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Freedom

copyright comidacomida 2022

I was created in a lab, and, on my vital sheet it lists both the date of my inception as well as when I was ejected from the System, a rapid-learning information download program designed to help my kind nature intellectually as quickly as we did physically. My entire 'upbringing' took place in a large plastisteel tube in a laboratory over the course of months. Geneticons created in labs did not have families or relatives beyond what we made for ourselves, and it took me years to find mine.

January 1st is the date on my vital record designated by 'birth date' because that's when I was ejected from my incubation unit. From the moment I drew my first actual breath I was property of the corporation that created me, and I was conditioned to recognize it. Despite being our creators, very few Humans had the mental fortitude to deal with larger Geneticons like me, and an 8' tall Polar Bear required certain 'fail safes' that left me screwed up for the longest time but, back then, they were just another 'added feature' for a project designed to serve a useful purpose. I was created to be a soldier.

LHI, the company that held the patents to my DNA had a success rate for their military models of just over 99.1% but, with over 100 manufactured a month, that meant approximately two units each year didn't make the cut. In most cases, these defective products usually aborted during their time in the System, but one out of every hundred managed to make it through precognitive training and emerged from their incubation tube, only to fail before they were released into the field.

I was a defective unit, but they didn't find out about it any of the the traditional ways: I was 'born', I succeeded with over 90% on my integration testing and I excelled in advanced training to prepare me for war. I failed because I was one of those rare Geneticons bred for battle who didn't want to fight. My efficiency and obedience scores were so high, in fact, that the installation where I was housed didn't bother with any of the usual security measures to keep me secured. That leniency was what allowed me to escape.

As part of an advanced NAS program, I was one of only two dozen Genticons who received not only System training and basic combat education, but advanced techniques and elite combat readiness protocol instruction; the entire program was just over five years long. I followed all guidelines and met or exceeded all expectations except for the final one set before me: at the end of the month I was going to be shipped out to active duty. I wasn't afraid of dying, but I knew I wouldn't be able to take another life, and so, early in the morning, I used all of my security clearance and every last bit of luck an engineered organism could claim to have, and I got out-- it only cost me two non-lethal shots from the guards at maximum range; I knew I'd live.

It was spring which, in Alaska, means very little. Although the sun had appeared on the horizon by the time I was well away from the base, there was still snow on the ground and the temperature had yet to rise above freezing-- it likely wouldn't. Despite my distance from the lab I was not safe; not only did they have a staff of several dozen, but they had access to over 100 drones which could be used in short order to create a search pattern; my only hope would be to get outside the Exclusion Zone, a section of Alaskan wilderness that was off limits to everyone but base personnel. It was a secret installation and they wouldn't follow up with any operations outside that area. I didn't make it.

I was, by my estimate, about 2/3 of the way to freedom when I heard the tell-tale sound of the drones on the hunt. Despite my best attempts to hide, the drones had multiple sets of sensors and before long I was spotted. Within minutes I had a half dozen of the flying machines following me. What's worse: I caught sight of a Hunter Drone-- unlike the scouts, Hunters had weapons. The thought of dying was not something that caused me any great amount of fear, but I knew for a fact tht LHI wasn't really likely to terminate their property; when I was hit by the first tranq dart I realized just how right I was.

My heavy hide was great for resisting arctic temperatures and provided me ample protection against physical injury, but the scientists back at base were not stupid; they knew what was needed, and when the first dart hit me it had no trouble penetrating my fur and flesh. The darts could only be so large, however, and, despite how powerful their drugs one wouldn't be enough to stop me. After the third, however, I knew I was in trouble. Stumbling, I took the next incline on my knees, sliding down before going into a roll before getting back to my feet, running-- or, at that point, more likely stumbling as fast as I could.

Nature was the norm out in the exclusion zone. LHI didn't want any proof of the existence of its installation and the NAA military went to great lengths to help keep it hidden. The one thing I knew for sure was that, once I was out of the base I'd be on my own and any Human I encountered could be a potential threat. I was surprised, however, when I ran into one. He seemed just as surprised to see me as I felt surprised to see him. The man was scarcely six foot tall and was not dressed like a researcher. He had a parka and an ukshanka on, with heavy pants.

