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The young Raccoon Dog's heart was beating fast and hard like a pneumatic hammer in his chest. His breathing was quick and shallow, his blue eyes screwed firmly shut in an attempt to fight away the burning tears of fear and shame. The canid was clearly dressed like a ganger, sporting a pair of blue cargo pants, a slightly worn and torn blue vest, black combat boots and a faded black T-shirt with a neon-green picture of a canine face wearing a gas mask, his shaking paws wrapped with strips of dusty, dirty rags acting as some degree of minor hand protection.

Around him spread the bleak, rubble-strewn landscape of the Sump, the bottom-most area of the megalopolis of New Valpero; a vast urban area of colossal, towering buildings reaching as far as six miles towards the sky filling an area roughly the size of Texas. Dull, gray light filtered down through the permanent layer of smog that hung roughly a mile above the Sump like a curtain separating the Sump dregs from the "civilized" world far above.

Drake leaned his back further against the half-crumbled pillar of ferroconcrete that had, at some point in the past, supported some kind of an ancient building that had long since been gnawed away by the relentless fangs of time. Around him similar rubble provided him some cover from prying eyes, granting him at least a semblance of privacy.

In one shaky paw the Raccoon Dog still clutched his weapon, an energy pulse pistol which outwardly bore a striking semblance to a sixshooter, but instead of the usual six-slot roll the gun had only one spot for a cylindrical energy pack. Slowly Drake opened his eyes, throwing a disgusted look at the gun in his paw. The indicator lights on the side showed the gun to be set to kill and have a full charge in the power pack.

He couldn't hear the sounds of gunfire and shouting anymore, so -one way or another- the skirmish between the Chemdogs, his gang, and the group of Crimson Joker gangers trying to raid their turf had come to an end.

His first time in a real gangfight and he'd just turned tail and fled, damn well nearly pissing himself with fear. The burning shame of it made Drake's stomach twist into an uncomfortable, tight knot. How could he face his gang after such a display of cowardice? For all he knew they might just up and shoot him for being such a wuss... And if he couldn't go back to them, back to home in the Chempit Shanties, what could he do? A lone straggler, especially one as young and inexperienced as Drake, wouldn't last long down in the Sump. The laws of the "Uppers", people living in the "civilized" parts of the megalopolis above the smog curtain, held no sway here. The only real protection offered came from the gangs: either through being a member of one or living in a shanty town under the protection of a gang.

Adding to the danger, the decades of heavy industrial pollution had caused creatures almost straight out of nightmares to come to existence down in the Sump...

Drake buried his gray-furred face into his paw once more. If he truly was an outcast now, he really didn't have much hope for survival. He'd be lucky if he made it all the way out of the Chemdogs' territory and into another shanty town. Perhaps there he could...

The sudden noise of shifting rubble somewhere to his right and behind made Drake lift his eyes and snap his gun to attention, sending a fresh wave of fear coursing through his body.

As Drake lifted his gun up a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into view from behind a messy pile of fallen ferroconcrete pillars. The newcomer, a Doberman -with a stubby tail and pointy, perky ears- standing easily six-and-half feet tall and more than likely weighing over two-and-half hundred pounds clad in just about identical clothing to Drake's, froze on his tracks and raised his paws -the left one being a cybernetic replacement made of dull, dark-ish metal, from shoulder down- into the air, letting out a surprised "Who-ho-how...". On his chin the Doberman had a neat little goatee, a fairly short mohawk adorning his head and both were dyed a shade of fairly bright red, striking a stark contrast with his black-and tan fur.

The dog looked every bit like someone who had done a lot of heavy, physical labor in his life and, like all gangers, he was packing heat, a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun held in a holster strapped to his thigh with a bandolier of shells over his chest.

The Raccoon Dog let out a sigh of relief and lowered his gun as he recognized Rigg, a fellow Chemdog as well as his guardian ever since Drake's parents had been killed in a surprise raid by the Black Bullet gang some ten years ago. Back then Rigg had been seventeen; same age as Drake was now.

"I was worried for you, y'know... What were'cha thinkin', runnin' off all on your own like that, man?" Rigg asked whilst walking up to Drake, who let his gaze fall to the ground, his whole form slumping visibly.

"I fucked up bigtime back there, Rigg... I-I got so fucking scared I had no choice but to flee." Drake replied, speaking to his boots rather than face his friend.

Rigg took a seat on another piece of fallen ferroconcrete across from Drake, an encouraging little smile on his ruggedly handsome face. "It's cool, Drake. Boss Shenka isn't mad at you or nothin'. Took me so long to find you 'cuz I had to talk things through with him after we sent those Joker-fucks packin' with their tails firmly between their legs."

When Drake still didn't say anything Rigg reached over to give the younger Raccoon Dog's headfur a little ruffle "Oh come on now. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of if you get scared the first time around. Fuck... I damn near shat my pants in my first gunfight back when I was fifteen."

Drake could hardly believe what he was hearing, finally lifting his head to look at his friend in surprise. Rigg? Afraid? It sounded so absurd! For as long as Drake could remember, Rigg had always been able to keep a cool, level head no matter what. He also suspected it was because of Rigg that he hadn't been called to fight until now... Down in the Sump you were usually expected to fight if needs must as soon as you turned fifteen, ganger or not, though it wasn't unheard of for some more unscrupulous gangs to use juves who were even younger than that to bolster their ranks.

Seeing the stunned disbelief on Drake's face the burly Doberman gave a little shrug "I ain't shittin' you. I was so damn terrified with all the metal flyin' in the air I barely stuck my gun out to take a few potshots." Rigg held a small pause, his smile turning a little bit sad "Eventually, though, you'll have to man up and not be afraid no more, buddy. I can't always be there to spot for you when things get rough."

The idea of losing his friend -as unlikely as it seemed- sent a shower of cold water down to the pit of Drake's stomach. He shook his head and chuckled dryly "Bullshit. You're too damn stubborn to go and die on me, Rigg. You promised my folks you'd look after me for as long as it took, remember?"

