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This written work is the sole property of Gratitude-Advocate (aka Michael Hall) (C) 2012.

Do not remove the original artist's proof or alter, revise, plagiarize, or otherwise abhorrently copy this story or any passages included therein for your own benefit. Do not redistribute this story for any monetary gain in any way, shape or form without first consulting the original author's explicit & exclusive written permission. All rights have been reserved under penalty of law.

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This story is based entirely on adult-oriented fiction. The author himself does NOT condone or suggest any described behavior to be taken out in real life and will not be held responsible in one's decision to do so. Always practice safe sex with a condom and trustworthy partners. Any similarities between real events, locations and/or persons are completely and wholeheartedly coincidental. All included described characters, locations and/or events are written to represent purely fictional entities.

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The Coon-Dog's Diaries: Vol. 3 - BerinValar

Dear Journal:

December 31st, 2013

10:57 P.M.

Not a few minutes before our big New Year's performance in Eugene and there was already outside interference butting in on our line-up. So there I was, sitting on my bass amp, toking back a cigarette and discussing the set-list with Maile and Brad when our touring manager, Gus, comes running up to us. I mean running! His face was all beet-red, as if he'd just finished a marathon. His focus was set directly on me but he wasn't about to ask if we could sign autographs - in fact, he looks terrified and flat out of his gourd. I knew something just wasn't right.

"Max." Gus said. His breath was very shallow and exhausted, as if he'd sprinted his life away trying to reach us (me) quickly enough to tell us (me again)... what, exactly?

"Gus." I replied back to him, easily enough. At first I assumed that he'd been drinking heavily and was about to confess his love of some freakishly obscure sexual kink to us. I braced my ears for what vile news they'd wind up being contaminated with.

Gus was perfectly sober however. I couldn't smell a hint of alcohol in his breath. Panic, maybe... and a faint whiff of trepidation as well.

"There's talk spreadin' round the crowds, rumors circulatin' among others out there. Guys, they're all hintin' at bad people here, and I mean very bad. Apparently they have some sort of an issue with you directly, Max." Gus said, pointing right at me with his stubby sausage-sized finger.

"Don't they always?" I insisted. I toked back a puff from my clove-stick and blew it out one corner from my mouth, away from Maile's face with all due respect.

"From what I heard, they ain't in it to discuss their problems over tea and crumpets. I promised them that they'd get a chance to speak with you, then one of 'em grabs me by my goddamned neck and pulls back his jacket to reveal-"

"What, man? A silicone dildo? Relax, Gussie, we're just about to go on and already you're freaking the hell out? Not like you, man! Perhaps we shou-"

"NO Max, no! Fuck you, okay? Just shut up for a minute and let me explain!" Gus snapped.

"Jesus." Brad muttered beneath his breath.

Now all three of us were frozen, staring wide-eyed at Gus, distraught with concern. He normally wasn't in the habit of speaking to any of his performers like he had done to me, but when he broke down this harshly we knew without a second guess that there was bound to be way more to these surprise visitors than any of us had ever anticipated.

"So like I was sayin', he fuckin' pulled back his jacket and flashed a big damn gun at me." Gus said. His face was madly flushed pale, practically a jaundiced yellow.

"Oh my God!" Maile said.

"Yeah! It was a natural catastrophe, I tell ya! 'Bout made me shit a brick or three." Gus said.

Maile then gasped and cupped her hands over her panda-demon muzzle, shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. Her reaction was one similar to that of somebody being told their child accidentally got eaten by a lion in a zoo. Bradley exhaled a long, stressful sigh and walked away, pacing back and forth between his guitar and Gus in a nervously distressed pattern.

"What kind of issue do they want to discuss with me involving firearms, Gussie?" I finally asked, shattering a brief moment of silence that had at once enveloped us.

"Obviously the kind that involves carryin' a goddamned hand-cannon to an outdoor rock show!" Gus cried out, raising his arms in large swinging arcs over his head, "Oh crikey, how'd he even get that thing past the detectors?! What the fuckin'ell do you think he wants, mate? My God, if I don't have enough stress to put up with already, Christ on crutches." Gus pressed his palms against his temples and groaned aloud. The vice of tension was tightening harder around his cranium, so it seemed. I couldn't exactly just sit back and wallow in his misery, though... something needed to be done - and way fast.

"Can't we just, I dunno, boot their asses out?! Escort them away from here? Save from making any big scenes? This doesn't need to blow up into an outright fiasco, does it?" Brad asked.

"Bullshit, we have to call the cops on 'em. I'm not playing in front of crazed fucking gunmen, I'm not even about to change my mind there, none of you can convince me otherwise. I'm sorry, but this is just too much to...no way, I can't...I..." Maile began to say more but couldn't finish. Her fear-raddled face burned low and profusely, making me feel a trifle uneasy but not too much. Besides what's a couple more pricks with guns to me? Bring 'em on, I'll always say.

"We could always ask 'em to step aside for a minute... if we had hired more security, perhaps. Unfortunately we're limited on resources and there's no way I'd risk what little we have to spare trying to apprehend these men. What if they turn that damn gun of theirs on one of our own? On some random innocent citizen? On me? On one of you? Hell, on all of us?!"

Gus finally convinced Brad to stand still and stop pacing around in a robotic semicircle.

"Hey! Would you just kindly chill the fuck out, old-timer?! You know I got this." I said to Gus. Then I flashed a reassured grin at him and he returned with a panicked whimpering. So much for confident thinking. Brad scoffed beneath his breath and Maile just walked away for a second, probably unsure if she even had the courage to play anymore.

"I sure hope so... for your sake, bud." Gus whispered aloud.

"Yeah." Brad replied. He gave me a solemn gaze, gamboge eyes smothered with fear.

"Gus, you know what your main problem- heck, all of you. Know what your problems are? You guys just worry too damn much. You too, Maile." I exclaimed.

She looked at me with a dire expression and flipped me the bird. Her eyes were weltering with magma-infused tears. God, how I loved my drummer right there and then. Such a sensitive soul she has always been.

"Alright, look... I've been through some pretty nasty scrapes in the past, no doubt about that. I wouldn't have made it through a majority of them though if it weren't for your guys and all your guidance and reassurance. You always pulled me through my worst incidental fuck-ups, and for that I'll always be grateful to you. All of you. You know that." I rambled.

They, however, were buying into it seamlessly. I hoped I was saying the right thing to them.

"So let's go out there and give the people what they want. Let's give the fans something worth giving. If a pussy with a gun wants to ruin our chances of doing so, let him. I'll tend to the fucker like gangbusters, believe me." I proclaimed to the others.

Gus smiled and nodded, despite his eyes still teeming with delirious fright for his life and the lives of others, including any one of his prized hybrid performers.

