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Chapter One - Thrown to the Dogs - Colin

“Emotion." She said it with impatient affect, her feet tucked into a lotus position under her frayed olive cargo shorts as she spun lazily in the imitation Herman Miller. “Song. Negative. Slab."

I threw the hotel's courtesy pen back and forth across the stationary pad, dried blue ink scoring the paper with impotent results. “Fuck, D, hold on."

D delivered a dispassionate glare, surgical steel piercings glinting at me dangerously against the laptop screen from under her rockabilly pompadour. Grabbing a finger-sized polypropylene tube capped with waxy, red plastic, she pulled out a soft length of mercury-colored wire, and touched it against the still heating soldering iron.

"Movie. Inform. Problem."

“Goddamnit, just wait a minute." There wasn't a lot of seating in the Silver Spring Sheraton hotel room. I discarded the pen. “Toss me another one, this one's fucked." Rain battered the window, and wind battered the building. It was going to be fucking miserable tomorrow.

D set the solder down, and threw a pen onto the bed I was sitting on. She snapped the grubby, faded rainbow suspenders she was wearing against her crisp black A-shirt. “This one work?"

It did, and I nodded.

“Emotion." she started again. “Song. Negative. Slab. Movie. Inform. Problem. Snap. Blood. Energy. Panda. Primary. Group. Solid. Lock."

I read the mnemonic phrase back to her.

“Right on. I'm initializing the hardware wallet now. Don't ever lose that paper if you want to ever get your five grand back." She typed a command into her laptop, and white text started flying up a black screen. D then turned her attention to the wires and printed circuit boards in front of her. Lazy lines of smoke wisped around her head as I reached into my physical, brown leather wallet.

As opened it, ignoring the sickening feeling of visualizing a year's worth of savings racing out of my account, I pulled out the ziploc bag containing a single piece of raggedly torn thermal receipt paper.

“Homeland would love to get their hands on that, huh." She said, looking at me through the mirror hanging above the desk that served as her workstation.

“As much as you'd love to get your hands around the neck of that cop that was harassing you over your suspenders outside of Starbucks this morning." I opened the scanner on my phone and snapped a picture of the QR code, my phone launching a browser.

“Smash the fash," she said idly, taking time to thumb the button-pin exclaiming the same, before she re-focused on her task.

I looked back at my phone, greeted by a foreboding animal skull rendered in grayscale pixel art on a yellow background. Retro. “I think I got it."

“I'm better off out of your shit--"

“And I'm better off out of of your shit, okay, D, Jesus, fine. Just come help me figure out how to work out whatever the hell this website is supposed to be."

D groaned in frustration before swiveling and untucking her feet in one fluid motion. “You're seriously fucking with my Qi today, 'WolfStar62.'" I grimaced.

“Freshman year of highschool, are you ever going to let that handle die, 'Death--'"

“Call me anything other than 'Dee' or I'll take the wallet for myself, dog-fucker. Scootch." D hopped up on the bed next to me, looking at the phone's screen.

“Either this is a wacky stego challenge or some more seriously retro shit. First the thermal receipt paper, then the quick-read code, now this?"

“Jesus god, are we going to need to go to that creep at the flea market to get another ancient computer?"

I studied D's face in as she poked at the phone. She had perfect dark skin, shock-purple eyebrows, and an array of mismatched piercings designed to bewilder and estrange anyone who dared look her in the eyes. I've trusted D, since we were kids. We were in the same class when the first of the tactical bombs hit the eastern seaboard during the Civil War. I know she'll help me get through this, too.

“No." I breathed some relief. “No, we can run an old emulator for this one." D poked at the phone some more. “Remember how I told you my grandma was a model?"

I was a little confused. Maybe D was feeling as sentimental as I was. “Uhh, yeah. In the Eighth grade when I was still trying to convince you I was into girls. I was building characters in UDateIt and I wanted to find models that no one had discovered yet."

D groaned again as she continued to manipulate the phone, “Yeah, let's not dig too deep into the memories of the dialog you gave my fucking grandma in a dating sim. God UDateIt is still creepy as fuck. Ok, anyway, do you remember the little yellow icon on some of those photos?"