The man carried an axe, and looked as though he was in the process of cutting timber, of all things. I didn't have much more of a chance to take in my first impression of him as the drugs finally began to take their toll. The blackness began to take hold, squeezing out my vision as the world began to spin. Having no other place to turn to, I put my life in his hands, trying to push the words out of a muzzle that didn't seem to want to work. "Help me. Please."

* * * * *

When I finally came to I realized that things had changed. Not only was I not in the forest, but I also wasn't in the installation. Staring upward, I saw wooden planks; nowhere in the installation had wooden ANYTHING. I was also laying next to a bed slightly too fall for me, but I was covered with a thick comforter. It didn't take long to see that my lab uniform had been loosened and that my wounds had been dressed-- only then did I see that I was still not alone. Although he was no longer bundled up for outside travel, I recognized the man I met in the forest sitting on the corner of the bed next to me; his scent was the same.

The moment our eyes met he offered a slight incline of his head. Rather than shy away from me, the man simply said something... in Russian. I raised my paw to poke at the side of my face, which felt limp. Once I realized that the drugs had done no long-term nervous system damage I tried to repeat what he'd said. The words felt odd. "Dough bray ooh truh?"

The man sat up a little straighter and, in a very strong Russian accent spoke slowly as he enunciated "Hell-low."

At that point, once I realized communication was possible I had to plan out what I was going to say. If he wasn't from the installation then he didn't know he was in the Exclusion Zone, which also meant that there was a chance he could help me... but WOULD he? Sitting up, I winced, reaching for my shoulder, which complained in a dull ache. Wasting no further time, I addressed my host as I gingerly poked at my dressed wound in an attempt to determine how bad it was. "Thank you for helping me, sir. I realize that having a Geneticon in your home may be an inconvenience so, if I am any bother to you just let me know and I will leave without complaint. You have already been far kinder than you had any--"

I paused when he held a hand up to me with the palm out, indicating for me to stop. Complying with his command, I sat patiently as his face scrunched up in a sign of concentration. After a moment he spoke again in Russian. Once he spoke what was, as best as I could guess, an explanation that his English was limited, he gestured to himself. "Petr. Petr Kuzentsov."

At which point he gestured to me and asked a question. I was able to guess that he wanted me to introduce myself. I didn't really have a good answer for him; my designation was 1243, which wasn't exactly a name. Hoping to avoid that little bit of information I chose to play 'big dumb bear' and extended my index finger, pointing to him. "Peter."

He offered a slow, purposeful nod and placed his hand to his chest. "Da. Petr. A vy?"

Peter once again gestured to me, using both hands as if miming the inviation for me to provide him my name. I had to think of something and, with no other way to possibly earn the trust of my host, I opted for honesty. "I know this may sound bad, but I am a military grade DD unit, operational number 1243 designed by Life Happens Incorporated. I rejected my programming and abandoned my post, and I can't go back. I need help, Peter. Please..."

We exchanged several more attempts to communicate as he continued to indicate that he wanted to know my name. Ultimately the only thing that worked was when I carved '1243' into the wooden floorboard, at which point he finally seemed to understand. Eventually, after I-didn't-know-how-long, Peter stood up and motioned to the corner where a small-but-serviceable kitchen was located. He spoke in a calm, ingratiating manner that gave me an idea of what he was suggesting: he wanted to know if I was hungry.

I offered what I hoped was decipherable as a grunt of approval and I waited for him to leave the immediate area before I started moving, stretching my back and shoulders by rotating at the hips. Once he was a good distance from me I stood; I'd learned very early on that Humans generally didn't respond to a big Polar Bear standing next to them-- and my host was probably not trained to deal with Geneticons so playing it safe was a requirement. As my body finally awakened, I realized very quickly that I had to take a piss really bad. Glacing to the Human rummaging through the cabinets I called to get his attention. "Peter?"

Looking over his shoulder, he did as well as he could saying my designation. "Wuntooforethri?"