"I guess he does make a good point..." Brad said.

Maile trotted fast towards me then, enraged and terrified.

"Promise me nothing will happen tonight, you skinny-ass ring-tailed fuck. Swear it. Swear on your parent's graves, on your baby brother, that we'll be okay and that nothing will fucking happen to any of us." Maile spat out.

Seeing as how troubled she was now, I understood clearly. She was more scared than all of us combined. I caressed her chestnut-brown hair between my finger-paws. The over-abundant heat from touching her nappy hair caused my fur to singe and smoke a little, causing a slightly gag-inducing burnt-hair scent to swelter into my nostrils, nearly triggering a violent series of thick heaving sneezes. Luckily I cleared my throat before allowing such a calamity to ensue.

"I promise. You have my word. I swear on it." I said to her. I crossed my fingers and marked an X into my chest, over where my heart beat behind a canine-established rib cage.

"Besides, am I really that skinny?" I asked her with a heartfelt grin and a cocked eyebrow.

Maile giggled beneath her breath, just a mere chuckle, but that was enough for me. She looked back at me with a smug half-grin stretched forth upon her jowls.

"You always say the right thing, don't you, coon-dog?" Maile asked.

"Oh, you know me. I try!" I replied.

Maile suddenly hugged me in a solemn embrace, shivering with fright. Soon Brad and Gus joined in as well. Right before leaving the comfort of our closed quarters, we did something together that we've never done before as a band, having been performing together for roughly nine years - we prayed for our safety. Even Bradley, a true determined Taoist, had his head bowed and his eyes closed. It was a glorious moment between quasi-family members that I'd very soon never forget.

11:10 P.M.

After stepping out of our Enim-Noinu Econovan, we were greeted by a flurry of anxious fans, desiring their snapshots and John Hancocks and uber-fan hugs and-

It was then when I saw him, standing among the crowd, right under the glow of a streetlamp, outspoken in his own right. He was very tall. That much I remember immediately. The first thing that came to mind was how doggone tall he looked to me. Either this was an illusion working feverishly upon my single-eyed hazy vision or I've just spotted one of the most height-priviledged shepherd-hybrids I've ever seen anywhere else, right here in this rain-infested crooked-square-shaped state of mine. His eyes pierced my attention (maybe even my SOUL) in a way which I'd never felt before. A small silver pendant glinted brightly from the casting glow of the stage's spotlights upon his neck. His ears stood roughly a foot from his slender shepherd head, lined with inner-ribbing cartilage, similar to that of a bat. His aqua-blue eyes seemed to shift hues to a flame-induced orange then back again, though I suppose that had been a mere trick of shadow; just another one of those arc-sodium streetlamps nearby shorting out, that's all. He regarded me with a blink-free gaze. Silent. Staring. Plotting, even. He almost seemed hungry enough to eat himself a poor shep-coon had he kept on staring any longer. Soon enough, he turned away and walked from the park, across a less-than-busy city street and into a nearby alleyway, freeing me from his penetrating gaze. At last I was free to tend to the masses of overhyped grunge-favoring fanboys and fangirls without being gazed down upon exactly the way a vulture scopes out fresh carrion.

The local park in which we performed was a modest one at best, but sizable enough to house us comfortably without becoming too crowded or congested with drunken crowd surfers and moshers. The inner-city officials granted a weekend ordinance with help from Gus's negotiating skills. Somehow, he managed to get the park rented out to us for our own performing leisure. It wasn't any bigger than about a half an acre, but it would do. We liked smaller, private playing spots anyways. Exclusivity helped to make our music sound more sincere, more personal; more appreciated.

Despite how many patches of green were on the verge of dying off all throughout Eugene itself, there was still a surprisingly nice robust knoll of grass growing where the audience stood. The actual park itself was shaped hexagonally with an aged, cracked concrete sidewalk wrapped around its outer perimeter, adorned with an off-black rusty wrought-iron fence spanning the length of the sidewalk itself, leaving a few larger swinging gates for entry. They squeaked apprehensively with each opening swing, probably due to excess rust build-up, nothing a little WD-40 couldn't fix. There was a large spruce tree growing directly in the center with dogwood trees flanking each of the park's eight corners. Thin strings of colorfully-lit candle-bulb lights were hung overhead, strewn between the trees, resembling a large glowing spider's web. Wildflowers bloomed naturally from the base of the dogwoods, near their stumps. Rivulets of purple and blue. The entire slice of park-space was always such a pretty sight to behold at night.

Of course, the concert-goers could give two tumultuous shits less about any of the park's superior design. All they wanted was for us to get rabid-jackal crazy with our instruments and rip shit up proper. And boy, did we ever! They begged and by God we delivered. The reception we received that night left me feeling damn proud of our fans yet again.

Suffice to say, I never saw any threatening men with long trench coats like Gus had described during the entire performance that evening. Perhaps they'd aborted their little interrogative mission? I hoped so. For all our sakes, I hoped so.

January 1st, 2014

12:48 A.M.

After the last of the concert-goers left the park, it was up to our little mini-coalition to tidy the place up. Luckily most of our fans were avid green-peacers and vegan hippies who love to mosh hard to grunge jams, so they tended to their litter responsibly. It was then, picking up plastic cups, stray napkins, burnt-out roaches and the occasional abandoned hypodermic needle (only in grunge-ville, evidently), when I saw a small threesome approaching me with fast-pitched gaits and gaining heavily, lips curled upward to expose three individual snarling grins. They each wore long black coats and had exuberantly bald heads. One wore stylish reading glasses. It was this prick who pulled his weapon on me first, keeping totally silent and unrevealing. It was a gun after all! A damn Luger with an attatched silencer. He nudged the pistol toward the back area of the stage and nodded his head in the same direction, naturally ordering me to take a little walk with his chain-gang at gunpoint. I couldn't be any more thrilled. Gus was at the far end of the park discussing what worked well and what didn't with the primary soundboard operator. Maile was unscrewing her snare drums and cymbals to be packed away. It was Brad and Brad only who happened to notice me being escorted away in an untimely fashion while he was wrapping up his cables. He may have suspected something fishy was going on, but to this day I've yet to ask him anything about it. Let sleeping dogs lie, that's what my father would've said to me in a situation such as this. Of course he never had the barrel of a damn Ruger dug into the curve of his back, either.

The three bastards led me into a dark passage behind our main performing stage, no bigger than a tiny maintenance utility storage closet in Taiwan, and even that's being generous. The brick-layered corridor was thick with fire escape platforms and jungles of jutting pipes, most supplying steam and water based on the non-stop chugging and wheezing sounds they produced. One pipe had a steady hissing stream of noxious fumes tapering out slowly from a punctured hole, triangular in shape. Perhaps an axe-puncture wound?

