Out of Mercy
Times change, but people rarely change. At some point in the future, more things that you could have ever imagined have changed indeed. But have people's hopes and dreams become anything more than they are now? Are the things we hold precious still so, and what is the ultimate difference between happiness and desolation? Scifi Summer story from Gruffy is here!
Art by Frosted_Fur Story by Gruffy Some plot concepts and original characters by -Frosted-Fur , as per his request. Hehhey! This story is my entry to the Scifi Summer Contest here on SoFurry, and besides that, it also serves another purposes - this story is a trade for Frosted_Fur who was kind enough to draw some art of Gruffy, and in return, I promised to write him a dark story about love in difficult times...so here we go! I've put a lot of work into this one, and I hope that you'll enjoy the end result - I am very eager to hear your comments! As always, remember that all votes, faves and watches will also help others to find these stories to enjoy as well! Have an interesting read! * The tower block was high enough that you could see beyond the wall. You could even see the sea, if you looked really carefully, squinting your eyes carefully, Markus had learned while gazing out into the distance beyond the cragged wasteland that laid between the city boundaries and the great sea beyond. If he turned his eyes to the right, he could see the beginnings of the evening glow from the algae pools that spread across the valley inland from the city. "It's what your steak's made of, darling," he could hear his mother croon, tousling the wolf's silky head furs with the most adoring of pats while the little tyke Markus played around on his pad, trying to connect the bouncing dots with the minimum amount of connections. A brain teaser game, they told them, it was good for the young ones, to take their mind away from all the things that were happening. We have to think about the future, after all. The Public Information Network hailed it as a wonderful show of ingenuity to battle the food problem, the gushing documentaries spoke with a clear, clerical voice of confidence. The sunlight that once charred our fields into nothingness now fuels the most efficient agricultural system ever devised. And it even self-illuminated when the night fell, thanks to the nifty genetic makeup of the algae that formed the topmost layer. It would start glowing, and its light would in turn feed the lower levels, the species engineered to thrive in the electrochemical twilight produced by the mutant seaweed that created the surface of the artificial hydroponic lake. Markus squeezed the handle of the pistol more tightly in his palm and blinked. The glow from the pools seemed to linger on beneath his lids. The wolf had to blink a couple of times before he forced himself to look over the sea again. Could he see the trail of the ship still? Could he see it if he could squeeze really hard? The trigger felt almost delicate under his calloused fingerpad, a remarkably flimsy way to operate such a device. The metal felt warm, just like the metal under his other paw, resting on the top of the balcony, did, under his palm. The curfew was already on, he knew, for an hour already, an hour or so. The last train from the work compounds had arrived while he had watched, on that very same spot, stopping on a station after station to unload their weary loads before moving on along their maglev tracks. He could follow the track easily, a pearly white gash in the otherwise weathered, dull cityscape that littered his field of vision, when he looked down. 16th floor was nothing compared to the behemoths he knew lingered just beyond the horizon, but for now, the sun was setting, and he could not look directly enough to even try. He couldn't follow the ship, either. "You have consumed 80% of your daily electricity quota, Markus Browler. You have one hour, fifteen minutes of subsidized electric power left for consumption at current rate. Please be productive with your remaining time." The HomeBox spoke with a soft female voice, something that didn't quite remind him of mother...not that...not a motherly voice, something else...authoritarian and dangerously soft at the same time. "Who would like to like to light the Candle of His Gracious Children today?" "Me! ME! MEEE mmeee Sister pick meeee!" His paw flying in the air, waving, just like everyone else, towards the dusty ceiling with its fan and the openings of the always humming filters. Sister Agnes would close her eyes and then move her paw in random, waving a big finger poking out from the sleeve of her robes as she'd make her blind choice. A squeal. "He wants Markus to light it today!" the nun's voice, sonorant, soft, with authority. His cheeks burning when he felt the eyes of his peers, watching the slim wolf with eyes brimming with envy as he walked over to the lectern where the Sister had placed the candle, the small electric lighter at paw, ready to be given to the wolf. "With His blessing, you shall bring His Light to this classroom for today, Markus." "Amen," the wolf whispered as he accepted the lighter into his paw. It felt so warm after having been in the nun's paw. Or maybe it was just his own paw being hot. It was hard to decide. The lighter functioned with a soft click and allowed him to create a flickering flame onto the thick white wax candle, one of the big ones that were blessed by the Chaplain at the assembly every week, to be taken into the classrooms where they would burn each day. "AMEN!" they all declared, as the light was lit. Markus wasn't too worried about the HomeBox's message. He had a couple of fuel cells lying around, more than enough to keep the jury-rigged lights and computer working, should he decide so. Depending on the subsidized electricity from the Unified Grid was not something he'd concerned himself with for years now, not after he'd gotten unto his own paws. He could take care of himself. He could do it. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. He took his finger away from the trigger and let the gun simply rest in his paw. The deep breath of air brought the acrid stench into his buds, deep within the wolf's long grey muzzle. Furs usually attributed it either to the great waste water treatment plant on the outskirts of the town, or to the Great Rest Crematorium, its glimmering smokestack another landmark that the wolf could spot with his small visual tour of the city below. He had to crane his head a little for that, though, causing his neck to crick like it did if he kept it in a single posture for too long. He wondered if there was a balcony or a deck or whatever on the ship, somewhere Tyrel could stand and watch. He'd clutch the railing and lean over it, perhaps, doing his best to spy what would be visible on the other side of the increasing expanse of sea separating the ship from the city. The sea would glimmer and undulate under the wind, and it'd be fresh there, flowing in from the sea, not from the dirty city. [...] "Isn't it just lovely, darling?" "I praise the Lord for His kindness in giving us this!" "Oh look, Markus, look, there's even a slide out there, on the Unity hall yard! You're going to make so many friends there!" Markus blinked and looked at the squat grey building with its great neon cross on the top, and the words "ASHTON TOWN RESETTLEMENT GRACE ZONE UNITY HALL" emblazed below it in golden letters on a sign. A few cubs were playing around on the carousel and the swings, all perfectly clean and supervised by the two black-robed nuns standing serenely on their watch post. "Aren't we lucky that we got one so close to the Unity hall?" Mom's paws pressed onto the wolf's little shoulders, covered in the striped cloth of his favorite shirt, his arms aching from carrying the two little suitcases that contained his belongings. "And the K-Mart and the Church!" dad grinned, his tail positively wagging. "And the train station!" mom added. "And that!" "Your first real home, Markus, oh, imagine, you're going to be living just like your dad and I did when we were your age, darling!" mom gushed. "Did all houses look the same back then, too, mom?" the little wolf blinked, looking carefully up and down the street, both sides of it lined with identical white houses, two windows on the front each, and a black door adorned with a big white cross across the middle. Mom squeezed even harder. "Hahahah, well, some of them did...but ours weren't this nice, surely..." "They're only different in that there's not really grass here," dad observed, "we used to have a lawn." That was