I repeated "Bathroom" a few times, hoping it was a word he knew, but to no effect. Eventually I had to pantomime taking a piss which, thankfully, he seemed to understand. Responding in Russian, he motioned to the hallway next to the kitchen, speaking slowly and, based on using a few words multiple times, was trying as hard as I was to explain things. Fortunately I understood most of what he was saying, and, as I slowly plodded my way down the hall I found the rest of the way by myself.

Taking care of business was no small feat, especially because morning wood didn't make it all that easy to take a piss. Most male Geneticons serving in any corporate capacity didn't have trouble with erections since the hormone treatments we took to suppress our rapid aging once mature kept that in check. My lazy morning ended the very instant my brain processed the significance: my suppressor hormones! How long was I unconscious?

Reaching for the parcel I'd stowed in the thigh pouch of my uniform, I realized very quickly that the pocket was empty. Making a quick check of all of the other zippers, buttons and straps I realized that I had nothing-- the H.I.D. treatment was gone! Working very hard to control my rapidly growing sense of dread, I rationalized that Peter had probably emptied my pockets and that he would know where all of my belongings were. He seemed like a nice Human so he'd have probably put everything somewhere safe.

He caught sight of me before I saw him, and, judging from the calm, collected way he called to me, I realized that my assessment was probably right; he just wanted to help. Gesturing to me something to that effect, I figured it would be best trying to explain to him what I needed. Approaching, I was about to try and do just that when he reached out and grabbed hold of the zipper on the front of my suit, nimbly pulling it from my navel to my chest in a single motion. Realizing that I'd come back from the bathroom almost exposed made my ears and cheeks warm up; although I had no issues with nudity I knew that some Humans just couldn't stand such an affront to their sensible sensibilities. I knew very few words in Russian, but I had recalled hearing thank you before, so I offered it. "Spicyburr."

He responded likewise in Russian with what I figured was "You're welcome."

From there, I tried to approach the topic of my H.I.D. treatment as calmly as possible. Indicating the empty thigh pocket I then gestured around his home, trying to let him know that I needed to know where he put what I'd had on me. It felt impossible to explain that I needed the two plastic containers that each held four syringes and, for as much as I could tell, he seemed like he was trying to understand but we were not having a lot of luck communicating. He set down his cooking utensils and gave he his full attention, saying something which was likely an apology.

Eventually I pretended to give myself an injection, which finally seemed to get his attention. Responding in a much more animated manner, Peter went back to his bed and a nightstand beside it. Speaking as he went, the Human pulled out something from it and made his way back to me with confidence. I felt a wave of relief flow over me as I held out my paw, but that was erased in a second the moment he dropped one of the drone's tranq darts into my paw. He spoke that same apology-sounding statement again as he gestured to the dart. Peter had misunderstood, and I was no closer to finding my medication.

Setting the dart on the table I shook my head and repeated the gesture of an injection. "I don't need a dart-- I need to know about my medicine. I need my syringes!"

Despite trying to keep a level head I realized that a growl had managed to sneak its way into my words; normally I was able to keep my temper in check but, lacking the hormone treatment, Geneticons from the DD line could suffer from mood swings after a few days of no treatment. I found myself wondering just how long I'd been unconscious. My moment of self-reflection ended the moment the left metal wrist-clasp on my uniform buzzed audibly, then repeated itself in a constant rhythm. I knew exactly what it was; they'd found me.

Realizing that the possibility of being captured was creating a dwindling window of possible activity for me to evade my pursuit, my heart rate picked up and I began breathing faster to prepare for action. I only remembered that I wasn't alone when Peter's hand came to rest on my arm. He spoke softly and calmly, oblivious to the danger that I was in and, by extension the threat that posed to him.

Worried as much about him acting in a way that could put him at risk as I was about doing what I could to get the hell out of the Exclusion Zone, I first had to make sure that he was at ease. I took several seconds matching my breathing to his but, all the while, the alarm continued to indicate that my pursuit was closing in. Realizing I couldn't delay any longer, I reached down and gently removed his hand from my arm. "Peter... I know you don't understand me, but I have to go. You don't know it, but I'm putting you in danger being here, and I can't do that. When I go, make sure--"

When I was on the run from the drones I had been so full of adrenaline that I had barely noticed when I'd been hit by a dart but, standing in Peter's kitchen, the powerful impact of a dart against my back (a split second after the sound of the kitchen window breaking) was so obvious that I couldn't help but wince; three more following it put all my cares out of my head and blackness followed almost immediately.