I immediately placed that scent with a fond memory of backyard barbecues in the summertime. Propane. That fucking pipe was leaking propane; now all I needed was a light to get things really cooking, but I'd forgotten my lighter and I was all out of matches. I was a sitting duck in a gator pond for sure.

"Zu know vy ve do zis? Vy ve bling joo here? Joo know, coon-dog?" Four-eyes asked me. His accent screamed German and his breath reeked of halitosis. He had a five-o-clock shadow that smothered half his face and an ogrishly crooked nose, bent to the left.

"Nada, haven't the foggiest. Perhaps you'd be willing to enlighten me, dear Adolf?"

I received a hefty smack across my raccoon-masked face for that wisecrack from another man, this one short and pudgy. He had one crooked, bloated eyeball that kept habitually zoning out toward his outer socket-crescent on its own. That creeped me the hell out, but not as much as the possibility of eating a bullet before even getting the chance to plan my first new year's resolution. There was always more and more absurdity to be taken into consideration.

"Like I zay, coon-dog, joo mus know vy ve bling joo here? Into ze dahknezz?" Adolf asked.

"Who sent you?" I asked him back. I was surprised by how well my voice remained casual, considering the risky circumstances I'd been thrust into all at once. It was frightening... and liberating. Maybe these guys weren't too bad after all? I had to maintain a shred of patience.

"Who vants to know, coon-dog? Ve vere zent by Zanta Clauze. Let zat be zat, ja?"

I nodded my head then issued a vaguely queer grin to my captors, hoping for even a glimmer of sympathy. One thing I learned about Germans after this experience is that they're extremely good at sheltering their emotions. Better than I've ever dreamed.

"Let that be that, then. Carry on, boys." I said, chuckling beneath my breath. Ah hell, I figured the time was nigh for me now, these greedy pricks had my number at last. At least I would die in my own home state. They were fortunate enough to spare me that much. Just blow my cranium into particles so I can reunite with my family; so that I may be able to play with my little brother again and hug my mother once more and embrace my fathe-

Before they had a chance to grill me to my early grave any further though, I noticed a brief sway of movement at the farthest end of the alley, barely visible through my one single eye. I saw a strangely-shaped silhouette and what may have been a pair of reflective animal's irises. All at once I smelled that cloying propane scent once more and was duly reminded of my one possible tactic out of this sizeable pickle. Then a strange symbol flashed in the darkness. A shape featuring nearly-insect proportions. It almost looked like a fancy + symbol with curvy-laced edges resembling crescented moons overlayed upon one another.

The silhouette approached us.

Then I witnessed two starkly-lit blue orbs of rabid flame sizzling harshly into the night.

All at once, I recognized the figure from earlier. The tallest hybrid I've ever seen anywhere in Oregon or anywhere else. The flames happened to possess the exact same color as his hypnotic eyes, glowing aqua-blue in all their penetrating consistency.

The bat-shep drew closer.

1:03 A.M.

The hybrid canine anthro strode towards me and my newfound buddy-ol'-pals. At first my captors didn't even notice him approaching. Not until Bat-shep pelted a grapefruit-sized sphere of flame at the Ruger-wielder were the other pricks made aware of his presence. Mainly due to the fact that Four-eyes crumbled into a smothered pile of ashes and scorched bone immediately after the fireball struck the ridge of his back. His body reeled forward and disintegrated before my very eyes, hair follicles igniting into a frenzy, eyelids curling up like dried shingles with eyes exploding like sun flares from out of his sockets; any more pondering questions geared towards me had been severed outright. His scream became a hoarse wheeze halfway through the charring phase. He was evaporated before he even hit the damn pavement. The poor fool never even knew what happened, when the ashes landed and spread outward in a pluming cloud of swirling grey dust.

A dimly-glowing orange ember floated from the collapsed pile of ashen debris and landed on the leaking propane pipe. A miniscule spark emanated once it touched down, then a sweeping greenish-blue flame grew and festered into a large clotted fireball. A rapid stream of flame shot forth from the puncture point like a blowtorch set to max capacity. I realized that if we didn't leave this damn alleyway soon, all hell would blow loose and in plenty more ways than one.

The other two men turned around, faces illuminated by the pyrotechnics, saw the mysterious bat-shep entity with glowing goblets of azure flame and unloaded their clips upon him, firing their weapons off like a wild-west saloon riot gone haywire. The anthro never stopped nor faltered in his approach. It was as if the bullets whizzed past him, blocked by some absurd anti-gravitational shield. He flicked his wrist at the man to my left, and a peculiar thing happened. I witnessed a strange shape-shifting nearly-invisible corona emanate from the hybid's hand-paw when he committed the flicking action. It was as if he'd shuffled the flow of time on our very plane of ethereal existence just ever-so-briefly. Immediately the chunky prick beside me screamed aloud like a little girl with a skinned knee, completely out of character for a brute like him. The sound was piercing and shrill, the soundtrack of nightmares surfacing from the somniferous void of slumber. The fool who'd left a welting handprint on my cheek turned the barrel around, ate it and pulled the trigger, offing himself in a most gruesome fashion. A conical upside-down pyramid of blood, flecked chunks of shattered skull and greyish-pink cranial matter sprayed upon the brick wall behind him, oozing down profusely in long, free-flowing strands. The body slumped down in a dead-fall and twitched spasmodically for a few seconds before ceasing entirely. Nasty fucking business.

The third man's Ruger (sans the silencer) was long-since spent, though he still couldn't help pulling the trigger repeatedly, issuing click after click after click. The bat-shep, stood perfectly still, raised his arms up to his sides in a pseudo-crucified pose. A gust of wind blew into the alleyway, rippling scraps of discarded papers, plastic grocery bags and dogwood blossoms throughout the space between us. The wind increased in pressure and speed. The fire spurting out of the propane pipe twisted and began to spin upward into an intense tornado of raw heat and licking flames. Soon the bat-shep opened his eyes and they too were glowing and scorching with azure fire, like his palms. He began to rise upward. Before long, he was perfectly suspended and floating in mid-air, levitated straight up from the ground. I could see an intense apparition jutting out from his back. Two, in fact. He carried himself along through the sky with a pair of nearly-invisible glowing angel's wings, fluttering and flapping, maintaining the level of his grandeur ascent. He glided then swooped down towards the doomed German gunman and hoisted him up by his neck, wringing it profusely. The bat-shep then slammed the man's body against the brick building behind me, hard enough to send a few chunks of mortar toppling down to the ground, exploding in dusted clumps. I won't lie... this made me giggle a bit with glee. The prick was certainly getting his now.

