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Prologue of the novel I wrote last summer. My efforts at getting a furry publisher interested in it have not been successful, and as I'm too busy with non-furry writing projects to exhaust any more time in this one, I've decided to post it on here, chapter by chapter.

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PROLOUGE

Conrad Fincher arrived home at exactly 9:30pm.

That was about what Mikey had expected. He'd been stalking Fincher for over a week, to get the feel of the fox's routine and schedule, so that the plan could be followed accordingly. And it had worked. Hidden beneath a tangle of hydrangeas which grew profusely around this corner of Fincher's mansion, he didn't dare move a whisker, but still, a thrill went through his body, from nose to tail. After all the planning. All the scheming. All the-

Fincher had got out of his car and was saying something to the chauffeur. The scent of fox was unmistakable, mixed with that of wine and some sort of cologne. Mikey couldn't catch the chauffeur's scent - he hadn't gotten out of the car - but that was ok. He knew from experience that the chauffeur always left immediately.

Daring a peak, Mikey rose up, pressing his muzzle through the foliage, and peered out, the bright lights of the foyer sharp in his night vision. The car was pulling away, and Conrad Fincher was walking up the steps, vanishing from view. The door clicked.

Mikey sighed resolutely, and steadied himself. It would only be another half-hour's wait now, and that at most. Fincher never stayed up past 10, and especially not on nights when, like tonight, he'd eaten out. He might go for a brief soak in the hottub, but more likely, he'd retire to the master bedroom, and that would be Mikey's chance. With no servants around...

He'd picked Fincher for several reasons. The fox was very handsome, undoubtedly, the sort of guy whose photo might dominate the covers of the gossipy tabloid magazines found in supermarket checkout isles - indeed, he had started his career as a model for Staresmore & Lake. His latest action flick, Freedom Denied, was getting great reviews from critics, and he'd also had a reoccurring role on that Sci-Fi show, Olympus. Oh yes, Conrad Fincher was a rising star in Hollywood, but that wasn't the reason his name had ended up on Mikey's list.

Conrad Fincher was gay.

Not only gay, but committed to a relationship with that fennec fox Carlos Sanchez, a columnist with the San Fernando Daily Press. Fincher and Sanchez had painted a pretty little picture of two male foxes who'd formed a perfect, successful life together, and that made Conrad important to Mikey.

For the act he was about to undertake to have any impact, the victim had to be someone important. Someone who people everywhere knew about. Someone whose death would make headlines everywhere, and would immediately be linked to Amendment 28; in some fashion anyway.

Conrad Fincher was that fox.

The foyer lights were dimmer now. Silently, Mikey slipped out of the hydrangeas, paws treading carefully on grass wet from the afternoon's rain. The hydrangeas had been damp as well....he flattened his ears at the thought. The dampness would heighten his scent, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Usually the Fincher mansion was protected by an electronic security system, but Mikey had disabled that several hours earlier, so his movement across the lawn did not bring about the squealing alarm that it would have under normal circumstances. Carlos Sanchez had flown to New York the previous day for a charity function, and that left Fincher alone. The timing could not have been better, really. As if fate really was on his side.

He'd prepared the window earlier; a little pressure on the lock so that it would not fasten completely. It was easy enough boosting himself through the window, dropping quietly to the floor. This room was a bedroom, but not used; a guest bedroom or one for the cub Fincher and Sanchez had spoken of adopting.

The bedroom door creaked softly as Mikey opened it. He froze; ears swivelled forward to catch any sound. Had Fincher heard? But there was no sound; the dark mansion as silent as it ever had been. He'd walked all around it before, associating himself with the white panelling and the expensive French artwork and delicate archways above the doors. And memorizing the quickest route from the spare bedroom to the master.

And so a few minutes later found Mikey paused outside the master bedroom door, barely breathing, tail lifted but motionless, ears forward, nose breathing in the scents of a house that stank of foxes. He pulled the pistol out of his pants.

He pushed the door open.

Fincher was laying on his bed, wearing only boxers, and reading a novel. His android lay on the bed beside him, probably from a late night talk with Sanchez. Mikey stepped neatly into the large bedroom and shut the door silently.

Conrad Fincher's head jerked up with a start, ears back, eyes wide.

"Good evening, Conrad" Mikey addressed him politely. "You and I are going to have a little chat."

Being a fox, Fincher knew better than that, and his paw slipped under the mattress, grabbing for something that wasn't there.

"Looking for this?" Mikey extended a paw; the pistol cocked, safety off, pointed at Fincher's chest. "I figured you probably had one somewhere. Took me just a few minutes to find it. You being a fox, I would have expected more imagination in hiding it." He smiled, showing his teeth.

The fox froze, ears splayed, fur standing on end. "What do you want?" he snarled, in a voice that poorly hid the fear that was coming off him in waves.

Mikey saw them standing behind Fincher, smiling at him in encouragement. Mom. Dad. Bradley, Amy, Francesca. They ordered; he could only obey.

"This" he said, and he shot Fincher in the head.

Half an hour later, the bedroom was once again in perfect order. Mikey had remade the bed, laying Conrad Fincher neatly out, so his head, or what was left of it, rested neatly on the pillow, body lain out on its back, tail between the legs. His paws were already adjusted into their neat folding, all according to plan. Mikey was panting slightly as he surveyed the room. It had worked. He'd been unsure if he'd be able to kill. But he had felt no hesitation when he'd pulled the trigger, and felt no regret as his eyes swept over the fox's ruined face, torn apart in a way that assured no vixen would ever again lament that he was gay.

He was almost a little surprised, that it had been so incredibly easy. It must be The Cause. Everything for The Cause, even brining him to doing things he'd never had imagined he'd do. Yes, it was The Cause.

He took one last glance around the silent bedroom, breathing in the stark, coppery scent of blood and death, shut the door, and padded quietly through the house.

The war had begun.