“Kinda."

“Yeah, well, that's that little yellow ghost icon. Snapchat. She was a Snapchat and Instagram model. That's how she met grandpa."

“What's Snapchat?"

“You know how we spend like, hundreds of creds a month on the ability to dodge spam, stay anonymous, and erase our history on the internet?"

“Yeah."

“Snapchat was a way for people to pay to get people to send them dick pics? I don't know, I didn't really get it. But Gramma used it to her advantage, suffered the hurricane of dick pics, and put mom through college, somehow."

“Cool. So, what now?"

“Well, I guess we add them on this emulated version of Snapchat and hope to Dog-fucker Jesus we're running on the same version, network, and hacked iCloud as these genemodders you so desperately want to find."

“Look, D…" I tentatively reached out to put my hand on her shoulder, to touch her briefly, but pulled away. “I know you said you want to stay out of my business, but…"

“I definitely want to stay out of your business."

“I just want to know what happened to Sam."

I looked straight into D's eyes as I said this. Her eyes wavered, looked like they might tear up. But only for a moment. “Mother-fucking fuck you, Colin." D pursed her lips, black lipstick staining her perfect white teeth as she sucked in her frustration. “What did I tell you."

Not a question. “To stay out of your shit--"

“So that I stayed well clear and out of your shit. I have a very serious fucking gig here, Colin. Serious like, 'change the fucking world' serious. I cannot stop and play detective with you. I cannot stop and these fucking fascists take down whatever the fuck is left of my home town."

D was furious. Seething. I didn't understand why. “I know this is a breach of our rules, or whatever, but I thought you'd want to know that Sam--"

She hissed, teeth gritting, hands writhing into balled fists, spittle escaping the corners of her mouth as she screamed in frustration. “Jesus FUCK, Colin. You don't understand. STOP. Stop saying his FUCKING name, JESUS, I can't TAKE it! He is--" she pounded her fists onto her thighs. “He WAS my brother, Colin!"

I knew this was going to go terribly, but I didn't think that D would swing so rapidly into a manic rage. “D, we were together for six years. Sam was my mate--"

“Why did you bring this up?" D held my gaze with a level coolness that seemingly came from nowhere. I wasn't sure it was an even deeper rage, or manic depression, but I have known D for a long time, and when this level of seriousness was shown, I knew to defer to her emotional needs, and not mine.

Suddenly, D's laptop flashed brightly, and a klaxon sounded three times in rapid succession. Her steely eyes flashed. “Don't make a sound. Turn off your phone. No sounds. I need to take a call."

I gulped. This was “big sister" D's serious face. D sat back down in the chair, plugged in some headphones, and started typing. After a few seconds, the alarms stopped, and the lights stopped flashing. “Broadmoore. Fantasy. Table. Boast. Accelerate. Crocodile. Brass. Lumen." A few seconds passed. “Mushroom. Registrar. Vertigo. Bandelier. Hydrogen. Popcorn. Burgundy. Zeppelin." I folded my hands carefully, trying not to make any noise. I had already pissed of D enough by bringing up the memory of her disappeared brother. It had been almost two years since I had last seen him. I looked up from my lap at D, listening to whatever intructions her shady anarcho-hacker bosses were giving her. I loved her brother so much, and I would do anything to see him again. Trouble was, I think I had.

A year ago, at the pit of my depression at losing my lover and partner, I was pretty blasted, in a bad part of the superblock, making a super bad decisions. The sprawl between New York and Boston hadn't exactly become the nightmare that cyberpunk prophets had predicted in the 1980s, but the massive infrastructure built around making hyperloops a reality had dramatically condensed resources into a ring structure that radiated out from the deep cities.

Sam and I were gay, which was hard enough under the Christo-Fascist regime running this side of the world. We had to hide our criminal relationship in public and plotted daily to escape the sprawl and one day make it Portland, if we could somehow get papers that would let us in the front door, we could be weird, and wild, and free. And weird and wild we certainly yearned to be. We had found each other through a shared interest in “furries."