Rigg nodded "Straight up. I promised them and for what... ten years now? I've stuck by that promise and I'll be fuckin' DAMNED before I go eatin' those words. Now c'mon..." Rigg stood up and put his non-cybernetic paw on Drake's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze "Let's go home, 'kay?"

The simple little gesture shattered the brave face the teenage Raccoon Dog had been keeping up, all the emotions he'd tried to suppress bubbling to the surface, tears rolling freely down his face. The sheer relief of knowing he wasn't going to be cast out of the gang despite his screw up just overwhelmed him.

The pistol dropped to the dusty, rubble-covered ground from fingers that felt suddenly weak as Drake rose to his feet and threw his arms around Rigg's waist, burying his almost raccoon-like masked face into the big Doberman's chest.

With both of them standing like that it was easy to see the slim Raccoon Dog was almost a full foot shorter and at least a hundred pounds lighter than Rigg.

Rigg was momentarily surprised by the sudden outburst of emotion from his ward, but just a moment later he gently put his cybernetic arm around Drake's shoulders, placing his other paw to the back of the other male's head.

"There, now... 'S all right, man." The Doberman whispered as soothingly as he could, simply holding the juve against himself, giving Drake a chance to just let it all out.

It didn't take long for the Raccoon Dog to gather himself enough to stop sobbing against his friend's chest. He was feeling more than a little embarrassed for his little outburst, the insides of his ears just about burning as he wiped his face to the back of a paw.

"Feelin' better now?" Rigg asked and Drake managed to nod a couple of times.

The big Doberman patted Drake on the shoulder once more before nudging his head in the general direction of their home "Let's go now. Ain't safe out here on the edge of our turf." Drake could only nod again in agreement, falling in pace with Rigg after picking up and holstering his gun, the two of them picking their way through the bleak, ruined landscape.

The skirmish with the Crimson Jokers had taken place about a mile away from the Chempit Shanties, their home town, close to the border of the Chemdogs' turf after one of their recces had spotted the approaching raiding party and alerted Boss Shenka and his crew to the danger.

The scarred, rugged Wolfhound had wasted no time in putting out the call to arms to protect their territory. Close to two dozen Chemdogs -Rigg and Drake included- had set out to crush the group of intruders numbering perhaps twenty in total.

Soon after battle had been joined, however, Drake had bolted in fear, running for a good long while before finally hunkering amidst the piles of ruined ferroconcrete pillars.

They hadn't walked for long before Drake broke the silence by asking "Rigg? Where's your MG?"

Rigg chuckled and flashed the juve a grin "I left it to Snaps so he could haul it back home whilst I set out to look for'cha. I reckoned I didn't need all that extra weight slowin' me down whilst chasin' after you."

"Yeah... Yeah, makes sense, I figure." Drake agreed. In the gang Rigg had garnered a lot of prestige with his mechanical skills; especially when it came to the care and maintenance of firearms, though he certainly was no slouch when it came to other machinery either.

The sheer size and physical might of the Doberman also allowed him to handle his lovingly customized and modified, shortened SP17-F machine gun -military grade hardware- with ease, lending the Chemdogs valuable mobile fire support. His affinity with the gun had even earned Rigg the nickname "Spitfire" among the gang.

It was his high standing in the gang that had allowed Rigg to keep Drake safe and out of any skirmishes up until now, but even his influence had it's limits... If you couldn't contribute something down here, you were dead weight and dead weight had to be cut loose. Making ends meet in the Sump was tough enough already even without freeloaders mooching off valuable resources.

As they walked Rigg sneaked a sideways glance at his ward. He'd known the Raccoon Dog's parents quite well back in the day. Drake's mother Sarin had been one of the meanest knife-fighters Rigg had ever seen. As for the juve's father... Jordell hadn't been a Sump dreg originally. From what Rigg had understood, Jordell had been a gun merchant in the "Midz", the middle levels of the city containing most of the fairly well-to-do citizenry, right between the "Lows" where the poor manual laborers lived and the "Tops" where the wealthiest people and the nobility lived lives of decadence and overflowing luxury. Somehow, Jordell had never been too specific about it, some deal had gone seriously sour for him and he'd been forced to escape into the Sump to hide his pursuers; the hallmark of someone truly desperate or crazy or perhaps a little bit both.

It wasn't easy to get into the Sump, the Lawbringers made sure of that, and it was nigh impossible to get out. The Uppers wanted nothing to do with the lawless scum living in the Sump, save for some enterprising merchants who traded their wares -mostly guns, clothing and food- for anything historical or otherwise precious that lay buried in the ruins at the bottom of the megalopolis. If you knew the right people and greased the right palms it was possible for an Upper to slip in and out of the Sump. Gangers and other dregs, however, were always shot on sight by the Lawbringers manning the exits...

Now all that remained of Sarin and Jordell was the gun the latter of the two had brought with him to the Sump. Rigg figured it had to be one of the most hi-tech pieces of gear in the entire Sump. Drake had been allowed to keep the gun as a gesture of respect towards his late parents from Boss Shenka.

"You think the others will laugh at me for... For being such a coward?" Drake asked all of a sudden.

Rigg shook his head and chuckled lightly, giving Drake a little, cocky grin whilst pointing a bionic thumb at himself "Hell naw... 'An if they do, I'll knock some sense in 'em."

The gesture made Drake smile a little. If nothing else, Rigg at least had an abundance of self confidence.

After that the mood between the two of them seemed to improve a good deal. Eventually Rigg began, at Drake's request, to give a detailed account of what had transpired in the fight after the Raccoon Dog had left.

The Doberman was in the middle of explaining -using excited and abundant body language to spruce up the story- how Luddo, the monstrously big but unfortunately a little dim-witted Bear working as the bodyguard for Boss Shenka, had been using a weedy little Crimson Joker ganger as an impromptu club by swinging the Lynx around by his ankle.

He was cut off abruptly, however, as from somewhere above them -from within the dull, gray cloud of smog- they heard the keening roar of an antigrav car's engine.

Moments later they saw the matte-black vehicle zooming low over them, trailing smoke behind it. With an almighty crash the antigrav vehicle struck ground, bounced twice, skidded across the ground before finally coming to a halt after smacking sideways against a steel railing on the edge of a pit several hundred feet deep. By the looks of it the vehicle was still fairly intact and not in any imminent danger of exploding despite the rough landing.