* * * * * *

When I came to I realized that I was back at the installation, but the room around me was not the usual quarters where the DD units were housed. The new room was comfortable in comparison, and made for one rather than four. In addition to Bear-sized bed there was also a human-sized table with two chairs on opposite sides; one was large, metal, and reinforced for a weight comparable to mine, while the other matched the table in size and composition. I noticed that a data pad was resting on the table, but it did not hold my interest for long; it had a 'locked' symbol on it, and I knew enough about the data pads on base to know that no amount of 'idle fidgeting' would unlock one.

Even as I was taking in the sight of the room (and noticing the four cameras positioned around it), the metal door slid into the wall and my heart almost stopped when I saw who entered: it was The Assessor. Although he was one of the highest ranking members of the base, The Assessor rarely if ever took a direct interest in any of the Geneticons, usually focused instead on the Humans, the systems, and operations. He took a seat at the table with as much casual indifference as anyone I could remember seeing around me. The Assessor gestured to the other chair. "I am here to render final assessment on your service training and operational capacity, 1243."

Despite how intimidated I found myself facing off against him, I wasn't about to be anything other than honest. "No need. I can't kill anyone, so I can't pass muster."

His expression didn't change the least; rather than react, he simply pressed a few buttons on his data pad before he asked a question. "Can't, or won't?"

I didn't appreciate the subtlety. "Is there a difference?"

Corporate Geneticons had never really been considered to have the same kind of free-will as Humans or other non-engineered organisms so not all philosophical discussions could really be explored on equal footing. Rather than respond to my question he issued a statement that caught me by surprise. "1243, the NAA military industrial complex has no use for assets that are unable to complete their objectives within operating mission parameters. You do know what this means, yes?"

I did, of course. "If I cannot complete my mission objectives then I will be... liquidated."

The man adjusted his glasses. "I have fifteen questions for you. If you answer five of them I will return you to your barracks and provide an opportunity for you to test for a non-combat position."

I was astounded at what it was I was hearing. "But... I am a combat unit."

Rather tha address my concern, he continued on. "Let us begin."

The Assessor pulled something out of his pocket; although pens hadn't been widely used in over a century, they were still common enough that I knew what it was. He checked to be sure. "Do you know what this is, 1243?"

"A ball point pen."

He nodded with a single, succinct drop of his chin, eyes still on his data pad. "How many ways can you kill me with just this pen? Single strike maneuvers only, presuming no resistance, of course."

I didn't need the time it took him to finish speaking to have an answer. "Seventeen."

He pressed a button on his data pad without so much as blinking. "Very good. You have already answered two. Shall we continue?"

Not understanding where he was going with the questions, I knew that I wasn't in any condition to bargain. "Yes, sir."

His next three questions were very casual, though all pertained to a similar line; he was testing my knowledge of killing, military policy, and proper chain of command. No sooner were the five questions completed than he pressed a button on his data pad and finally looked up. Adjusting his glasses, The Assessor stated "Excellent. I appreciate your participation. At this point I can release you back to the barracks or, if you are willing to answer five more questions I will omit your escape attempt from this report."

I was expecting SOMETHING, but I hadn't quite realized just how ruthless a statement the man was capable of until I heard his second offer. Releasing me back to the barracks would mean nothing if the management team heard that I'd attempted to flee. Maintaining the same indifferent expression as he, I focused on my interrogation training to give up nothing of my emotional turmoil. "I await debriefing, sir."

His next question was very specific. "Tell me about the man with whom we found you."

It did turn out to be a debriefing; he made excellent use of his five questions and, being trained in reconnaissance and information retention, I was able to provide a lot of information. At the same time, however, his interest in the man also revealed some things to me: LHI really didn't know that Peter had been living in the Exclusion Zone, and they were, perhaps, far more interested in him than in me. Would I be able to use that to my advantage?

It came time for the tenth question and, when it was, The Assessor stood. "Thank you for your cooperation, 1243."

I reminded him "You said ten. That was nine."

He nodded. "Yes, it was. I will ask you your final question shortly. Please be patient."