a new word. It made Markus' ears perk, and he looked at dad, his prematurely graying furs and the cheerful expression that seemed to contain a hint of something he couldn't really recognize, not with his gentle little eyes. "What's a lawn?" Markus asked. "What a silly question," mom shook her head. "Oh well it's what we used to call the green grass growing outside our house, Markus," dad said, "we used to run around in it, and play in it, and roll in it..." Markus could only feel hard black tarmac under his own sneakered paws. That didn't feel like something he'd like to roll in. "Oh boys always being boys, Bless you!" mom chuckled, rubbing Markus' shoulders. [...] Markus couldn't really imagine what it had been like for Tyrel, those early years. They'd talked about everything they could think of, often in soft whispers full of laughter, in bed illuminated only by the shimmer of a tiny battery powered lantern that was just enough to make their eyes gleam in the dark. It'd been so expensive...even when solar-powered gadgets were really the only ones around to rely on. Warm breath over each other's cheeks... There had been grass, he was pretty sure he remember that. Trees, too, in the biodomes that were big like...what was the word for a city square with plants in it? A park? The city did have a park, an old wall of red bricks that surrounded a shantytown, and a sign told that the place was called Dentonville Park, and commemorated some old mayor or something. Markus was pretty sure that wasn't what Tyrel had meant with a park, though. Something where you could roll in the grass and play, he was sure that was what it meant to be. [...] "Here, I brought you something from the District," the Doberman's tongue lolled out of his muzzle as he approached, tail swinging, clutching an aluminum-colored shoulder bag close to his side. Markus had been sitting by his workbench, eyes almost hurting after he had spent so much time staring through the loops and the magnifying glasses at the old-fashioned, antique electronic circuits that it really was not just a proverbial sight for the sore eyes to look at something that wasn't green and had soldering iron marks on it. The lithe Doberman felt wonderful in his arms and smelt better when he pressed his neck against his muzzle, breathing in the boy's smell. His paws rubbed up and down the softly rumbling male's back, feeling similar sounds coming from him as well. "You big smuggler," the wolf spoke, not unfamiliar with such activity in the least. "You big bad wolf..."Tyrel murmured, his muzzle dipping up, eyes expectant. Markus' paws moved onto the Doberman's waistline and cupped his butt into his paws. He hoped he wasn't staining those shiny clean pants with anything that might be left in his fingertips...he hadn't thought about wiping them before rushing at the wolf who seemed to bring so much warmth into the room. "Uh hum..." "Huh hum..." The canine even tasted different from anyone else he had ever kissed, Markus thought vaguely while they touched each other's bodies, paws gripping each other with a gentle need that could easily be pushed further, should they desire. If it wasn't for the hard box between their hips, they could have made for such lovely contact...perhaps he could've pushed it to the side with his knee and use his paws to pull the wolf flush with his body...feel his warmth...give him his own... Tyrel's paws moved gently down his back, then up again, one over his arm, to touch the wrist that was squeezing the Doberman's butt. "I have to show you first..." the Doberman murmured, a playful smirk on his lips. "It better be good," Markus teased. They parted, but only a little so that the canine could open the snap top of his bag. A strange, oddly familiar, yet different smell wafted into Markus' nose. He inhaled deeply, trying to separate this beautiful scent from that of the dog. "You mentioned you hadn't had one in years, so..." It was perfectly red, shiny, unblemished, simply fantastic in the Doberman's palm, it simply looked out of place, and so damn beautiful that it seemed like a shame that it was something meant for an act as mundane as eating. "You didn't," the wolf shook his head softly as he admired the forbidden apple on Tyrel's paw. "Only for you," the Doberman smiled almost innocently. "You're ridiculous," the wolf breathed. The canine grinned, prompting a chuckle from the wolf. "Drugs, books, medicine, art, electronics, cybernetics, bios, I'd understand them all...but a damn apple..." Markus shook his head mildly. "What else can I do?" the Doberman pouted softly, looking at the wolf with his gleaming, gentle eyes, "you told me seriously that you only ever had squash..." Markus almost smiled at the memory. "In small striped plastic packets with a picture of Jesus on them and the text that read 'Strength and Health through the Power of His Love and Mercy'" the wolf recited easily. "Refugee camp food." Tyrel lifted his paw and deftly pressed the glowing orb of the fruit against the wolf's lips. Markus' eyes widened when he gave an impromptu kiss for the cold, smooth, wet skin of the fragrant object in his Doberman's paw. "Love food now," the Doberman murmured. "Just taste it." Mom would mix it with water and serve it from little red plastic cups...to make him grow into a strong and healthy young wolf... He smelled the Doberman now, but also, the sweet scent of the strange object pressing against his lips, its flavor and fragrance...intensifying when he suddenly felt his opening teeth prick the skin and cause juice to leak over his tongue. Tyrel still held the fruit in place, and the wolf's eyes opened with surprise when the sweet liquid registered for him. His tail automatically wagged. Tyrel pulled the apple away and observed the little bite marks with a lascivious grin, before he let his tongue slip out of his muzzle and lap over the marks, as if to taste Markus on the sweet fruit. "Hmmmmm...." the canine rumbled. Tyrel coaxed him to take an actual bite. The chewing of the forbidden fruit into a squash of his very own making filled Markus' muzzle with sweet juice. The Doberman watched him with keen eyes, and his smile widened when the wolf simply couldn't resist it any further, and devoured the fruit until everything there was left for him to do was to lick the last remaining drops of juice from his fingerpads. "That's just..." The kiss that followed was so damn sweet. The sex, ending up into a sweaty, steaming tangle on the bed, satisfying another kind of hunger, so that they could lie in each other's arms. "That was such a silly risk to take, you know," Markus murmured, stroking the dark-furred male's back as they lay curled on the wolf's small bed, knees touching, a blanket to keep the chill away. The automatic darkening of the windows had slowly subsided with the weakening sunlight, and once the clouds settled, they could see the hint of the glowing lights and the algae fields that provided a kind of a ghostly halo that attempted to breach the windows - one of the few things that actually worked in this old house. Maybe it really was foolproof, Markus had often thought, seeing the windows do their work, quietly, and gently. It gave him an odd little feeling of satisfaction. "I'm already a criminal, it's not like it matters anymore, does it now?" the Doberman sounded almost dismissive, as he moved a paw to rub the wolf's fuzzy arm in return. "You might lose your permit," Markus noted, quirking his brow. "They're bought with money," the Doberman replied, "infringements can be paid away. A few apples is hardly counts for true prosecution." The wolf's ears flicked sharply. "APPLES?" his voice grumbled. The Doberman snickered. "Well you were so busy with your paws all over me that you didn't check the rest of the bag..." Markus was almost tempted to jump out of the bed in his naked glory and rummage through the silver bag lying near their discarded clothes, but that'd mean losing the lovely contact they had at the moment, and he wasn't that greedy for...fruit in plural. He wrapped his arms around the slim creature instead and squeezed him close, feeling him, smelling his precious, masculine scent. "You wily creature," he said, "what do they teach to you back in the Districts?" Markus kissed the Doberman's temple, to drive in the message. The Doberman simply wrinkled his nosepad. "To obey His law and to do the bidding of those He has bestowed with his Wisdom." "With His power," Markus didn't have to be nudged to remember the creed, the nuns had made sure of that. "And I'm having damn too much fun breaking His law to care..." the