The bat-shep spoke to him in a low tone of voice, growling and eternal. I could almost hear more than one voice emanating out from the hollowed murky depths of his vocal chords. They were both talking in German, the one language I've yet to understand, so most of what was said was well-nigh lost to me after just a few words. I couldn't help but suspect the man and the hybrid shared some intensely vast history before I ever even entered the big picture.

After less than thirty seconds, I thought I heard Gus calling out my name, but that could've been my own imagination playing tricks on me. Then a deep bass-thick fwoomp! echoed into the cramped alley. Seconds later, tiny specks of whitish-grey ash came raining down upon my tattered clothes, my dreadlocks and my shepherd muzzle. I sneezed and created a billowing spiral out of the German prick's remains. As I glanced upward, I saw the bat-shep descend back down to Earth. He had been keeping a close watchful eye upon me the whole time. When he came down all the way, his foot-paw caused a small yet vitally bright spark to flicker from the blacktop surface of the spot upon the ground where he landed. It only took a mere matter of seconds for my mind to grasp the fact that he'd just cremated that fucker's ashes all over me. I jumped up and quickly began to brush off my shoulders, shaking my dreadlocks clean of the ashen remains of my exterminator, freaking out worse than if I'd had a poisonous spider crawling up my thigh with great haste.

"What the... what in... fuck's name... who... what?!" I stuttered, tap-dancing a maniac's jig while freeing myself from as much human detritus as possible. When I felt content and clean enough, I then stood perfectly still and stared silently back at the bat-shep. I can't recall how long that moment of silence lasted, but it was lengthy enough for comfort.

"Wurden Sie mit der Arbeit mit diesem Mann?" He finally said to me, shattering the frozen ice slab of silence with a chat-hammer. He crossed his arms and cocked his head wonderingly, as if trying to figure out a complicated mathematical solution.

"Oh fuck. Umm..." I replied.

I had no idea what else to say! For once, this diabolical canine took all the words out of my mouth. I was a little scared by then... but just a little. After all, he was pretty cute, even after having murdered a few scumbags with some wickedly obscene built-in flambeaux ability. Bat-shep pinched at his chin, then rubbed his cheek while nodding his head instantaneously, rapidly approached me. He flicked his wrist once more and the propane fire immediately extinguished, just blanked out like candles on a non-smoker's birthday cake. The low growling of vaporous toxins being burnt just stopped in a dead cut-off silence.

"Ich habe Sie gefragt, ob Sie die Arbeit mit diesem Mann? Antworten Sie mir jetzt!" The bat-shep hollered. Then his eyes ignited with vividly bright blue flames and he pulled back his lips in a teeth-baring snarl. I thought he was about to bite my head off right there in the alleyway. It was then that I decided to let the cat out of the bag for real this time and try my hand at intimidation. Not like I could shoot goddamned fireballs from my hand-paws, but it's not as if I haven't dipped my snout in blood on more than one occasion.

"You know what, you bat-eared non-English-speaking mother-goddamned-fucker?! I've been shat on and dicked around by foreign fucks like you for too fucking long now!! I'm warning you pal, that I'm about five fucking seconds to ripping you to fucking shreds if you don't walk the fuck away right fucking now and I MEAN IT, WHORE-BAG!!!!" I screamed aloud with all my might. If Gus were still looking for me, the old-timer would most certainly be able to find me by now. Gus wasn't even aware I'd left, however; he was probably most likely still discussing sound quality with that damn soundboard technician. I also wondered where Maile and Brad had went to. Wouldn't they have heard me hollering from behind the stage and come running? My Gods, It was as if Maxwell Blackburnadeaux hadn't even come close to a near-death experience, let alone having just attended a mass cremation of epic proportion.

The bat-shep was polarized into a dead silence. His eyes stopped flaming immediately, as did his palms. They sputtered out faster than a stovetop flame being doused with a super-soaker, even faster than the propane pipe flame itself was cut off. He knelt down by my side and watched me very carefully, almost reproachfully. I flicked a small glob of dampened ash from my eyelash, then he grabbed my wrist and clenched down tight. I reeled back and tried to pull free from his grip, then he shushed me to silence. I didn't know what to make of this, other than the inevitable fact that this canine menace was certainly far more superior in strength and ability than I could ever dream of becoming. If his grip on my wrist_could be this strong, imagine what he'd do to my _neck or... or...

"I apologize about zis harrowing ordeal, Mr B. Please forgive me?" Bat-shep said. He then smiled at me. His eyebrows raised up in a sweet amicable expression. My jaw dropped agape, my head cocked curiously to the side and I think my heart skipped a few beats. Jesus, this guy wasn't only friendly... he spoke pretty good English. And smoking hot to boot? Why, he knew my name! Holy damn. Two for the price of one. This night suddenly got a heaping helluva lot more interesting.

"Who the fuck-?"

"-Am I? Aaah, dear Maxvell, zat's easy. I'm an assassin. I vas sent to kill him," Bat-shep pointed at the crater-headed corpse of my face-slapper, "him," then the pointing finger-paw veered toward the scattered pile of ash that had once been Adolf, "and joo."

My eyes grew universally humongous. My balls sunk into my groin and my knees suddenly felt extremely weak, gelatinous with entropy.

"Ja, that's me: a hired assassin paid to track down one 'Maxwell Horacio Blackburnadeaux'. German shepherd-raccoon hybreed, living in Brookings, Oregon. Right here in America. Your parents are named Harper and Suzanne vith a younger brother named Jordan, all currently deceased. Joo have my sympathies. However, I am very good at my evening job and I take my assigned tasks rather seriously." Bat-shep explained to me diligently in well-established English.

I knew all at once that my ticket had finally been stamped. No, not by a bunch of German pricks; just by one German-speaking bat-shepherd from hell, most likely, maybe perhaps someplace far worse. This dude was about to rip my head clean off from my shoulders and chuck it over the stage into the clean-up crew assembly for all to see. At least Bradley wouldn't have to keep searching for me any longer, nor would Gus or Maile.

"But zu need not vorry about zat now. I murdered zee third one instead, to compensate for your life. I just didn't vant to kill you, though I could easily have done so earlier, ven you left your touring van. Remember? Vee locked eyes. I could smell ze scent of your fear even then. I have certain... enhanced senses, joo see? A gift of scent is one of them, among many."

"Enhanced senses, huh? So..." I looked at the beheaded stiff sprawled crookedly upon the ground, "Is that why he killed himself, because you forced him to somehow turn the gun on his own fat ass with that funky little wrist-jerk... thing you did?" I asked this mysteriously blue-eyed stranger, pointing to the nearly-decapitated corpse in question and pantomiming Bat-shep's peculiar motion.

He nodded.