D had finished her call. “I just got my marching orders. You need to tell me, right now, why the fuck you think it's appropriate to drag me and my dead brother into this."

I sighed, running my sweaty palms through my hair.

“It was the anniversary of Sammy's disappearance. I had planted my ass into a seat on the hyperloop hours earlier and decided to flaunt Homeland's anti-obscenity laws and acquire some new vids. My old stash had been stale, and I was yearning for something, anything, to get my mind off of the death of my… mate's death. So there I was, reeking of tequila in the speakeasy, browsing through preview vids, waiting to get home so I could plug them into my VR unit and fuck a fleshlight until I passed out crying, when I get clapped on the shoulder. Thinking it's the the fucking police, surely, I rip off my eyephones and I'm greeted by a face I didn't expect, and never wanted to see again. The scummy fuck who date-raped me in high school, Chuck 'My Dad Owns a Dealership' Vanderberg."

“Vanderscum?"

“The same. Scum-fuck proceeds to chat with me, assumes I'm here for the same “stuff" he's here for, and greases some palms to get me into a back room of a back room that I didn't know existed." I hang my head in disgust before going on.

“Chuck pats me on the ass this time, gives me a 'you can thank me later / I'll leave you to it.' If that memory was the worst thing I had to experience that night, it might ignite more rage in me, but that back room was apparently reserved for hardcore illegal shit. Vids of things that actually happened, things that were recorded. Not the legal-gray-area stuff that they sold out front, that was computer-rendered and risque so as to avoid the censorship laws, but actually vids of the stuff Homeland called illegal. I wasn't curious to find out, but I didn't want to freak out the minders that I was a narc, so I started going through the libraries of titles on the eyephones. I turned off the previews really, really fast. I figured that if I spent five minutes, that'd be enough, and I could go, saying I was broke, and just get the hell out of there."

“Not a terrible plan. What the fuck does ANY of this have to do with my brother, you asshole?" D was still deadly calm.

“But then I saw it. Entire sections of videos of genemods, just goin' at it. I didn't think it was possible. All of those guys were military right? This had to be beyond illegal. I wanted all of it. There wasn't much, so I just grabbed all of it, every DRM1Play they had, and hurried home. It was like nothing I had ever seen before D, and everything that Sam and I had talked about doing when we got to Portland."

D got up and started packing up her laptop. “You can finish telling this story to an empty room. Hurry up before I fuck off up on out of your life forever, Colin."

“I saw him, D." I said, through tears, my voice cracking. “I fucking saw him, tied to a fucking bed in a vid, D." Tears flowed down my face as I stared into her eyes. “He might be alive, I swear to fucking God, he might be in this city, alive, and I'll stop at nothing until I find out what happened to him." I was sobbing.

D dropped her bag, before collapsing to her knees.

***

A puddle of water pooled in the bottom of the hotel ice container. I stirred it, remnants of almost-ice nipping at my alcohol-numbed fingertips.

“You were just going to hit those dudes up." D spoke, breaking the nearly half-hour long silence between us. It took me a moment to answer.

“At least I'd be there."

“You were just going to throw yourself to the literal dogs."

“Yeah. Jesus. It really was my plan…" I looked forlornly at the empty handle of Jose Cuervo that D and I had polished off as we watched the sun rise.

---

Chapter One - Thrown to the Dogs - Sam

They were going to move again, tonight. That's what Joe had said.

“Your fur is so fucking soft," the older man breathed it into my ear. I tried not to think about how much better he was eating than me, as I waited for him to finish rutting into my ass and finish. These mid-tier military types were all the same. I braced for it.