With that, he about-faced and left. The door shut behind him and I was once again alone, with only my confusion to keep me company. I was fairly sure that Peter was in trouble; not as much as me, of course, but, in that moment, I was far more worried about his welfare than my own.

* * * * * *

The Assessor came back in some time later; without a clock I was unable to tell how much time had passed. Rather than any pleasantries, he, just like the previous time took a seat at the table; knowing a little more about what to expect I joined him. Rather than ask a question he made a statement. "I spoke with Petr Kuzentsov and he indicated that the two of you ran into one another out in the wilderness... quite a coincidence."

At first I was about to speak up but, when I realized that he was not asking quesiton ten I didn't bother responding. He continued to press buttons on his data pad until he set it down and looked up at me, adjuisting his glasses. "I would like you to answer five more questions in addition to the tenth, which I am about to ask. If you answer a total of fifteen questions I have been authorized to grant you conditional release. Now, as for question ten: are you willing to answer five more questions after this one?"

The way in which he'd phrased it left me with far more questions than I knew I'd be able to ask in response. On one hand, The Assessor was an intimidating man with such attention to detail that I knew his every word had significance to it; he felt like he combined he worst parts of a lawyer and conman combined into one--par for the course for a corporate administrator. On the other paw, he was offering me freedom for answering a few more questions? "What's the catch... sir?"

His impassive expression finally broke, but only just a little: the edge of his lip quirked up. "I will expect a 'yes' answer to each question... as they are all yes-or-no questions, I would presume this to be straight forward."

I narrowed my eyes at him, doing my best to put on my 'unhappy bear' persona, for as much good as it would do someone like him. "Nothing is 'straight forward' in the corporate world... sir."

His smirk disappeared, but I still caught the appreciative twinkle in his eye; was he finding me humorous? Entertaining? I didn't know, and he didn't elaborate. "Very well... let's begin. First of five questions: if you were given permission to live within the Exclusion Zone without interference from LHI, the NAA military, or other outside influence beyond an annual interview and monthly H.I.D. delivery, would you be willing to forestall any intent to leave the Exclusion zone?"

I cleared the offer in my mind quickly enough. "Yes."

He pressed a button on his data pad. "Very well. And, since Petr Kuzentsov is not authorized to live within the Exclusion Zone he will either have to be displaced, or he will need an authorized 'handler' to keep an eye on him. Presuming he is not opposed, would you be willing to accept this assignment?"

An immediate objection came to mind. "What if he says he's not willing to have a handler?"

The Assessor looked up at me over the rim of his glasses. "Irrelevant. This isn't about his willingness-- it is about yours."

There were not many Humans I could think of at that point who were as willing to help someone in need as Peter. Based on that alone, he deserved a chance to live his life, even if that meant he would be saddled with a defective Geneticon keeping an eye on him. "Then, yes."

He continued onward after another button press. "Are you willing to serve to protect and defend the Exclusion Zone from outside discovery up to and including restraining and detaining unauthorized parties attempting to access the site, taking all actions up to but not including lethal varieties to see to the safety and sovereignty of the Exclusion Zone?"

I stopped dead in my tracks at that; the weren't releasing me-- they were using me as a guard and a babysitter. "Doesn't sound like I'm that free then... does it?"

The Assessor looked up and over the screen of his data pad, pressing nothing. "That was not a 'yes' or 'no'... but let us come back to that question..."

Eyeing him warily, I realized that there was more to it than what he was saying. "Yes, sir. Next question then."

It didn't take me long to see what he was getting at. "Petr Kuzentsov is here illegally, and has not been approved for residency within any of the NAA's provinces, territories, regions or states. While this does not inhibit LHI's ability to accept him as a lessee of his current residence, if the Exclusion Zone were to be revealed, LHI cannot guarantee his continued residence. Do you realize if the Exclusion Zone were to become public, he may be forced to go back to Russia?"

I hadn't before, but I realized that was the point of his question. "I do now-- yes."

He pressed a button and continued. "Mr. Kuzentsov has left Russia illegally, and, if he is deported back, there is a high likelihood that he may be taken into custody as a political prisoner. Knowing that, would you prefer that Mr. Kuzentsov be allowed to remain at his current residence?"