"And what about those... flame balls of yours? They come naturally as well?" I asked.

He nodded.

I shook my head in confusion. "Okay then. Now answer me this: why spare my life in exchange for his? Hell, for theirs? And just how in fuck's name did you find me _here_of all places?"

"Joo see, when I received zee order to murder you, I gladly took zee offer. Joo seemed weak, puny, merely a stain upon ze sheet of our grand existence."

"Oh gee, thanks. Such a fucking charmer." I murmured to him, rolling my eyes.

His bat-shep muzzle crinkled into a sarcastically fleeting smile. I then noticed he had a small lip piercing. It jiggled a bit when he grinned at me. I hated that... and loved it at the same time. The hybrid was beginning to grow on me like a fungus, German accent and all.

"It vasn't until I laid eyes upon joo earlier, as joo left from zat large modus of transportation, zat I realized I didn't vish to kill this Maxvell dog, not at all vatsoever."

"Appreciate it, man. What convinced you, anyways? Was it the sight of their pistols? They pose a risk to you or something? Or did you just feel a little sympathy for a fellow... um, hybrid? Are you a fan? I'll get my band to sign you a copy of our demo tape, no problem. Maybe they went against your religion as well, yes?"

"No. It vas actually ze vay joo let loose those pent-up feelings towards me."

"Oh, that. Right." I said. My voice wavered a bit - probably due to solemn embarrassment. I certainly could've kept a cooler head back then. Now I know how Gus must've felt earlier when he had to raise his voice to me to get his idea across. I suppose some voices just demanded to be heard loud and clear to prove any kind of a point worth a damn.

"Zat vas a brave thing to do, coon-shep. Bold. Daring. Completely random and unpredictable. Nobody ever said anything like that in such a vickedly stand-offish nature to me before. It vas... riveting to behold. Especially coming from commonvealth such as yourself."

"Commonwealth? What, you fucking know all about me now? You got some dossiers on hand with my name printed on the manila envelopes? You some kind of secret rogue hit-dog avenging your title? Got a free agent you're working ties with whom I've never met before? That's awesome, good times, no problem, you're perfectly well-nigh fucking welcome. Now let me go so I can get back to my band and manager. You've done your part, you killed your men and now you can cut me some slack and spare me once more, man, by just letting me go. Please." I said. I insisted to him. I loathed how helpless my tone of voice had become so suddenly but sometimes whining to get your way was the only viable method of ever hoping to get it.

Bat-shep grabbed my cheeks, pulled my muzzle close to his, noses practically touching. His pupils contracted into cat-slits then went round again. It was a trippy sight to behold.

"And... zis." He clenched down upon my hand-paw with his own and pulled it toward him, placing it palm-down on the surface of his crotch. I felt his bulging erection poking through his blackened jean-shorts. Holy fuck, no wonder. When I rubbed at the solid tube-shaped mass, he issued a tiny chittering noise, similar to a bat's screech.

"Oh my- goddamn dude, I don't even know your name for fuck's sake!" I said. Suddenly my cheeks became flushed and my heart sped upwards into triple-time. My God, he didn't wish to kill me! He wished to fu-

That's when Bradley called out my name.

"Maaaxwell? You back there, coon-shep?" Brad said aloud in a disturbingly cute little girl's tone of voice, very high falsetto and way creepy. "Hey coon-shep, I got you a fresh java for a performance well-played. You back there? Helloooo, Max?"

"Berin. Zat's my name. Now hold still vhile I just..."

"Wait! Don't-"

"Maaaaxwell? Oh Maxie-poo? Hey, you back there? Listen man, we heard lots of gunshots just now. They sounded pretty close. Maybe those dudes weren't looking for you after all, eh? Maxwell? You in there, amigo?"

"I vant joor fucking friend to leave soon." Berin growled into my ear. The heat of his breath against it caused my heart to flutter and gooseflesh to sprout up across my limbs passionately.

"So do I." I replied, biting down upon my lower lip. Berin's brow raised up cock-ended a bit from hearing me say this. Obviously not the reaction he'd been waiting for out of me.

I tried to refrain from Berin's advances no longer, for he was gaining the upper-hand on me. Bradley probably just lost interest in checking behind the stage for me because I could sense that he was gone almost as soon as I heard him arrive. The scent of raw propane probably chased him away - that or an undying curiosity to find out where those gunshots may have come from.

Berin was becoming friskier and friskier with me now. I didn't mind one bit - in fact, I rather loved his advances. Of course I wouldn't just come out and say this to him. Not quite yet. He wasn't afraid to make an honest effort to go all the way. He didn't want to hold back on anything anymore. He'd killed his targets and now the bat-shep needed sweet release to suspend the pent-up stress of his current task at hand. What better way to alleviate a little tension than a good hard fucking in a dirty abandoned Eugene alleyway with a grunge bassist? And with an experienced fellow hybrid canine grunge bassist to boot?

Besides, he was stronger than five of me combined. No way in hell I'd be able to escape, even if I really wanted to. Of course, I was beginning to forget all about escaping.

The throbbing dog-cock in my own pants insisted upon the decision to stay.

Berin ripped off his grey t-shirt - literally tore it in half - with a splitting crackle and exposed a gorgeously chiseled masculine chest. A petite silver pendant swung back and forth like a tiny clock pendulum on his neck. He had slender muscular abs, robust shoulders and a supple ridge of cuddle-inducing tummy, light grey in color. There was a peculiar mark on his chest, shaped like a four-pronged ninja star. It was black as tar. Then it shifted to a flashing metallic-orange glow and reverted back to a solid onyx once more.

Like I saw in the alleyway when he first approached... in his eyes. Just what the hell is this guy's agenda?

Naturally, I was mesmerized by it all. By him. By Berin the bat-shepherd hybrid, the supercharged anthro assassin. The dog-man with the master plan. Replete with extraordinary powers, used forth to inhabit homicidal free will and murderous intent. His glowing eyes permeated with flames flickering in all directions, coursing wildly with numerous shades and hues of blue. I was drawn to them... into them. He was taking possession of my mind... don't ask how I knew, I just did. I felt makeshift ghostly hands clench down upon my mental subconscious. He had me by the balls and the brains for sure now. I was helpless to his insistent grip and with the ease of a thousand-year-old succubus arisen back from the dead to feast upon the perverted souls of the universe, he came unto me. And I laughed, for I knew my shep-coon body wasn't mine any longer.

Berin had already rented my chassis out temporarily.

2:05 A.M.