“Yes!" he shouted, smacking his palm into my rump, as I rotated slightly in the sling. My paws, bound behind my back, squeezed into fists, ignoring the pain. He was strong, but his rings snagged my fur. I let my mind slip into blankness as crewcut had his way with me. Another slap against my ass caught my attention, and I was reminded that I was supposed to be moaning out against the gag in my muzzle. That seemed to do it. A few throaty growls, a clever swish of the tail, working my ring just right, and…

“F--fuck…" the colonel slammed into me one last time before I felt his cock start to twitch. Knowing that he spun me around last time to coat the fur on my face, ripping the gag out of my muzzle so he could jam his prick down my throat, I clenched, and wrapped my wolven tail around his back, so I could try to keep him in me this time. It seemed to work, as I felt him empty his contents into my bowels. I groaned in sympathy for effect, hoping he would take his leave soon. A few twitches later, the man did just that, slipping on a robe a leaving the room, leaving me spinning in the sling, his seed dripping unpleasantly down my leg, cooling to the temperature of the room.

I spit out the gag. “Siri, lower the sling."

“Lowering sling." A female voice came from everywhere.

Last john on the night. Only five more years of this, and I can get back to my life. Back to Colin. I hold these thoughts gingerly in my head as I walk back to the barracks facility they've got us holed up in, whatever base we're on. I don't even know what part of the world we're in. I need a shower.

The thing they don't tell you, about the genemod treatment, is how much it affects your sex drive. And by you, I suppose I mean the public. If the Christo-Fascists knew their genemod soldiers became so chemically wired-up they traveled with blackmarket harems in order to keep them in tip-top fighting condition, they might not react so pleasantly to “God's gift to the fighting Empire of Christ."

I mull these thoughts over in my head as I began soaping my fur in the showers. I get to bathe very regularly, one of the few luxuries I'm afforded as a consort in “Noah's Ark," that and the luxury of being openly gay. The genemod sections of these forward military bases are the strangest, compared to the city. Genemods aren't allowed to breed, but just to be sure, the Pentagon ensured that along with a healthy dose of animal DNA, anyone who went through the genemod treatment came out with whatever genes govern human sexualty firmly pointing at “homosexual." Leave it to a government that believes in eugenics to find a use for the gay gene.

So they cordon off the special-forces, bred-from-birth, gay-as-a-tangerine genemod parts of these bases as high-security special zones. And guys are either kidnapped into the genemod program or pay to get in through black markets, and emerge on the other side as forgettable prostitutes in harems of disposables. Some genemods don't make the cut, after all, not everyone in the eugenic programs can be special forces. So they're put to use in various ways. I hope to come out the other side of this in a free city in the pacific northwest, far away from the Union of Christ's Empire. If the fixers can be trusted. At all.

Fully lathered, I grab a bulb enema from my shower kit. Filling it from the warm shower head, I feel my sheath swell a little. I'm glad I'm off work, too, buddy. I grab some lube from the kit, apply it to the tip of the enema, and add some gingerly to the tip of my paw. I lift my soapy tail, rubbing my tailhole with the lube. I didn't get a single good fill today, all unmodified humans, all of them tiny in comparison to the normal size of the clientele I service.

I step under the shower head again, letting the water separate my day from my fur. MY fur, which I'm paying for dearly, to be me. I run my claws through my scruff of gray headfur, feeling the soap start to cascade down my body. I press the enema up under my lifted tail, feeling the tip spread my tailhole apart.

“Mmnf." I feel it slide in, and squeeze the large bulb tight in my paw, relishing the feeling of warmth and fullness. I pull it out, and unceremoniously expel the refuse of my long day down the shower drain.

After towel and air drying (thank you Dyson), I head back to my cell. Two double bunks, and a small common space. So, a cell, thank you, not a living space. I'm an indentured servant, and this is a cell. And I really need to focus hard on not freaking out right now.

“Sammy." A gruff grunt from a German Shepard on the bottom bunk, thumbing through a magazine.

“Hey Joe," I said quietly. “How'd it go today?" Joe was supposed to get his papers in a few weeks. He was almost done with his… tenure here.

Joe's brown eyes were framed by beautiful brown and black fur, but his whiskers twitched, and his big black nose wrinkled. “I'm not sure." He licked his chops, panting slightly.

It was really hot in here. “What do you mean?" I unwrapped my towel from my waist, draping it over my top bunk. “Did they push the date back again?"

“No," Joe growled, tossing the magazine to the foot of the bed, “they did the usual bullshit with fees for the fixer for getting into Portland. Something about the warzone in Denver blocking the usual route through Idaho by way of Montana and Wyoming."