Doberman rumbled hotly against the wolf's lips. Markus was sure that the apples could wait. [...] "You have consumed 85% of your daily electricity quota, Markus Browler. You have one hour of subsidized electric power left for consumption at current rate. Please be productive with your remaining time." "Fuck off, Sister Agnes," the wolf muttered at the disembodied voice coming through the crack between the open glass doors. The reactive glass was still mostly tinted to keep the UV rays away, and he was sure that he'd gotten more than his fair share himself, but it didn't really matter. Forget the DNA cures and the cybernetics and the health insurances they advertised for such reasonable rates on the Co-Prosperous Network. He had his cure right there, waiting in his palm. The ship had gone. Surely by now they'd picked up maximum speed on the turbines and were making something like a hundred knots. They liked going fast, simply because they could. [...] "Why do we thank God for every meal, children? Why do we give so much grace for the simple nourishment that fills our bellies?" The lioness was speaking from behind her lectern, those big eyes scanning the cubs sitting behind their little desks, pads at ready to see if anything would be highlighted on their Scriptures while the nun spoke. The questions weren't even meant to be answered. Not a single paw was raised towards the canvas ceiling. They had learned their lesson early on. "We thank God because so many of us till starve, children. So many of us have abandoned God and in their thirst and hunger they have committed so many sins that they are now quite unacceptable in His eyes. You blessed children are under His grace. His grace comes in many forms, and for you, precious children, it comes in the Strength and Health packets that feed you and your families. He brings sustenance for your bodies so that you may commit yourself to worshipping Him with your souls. By learning your Scriptures and by learning your skills, you may serve Him on the earthly kingdom as you will serve Him on the heavenly kingdom that is to come. Through your work, and your dedication, His will be done." "His will be done!" [...] "What are these, mom?" "Oh..." mom blinked as she studied the row of colorful packages Markus was pointing at with his stubby fingers, "oh that is...biodynamic algae cereal, yes, it is something you eat with breakfast." The little wolf blinked and looked at the identical smiling raccoons on the packages, about his own age, each holding a small bowl in their paws, filled with something brownish floating in a puddle of white liquid. A few cartoonish angels oversaw the grinning cup from the edge of a puffy cloud above the text that Markus couldn't yet read. "Cereal..." Markus tried out the new word. "You must try it out!" mom took the packet and placed it into the cart. "Now that we live in a Grace zone, there are so many new different things to eat!" Markus kept looking at raccoons. "Is that milk you eat it with?" "Of course!" mom cheered. "The cans are on the next aisle, I think...hmmm..." Markus watched mom study the glowing signs above the towering shelves and wished he could read already. [...] "I don't understand how you can eat this stuff, you know," Tyrel poked at the yeast patty on his plate with his fork. The substance seemed so hard that the spikes of the fork barely sunk into the yellowish disk that sat on the plate surrounded by a little bit of greenish mint sauce and a big scoopful of Mapple's Compound Starch Concentrate, the powder having been mixed with water and heated to make a strange thick porridge to go with the yeast steak. Markus had almost consumed his own meal by now, while watching the Doberman play with his own food. "I'd take you out for a meal but the food is the same everywhere," the wolf was smiling wryly as he enjoyed the Doberman's presence, and the gentle brilliance of his shiny furs in the light of the solar-charge lantern that cast its glow into the room, "the same mush they sell at every SSP store." "Every Sunday at Church, we collect for the great SSP fund," the Doberman replied, eyes curious at the discolored food on his plate, "we are told it is our holy duty to help those who are poor and deprived of even the basic means of livelihood." Markus almost laughed. He snorted instead. "Deprived by themselves in the first place, mind you," the wolf spoke without ire to the Doberman, who definitely didn't count as one of them, despite his clothes and his suspicious attitude towards the food, "at least they don't go as far as to try to starve us. I suppose they need the manpower for the factories." "I'm starting to understand why I never see any fat furs here," the Doberman replied. Markus scooped some of his white mush from his own plate and made a show of eating it slowly, almost enjoying the non-taste and licking his lips o get the flaky bits away. "It keeps hunger away, it's what it does," the wolf said, "calories for the body, starch to fill the tummy." "I like your tummy," Tyrel smiled, "it's cute." "Well that's a first," Markus said. [...] "Here comes the fuckshit train," the alcoholic squirrel spat out a dirty blob from between his discolored teeth, the stinky fluid landing only about a foot away rather than anywhere near the convoy of shiny black cars that buzzed past their vantage point. "Vergers?" Markus questioned, trying to appear nonchalant and leaning against the old brick wall while the black, cross-marked cars moved past. The squirrel folded his arms across his chest and made a dirty face. "Worse," the messy-furred male growled, "tourists." The wolf made a face. "You gotta be fucking joking!" the wolf grumbled, unable to believe such a ridiculous statement coming even from someone who probably had trouble remembering where he slept each night. The squirrel laughed. "You really must be new here kiddo," the squirrel shook his head, "fucking hell..." The last of the cars had moved past, and beyond the concrete barriers, the big, massive steel gates were gliding shut while the armored Vergers stood sentry at their posts. Markus looked to the right and watched the cars disappear down a street corner.
"So what do you mean exactly?" Markus asked. "The fucking furs from the District is what I fucking mean" the squirrel gave him a scowl that was missing at least one of the big characteristic buck teeth. "Coming here to feel good about themselves watching us from the cars and sometimes giving out money or food or Scriptures or whatever they think is gonna make us feel better about our sorry fucking asses." "Well I wouldn't mind some free food or money," Markus replied, "is there anything I particularly have to do to get their attention?" The squirrel spat again onto the graffiti-stained concrete beneath their paws. "Whatever you think makes for the best sob story," the squirrel growled. "Fucking motherfuckers." [...] "You have consumed 90% of your daily electricity quota, Markus Browler. You have forty-five of subsidized electric power left for consumption at current rate. Please be productive with your remaining time." The gun had once been shiny - he'd seen enough contraband pictures of times long past to know what they were supposed to look like, held in the paws of scowling agents or...what was that word...cow...boys? Hmmm...they hadn't been bulls...though everyone wore a funny hat... His fingerpad caressed the rounded part, the one that gave a name for this old-fashioned weapon. He'd never seen one back in the Grace Zone, that was for sure...the Vergers there were black uniforms with white collars, armored weave shirts and carried batons instead of the carbides he'd seen on the Vergers that roamed the streets of Mercy. You almost never saw magelectrics on the black market, and hence, the weapon he had managed to acquire had an antique feel to it. Bullets were hard to come by, but Markus had learned that often the threat of their use was as effective as letting out a satisfyingly loud bang. The Verger guns only made a sound that was like a tired wheeze, and thick vapor would blast from the ports on either side of the long superconducting barrel. The laser pointers...the trackers... [...] "Make sure Markus won't get out of bed!" "Oh, Ian!" "Hurry!" Noisy steps, whispered voices, the screeching of car tires, it was not a surprise that the small wolf opened his eyes. Whatever light came through from the outside through the self-darkening window was enough so that he could see the outlines of the familiar pieces of furniture, the window, and the door, smoothly closed now. Markus let his ears perk as he listened some more, curious for the noises. The door opened suddenly, and he knew first by scent that mother was there. "Oh baby..." "Mom?" Mom kneeled by the bed and put her arms around the little boy, squeezing him close to her chest. "He protects us from temptation and from sin. He is our shield and our sword. He is our shield and our sword. He absolutes us from our sins. He absolutes us from our wrongdoings. Wickedness be gone. His will be done. He protects us from temptation and from sin. He is our shield and our sword..." Mom's breathing was hard and made Markus' chest feel damp and warm. Mother felt so tense, it made him feel even scarier than the sounds of muffled bangs and yells from the outside. "DON'T MOVE ANYWHERE!" father yelled. [...] "What happened here Markus?" Four boys were on their little bikes, parked near the Unity hall and looking across the street where one of the identical white houses looked different from the rest. "I don't know, Tom," Markus squeezed the handlebars of his bike and gave a solemn look at the tiger whose curious eyes were still fixed on the house and the strange dark stains on the pearly white walls. The door was covered in a sheet of plastic that had been put into place with yellow tape that said 'KEEP OUT!'