I rose up from the ground. The feeling that came with levitation, that impending loss of gravity and a stable center of balance, caused a massive buzz in the back of my skull to spring forth. It was a horrifying feeling of absolute mental dominance... at first. I felt completely helpless under the will of Berin's telekinetic ruling. I struggled to move, to kick or jerk about or even flinch slightly; to do something, anything at all. He had reserved me entirely though. With a twinging creak of his neck, I spun a 180-flip in mid-air. Now I was hovering upside-down, staring at him and at the rest of Eugene and a great expanse of Oregon itself through a new and oddly futuristic flipped vision. My dreadlocks hung loose, swinging freely from my head like drapery beads. Berin reached out with his mind and caused my jeans to unbutton and unzip themselves. My arms and legs were spread out wide, as if I were on a torture rack, locked in place and incapable of moving, no thanks to Berin's strong incapacitating mental hold. He yanked both my pants and boxers right down (or up) to my ankles just by flicking his wrist into the air in front of him. Now my own shep-coon cock was fully exposed to him, still erect, lusciously moist at the tip with pre. I felt it bounce against my navel and flop back up. This may have an extremely fucked-up way to go about performing sexual acts, but I wasn't about to scream any complaints. Though the blood began to rush to my head, I still managed to maintain a nice knotted stiffy, pointed at a curved angle directly toward Berin. He leapt up from the ground below, sprouted out his angelic hallucinatory wings and fluttered upward, positioning himself to eye-level with me. Our noses were roughly an inch apart, staring at each other in topsy-turvy perspectives. I was reminded of that infamous upside-down make-out scene from the blockbuster Spider Man films made years ago.

"I'd like to try something neat vith joo, Mr. B. Do joo object?" Berin asked.

"No. Go for it. Oh, and Berin? Please," I hurtled my head forward and planted a kiss on his lip, a quick puckering smack but still a show of affection nevertheless, "Call me Max."

"Ja, Maxvell." Berin said, giving me a heart-melting smile chiseled straight from the heavens. "Yes. That works too." I said. Butterflies of intense romantic acid began to quiver erratically in my stomach and I could practically feel a sweat breaking out over my shep-coon brow.

"No problem. Joo are quite lovely. Just keep breathing, dear hybrid." Berin whispered into my ear, followed by a tiny flickering of his nose against my lobe and a heavy warm sigh of heated breath blown against my nape. That caused me to trickle more pre in reactionary lust.

Enough with the formalities already, for fuck's sake!

I really just wanted to get pounded rough and raw right then and there. I needed him to bury himself deep inside me so raunchy and resplendent with sexual proclivity that I'd be betrayed not to indulge in his sexual prowess. I too had also survived a brutal onslaught and felt in need of a little desirable release by then. Berin was nothing short of extraordinarily arousing.

Berin giggled a bit, then licked his blackened shepherd lips. I saw that his tongue was awfully long, thin and smothered with cactus-like papillae bristles. Then he grabbed both my legs, hand-paws cradled in the cupped nooks of both knees, arms resting against my thighs and began to suck me off. His tongue wrapped around my dick, enveloping it entirely, tiny bristles tickling the entire knot and lower-half of my shaft. He rubbed my tail too. I felt Berin start at the base of the ringed thing, then he ran his long, slender shep-bat hand-paws through my raccoon-coarse fur. The feeling was sensational. Between getting my dick slathered and my tail lovingly massaged, I began to tweak out with intense overexcited fervor. Somehow, I think he managed to ensure that I didn't move too much. He had me locked down in a subconscious choke-hold that was more satisfying than any BSDM treatment I've ever received.

"God yes, suck me harder. Go deeper. I want you to gag on it if you must." I said. Bliss crept into my brain and my one eye gazed lovingly up at Berin's huge bulge now poking through his jeans, begging to be unleashed.

Then my body began to spin clockwise while his muzzle still enveloped my dick entirely.

I twirled around in a full-fledged 360-degree spin. I noticed Berin was once more doing that weird flicking-of-the-wrist trick again, probably controlling my Ferris Wheel-like movement. And he still licked and sucked, bobbing his muzzle back and forth into my groin with swift lust. I felt his tongue going to town on damn near every part of my penis, sending electric sparks of vivid arousal barreling through each nerve ending in my shep-coon body. He sucked me very slowly, of course. His tongue slid across each vein, each curve; it felt fucking remarkable. My arms were suspended out to my sides in a locked hold. Berin tugged and gently squeezed my testicles, fondling and cradling them in his grip. Then I felt a ticklish sensation at my tail-hole. His paw-padded bat-shep finger. My God, he knew how to perform his kinky-ass foreplay. I heard a gagging then a loud inhaling breath, followed by a gasping cough.

"I just deep-throated joo, Maxvell. Now I'll poke at ze tender spot. Relax." "Woah, what're you saying?" I said, trying to move, feeling frustrated still being unable to.

"Zis." Berin said. I felt something sharp and foreign enter my tailhole then - his bat-like finger-paw. He began to prod at my prostate, making my entire crotch region tingle relentlessly.

"Aah, fuck yes!" I exclaimed out loud. I jerked my canine head back, flinging my dreadlocks like swinging a wet mop with passionate fury through the air. I felt him bury one, then two, followed by three slender finger-paws deeper still into my tail-hole so lovingly. He was milking me suspended in mid-air many feet high above a city where I once got into a fistfight a week and where I'd witnessed my brother hit and killed by a still-unidentified runaway driver.

I began to feel an orgasm or two coming on.

"Ah, Berin, I'm close, I'm so close, I'm about to cu-"

Then he spat my cock out and pulled his finger-paws free from my tail-hole so fast, I actually heard the rings smack back together in place. He re-positioned me back into an upright position and held me suspended in the air, now giving me a troubled, solemnly stern glance.

"Joo vill not ejaculate now, vill joo?" Berin asked, sperm trickling down his fuzzy chin.

"Almost... almost..." I panted. My brain was lighter than billowy cotton, plagued with lust.

"Still too early, ja? Maybe it's time ve move onto more... generous positions?"

"Whatever, just fuck me already. Berin, you saved my life and I owe you big-time. I just want you to... I want you in me... so deep. Please, we must... you have to... please..."

He reached up and clamped my muzzle shut with a slight hint of force. His eyes were glowing again, blue and simmering, like a low flame on a camping grill. I could've came super-hard to his low-burning eyes alone - they were hypnotic and staggeringly beautiful, identifying all my features like a novelist studies a rough draft to clear up any glaringly obvious loose ends.

"Not another vord, Maxvell." Berin said, tugging at my lower lip with his teeth.

I just gazed into his eyes, silent and still. I wondered what he had in mind for me next.

"Hold on, Maxvell." Berin whispered into my ear. He was so close I could smell sulfur from his flame-adorned wrists and eyelids.