Drake and Rigg looked at each other.

"You think--" Drake began.

"The fuel cell? Worth checkin' out for sure." Rigg finished the thought for the Raccoon Dog. If the fusion-based power unit of the vehicle was still intact, it could easily provide their shanty town power for a couple of years at the very least; almost a decade if it was full.

The two burst into a brisk run, covering the distance with little difficulty. It went without saying they had to act fast if they wanted to claim the nigh-priceless energy source for themselves. Others had surely seen -and heard- the vehicle's arrival.

As they neared the vehicle Rigg could see the bullet holes stitching a ragged line across the side and back of the unmarked vehicle. The Lawbringers had probably shot the thing down, especially since the car had no registration plates on it. The Doberman could only assume the Lawbringers had gunned the vehicle down and called it a day, letting the dregs finish the job for them if the crash wasn't enough.

"Drake, check n' see if the pilot's still alive. I'll try n' get the fuel cell." Rigg said urgently before practically tearing the hood of the vehicle open with the help of his cybernetic arm.

Drake just nodded and, with his paw firmly on the handle of his gun, approached the driver's door. The windows were darkened so it was just about impossible to see inside. He squinted his eyes and leaned in close, his nose almost touching the slightly cracked glass. It looked like someone was slumped against the steering wheel, but whether or not they were alive Drake couldn't tell.

"Rigg? Is the cell intact?" Drake asked, leaning over to see past the hood of the vehicle.

The Doberman was hunched low over the engine block, apparently working as fast as he could on removing something. "Yeah... Just gimme a moment. Is the driver alive?"

"I... Can't tell. They ain't moving at least as far as I can tell."

"Put one in his head just to be sure. Can't take chances with these fuckin' Uppers. Hell... It could be a Hunter for all we know."

Drake felt his mouth go dry at the mention of the term Hunter. Hunters were the boogeymen with which parents in the Sump scared their children into obedience.

If you don't behave, a Hunter will come and get you at the night. Don't wander away from the town, or a Hunter might get you. Were the kinds of things said of them. Most Hunters were decadent nobles from the Tops who came down to the Sump to hunt its denizens for sport, personal amusement and the sheer thrill of it. And with their access to hi-tech gear they were a true nightmare for the Sump dwellers...

According to tales told by the visiting merchants, highly expensive licenses were sold to prospective Hunters to let them come down to the Sump to get their sick enjoyment. Some Hunters, however, chose not to buy a license for the sheer thrill of avoiding the Lawbringers on their way in and out of the Sump. By the looks of it, this one was one such unsanctioned thrill-seeker.

The Raccoon Dog licked his dry lips nervously as he unholstered his pistol. He thumbed the setting to maximum. If this was indeed a Hunter, it wouldn't hurt to be extra sure the guy was dead, right?

Drake started to bring up his pistol to line up a shot, but he'd barely lifted his gun a few inches when the door suddenly blew off and slammed heavily into him, knocking the youth down. He screamed more from surprise than pain, but the impact was still heavy enough to hurt like all hell, knocking the wind right out of him.

Even though he was dazed pretty badly he could still see the driver, clad from head to toe in matte-black carapace armor with a pair of pistols strapped to his thighs, climbing out of the wrecked car. Drake struggled to free himself from the car door pinning him to the ground, terror slowly seeping in to his being through the haze of pain and dizzyness.

The Hunter pulled out one of the two pistols, leveling it to Drake's head. Drake could just about feel the red dot of a laser sight on his forehead, the canid's struggling becoming more and more frantic at the face of imminent death.

The black-clad terror never got to fire the shot, however, as with a furious snarl Rigg lunged at him from behind, his cybernetic arm pulled back ready to deliver a low punch. As he swung his arm forward for a punch, the cybernetic arm started to reform and fold with a series of mechanical whirrs and clicks, revealing a machete-like, wickedly fanged chainsaw blade that revved into life as soon as it was fully exposed.

As Rigg's punch connected with the lower back of the Hunter the air was filled with the sound of shrieking metal, the sheer weight and momentum of the burly Doberman's punch -combined with the rapidly-spinning, ripping teeth- easily driving the chainblade all the way through the Hunter's body.

Much to Rigg's surprise, however, there wasn't a drop of blood from the Hunter, only bits of metal and a whole hell of a lot of electric sparks. The Hunter was also dead-silent, its body jerking and twitching, before it turned its head a full one-eighty around, hellish-red light shining in the eyepieces of its armor.

The Hunter reached its hands behind it in an attempt to either grab Rigg's throat or drive its thumbs into the Doberman's eyes and it was all Rigg could do to keep the... thing at bay.

"It's a fuckin' bot!" Rigg snarled, risking a glance at Drake to see the Raccoon Dog had managed to pull himself out from beneath the wrecked car door and was now shaking his head slowly whilst on all fours. "Drake, RUN!"

The Doberman knew he was fighting a losing battle against the robot. Eventually he'd tire out whilst the Hunter bot would still be going strong. If only he could grab his shotgun... But to do so he'd have to release one arm and that would let the Hunter easily overpower him.

Rigg's entire body was trembling with the exertion, his face twisted in a defiant snarl even though he knew he'd lose. He was sure whoever was controlling the robot was watching the situation through the mechanoid's eyes. Quite possibly also listening, too. The thought of someone so sick and twisted as to enjoy something like this made Rigg snarl all the louder in disgust and anger.

Suddenly there was a bright flash and the booming, electric sound of an energy weapon discharging from behind the Hunter, the mechanical puppet's whole body jerking towards Rigg. The shock to its systems made the Hunter bot reel for just a moment, giving the big Doberman the opening he needed.

As fast as he could Rigg drew out his sawed-off shottie and planted the barrels underneath the robot's chin. "Game over, you sick, lazy fuck!" he growled before pulling both triggers. The slugshots tore through the robot's head, spraying bits and pieces high up into the air whilst the robot itself gave one last spasm before going limp.