. Markus was kinda proud that he had learned to read that much yet. The Sisters had praised him for it, too. He'd gotten to light the candle again. "Don't those foxes live there?" another boy, a bear, mumbled. "Yeah, they did," the rat replied eagerly. "Mom said they moved away suddenly." The three boys looked at the rat in the striped shirt. Markus had never heard of anyone moving away. He'd only ever moved once, from the tent into the Grace house, and that had been two years ago. "Where?" the bear wondered. "To a District maybe," the tiger offered. "I heard that sometimes if you pray really hard, a white car comes to pick you up and takes you to a huge white house in a District where you and your family can live like in Heaven." The rat laughed. "That's just something they tell to babies", the boy accused. The bear looked at him indignantly. "Moms don't lie!" [...] Markus didn't go there on that day, but the next, one, after another breakfast of runny SSP porridge and flakeychips, he put on his coat, left his hovel, and set for the streets. He had his sunglasses on, but didn't bother with the wide-brimmed hat that was so much preferred by most, since it was quite the cloudy day for once. They'd been nice glasses once, full hookup to Public Information Network and all, but there were no public signals in Mercy to find. Now the glasses only served the purpose of keeping harmful light away from his eyes while keeping things looking mostly natural. The old pavement was quite quiet now that the trains had come and taken the working population to the work compounds outside Mercy. What was left were the remaining population of wretches, the elderly, too stubborn or poor to live in a Grace Zone, and the likes of the wolf in tattered camouflage suit, sitting on the pavement with one leg poking out, and that was as many as he had. Markus rounded the beggar quickly and hurried his steps - watching it wasn't going to change it, he knew, and he hadn't fetched his SSP rations yet, so he didn't even have anything to give. The wolf looked like he'd preferred a bottle of vodka to the yeast sticks. Vodka. Another new word he'd picked up lately, the name of that burning liquid that'd been covered in chemistry classes as "ethyl alcohol" and nothing more. He'd bounced his molecules on his study pad and gotten a cheerful "Well done!" from the Deacon Brother serving as the classmaster for that particular lesson. A lion with a huge mane. Funny how memory worked sometimes, the wolf thought. His effort to make his own vodka had not succeeded yet - he needed something with higher sugar content to produce the initial brew, and so far he had learned that the SSP porridge didn't contain enough carbs for proper fermentation into alcohol. His still might've needed some work too...something to keep the temperature more steady... He needed commodities. Maybe a bit of good grace would befall on him, he thought with a dirty smile. He could already hear the commotion, coming from somewhere beyond the towering, crumbling buildings. The number of furs talking towards the Grand Mercy Cathedral was increasing, too, and became more varied while Marcus continued on his way. Elderly furs, some walking paw in paw to support each other, mothers with cubs, workmen out of commission, easily indicated by the looks of determined desperation on their muzzles. Markus knew that sometimes the bosses came from the plants to hire a few paws for a day or two. The opportunity was not something he was interested, however. The drunk squirrel's words echoed in his mind as he kept on walking, stomping on his old sneakers. "They come here to fucking feel great about themselves those goddamned motherfuckers!" That sounded like a spectacle Markus didn't want to miss. The increasing thrum of noises and pawsteps made it sounds he might, however, and he hurried, trying not to knock anyone over. "PRAISE OUR LORD WHOM LOOKS UPON US FROM HEAVEN! PRAISE OUR LORD OF MERCY AND HOPE!" Markus' ears flattened as he heard the familiar words booming off loudspeakers somewhere ahead. There was already a crowd, he gathered as much, when the street widened, and the large sign hanging from some old metal poles above the street that held odd colored lights...no longer working, of course...the sign announcing that this was the Cathedral Square. [...] "When did you lose your faith?" The Doberman smiled and nudged the wolf's belly with his knee. The bed was comfortably crowded. "Why do you think I ever did?" he murmured, a fingertip coming down to tease the wolf's nosepad. Markus snorted. It felt good, in a funny, weird way. It made his whiskers itch. "It just doesn't seem to go well with....our type," Markus replied. "Sodomites?" the Doberman spoke the word with what sounded almost like pleasure. "That's a good one, too," Markus commented. "I'm more familiar with 'condemned', I think. The Reverend at our local church liked that one. It's what reads on my chip, too." Tyrel picked the wolf's paw gently onto his own and brought it up to his lips. The Doberman gave the other male a smile over the wolf's knuckles before he planted a little kiss against his fluffy wrist. "It also says that you're..."...peck..."lovely..." peck..." delicious..." peck... "...unique..." peck... "musky..." peck... Marcus chuckled, wriggling his fingers. The Doberman nuzzled his paw softly. "Hmmmmm..." The wolf swung a leg over the Doberman's and gave his back a soft pat with his free paw. He let Tyrel keep on holding onto the one he'd picked out as his favorite for now. "What does yours say?" the wolf mused. "You have them, right? I've seen what the Vergers do at the border station, it's not different from what they do here during their random sweeps." "Implanted at birth, yes, of course," Tyrel replied with a soft shrug. "Like we all do." Markus rubbed his paw slowly along Tyrel's spine, making the Doberman rumble with delight. "So what does yours say?" the wolf asked again. "All sorts of little things," the Doberman replied softly. "Health information. Personal bank balance. Visitation permit rights. Piety classifications...." "That's so boring," Markus chuckled. "I like mine better." "I certainly do," the Doberman husked against the wolf's paw. [...] The courtyard in front of the towering Mercy Cathedral, the only building in the whole city that had any semblance of actually having been kept up for the past 50 years or so, was packed today, as Markus suspected, it always was, when this charade was being performed. The swarm of furs stood packed behind a small fence, only about three feet high, while along its inner side, Vergers stood in their black uniforms, darkened faceplates and guns cocked against their hips, the long muzzles almost touching the ground by their booted footpaws. The black luxury cars had been parked next to the church in a way that made Markus snort with derision - what kind of a show of respect was that? "HIS GRACE ABSOLVES YOUR FILTHY SINS AND YOUR WEAKNESSES SHALL BE FORGOTTEN IN THE GREATER KINGDOM OF HIS HEAVEN! REPENT AND RECEIVE HIS BLESSING FOR THE GREATER GOOD OF THE FUR KIND, AND LET HIS WILL BE DONE!" The source of the booming voice remained a mystery, but it was loud, Markus knew as much, his ears almost flat against his skull. The commotion from the furs packed near the fence was more than enough to drown out most of