Then he reached a hand-paw up and snapped his finger. This broke my anti-gravitational hold, causing me to free-fall. I felt my heart reach up to my throat and an intense wind flapping at my loosely-held-on jeans. Eugene was about to receive its honorary shep-coon in the form of a shattered egg, pants down to my ankles and a raging boner. I hoped I wouldn't be paralyzed for life or worse upon landing. Such a sight would make for one hell of a front-page headline.

"BEEERIIIIIN!!!" I screamed, dropping down to my own ultimate inevitable demise.

Then he swung down and hoisted me up by wrapping his arms under my shoulders. At the same time, I felt a hard, living sort of pulsing rod press up against my thigh. Then understanding flooded in and I spread my legs as wide as I could muster while he telekinetically brandished my tail to my right side. I reached back to re-position his hips closer to my waist. His succulent bat-shep dick slid mercilessly into my wide-opened pre-dampened anus with no hesitation. I could immediately feel a near-burning sensation from first contact, as if his bat-shep cock were coated with a strange seminal fluid. It only hurt for a few seconds though. Soon, the pain subsided and Berin began to thrust furiously into my ass, humping me in a hate-fucked frenzy. The feeling was rather joyful, fraught with sexual delight. Berin had frenum-based piercings that ran along the shaft of his cock from his ballsack to his red-hued tip. When he penetrated me, these metallic piercings were the first true feeling I could identify immediately. The rest came gradually over time and enough passionate wet-crotched thrusts.

"Oh yes! Yes! Mmn, fuck! Ah fuck! Aaaaa-ah-ah-ah-ah!!!" I cried out into the crisp, quaint Eugene evening. We spun through the air like rabid ballerinas, Berin and I, twirling in all directions, ghastly feathers spiraling and fluttering frenzied and electric between and all around us. I heard Berin chittering in high-pitched squeals behind me in-between heated panting and moaning. I felt as if I were having skydiving sex or something, only no parachute would be deemed necessary. One hand-paw was reached around my waist with a vice-grip upon my cock and stroking it delectably fast, while the other was held steadily in a solemn caress upon my neck. My head rested against his shoulder, dreadlocks spread out against his neck, as he continued to pump me full of his girth. He lightly bit at my earlobe and nibbled against my cheek, sniffing in the scent of my musk, wet nose buried in a tuft of fur right under my good ear. Our tails wrapped around each other in a loving embrace as I felt his penetrating thrusts reach deeper and deeper.

Then he spun me around to face him while still buried balls-deep into me, a trick reserved only for those who know their way around putting a cock in an ass in a sufficient manner.

"Is zis... vat joo vanted... coon-shep?" Berin asked. His tone of voice was criminally sultry, even when he was out of breath from over-excessively rough fucking. He sounded so hot just then.

"Ah! Yes! Oh God yes Berin! Mmmn, fuck me harder, you hybrid cutie." I said, begging unto him. As he held me up by my thighs, still thrusting into me but slower now, I reached out to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me and opening my maw wide to give him a much better kiss than before - a big, sloppy wet one. Dripping with sinful pleasure. I could taste hints of my own jizz on his breath and this got me totally flustered, turning me on like crazy. I sucked at his lower lip, pulling his piercing just a tad with my teeth in a teasing, bashful way. He growled low with swift erotic intensity. It was an exciting and ultimately intimidating noise.

"Jaaaaa, Maxvell...oh ja." Berin answered with a low hoarse grunt. He licked at my cheek and nose, licked at my muzzle and kissed my eyelid. He nodded his head and we drifted down to the side of the same brick building with a busted propane pipe. He propped me up on an emergency fire escape walkway stairwell running up along the alley-side of the building. Using that weird telekinesis trick again, he caused my legs to rise and prop up over his chest on their own, thighs pressed against his abs, knees resting idly on his shoulders, foot-paws hung in the air above his head just beside his bat-like ears which cocked periodically to the left then the right. He fucked me very wildly in this position upon that iron-grating for a good number of minutes, how many exactly I couldn't say - I lost count of time since being raised off the fucking ground. This night was just way too bizarre to consider keeping time on a regular basis. His arms reached out and hugged my waist against his groin as I felt his testicles slapping loudly against the base of my tail repeatedly. His eyes were rolled back into his sockets and his tongue lay hanging out from his mouth, lapping and drooling. I must've been one super-tight piece of ass to him because he embraced each and every nuance, every clenching of my sphincter muscles; every single breath became a pant and a moan and a beckoning cry to go faster, deeper, harder. Berin was full of vitality and swift energy! He was certainly giving me a run for my money. I had to keep up with his incredible potency, which proved to be tricky.

"I'm glad I didn't kill joo after all, Maxvell. Othervise I could've spoiled zee nastiest fuck ever - and zee best perhaps as well, ja?" Berin whispered into my ear as he continued to pound into me so hard, so raunchy; so wildly with tribal feral heated cream-drenched passion. It was a sublime feeling. His bat-shep penis kept brushing up against my already-fondled prostate with each power-induced thrust, igniting explosive orgasmic tendencies from within my entire crotch region.

"I'm going to cum, Berin... please, let me cum... please let me shoot all over you... oh God I'm going to fucking blow so hard... aaahyes, yes ye-" I began to say, but never got a chance to finish.

He slapped my face on the side opposite from where the German prick slapped me earlier. Berin's hand-paw rocked me back into full-fledged consciousness again, after having been caught up in a pleasurable sex-coma. I regarded him with disbelief and confusion. I could almost feel a tear welling up in the corner of my socket, now devoid of a real eyeball.

"Dude, what the fuck?" I yelled aloud, rubbing the fresh sweltering lump of a bruise that now formed upon my cheek while blinking rapidly, freeing tiny black stars and amoeba globes that circulated in my field of vision. "Not yet, I said. Joo vill cum... just not yet, Maxvell." Berin said - almost ordered, even.

"But I-"

"Not another vord!" Berin snapped. He pointed a finger-paw at me and caused a few dreadlocks to float upward, shaping a loosely-tied hangman's noose. Then the hair fell limp again, swinging freely like over-thickened hula skirts swaying to and fro.

I nodded to him, signifying that I understood his point clearly.

He bared a semi-maniacal grin with his eyebrows raised, hoisted me up from the staircase and jumped backwards off the railing, sending me on a roller-coaster ride straight over the edge, plummeting us both once more downward both our imminent dooms. In a flash, we'd wind up as two hybrid pancakes in a lowly grimy alleyway in the heart of Eugene, Oregon; at least we'd be going out in style, if that were the case!