Rigg dropped his shotgun and turned the blade of his chainsaw weapon in reverse, reforming his hand and arm as soon as the blade was free. The big Doberman hauled the robot up over his head as fast as he could, tossing the limp, mechanical body then over the railing and into the abyss. Not three seconds later the falling body exploded into a bright ball of flame and shrapnel. Even the Hunter's fallen pistol gave a little pop as the tiny explosive set into its frame blew up, rendering the gun unusable, as well as setting all the plastic parts on fire.

Panting heavily, feeling somewhat weak now that the rush of adrenaline was receding, Rigg turned to look at Drake who was still holding his pistol in two shaky paws, though it was pointed down at the ground. The Dobie couldn't help but feel proud.

"Thanks a million, buddy. I owe you one." he said, getting a feeble little smile from Drake in return.

"H-How did you know it'd explode, Rigg?"

Rigg's expression turned into one of deep, venomous loathing as he spat over the railing in the general direction of the Hunter's remains. "They always do, man... It ain't enough those assholes come down here, huntin' for us. They also don't want us to get anythin' usable out of it in case the Hunter goes n' gets his stupid ass killed. I ain't sure, but I've heard tell the livin' ones have some kind of chip wired into their heart or somethin', and that chip-thing is then wired to the explosives linin' their armor. Their ticker stops pumpin', they go boom. We get nothin', and they might take a few more of us with 'em." he gestured towards the pit "So I figured the bot probably had one of them devices as well in it. Seems like I was right."

Drake nodded, looking then suddenly concerned "You sure you're okay, Rigg? Sorry I took my time aiming, but I, you know, didn't want to miss..."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Don'tcha go worryin' about me. I'm made of tough stuff. And hey, look at this..." Rigg said with a soft smile tucked in one corner of his muzzle, pulling then a metallic cylinder with panels glowing a soft, orange light from his back pocket. "The fuel cell was intact, and it's just about full, too!"

"Sweet! But uhhh... Shouldn't we, like, really get a move on now?"

Rigg nodded "Straight up. Truer words have rarely been spoken. Let's get the hell out of here..."

Sometime later -after it had already started to get dark- Rigg and Drake, weary from the trials of the day, finally wandered back into the Chempit Shanties, a town surrounded by walls built from rubble and scrapmetal; both of which could be found in abundance in the surrounding region. The gate, built of a big, thick sheet of durasteel, was flanked by two watchtowers equipped with heavy flamethrower emplacements and floodlights. To top it all off, the top-edge of the wall and gate was lined with scratch built barbed wire.

The air had a certain sharp, industrial and chemical sting to it courtesy of the nearby huge runoff pipe coming from one of the large chemical plants somewhere up in the Lows. The massive pit of noxious, slightly luminescent chemical goo was what gave the town its name.

The chemical goo -combined with the knowledge Drake's father had brought with him- was actually the reason why the Chemdogs had risen to such a solid position of power in the past ten years. As it turned out, only some fairly simple distillation and refining was required to produce a substance quite similar to gunpowder from the goo, the same substance -when diluted a little- working quite well as fuel for flamethrowers too.

As soon as the two of them got close they found themselves nearly blinded as one of the four guards in the towers turned on a light and pointed it at them. A familiar voice called out "Spitfire? Fucking-A! And you found lil' Gunslinger too? Hold on, I'll open the gate."

"First turn off that damn light, Snaps, or at least point it somewhere the fuck else!" Rigg shouted back. Soon enough one of the other guards -a brown, scrawny Rat named Jingo- turned the light away from them.

The gate slid open slowly sideways on the rail it had been mounted on, the somewhat rusty wheels screeching unpleasantly. Once it was open much enough, Drake and Rigg slipped in and the gate was closed once more.

Snaps was waiting for the two of them on the other side, the fox grinning just about from one perky ear to another. Just like Drake and Rigg, Snaps was clad in the usual ganger garb, a rifle slung on his back and a neon-green bandanna wrapped around his head. "Took your sweet time out there, eh, Rigg?"

"And for a reason, too..." Came Rigg's reply, the Doberman grinning as well as he pulled out the fuel cell "After I found Drake here we ran into a Hunter." Rigg silenced the questions with a raised paw before Snaps -the fox's eyes wide with surprise- could even voice them. "One of the unlicensed ones, yeah? Its car all shot to shit by the cops, the bastard crashed not far from us. Long story short, the Hunter was a robot, Drake saved my ass and we scored a near-full cell out of it."

Snaps let out a low whistle, visibly impressed by the tale. "Well damn... You're going to have to tell all the juicy details of that one in the Glass Gun over a cup or two of 'shine once you're done hooking that baby up to the generator. Ancestors know, we can really use the extra juice."

The Fox held a small pause during which he examined Rigg and Drake from head to toe "...You guys might also want to pay doc Hackjob a little visit. You both look like you got trampled by a mauler mutant!"

"Yeah... No shit brainiac? You try havin' a wrestlin' match with a goddamn Hunter bot and not get a little roughed up in the process." Rigg replied dryly, giving Snaps a friendly little punch in the shoulder.

Snaps grinned through the mild pain, trying his best not to rub his shoulder. Rigg had used his cybernetic limb for the punch and, sometimes, it felt like the big Dobie forgot just how strong the replacement limb was "I... Think I'll pass on that, thanks. Rather use my legs to put some distance between me and a damn Hunter. Now go on, git! Boss also wants to have a chat with the two of you. Tomorrow morning, he said, so no rush." Almost as an afterthought the Fox added "Oh yeah, I left your MG and the ammo straps by your house, leaning against the wall. If someone's been stupid enough to nick them, let me know."

They waved Snaps goodbye and set down along the main street -if you could even call it that- of the town. Not many electrical lights were on to conserve power, but several chemical- and oil lamps provided enough illumination to give some kind of understanding of the size of the place.

All told there were about a thousand inhabitants in the Chempit Shanties; nearly five times as many as ten years prior before the Chemdogs' rise to power.

Rigg and Drake passed by the Glass Gun bar, one of the few buildings in town that was brightly lit. Raucous, roaring laughter and loud, blasting heavy techno could be heard from within; most likely from gangers celebrating their victory. A few Chemdogs were standing outside the bar and they all waved, cheered or just nodded at Rigg. Drake was almost like a ghost to them, however...