it. The number of voices, all yelling, moaning, groaning, yelping at once mad Markus' ears hurt. It was getting a bit too crowded for comfort, too, with furs jabbing his sides as everyone tried to get closer to the fence. He needed a better vantage point. Markus began to move through the crowd diagonally, pushing slowly through them as he tried to find some kind of a line of sight towards the fence and the action going on there, wishing to witness what the squirrel had told him. Someone almost stomped his tail once, bringing out a dark growl from the wolf, whom continued on his way. "IN HIS NAME, YOUR DEGENERATION SHALL BE HEALED, YOUR HEART SHALL BE PURE AND YOUR SINS WILL BE REPENTED! YOU WILL REPENT! YOU WILL FIND HIS LOVE IN YOUR HEARTS AND ABANDON YOUR WICKED WAYS, THE WAYS THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE!" Markus snorted to himself. As far as he learned, the only wicked thing most of these furs had ever done was being poor. Finally, the oppressive swarm parted long enough that he could catch a glimpse, if only for a few seconds, of what was going on. He could see the Vergers again in place, guns at ready, and standing between them, a lioness, clad in all whites, was busily handing out plastic bags to the paws that reached out for her, over the fence. Markus watched a desperately outstretched paw receive one of the bags, and the lioness smiled the kind of an empty smile he always associated with the likes of the nuns at school, or the Brothers at the Unity hall. The lioness drew the cross into the air in front of her before another plastic bag was handed to her by a fox, clad in all grey, and the same process was repeated...the lioness handing out her bag to someone in the crowd, giving her...blessing...and again... ...until Markus was showed to the side and the swarm once again became too thick to really see through, still too far away from the center of the action that he could do anything but see endless necks and more desperately reaching paws. "HIS GRACE AND WISDOM SHALL BE UPON YOUR HEARTS AND ABSOLVE YOUR SINS!" [...] "Attention, attention, attention. This is a Public Information Network update." Markus barely flicked an ear has he heard the shrill tone that always preceded the strange, slightly mechanically speaking, if masculine voice, now coming out of the HomeBox instead of its usual Sister Agnes tone. "Degenerate activity has been detected in the southern sections of Mercy City. Curfew is now in effect throughout Mercy City while the Holy Verger Service deals with detected degenerate activity. All citizens must remain at their present location. Anyone found by the Verger Service without valid identification of cause will be removed into a Verger processing facility for further questioning and penitentiary action. Do not leave your homes, and pray for your safety and your souls. This disruption will be handled effectively. Safety for Mercy. Safety for our souls. His will be done. This is a Public Information Network update concerning citywide curfew. Degenerate activity has been detected..." Markus caressed the smooth metal of the trigger. A good riot sounded fun. Almost. [...] "Number 547 slash 661 slash 21 slash Beta slash Gamma, enter!" The Verger on his side gave Markus' arm a shove. "Move forward, degenerate," the faceless, masked figure spoke. The wolf shuffled forward, paws still cuffed behind his back, wearing the clothes he had been wearing when the Vergers had taken him...just an ordinary T-shirt, pants and sneakers, his most comfortable clothes that were dirty and worn after having to keep them on for days in his cell. A pair of sliding doors opened automatically upon their approach, and the Verger walked him into dark room, with chair located to the middle, and a long table with five figures in full clerical regalia sitting behind it. Transparent computer screens displays text that he couldn't read backwards, not with his tired eyes, not now that he still felt confused over the events of the past days. "The degenerate is here," the Verger announced. "Sit," spoke the fur sitting on the middle of the group, a grizzled bear, whom did not lift his gaze from his display. The Verger nodded sharply towards the chair, upon which Markus then sat, quietly, and definitely uncomfortably, with his paws still tied behind his back. "You are Markus Browler, citizen number five four seven slash six six one slash twenty-one slash Beta slash Gamma?" another fur, a German Shepherd, questioned. Markus nodded, tiredly. He was almost glad for the darkness of the room - the lights in the waiting area had been too bright for him after days in the tiny room that could only be described as a cell. He felt hungry, too, and thirsty. There hadn't really been too much food given to him. "That it is marked as positive self-identification, and it has been confirmed by his chip," the third fur, a leopard, commented. "Markus Browler," the bear grumbled, "you have been found to be a sufferer of the biological degeneration of sodomy as per the standard procedure. The procedure has been confirmed by the three attending physicians who confirm that both the primary and the repeat tests were positive for biological degeneration." The young wolf stared at the five furs with confusion and indignation. He couldn't believe what they were talking about. "I've...I've never done anything wrong..." he muttered, "I've...I've never done...anything..." "This council recognizes the impossibility of biological or behavioural rehabilitation of the biological degeneration of sodomy and extends its greatest wish for mercy from the Almighty," the bear continued, still not looking at the wolf sitting in front of him. Markus growled. "What the fuck are you talking about?" the wolf snorted, using the dirtiest word he had ever heard whispered at schoolyards. "SILENCE!" the German Shepherd barked. "Be quiet, degenerate!" the Verger's paw closed around an aggressive-looking electric baton on his hip. "Due to your cursed biological condition, Markus Browler, this council has no choice but to revoke your Grace status permanently, effective immediately," the bear spoke in a monotonous voice, " as per the article five oh seven oh three of the Code, you are also hereby declared unfit for normal society, and as per the Degenerate Act, you are also to be relocated to the nearest Mercy Zone for re-education." Markus' tired mind barely understood what was being said. "Minimum sustenance and amenities will be provided as per the Mercy Act, as our holy duty to take care of those who are unable to follow the correct path," the bear muttered, "you will be processed accordingly upon your entry into the Mercy Zone. Once you have arrived there, you will receive further information." "I...I want to go home..." the wolf panted, dread growing in his chest. "This decision by the council will be permanent and as per the Holy Law, it cannot be challenged. This council extends its mercy upon you, Markus Browler, and hopes that you will find some kind semblance of peace for your tormented body and mind, before Our Father takes you home and deals with you in ways that are not open for us, for we are not partial to His mystery." "But...but...what about my family?!!?!?" the wolf stood up explosively, eyes wide, panting, tense. "This council has announced its ruling and considers this case to be closed. Please escort the degenerate to the holding area to wait for transport to the Mercy Zone." The Verger clasped onto Markus' arms. "Come on, condemned, show some respect to those you disgust with your wickedness!" "I'M NOT WICKED!" Markus growled. "I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING WRONG, I HAVEN'T -" "Remove this degenerate from this council right now," the German Shepherd ordered. A sharp pain lashed out from Markus' hips and he could feel his body tense when all the muscles in it suddenly locked themselves in what seemed like an endless spasm. His back arched and his teeth clenched together. He could taste blood. He only saw white. [...] The place didn't really have a name...it was mostly just called a place, really, by those who wanted to go...so that's why Markus, too, only called it a place. It made it seem safer, too, somehow, if you only talked about a place, and didn't mention any names, let alone location. You entered through a door in a secluded alley, and it had a sturdy metal door. You could almost believe that the tracking drones couldn't see there. Almost. It was an unhealthy-smelling place, even by Mercy standards, Markus had learned early on. There was smoke in the air, the product of