I smiled. This was the usual fare. Joe was almost out. He was almost there. What did he have to complain about? I have five more years of this shit. “You know what'll make you feel better?" I purred.

Joe smelled my musk before the meaning of my words registered in his head. He raised an eyebrow as he undid his navy-blue sweatpants. “You feelin' up to it? You just got off work?"

I smiled a big, toothy grin, flipping my tongue out from between the front of my muzzle, “I've been thaving mythelf for you, hanthom." I slipped my tongue back. “Little human dicks all day, and no one wanted to play with wolfy's cock." I turned my back, raising my tail, winking my asshole at him.

“In that case, fuck." Joe grinned as he launched himself up off the bed, kicking his sweatpants to the corner of the room. Joe dropped to his knees behind me, and roughly slid his index and middle fingers of both paws between my thighs, pulling my thighs apart. I groaned as my hefy sac flopped into his waiting muzzle, and started moaning loudly as his long tongue started lapping at my furry scrotum. He nipped at it with his teeth, tugging, until my erection spilled out of my sheath, and into his waiting grasp, leathery paw-pads working my growing shaft, blood pouring into my tip and out of my brain. I started moaning when his tongue left my sac and was jammed into my tailhole.

“Unf, fuck, Joe." I gripped the frame of the door with both doors, my tongue lolling out of my mouth as he worked me. My tail drooped over his head as I spurted pre onto the concrete floor. “Joe, fill me with your COCK, Jesus, GOD, I NEED IT."

Joe grabbed me by my prominent iliac crest with both paws, (“wolf handles," he called them), and pulled me back from the door frame. I could smell the puddle of precome that Joe and I had already made on the floor. Joe pushed me against the ladder of the bunk bed, and I hefted a leg up onto a step, pushing my ass out for him. I turned around to watch Joe grip the base of his knotting cock, pink, and spitting out precome with every heartbeat.

I raised my tail for him, moaning softly as he pushed the spaded head into my waiting ass. I gripped the railing of the bed frame, my hard knotted cock flopping wetly against my belly though the ladder as Joe started laying into me. God, he was a furious lover.

I loved the pull of his cock on my insides. Every push inside an attempt to bury his growing knot into my ass, every pull out a sucking on my entire gut. “Fuuuck." I moaned. “Yes, more, more." I couldn't control the higher pitch of my voice as he bred me.

Joe started nipping at my ears, eliciting more whimpers from me, as he kept slamming my ass.Then, suddenly, he grabbed my raised leg, pushed it up as high as it would go, and that big dog wriggled his bulb into my ass nice and slow. My tongue pushed out of my mouth as his fat cock pushed another few inches into my bowels. Right as he was about to pop through my ring, he pulled back, grabbed my knotted cock at its base, and chomped on my jugular.

“AH, fuck, JOE, YES!" I shouted, as he pushed the last of his knot past my throbbing sphincter, spraying my cum all over the top of the bunk through the ladder. I really hadn't cum all day, and at least a cup of jizz was dripping down from the roof of the bunk now and pooling on Joe's bedsheets.

Joe unloaded into me throughout the bite, pulling out his knot, and letting it pool on the floor at our feet. He then got on his knees and started lapping at my balls, eating my cum and working his way up to my ass, cleaning me as thoroughly as he could. “You've already showered." He panted, finishing with a pat on my ass. “Thanks for cheering me up, Sammy."

With a flood, having finally cleared my own head, the reality of my situation returned. I watched Joe climb into the clean bunk, and settle in to sleep. Standing there, naked and dripping, cooling and alone, I came to the daily realization of how out of control I was in my life. This limited area was as far as I could go until my handlers moved us again. And tomorrow, I would find out where we would be next. It could be a warzone. I could be killed. My anxiety was tipping up into uncontrollable levels.

Walking over to my footlocker, I open it and retrieve my prescription. The gene therapy doesn't sustain itself. I inject myself with a hypospray, wincing. I feel my anxiety retreat, and dumbly slide into bed. Absolution, until tomorrow.