"Bless my soul. Little Drake and young mister Rigg. Good to see you two made it back alright after all." The soft voice of an elderly woman caught their attention just before they reached doc Hackjob's little infirmary.

Turning about they saw Aunt Fiera, the elderly, hunched Tigress smiling warmly. On her she was wearing her usual outfit of slightly tattered denim coveralls and a faded Chemdog ganger shirt. The long decades of exposure to the chemical fumes near the shanty town had almost bleached her orange fur to a shade of pale whitish-yellow.

Aunt Fiera was one of the most highly respected members of the community despite her advanced age. She was a real rarity in the Sump: a ganger who had beaten the odds and survived to a ripe old age. She had more than earned her right for a peaceful retirement several times over. That was one of the reasons so many joined a gang in the Sump. It usually meant their families would be cared for even if they died as long as they pulled their weight as best they could for the gang.

"Hi auntie. Yeah... Ran into some trouble, but nothin' the two of us couldn't handle." Rigg replied, placing a paw on Drake's shoulder whilst smiling broadly.

"Yeah! We took out a Hunter bot whilst we were out there." Drake added, the Raccoon Dog practically beaming with pride.

Aunt Fiera smiled and nodded several times as she listened, but her expression melted into a mask of seriousness soon after "I'm just glad you two survived the encounter, boys. I've lost many, many friends to those damnable monsters over the years..." with a slow little shake of her head Aunt Fiera restored her smile, cocking her head slightly to get a better look at Drake "Oh my dear boy... Is Rigg feeding you well enough? You look so awfully skinny."

"No worries, auntie. Rigg's been taking really good care of me; food and all included."

Rigg laughed "Hey now, auntie... C'mon, cut a man some slack. I'm doin' as best I can with lil' Drake here."

The Tigress chuckled, covering her mouth with the back of her paw "I'm just teasing you two... Now run along. If it's doc Hackjob you're going for, he's in there, as usual, and I think he isn't seeing anyone right now."

"Thanks, auntie. You take care of yourself now, 'kay?" Rigg said as he waved before heading along the street towards the doc's office once more.

"See you around, auntie!" Drake added.

The visit to doc Hackjob's clinic didn't take long, the middle-aged, grumpy Badger clearing them up in no time after cleaning up the minor nicks and cuts they had gotten over the course of the day. Hackjob wasn't born a Sump dreg, being instead another refugee from -he had been heard saying- the Lows. Why he had escaped to the Sump nobody knew, but he'd been doing doctor's work for the Chempit Shanties for well over a decade now.

After that they paid a brief visit to the town's scratch built power plant. Oliver "Sparks" Marshan -the Ferret technician in charge of the power plant's maintenance- had just about creamed his dirty coveralls when Rigg had given him the fuel cell, almost dropping his already slightly cracked spectacles in his haste to plug the thing in to their generator.

Drake had always thought Sparks had more than a few screws loose or completely missing in that head of his and he'd even said as much to Rigg... Rigg hadn't denied it, either.

Finally, after their little round around the town was complete, the pair slouched to their home. Outwardly it wasn't much, just a roughly rectangle-shaped building with walls and roof made mostly out of corrugated iron with other suitable bits and pieces of plastic and metal added to make for a fairly comfortable house. Rigg had even constructed a little porch with roofing made of corrugated, transparent plastisteel for the rainy days, a couple of chairs the only furnishing outside.

Leaning against the wall next to the door was Rigg's machine gun just like Snaps had said.

"Oh baby I missed'cha..." Rigg mumbled as he picked the gun up onto his shoulder and hauled it inside. The way he was talking to his damn gun made Drake roll his eyes. Still, the Raccoon Dog picked up the bandoliers of ammo and hauled them inside, dumping them onto the table in the main room of the building.

The interior wasn't much to look at either: a main room just left of the entrance with a table and some chairs, one corner dedicated to kitchen duties. Directly right from the door was a short hallway ending in a little bathroom with actual running water thanks to the water processing plant that was the pride of the town; even though it was often fraught with problems. On the right-hand wall of the main room were two tarp-covered doorways side-by-side that led to the only other rooms in the house: Rigg and Drake's bedrooms.

After they had stashed their gear away, kicked off their boots, had a quick washup with cold water -the only kind coming from the tap- and relaxed for a moment Rigg asked "You hungry?"

"Like you wouldn't believe..." Almost on cue Drake's stomach let out a low, hungry rumble.

The Doberman nodded and stood up, heading for the cupboards he'd built himself in the kitchen corner and digging out a pair of Military Ration Packs and a battered pair of metal sporks. He tossed one over to Drake, pulling the sealing strip on his own pack whilst heading back to the table.

On contact with air the contents of the pack heated up on their own, the delicious scent of almost-but-not-quite flash-frozen poultry filling the air, making Rigg's mouth water. Carefully he removed the wrapping, revealing a plastic container with a ready portion of steaming-hot, reconstituted poultry replica in thick, mealy vegetable stew.

They ate in silence, deep in their own thoughts, simply enjoying the hot food which -considering what it was- tasted surprisingly good. They even licked the containers and sporks spotlessly clean before throwing the trash into a bag made from the skin of a Vrushja, a hexapedal, fairly docile lizard about the size of a Komodo Dragon capable of subsisting on just about anything. Their hardiness combined with the fact almost all parts of them could be put to good use made the Vrushja a popular choice as a domesticated beast.

"Your turn to take the trash tomorrow." Rigg said.

"Like I could forget, what with you constantly reminding me." Came Drake's semi-snarky retort, to which Rigg responded by giving the younger male the middle finger accompanied by an amused smile.

"Anyway... I'm turnin' in for the night. Rough day n' all." the Doberman said as he stood up and stretched.

Drake seemed to consider the pros and cons of doing the same for a moment before giving a soft nod "Well... That makes two of us then. More shooting practice tomorrow?"

"Sure." Rigg said whilst giving the Raccoon Dog's hair a ruffle "You sure do need it. You can draw the gun and twirl it around like a man possessed, but your aim..."