stimulants, hypnotics and various other chemicals consumed with various devices that could be used for inhaling things, and having to tip-toe past passed out individuals was nothing uncommon while entering the place. The counter was always packed with furs sitting with glasses filled with coloured liquids that contained Markus' new favourite substance, ethyl alcohol, and none of it tasted like the wine that had been served on the communions. The wolf adopted a stern look as he stomped in, dirty sneakers, long coat, safety brought to his senses by the feeling of the barrel of his revolver resting against his hip. He'd hid it in his pants, that and the knife strapped around his ankle, he was quite sure he could deal with any unwanted attention even with a dark look from his haughty, tortured eyes. Funny thing was, he didn't even want to scare anyone, not really. This was supposed to be a place for relaxation, also in ways that didn't involve lying semi-conscious on the floor mumbling about seeing various things that even the Book of Revelations hadn't imagined. Markus quietly walked over to the counter and called the barkeep's attention by rapping the top with his claws. His other paw pushed into his coat, to bring out a small plastic bag which he placed onto the counter under the careful stare of the badger's beady eyes. "It looks like a piece of crap but it has two working memristors," the wolf spoke, business as usual, "that enough for a drink and opening the back door?" The badger snatched the bag and opened it quickly, to pull out a slightly fried-looking circuit board. His stubby fingers turned it around and fiddled with the delicate elements on the board, briefly, giving it a tap, his brow rising and slowly going down as worked. "Alright," the badger declared, closing the bag and putting it under the counter, "that ought to be fine. Terms apply. Name your poison." "I only drink afterwards," the wolf grunted. "The door, please." A couple of furs sitting half-collapsed by the counter chuckled at the wolf's comment. The badger pressed a hidden button under the counter, which operated an electric lock on a door by the counter, to allow admittance into an unseen part of the building. "Behave yourself there." Markus didn't bother to answer, he simply walked through the sliding door that closed behind him once he was in the corridor. It was dimly lit, and a glowing "EXIT" sign adorned the very end, where another door was located, but beyond that, there was nothing else to see. Other senses were more stimulated, however. The walls around him weren't really walls at all, only old green tarps hung from poles to create private cubicles, and did nothing for the sounds that echoed into his ears. The musky air was doing its thing, too, making Markus' heart race, his cheeks flushing. The rules were simple. If you found an open cubicle and it was empty, that was yours. If someone was there and the tarp was in place, you could ask if you could join. He had rarely been turned away. The wolf's heart hammered as he began to walk forward, slowly. He could see three open cubicles, each representing a chance to...to feel alive for only a little moment, without fear and worry about how to earn money for his "voluntary" donation to the Highest Authority. The first cubicle held a lion, sprawled on a filthy-looking mattress and looking out with glassy eyes that made Markus simply step past the doorway as quickly as possible. Drugs were out of the question, he decided and moved away before the lion could call for him. Thankfully, he did not. The next opening wasn't much better...the indifferent-looking, smoking fox hardly looked like a charmer. "Hey!" the fox did manage, even if all he could see by then was the tip of Markus' tail flicking past the doorway. "Just my luck," the wolf muttered. He'd hoped for something nice today, something that didn't feel quite as desperate as...as something like the fox...there was one more...one more... Like all the cubicles, it was dimly lit, but what struck him first was that the bed actually had a real sheet on it...a real, white sheet, spread over what must've been a particularly dirty mattress, and sitting on that sheet was a canine, wearing some of the cleanest clothes he had seen in ages. The brown-furred Doberman had been sitting with his muzzle resting against a propped paw, and the arrival of someone to his doorway caused him to look up, ears perking. Markus stood quietly on the doorway and looked into the little cubicle, trying not to listen to the heated pants and moans coming from behind the flimsy wall of rustling plastic that separated the Doberman from whoever was on the other side. "Hello," the Doberman murmured, his voice awfully soft. The wolf didn't know what to say, really. The Doberman had clear eyes, such clean clothes...even a clean bed...such a contrast to the frayed plastic of the wall and the dirty concrete floor. He was even smiling. "You can come in if you like," the Doberman said, "it's not much of a bed, I know but..." He patted the mattress, gently, causing it to make some tortured noises. Somewhere in the room, someone let out a sound not too different from a loud, deep moo. Markus shook his head briefly and took the step inside, his paw reaching to pull the tarp on the old, clattering rings over the pole to close the doorway. It was a bit like a shower curtain, he thought lamely, as he turned to look at the Doberman again. "Come sit here," the dog murmured. The wolf strode over, his coat flapping behind him before he settled onto the excessively squeaky mattress. The Doberman was still smiling, an oddly calm expression in this building where you most often either saw lewd grins or angry scowls. It puzzled Markus, made his stomach clench in a way that seemed to be unrelated to the pounding of his heart or the other kind of intense feeling even lower down. "Would you like to have something to eat?" the Doberman spoke, paws reaching for a silvery bag that rested on the floor by his paws. Markus just stared, incredulous to what he'd just heard. The Doberman snapped open the top and retrieved a colourful package. "Here, chocolate," he said, "I know you don't get much here so I thought..." The wolf shook his head, staring at the pretty wrapping that had some of the maw-watering brown substance sticking out of it. "What is this?" he asked. "What are you doing?" "Having fun," the Doberman replied, "and I like chocolate, and I'd like you to have some, too." Alarm bells were ringing inside Markus' head as he stared at the sweet treat. Maybe it was a trick...he'd heard of rumours of furs being drugged and their organs being stolen, or just having all of their things stolen...he'd learned not to accept anything from strangers...practically the first thing he ever learned. The Doberman snapped away a piece of chocolate from the bar and popped it into his muzzle. He didn't chew immediately, instead, it seemed, preferring to let it melt onto his tongue. He wouldn't stop smiling. "Hmmm...it's really good...I hope you'll have some." Markus watched how the chocolate bar was put back into the bag, which was now left open. The Doberman rubbed his own chin and grinned. "It's really good," he smiled. Markus gave the fellow canine another puzzled look. He seemed so...calm...so...different, somehow, strangely so, definitely not someone you'd expect to meet in a seedy bar's fuck box row...almost...almost like someone you'd never even meet in Mercy... "I'm called Tyrel," the Doberman extended his paw. "What's your name?" The sudden politeness was almost too much to handle. Markus almost leaped up and left the room without another word, but staring at the offered paw that was almost the same colour as the chocolate previously offered...he...he just couldn't move. "Does it even matter?" he asked. "You can lie if you want to," the Doberman murmured, leaning closer to the wolf. He even smelled of chocolate, or at least his breath did. He tasted of chocolate, and a hint of the sweetness even spread into his own muzzle, when the Doberman's slippery tongue penetrated his lips and began to explore his maw without any further word of resistance from the stiffly standing wolf. Nerves screamed of pleasure, and his tail began to wag, out of control...and a warm pressure closed down on him. "I'm quite partial to these inside me," the Doberman murmured against his cheek in a warm breath, "would you like that? Would you?" Another squeeze, making him moan and grunt. "I think you would..."the Doberman slurred dangerously, gently, "you're strong...I like that...and you're new...aren't