Then a familiar sight sprouted forth from behind his back; Berin's phantom-wings. They stretched out and expanded, uncoiling and flapping very hard. Pre-invisible ghost-feathers swirled all around our conjoined bodies. Berin's apparitional wings kept us from landing upon the ground in any violent fashion. Now he let me ride on top of him while he maintained our level of ascent. His legs swung back and forth in mid-air and his hand-paws were clenched tightly upon my thighs holding me in place on his lap as I held steadily onto his shoulders and allowed myself to get penetrated hard. I was riding Berin in a cowgirl position, except this time I was the cowgirl and he was the mad-horny steed who needed taming - by all means necessary.

"You're extraordinary at this, Berin..." I said, gazing into his eyes oh so lovingly. His shimmering aqua-blue eyes, adorned in a low flame, pupils bending and contracting, widening and narrowing. His strength was beginning to wear thin now, I could tell - his thrusts became less powerful and he started to breathe a little heavier than before, nearly becoming a low sullen wheeze. I leaned in and brushed his nose with my dreadlocks playfully, grinning and snickering.

"I can feel you're getting close too... wanna come back down to Earth to finish what we started?" I asked him with a playful tone of voice. It was true: I could feel his cock begin to spasm and flex a little harder now in there. He was nearing his breaking-point, and so had I been. I couldn't wait to just let loose and fire a humongous string of semen or two upon his chest or face or-

Then he hovered back down to the ground and with a creaking back, he bent way down forward nearly into an upright fetal position and completely enveloped his muzzle around my cock and testes - all nine and a half inches of my dick, squeezed by Berin's gag reflexes, testes brandished with his slim dampened papillae-covered tongue. His entire wide-open maw smothered my groin so heavily, for a moment I almost thought he'd turn me into a female with one swift chomp.

When we touched down upon the alleyway's blacktop ground surface, Berin grabbed my ankles and spread my legs as wide as they were capable of spreading. I reached out and positioned my hand-paws against his fine-toned chest, rubbing at his abs and pinching at his dog-guy nipples, twisting and fondling. Our tails were completely spiraled together and wound tight as we mutually shared orgasms.

I came feverishly down Berin's throat, feeling the bristles of his tongue tickling at my vascular tube and gently teasing my tail-hole. He swallowed as much as possible, then reeled back and let my cock go free from his oral interrogation, squirting tiny ropes of shep-coon cum on its very own; tiny pearled droplets spackled upon Berin's lips and nose while he shot a humongous load into my deepest coon-dog chasms. I felt my stomach bulge ever-so-slightly now that my insides were nearly swollen and flooded with the delectably sweet spunk of a beautiful bat-shepherd hybrid.

After we both ejaculated to our hearts content (which felt like a lifetime), he then pulled himself out from my tail-hole and brought along a tiny strand of warm, sticky sperm with the tip of his cock. I reached down to catch a little excess jizz as it dribbled free from his dick like a sieve on tap. With a makeshift pearl of cum upon the tips of my finger-paws, I put a small glob of the stuff on my tongue and closed my mouth, allowing the sperm-button to mix in with my saliva, enough to be swallowed. Then an atomic blast of flavor caused me to gag. His ejaculate tasted incredibly spicy, but still fucking scrumptious nonetheless. It burned like top-shelf whiskey going all the way down my throat and caused me to issue a belch that echoed throughout the alleyway quite loudly. Berin giggled.

"Vow! My cum made joo do zat?"

I nodded.

"Zat vas... absolutely incredible. I've never been dealt vith such a loving and overly promiscuous and villing partner such as joo, dear Maxvell." Berin said.

I nodded.

"Perhaps joo should get back to your performing crew now? I bet zey are probably vondering if joo didn't collect zee night's pay and high-tail it?"

I nodded, then I cupped my hand-paw upon his cheek, lightly rubbing it.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked him.

Berin just sat and stared at the busted propane pipe, still leaking fresh swirling fumes of gas. He winked his eye at the punctured wound in the pipe and it mended itself, first turning gelatinous and then molding its gaping slit shut, immediately silencing the small hissing sound it made non-stop and ceasing to smell like anything but glorious natural Pacific Northwestern air.

"Joo know, my ejaculate..." Berin began to say.

I glance over at him and listened, eager to hear what he had to share with me about his cum.

"Vell, let's just say I may have passed a special thing or two right along down to joo, dear Maxvell. Perhaps ve could just leave it at zat and let bygones be bygones?"

"Okay...?" I replied with an uneasy quiver in my voice, hidden away. I just gave him a funny, comically queer glance. What on earth was he talking about? I couldn't reproduce, so he hadn't necessarily left me with any hopes for conceiving offspring anytime soon. So just what in the hell did he mean, exactly?

"Remember zis night, Maxvell. Remember me." Berin said to me. He now showed a flash of urgency in his eyes. Perhaps nervous anticipation of something?

"I couldn't possibly forget you. Not after... all of this." I said to him, nodding my head in a prolific show of compassionate sentimentality.

Berin reached down to help me pull my pants and boxers back up around my waist (once more with his wrist-jerking telekinesis) and I reached over to cup my hand-paw upon his cheek. He gave me a starry-eyed glance that pierced the innermost deepest sanctuaries of my soul. I had completely fallen for this bat-shep hybrid and after we endured an insatiable wet dirty fucking unlike any I've ever felt before, there was no other place I wanted be other than right beside him, comforting him, cuddled up beside him, basking in the warmth and glow of our shared aftermath. I imagine the rest of my band probably just gave up finding me. If they know me well enough, they would suspect that I'm most likely free-loitering and booze-dogging all around at each busy city street corner upon my good ol' stomping grounds.

And so as I wrote this whole thing down into my handy-dandy pocket-sized notebook, listening to Berin snoring after offering him a little well-rewarded hard booze from my rear-pocket flask, I glanced down at my Casio wrist-watch and saw that the time had turned approximately three o' clock in the morning. Maybe someday, somewhere, Berin will get ahold of this notebook of mine and read what I've written, maybe long after I'm dead and gone. Perhaps then he could attest to the spoils of battle granted unto him from saving a life - my life. An eye for an eye never sounded better. Berin spared my soul and killed some German prick instead so I could live, but not just for that reason alone; he needed someone to open up to and I welcomed his advances with flying colors. How couldn't I? He's still so very cute, even if he's capable of projecting azure fireballs from his hand-paws. I can barely write this down myself. The clock says six on the dot, but I can barely comprehend it. I think I know now what he meant by giving me something special or two. Every time I press my finger-paw pads down to the surface of the notepad paper, fragments of grass blades and mossy clumps stem from the points of contact. I'm also suddenly very capable of moving things with my own mind. Is this what that psychokinetic gene of Berin's truly felt like? I tried it just now with an empty tin can in this very alleyway - made the damn thing spin through the air in a figure-eight pattern. I have no fucking clue what Berin may have impregnated me with, but it sure as shit wasn't an infant. Maybe this might be a new beginning for the both of us?

END