"Sucks. I know..."

"I was goin' to say 'leaves much to be desired', but that'll do too I guess. Besides, don't go sellin' yourself short, man. That shot on the Hunter was really frikin' good." Rigg smiled, managing to get a little smile out of Drake as well.

With that said Rigg bade the Raccoon Dog goodnight and retired to his room. None of the rooms inside had any doors. Why bother spending the time and effort building one when a thick plastic tarp nailed or bolted to the top of the doorframe did just as well?

Drake kept staring at the triple-layered tarp acting as Rigg's door for a good while after the dog had gone in, chewing idly on his lower lip. Eventually he gave a little sigh and shook his head, slouching over to his own room.

A little while later the juve was laying in his bed, paws tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, but enough light spilled in from the lamps outside through the draped window to allow Drake to see.

All told it had been a hell of a day, too filled with things happening to allow Drake much of a chance to think things over. Now, however, he had time to reflect, time to think and gather his thoughts.

Hell... He'd been meaning to talk to Rigg about something, but with the Crimson Jokers trying to raid their turf -and the subsequent train of events that followed- it had completely slipped his mind.

Drake shifted his eyes to the wall separating his room from Rigg's. His thoughts shifted to the events that had taken place about a month ago during Drake's seventeenth birthday. To celebrate it both Rigg and Drake had gotten absolutely hammered at the Glass Gun whilst celebrating with Snaps and a couple of other close ganger friends of Rigg's.

The Raccoon Dog's recollection of the events of that night was hazy at best, but in the morning he remembered waking up naked, hung over and smelling of cum from Rigg's bed, Drake's butt aching in a surprisingly pleasant manner.

What exactly had transpired that night he wasn't sure of and they hadn't spoken of it since. Hell, it was almost like Rigg wanted to deny the whole thing had even taken place! Somehow the thought caused Drake's stomach to twist uncomfortably.

Rigg meant a lot to him and lately Drake had had more than one pawing session during which he'd pictured what, exactly, had transpired during the night of his birthday... And Drake had discovered he liked imagining those things, picturing Rigg's big, strong arms on his body whilst the Dobie thrust himself into Drake...

And then there had been that moment with the Hunter, the cold, dawning realization when Rigg had told him to run that if he did so he probably wouldn't see the Doberman ever again. The sheer fear of that thought had sparked to life two things in Drake: the desperate fury to help his friend, and the realization that he... Really, really cared for the Dobie; more than just as a friend and a caretaker.

Drake swore quietly under his breath. Would he ever dare to confront Rigg about the feelings he had? What if the Doberman didn't feel anything like that in return, or worse, would laugh at him for being so stupid? What if--

The Raccoon Dog swore again and sat up, a determined scowl on his face as he kept staring at the wall separating him from the man who had been his caretaker for so long. There was only one way to find out... No point in sitting around on his arse, being afraid of what could happen when all he had to do was walk into the Doberman's room and force a confrontation.

He heaved his feet on the floor and stood up, picking up his gang T-shirt from the pile on the floor where he had discarded it. Then, clad in just his underwear and the shirt, he slipped out of his room, pausing outside Rigg's room when he noticed light spilling from within.

"Hey, Rigg, you awake?" He called out softly.

Rigg, having discarded all of his clothes, lay naked in his bed with only the blanket to cover him. He liked sleeping in the buff, feeling underwear or any other such garment was just uncomfortably constricting when trying to sleep.

His bed was pretty big -easily queen sized- as Rigg enjoyed having the extra space. It was also handy whenever he had company... Though it had been quite a while since he'd last had anyone over, what with Drake being old enough to know -or at least guess- what any strange noises coming from the Dobie's room might be. No... It was far safer to spend the night over at someone else's place rather than risk having them over.

Not that there were many people with whom Rigg could pursue such carnal activities. He'd never really had an interest in any of the girls in town, plus -according to doc Hackjob- Rigg wouldn't be able to sire any pups anyway; something to do with "genetics" or some shit like that.

"At least there's Snaps..." Rigg thought idly to himself whilst slipping a paw down his taut body to idly rub his sheath. He let his eyes fall shut in relaxation as he continued to idly stroke himself, his sheath filling up soon enough as he remembered the last little tryst he'd had with the witty little Fox. Snaps looked so damn hot bent over with that vulpine tail of his dancing tantalizingly in the air...

Rigg found himself smiling. The damn Fox did that little display just about every time they had a romp. Snaps probably knew it pushed Rigg's buttons in so many right ways.

Carefully Rigg shifted his blanket out of the way, revealing the tapered tip of a canine cock and a fair amount of accompanying length had already cleared out of the confines of his sheath. He tucked his artificial arm under his head and wrapped the other one lightly around his length, stroking it idly whilst images of the Fox -all naked, bent over and moaning- floated in his mind.

Unbidden another image entered Rigg's mind, a little bit hazy but still recognizable enough: Drake riding on his cock, the Raccoon Dog's head thrown back drunkenly, moaning out loud whilst jerking himself off furiously in time with the movements of his hips.

The memory gave Rigg a pause. He stopped masturbating and opened his eyes, staring at his throbbing malehood with a thoughtful expression on his face. About a month ago -whilst celebrating Drake's seventeenth birthday- that had indeed happened. The Raccoon Dog obviously had been way more drunk than Rigg, and he suspected Drake probably had no memories of the events that had taken place.

Rigg was almost glad they hadn't had a conversation about the subject since then, because he still wasn't quite sure how to feel about the whole thing. He had been, after all, appointed as the juve's guardian and caretaker. Hell, the Raccoon Dog was not unlike an adoptive little brother to him! But still...

"I love you, man... Wish we could stay like this forever." Drake had mumbled drunkenly whilst they had lain there on Rigg's bed after their romp, enjoying the afterglow.

Rigg sighed and wrapped his paw around his member once more. There'd be no harm in fantasizing about Drake whilst jerking off... Just this one time.

"Hey, Rigg, you awake?" The voice of Drake made the Doberman just about jump out of his skin, though he somehow managed to avoid yelping in surprise. Hurriedly the big canine pulled the blanket over himself and shifted to lay on his side to hide his erection.