you...?" Markus wasn't sure what was being said...but he knew what was to be done. He pushed the Doberman onto the bed, growling deeply. * "So who are you, really?" the wolf asked. "Where do you come from?" The Doberman winked. "Does it really matter?" he said. "You're in my home," Markus gestured at the drab walls of the room, high in the tall old building, "at least where I come from, you usually show that bit of respect to your host." The Doberman lying on his bed chuckled. "Then you're really not from around here, Markus," the canine smirked. "But you've been here for a while." "Six years," the wolf replied. "Ever since they relocated me here from the Ashton Town Grace Zone." It felt like 60 years. It felt like another world, so far away. The actual physical distance he couldn't even pinpoint. There were no maps, and there had been no windows on the transport. He wasn't even sure how long it had taken on a train. Hours, maybe, days..it didn't matter. Nobody passed the walls. Nothing could be seen beyond them except the sea, the work compound, and the algae fields. "How did it happen for you?" Tyrel asked. [...] "Markus Brower?" The young wolf looked up from his study pad and towards the door of the classroom, where the Brother supervising the class now stood with a Deacon, the latter dressed in dark blue. "That's me," the wolf spoke. "There are furs here who would need to talk to you," the robed Brother spoke. "You can leave your things here, you'll get them later. I'll take care of them." The wolf nodded and stood up. "Yes, Brother." "Come on then," the Brother said, "Class, continue your reading. This will not disturb our class." Markus could feel every eye upon him as he walked over to the door, where the expressionless Deacon stood. The Brother closed the door into the classroom and left the wolf alone in the hallway with the tall stallion. The horse passed a scanner over the wolf's arm and studied the readout briefly before giving him a curt nod. "You are Markus Browler, and you must come with me." "Is something wrong, sir?" the wolf asked in his most respectful tone. "That remains to be seen," the stone-faced horse said. "You must come with me to the Faculty." "What's going on?" Markus questioned, tensing now. "Come with me, or I will have to ask Vergers to assist me in extracting you, Mister Browler," the stallion grunted. They went outside, and the stallion asked him to sit into a black car parked by the school. The drive was uneventful and only took a few minutes. The stallion was silent throughout, and even after they'd driven into an underground parking lot. Two Vergers stood by there. "Please step out of the car, Mister Browler." Markus obeyed, though warily. The two furs in black, armed with batons hanging from their hips, were wearing face masks with reflective visors. "Markus Browler?" "Yes," the wolf said. "Come with us." The two furs walked him into an elevator, and a short ride later, they entered a corridor with drab grey walls and a white tiled floor. A few echoing steps took them into a small room, where furs wearing protective masks and white uniforms stood in place. The Vergers remained by the door as one of the furs in white stepped over and ran a scanner over his arm, presumably to read his chip. "Positive identification of Markus Browler," the Rottweiler said. "Please remove your clothing. You may leave it here and it will be taken care of." The furs on his neck spiked up. He had no idea what was going on...this didn't feel like a surprise physical for the school, not with the Vergers and a Deacon involved...let alone furs in masks and gear... "What's going on here?" the wolf asked tensely. "Is something wrong with me? I've got all my health certificates in my chip." "They check out," the Rottweiler replied through his white mask. "Now, please get undressed so that we may proceed." "Uh...okay..." Markus replied. He waited for a moment, before he realized that despite his best intention, these furs were not going to leave the room. "Am I not supposed to...?" "Undress, now," the Rottweiler repeated his command. "You are to be supervised." The wolf decided that any further resistance would be pointless. He saw no option but to shuck off his sneakers, pants and T-shirt, for which another nameless white-dressed orderly provided a plastic box to put them into. He felt damn vulnerable, standing there once he'd put his underwear into the box and stood in front of five furs, fully naked. He shivered. "We will proceed now. Please follow us." The furs in white and the Vergers led him through a door into a dark room that contained a high-backed chair, a work station full of glowing computer screens, and several cameras placed throughout the room. Markus saw himself on the monitors lining the walls, from different angles, even, and felt even stranger than before. "Please sit onto the chair." Markus stepped closer, his paws folded over his groin for even a modicum of modesty, tail twitching behind him. As he approached the chair, he realized that its armrests contained what could only be restraints. He tensed, and stopped. "What is this?" "Sit down, mister Browler," the Rottweiler barked out. "But I don't..." "Sit, or these Vergers will help you to," the Rottweiler replied, his ears flattening, the only real gauge of emotions that Markus could see with the mask on. Shivering still, the wolf settled onto the cold, unpadded chair. The white-clad technicians stepped over and put leather restraints over his arms and his ankles, tying him in place. He looked from side to side, starting to feel almost panicky now that he was so unsure what was to happen...only with tales of horror and whispers in his brain, when the technicians worked, unspeaking, and moving again towards him. "We will place a few electrodes and we will begin," the Rottweiler spoke. Something was sprayed on his chest, some stuff that quickly removed his hair, he realized, as soon as the prickling stuff was wiped off and he saw his own fur on the tissues used for it. Little plastic pads were attached to different parts of his chest, and much to his horror, the same treatment happened again on his head...his temples, forehead, the sides of his head...those same pads being placed there. "Is this some kind of an experiment?" Markus groaned. "I haven't volunteered for anything." "That is not a point we have to discuss, Mister Browler, in fact, there is nothing to discuss," the Rottweiler replied. "Attach the bloodflow sensors and we'll begin." One of the technicians approached with two ring-shaped items in his gloved paws. Very soon Markus realized what was going to happen with them. "What the hell?" "Silence!" the Rottweiler growled. Markus tensed when he felt foreign, rubbery fingers place the rings around his testicles and his dormant sheath - the feeling of fingers other than his own there, the first time he ever felt such a thing, bringing such odd sensations to his body that he could do nothing but sit still and gape with surprise...at his own face, visible on the screens. "What's going on here?" the wolf groaned. "We're ready," the technician who had handled his genitals, nodded towards the Rottweiler. "Begin recording," the Rottweiler ordered, "and begin the standard series at this moment that is marked into the log." "Starting up now," a voice belonging to someone Markus couldn't see replied. "Just look straight ahead, and we'll do the rest," the Rottweiler commanded. Markus blinked, his heart hammering madly as he stared at the large display screen in front of him. It was showing his own face for now, the wide eyes, the scared expression...before it turned black for a moment before text appeared. STANDARDIZED SEXUAL RESPONSE TEST 576-A CYCLE ONE NORMAL RESPONSE INITIATION TEST The text floated in his field of view for only a few moments before it was replaced by an image of a young vixen, dressed up in an outfit he had never even imagined....a tiny skirt and a little shirt and holding some strange fluffy objects in her paws...looking at the camera with an open muzzle and her tongue poking out of her muzzle. Markus gave the image a puzzled look. "What is this?" "No speaking during the test!" the Rottweiler growled. The image did not linger for long. A female wolf appeared next, standing in a similarly odd pose, smiling for the viewer. The next image showed the same wolf girl, but this time only wearing underwear, sitting on a bench with her legs spread wide so that Markus could see her panties. The wolf let out a surprised gasp. "What..." The image flashed and became even more explicit...the wolf straddling the