his parents' gravesite. In a sense, the turbulent upbringing from his Mom and Dad, combined with the actions of Derik, John, and Isaac, made Rob into who he was. The cemetery was quiet as Rob stood and paid his respects to his parents. Ray Barion was once a successful engineer who designed satellites, and was severely burned and disfigured in a workplace explosion when Rob was a baby. It left him in chronic pain that warped him into a very emotionally abusive person. Cho Hee Ahn, a refugee from North Korea, was a loving mother, who sometimes could be very distant. Rob never knew the truth about her, until years after her death, that she had fled from North Korea as a child, with her older brother and mother, who died saving them. Not far away from his mother was his grandmother, Cho Jong-sook, whose remains were found in the DMZ, sixty years after her death trying to escape North Korea. Rob had given her a military funeral, and she was buried with full honor for her service with the Soviet Army in World War Two.

In a sense, Rob felt that he was mourning about himself. The realization that he had wasted twenty years of his life in a perpetual state of disgruntlement and mistrust. He had held himself back so much in his stoicism, the inability to relax, and "let his hair down", that he felt that a good chunk of his life, the peak of it, was wasted. And he had nobody to blame but himself. He took all the pain that those three gave to him, the distance and abuse from his parents, and all the bullying, the sneers and jeers of his peers, and allowed all of it to break him over the years. But now, he felt as though he could really truly move on, now that his gay bashers were all dead.

As the sun began to set, Rob ended his trek at "Ray Barion's Hill". It was a huge artificial hill, made by the excavation of the city dump not far away. The big hill was topped by a massive, old oak tree. The air had a chilly bite to it as Rob climbed the hill. His father would come here all the time to meditate when he was in pain. It was a quiet place where nobody would bother him, and he could sit for hours in the shade without having to hide his mangled face behind a mask. Now Rob came here to sometimes think and reflect on things. On top of the hill, Rob looked out to his east to see the landfill, with a couple dump trucks slowly climbing up the steep grade. To the west was the Owens Corning complex, with its perpetual jets of steam shooting from its exhaust towers. Downtown Newark was silhouetted against the setting sun, which hung low against the hills far off to the west. Rob leaned against the gnarled trunk of the old oak and crossed his arms, as he watched the colorful November sunset.

Rob accepted that he would never be like his old self. The old Rob from high school was long since dead. The cheerful, optimistic, naïve teenager would never come back. But Rob no longer wanted to be the ruthless asshole, where the ends justified the means. He accepted that he would have to be somewhere in the middle. He would still be distrustful, cynical, and largely a loner. He didn't desire any larger social life, or acceptance in the gay community. Rob wanted none of that. Rob felt that with his enemies now dead, or in prison, he could start to let his hyper-vigilant self relax for once. The three gay bashers he loathed and feared were gone now from the earth, never to threaten him again. The Vlockners were all dead, and the Marquees were either dead, or in federal prison. Anyone who posed a threat was gone now. And Rob felt that perhaps not pissing people off and making enemies was a better strategy, long term. He certainly couldn't afford any more injuries to his body.

At thirty-nine, Rob felt like an old man, with aching joints, artificial knees and hips, and a face prematurely aged and twisted by all the years of hate. His body just couldn't take the surgeries and trauma anymore. He had stab scars, gunshot scars, which gave him a rugged, intimidating body. His face would forever more bear the scar that Derik Prince gave him, giving Rob his fierce face and facial paralysis. But now was a chance to start anew.

The world was full of chaos, and the United States felt more divided than ever. A sense of civil collapse loomed, the fear of renewed political violence, and a pandemic that killed nearly a million Americans, continued to slowly churn on, with more people dying every day. That every day, an Isaac Byron happened to some now grieving family. These were all issues that weighed heavily on Rob, but yet, there was nothing he could to solve those problems. All Rob had was hope. As the sun slowly set on him, Rob knew that it would rise the next day, giving hope for a new day.

Fiddling around his phone, Rob played some music to break the silence as he thought about where his future was heading. He wasn't sure what was to come, and he felt a bit intimidated about the uncharted waters he was heading into. But it sure sounded like a better plan than the dark path he was slip sliding away on. Rob simply crossed his arms and smiled.

"God only knows

God makes his plan

The information's unavailable

To the mortal man

We work our jobs

Collect our pay

Believe we're gliding down the highway

When in fact we're slip slidin' away"

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