"Uhhh... Yeah, at least now I am. What's up?" Rigg called back, trying his best to sound like nothing was wrong in the world.

"I... Can I come in?"

"Wasn't plannin' on stoppin' you if you tried."

With that said Drake pushed his way into the room, standing halfway between Rigg's bed and the door with his arms crossed almost protectively over his chest.

Rigg cursed inwardly at the twisted sense of timing the Ancestors apparently had. With a somewhat concerned look on his face the Doberman nodded towards the juve "Somethin' the matter?"

Drake's tail swished anxiously behind him, the canid shuffling his feet whilst not daring to meet the Doberman's gaze. Self-doubt was once more gnawing away at his resolve. "No, I just... C-Can I sleep here tonight? I... Don't really feel like being alone right now." he finally managed to spit out.

Rigg looked puzzled "Yeah, sure thing man. You just... Haven't done that since you were, like, ten."

When Drake didn't move, Rigg added "Hey, man... You sure you're okay? You don't really look like it."

Drake hesitated for just a second longer, but as Rigg opened his muzzle to speak once more the Raccoon Dog steeled himself and took the plunge. He practically threw himself at Rigg, pressing his palms on the dog's shoulders before kissing him fiercely.

Rigg's eyes went wide open, the Doberman getting taken by utter surprise and being completely stunned by it. In the end, after a very brief moment of gathering himself, the muscular Dobie pulled his arms free and wrapped them firmly around the lithe Raccoon Dog's body, answering the youth's kiss with one of his own.

The dog rolled Drake off himself and onto the bed, still firmly locked in that sweet, passionate kiss, keeping the Raccoon Dog just about pinned between the bed and his muscular form. Rigg could feel the other male's heart starting to beat faster as a result.

Several long moments later Rigg finally broke the kiss, a little smile on his muzzle that was mirrored on Drake's face. Rigg's smile, however, was soon replaced with a somewhat serious expression as he asked "You sure about... Y'know, what you're doin' here?"

Drake still kept on smiling as he nodded, cupping and caressing the older male's cheek with one dark-furred paw "Yeah, I'm pretty damn sure... Was planning on talking about this, and, you know, about what happened a month ago earlier today, but then shit went down and it all kinda slipped my mind. Until now, that is. I... I want you, Rigg."

Rigg nodded, shuffling then off the smaller male and helping him out of his T-shirt and underwear. As Drake obligingly lifted his hips to allow the Dobie to pull his underwear off, revealing the canid's halfway erect cock, Rigg felt a little, horny shiver going through his spine and down to his crotch.

The Doberman cast off Drake's underwear over his shoulder and then lay down between the youth's legs, planting little nips and kisses onto Drake's belly as he trailed on ever lower, which in turn caused the Raccoon Dog to moan and squirm softly.

Eventually Rigg got low enough to plant a little kiss, followed by a tormentingly slow lick, onto the glans of Drake's cock, eliciting another, more needy moan from the lither male. A wicked grin spread onto Rigg's muzzle as he continued to slowly trail his tongue this way and that over Drake's penis, the dog hungrily lapping down any and all droplets of precum the Raccoon Dog produced.

"Rigg... Please, I... Let me--" Drake mumbled incoherently, making Rigg perk his ears up in attention. The Doberman relented in his oral teasing and drew back a little bit to see what Drake would do.

No longer pinned under the big Doberman, Drake was free to roll over onto his stomach and then rise up on all fours, shifting his fairly short but lush tail to the side to reveal his tight, pink entrance to the considerably larger, stronger male.

The Dobie felt his own maleness springing into full attention at the sight in front of him. Just when had Drake grown up to be such a gorgeous, attractive man? Rigg growled lustily in approval, his eyes trailing from his ward's tailhole upwards all over Drake's body. He rose up on his knees, placed his paws on the base of Drake's neck and slid them slowly downwards, following along the long, black stripe in the otherwise gray-brown fur that went from the base of Drake's neck all the way down to the base of his tail, widening around the shoulders to form a tapered cross shape.

As his paws reached Drake's rump -which Rigg found to be quite enjoyably taut- the Doberman bent down to nuzzle, kiss and lightly nip at the two sexy buns of his companion, alternating between them fairly evenly.

Drake could only moan loudly at the attention Rigg was lavishing on his rump. He pulled the Dobie's pillow under himself and lowered his chest on it, giving Rigg much more room to work with.

Rigg, on the other hand, was more than happy to take advantage of the even more exposed pose of his companion. He planted one more firm kiss on Drake's rump before placing his tongue on the Raccoon Dog's pucker, giving it a couple of tentative, exploring licks. Snaps at least loved it when he did that, so -naturally- Rigg wanted to see if rimming had the same effect on Drake as well... And he wasn't disappointed. The moan he got from Drake as a result was softer than the previous ones, but there was a noticeable quivering tone to it, the lither male trying to squirm in delight but Rigg kept him steady with paws firmly in place on the canid's rump.

Relentlessly the dog whipped his tongue time and again over the tight ring of flesh between Drake's buttocks, coating the Raccoon Dog's entrance with a hefty bit of saliva. Eventually Drake just couldn't take it any longer, turning his head to look at his lover with need in his eyes.

"F-Fucking hell, Rigg... Quit teasing and fuck me already! I... I want to feel you in me." Drake said, a little bit surprised by his own language.

Rigg just chuckled and nodded as he straightened his back, moving on to idly stroke himself, thoroughly rubbing in the few droplets of precum that had appeared on the tip of his canine cock. "If you insist. Just a sec, though. Need to grab a glove n' wrap this lil' sucker up."

"Little" wasn't exactly the word Drake would've used of Rigg's package. Truth be told he was a little bit intimidated by the sheer size of the Doberman's manhood, but still he was determined to see this through. He'd worry about any soreness later; for now he just wanted to feel that most intimate connection between himself and the man he... The man he loved.

The seconds ticking by felt agonizingly long as he watched Rigg clamber out of the bed and to the metal trunk on the other side of the room, rummaging through the contents for a moment before letting out a triumphant "There you are!"