bench, back arched, looking at the camera with open lips and a deep look...and while Markus stared, the next picture came to be and even the remaining clothes were gone. The wolf had returned to her previous pose, too, and this time he saw something that he'd only seen on a school biology book...and only briefly, of course, because you weren't supposed to dwell on such things. The pictures were coming faster and faster...wolves...foxes, canines of all types, felines, even a voluptuous wolverine, everyone naked and more erotic than the previous, committing acts that Markus wasn't even sure he could name...touching themselves...making faces... STANDARDIZED SEXUAL RESPONSE TEST 576-A CYCLE TWO NORMAL RESPONSE INITIATION TEST This text was followed by even dirtier images...this time, the females weren't alone...no...there were males involved, now, too, doing things to one another that no diagrams in biology book had ever explained...touching...doing things Markus had been told he would not be ready to do before marriage...told that so many times...his body...his heart racing suddenly, and he could feel heat and firmness in his sheath, growing from seeing all these things for the first time. "Activation is in the lower range," the disembodied voice said, "1.7." "Let's carry on," he Rottweiler said, "run it all through." STANDARDIZED SEXUAL RESPONSE TEST 576-A CYCLE THREE ABNORMAL RESPONSE INITIATION TEST Markus' brain barely had the time to register the text before the screen came alive with images of the kind he had never dared to even contemplate...males of so many species, first dressed, then in an increasing state of undress, until they were all looking at him...sultry...handsome...tempting...beckoning his eyes to look at their beautiful bodies, their warm furs, their...God...their penises, on display when the images became more and more graphic...boys, men, touching themselves...showing themselves off... He was rock hard even before the display announced the beginning of a "CYCLE FOUR", and the images that came next had him panting even through the fear that gripped his very soul, as he saw his most secret dreams come true in front of his very eyes, immobile and etched into his memory. "Activation is over ten point six now," the mysterious voice commented in a droning voice, again, while Markus stared at an image of a snow leopard wrapping his paw and his muzzle around a stallion's huge organ. "We know enough," the Rottweiler barked. "Finalize the recording and shut down this filth. Let's get the Vergers in here and begin processing." Markus was still panting. [...] "A porn test to see what kind of sex you like...wow...." Tyrel shook his head briefly. "They took me to a cell from there," Markus spoke in a low voice, "I don't know how long exactly...then they told me that I'd been condemned for my...biological crime...and off to Mercy it was." Tyrel wrapped his arms around the naked wolf and squeezed him tight. "And you never saw your parents again? Anyone?" "Why would they let me?" the wolf replied through a tight throat, now that the story had been told. "They told me that nobody would even want to talk to me again, knowing that I was a condemned degenerate." "Not even your parents?" "I don't even know what they told them," the wolf replied. "Damn..." "Maybe they told them that I died or something," the wolf flopped himself down onto the bed, "I've...stopped thinking about it." Tyrel nuzzled against his chest, seeking the wolf's heartbeat. Markus put an arm around him and gave him a squeeze. "You don't really sound like it, though," the Doberman observed. [...] "You have consumed 95% of your daily electricity quota, Markus Browler. You have fifteen minutes of subsidized electric power left for consumption at current rate. Please be productive with your remaining time." Markus let out a hollow chuckle. "That'll be more than enough," he muttered to himself, as he lifted the gun to check the barrel for the rounds. Somewhere below, the siren of a Verger car wailed. [...] Markus stood in the alley and paced impatiently, back and forth, bouncing on his heels and then going the same way again. The booming preaching echoing from the Cathedral Square sounded even more hollow from here, he noticed, wryly, as he kicked away a half-crumbled drink can and watched it bounce off the brick wall. It'd been two weeks since Tyrel's last visit and he was anxious to see the Doberman again...touch him...hold him...listen to his stories...maybe eat whatever nice he had brought for him this time...that cheeky dog...doing all these things for him...bribing the guards to do his personal little mercy missions...the boldness.... The wolf rumbled softly to himself and walked near the end of the alleyway so that he could peek down towards the Square. The swarm of furs hoping for freebies frothed only nearby...he wanted to be no part of that. He had his own special meeting, his special visitor to receive...it'd been too long. He wasn't exactly privy to the full process involved, but he knew that soon enough, the Doberman would appear from the door of a white building near the Cathedral, beyond the fence...how he'd gotten there apparently involved an underground tunnel used by the Verger service to move in and out of town. The nondescript door could almost be seen from the mouth of the alley...if only it wasn't for these desperate furs, for their bag of clothes or Bibles or some more of the same stupid shit that was sold in every grocery store in the city. Off with that, he thought. Tyrel always brought something good from the District, and they would get their stomachs full...between, before, or after doing some other fulfilling activities. They must've been there already...the droning preaching was already going on... Yes... The non-descript door had just opened...if he stood on his tiptoes, he could see...yes...the door opening...and there was the Doberman...clad in his usual neat grey, without any markings on it, the even more familiar silver bag flung over his shoulder...already smiling that mysterious smile. Markus' tail began to wag. His heart leaped with delight at even seeing the Doberman, walking down those little steps before he could make his way through the crowd. The Deacons appeared on the doorway in the timespan of a blink, and the Doberman was hauled through the door and the door was closed...as if he had never even stood there. Markus wasn't sure how long he stood there, frozen in place. [...] "Seen it happen," the squirrel declared after a long belch that followed a deep chug from the murky bottle Markus had showed into his paw in the hopes of bribing some information out of the mouthy bastard, "oh yes..." "What is it?" the wolf panted, "what do you mean?" "He got revoked," the squirrel tried spitting, but the ethyl alcohol was already doing its trick, and he only managed a drizzle that flowed over his chin and drip-dropped onto the dirty concrete. "Sometimes even those furs get caught doing something they shouldn't be." "What are they going to do to him?" the ache in his chest had spread to his throat and made it difficult to speak. The squirrel didn't display any emotions. "Depends on how much money he has on him, of course," the squirrel opined, his paw so limp by now that he was almost pouring the content of the bottle down onto the pavement. "He might get lucky...or not...who knows?" Markus stomped the ground, growling deeply. "I have to find someone who knows...I have to..." "Good luck with that kiddo," the squirrel grumbled. Markus hated the feeling of tears burning in his eyes. * "You have consumed your daily electricity quota, Markus Browler. Electric power will now terminate. You are eligible for another eight hours starting at 8 am tomorrow. Please sleep well now. God be with you."
The sun had almost set, and now the sky was starting to darken. The rousing fanfare the HouseBox played as it announced that the loser called Markus Browler could not get any further electricity that night barely made the wolf's ears flick. The roll was full. The wolf's stern eyes squinted as he tried one final time to catch sight of the ship going away. ' Not even a glimmer. Well, this was it, he thought, as he lifted the gun one more time. "Time to go hunting," the wolf muttered to himself, swivelled on his footpaws, and headed for the dark interior of his apartment. I'm coming for you, Tyrel. * Thank you for reading my story! I hope you had an interesting read, and hopefully you feel piqued enough to leave a comment, perhaps - I sure enjoyed myself, going to these lengths and depths for the very first time.