Even as he was stranding back up the Dobie was busy tearing open the black wrapper of the condom; a brand specifically designed for knotted individuals. Rigg held the wrapper carefully between his lips as he rolled the condom down his rigid shaft, grunting as he pulled his sheath down to pop free his knot before rolling the protective layer of latex all the way down. Finally he took the condom wrapper and tore open the other half of it, carefully squeezing out the portion of lube it contained.

As Rigg briskly hopped back onto the bed, Drake shifted around a little bit to get more comfortable in preparation of what was about to come, closing his eyes and trying his best to relax. A shiver of anticipation ran through the teen's entire form as he felt those big, strong paws on his hips, followed soon after by the feeling of a slick, big, latex-clad dobercock being placed between his rump cheeks. He moaned quite audibly as Rigg started to slowly rub his shaft in the cleft of his rump, the Raccoon Dog gripping the sheets with both paws. The anticipation was driving him nuts!

"C-C'mon man... You want me to beg like a whore for it?" Drake grunted, grinning a little as he threw a glance at his lover.

The look on Rigg's face told Drake that the Dobie was enjoying the situation far more than he probably should.

"Hmmm... That might be hot..." Rigg mused idly, reaching up to stroke his goatee for added emphasis. The impatient growl he got back made the Doberman raise the paw he'd used to stroke his chin in a placating gesture, a grin on his muzzle "I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'. 'Kay, enough teasin', then. Here I go..."

With that said Rigg angled his cock differently, placing the tapered tip directly onto Drake's entrance. Rigg shifted also a little bit to get more comfortable before starting to apply pressure with his hips, a content little sigh passing his lips as he felt his tip pushing past Drake's tailhole.

The Raccoon Dog found himself biting the corner of the pillow underneath his body, his eyes screwed tight as he felt more and more of the Doberman's not insignificant girth slipping into his nigh-virginial rump. And yet... It also felt great, the feeling of being slowly filled by the person he cared so much about; even if Rigg was a bit of a teasing asshole at times.

Rigg didn't stop to give Drake time to adjust until the Dobie's knot came flush with the teen's rump. Even with the condom on it still felt great to be inside Drake, the warm, tight passage of his lover enveloping his maleness so thoroughly making Rigg feel a little weak at the knees. It didn't help that the wiry Raccoon Dog looked dead-sexy bent over the way he was...

A moment later Rigg patted Drake on the hip lightly "You think I can go on now?"

Drake just nodded and grunted incoherently, feeling himself tremble all over from the onslaught of stimulation. Once Rigg started to move his hips, Drake drew a deep, sharp inhale, followed by a long, drawn-out moan once the Doberman pushed back in, stroking over the lither male's prostate.

In no time at all Rigg had built up a firm, steady pace of thrusting, the Doberman grunting and growling softly as he drove his hard shaft repeatedly into the younger male, pulling the Raccoon Dog's hips backwards against every thrust he made.

Once the position grew too uncomfortable for him, Drake rose up properly on all fours, though he kept his head hanging low, his eyes relaxedly shut and his jaw slightly ajar, a nigh-constant stream of moans flowing out from therein. He was loving every moment of it, his body heartily agreeing as precum kept practically drooling out of the tip of his glans.

The change of position allowed Rigg to grip Drake by the shoulder with one paw and pull the canid's entire body against every potent thrust he made, the other one hanging casually by his side. Still, there was one thing Rigg was determined to do before he came...

Drake let out a somewhat confused grunt as he felt Rigg pulling out of him, leaving him feeling rather... empty, almost hollow even.

He didn't have time to ponder what was going on before he felt Rigg's strong arms taking a hold of him and gently rolling him over, laying him on his back to face the older, bigger male.

As Rigg lay down on top of Drake, guiding the Raccoon Dog to wrap his legs around his waist, the Doberman was smiling softly, showing a side totally different from the "teasing bastard" to Drake.

"I wanted to see your face whilst I'm at it..." Rigg said softly, causing Drake to nod and return the smile before reaching up to kiss the hunky Dobie. Needless to say Rigg was more than happy to answer the kiss in kind whilst at the same time slipping his dick right back into Drake's tailhole. The Doberman's thrusts, however, were much different now: deeper, slower, more passionate and feeling the large, strong body of the Doberman against his own, pinning his cock between their bodies... Drake was somewhere above the seventh heaven.

After Rigg broke away from the kiss, it didn't take long before Drake heard the dog whisper "Fuck... Gettin' kinda close here..."

Drake swallowed hard before replying, his voice barely more than a breath "Tie with me...Please."

Rigg could only nod, taking then a firmer hold of his lover before pulling his hips back far enough to leave just his tip inside. With a lusty, dominant snarl he slammed his hips forward, grunting as he felt Drake's entrance ever so slowly giving way for his knot.

The pain of being knotted for the first time caused Drake to whimper out loud. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to fight off the tears of pain. His entire body seemed to be going dead-stiff in rebellion... Until he felt a soft pair of lips pressing gently against his, a big, gentle paw cupping and caressing his cheek.

The two simple, tender gestures distracted Drake long enough to relax sufficiently, allowing Rigg to complete the tie. The Doberman continued to hump with his knot firmly lodged inside Drake's rump, though Rigg's movements were limited.

It didn't take long for Rigg's entire body to start trembling as he hit his climax, pumping a healthy load of warm, thick spunk into the condom. Drake could feel the Dobie's cock spasming inside him, the Raccoon Dog moaning loudly into the intimate kiss as he, too, finally went over the edge soon after his canine lover, his cock jerking and twitching as he blew his load all over his and Rigg's bellies.

With their climaxes slowly receding, they were both left gasping for breath, smiling warmly at each other as Rigg lay there on top of Drake, still slowly caressing the Raccoon Dog's cheek. As Drake opened his muzzle to say something, Rigg placed a finger on the youth's lips and shook his head quietly whilst still smiling.

Rigg didn't want to ruin the moment with words. It was obvious they both knew what they wanted to say to each other, but for now they didn't need to. Deeds had spoken far louder than any words ever could.

"I love you."

FIN