Blackmail felt a little more 'right' to expect and, despite how much I hated it, I actually felt a little more at-ease since I was finally seeing where The Assessor was going with the Q&A. "Yes."

Pressing another button, he flicked his fingers across the data pad. "Now... the question that we skipped--"

I didn't need him to repeat himself. "Yes. Not including lethal force."

* * * * * *

I spent another night at the installation, but only because there were apparently some 'formalities' to complete. A Gorumn assigned to be my handler during that time explained that the business office was signing off to write a contract; apparently I would remain LHI property but I'd be 'leased out' to Peter. It was a middle ground, I supposed, but it was far better to babysit a displaced Human than have to kill someone and, of all the people I'd met, Peter was, in my view, the best of them.

Even though I was technically 'freed' that morning, the entire process took well into the late afternoon. The Gormumn received word that I could be brought to the exit dock at 18:30 and it took almost a half hour to pass through all the security checkpoints. As we went, the Gorumn spoke. "Hey... I was on the recovery team sent to pick you up from that Russian's shack-- kinda nice place... rustic."

I didn't respond other than to offer a grunt.

He continued speaking. "Anyway-- temperature's dropping outside. Admin wants to make sure you get a compass to help you find the way back. Seventy degrees North."

The Gorumn provided me the compass and then directed me to a set of stairs. We walked down a series of halls which led to the long escalator rising up to the loading dock. Waiting there was The Assessor. Without saying a word, he stepped onto the escalator and I followed. I had never been on the docks before, and it was a new experience looking out across the enormous, 60' long bay. The ceiling, floor and walls were all metal, which terminated some 10' before the end of the cave it filled; past that I could see the dimming daylight. Just after we arrived I heard Peter call from behind us.

The Assessor turned and spoke back to him, likewise addressing Peter in Russian, leaving me completely out of the conversation. The Assessor gestured to me once and then motioned to the exit of the dock. Peter responded with a single word, which sounded like it was the last one he planned on saying. With that, he stared walking toward the exit but, before he could go, I grabbed him by the sleeve of his parka. Turning to The Assessor, I asked "How do I say 'Thank you, Mr Kuzentsov' in Russian?"

I paid close attention to The Assessor, then attempted to repeat the words to Peter, who looked like he was about to smile. He glanced to The Assessor and spoke in a dour tone. Whatever Peter had said to the Assessor went untranslated as the man simply inclined his head and stepped onto the escalator down, leaving Peter and me alone. Peter wasted no time; gesturing to me, he headed out of the bay and into the cold evening beyond.

In addition to taking a different path out of the installation the trip was at a different time of day so I had little sense of direction except for the analog compass provided to me by The Assessor. Peter had been granted arctic traveling gear, which was needed considering how cold it would be if the sun set and we were still out in the open but, as for me, my fur would be sufficient; rather than my Geneticon uniform I was given simple military fatigues and two changes of clothes.

Peter and I lacked a common language, but that didn't stop him from talking to me on the way back. I didn't know if he knew just how important hearing a Human's voice was for lab-grown Geneticons in forming a bond to our commanding agents but I got the impression that it was as much for his benefit to hear himself as it was for me keeping track of him in the dwindling visibility; the snow was really starting to come down and, based on the distance indicated, I knew we weren't even half way there.

The sun was starting to set by the time Peter came to a stop and, glancing over his shoulder at me, shouting something in the increasingly fierce wind. He pointed and, following his gesture, I was able to catch a glimpse of smoke rising from the trees; it was in the direction we were headed, which suggested that he'd identified his home. I'd learned wilderness navigation and scored high, which meant I was confident that we were less than an hour from our destination; half that if we pushed it. The time was fortunate considering the sun had almost fully set and the temperature was dropping rapidly; that wasn't a good thing for Peter's health.

My companion continued to lead the way until it grew too dark to see the smoke. every few minutes to gesture to the compass. At that point he shortened the distance between us, glancing my way every few minutes to gesture to the compass in my paw. I'd respond by indicating forward on the correct course and he always made the necessary minute adjustments. Our forward motion meant we made good progress... until we arrived at a frozen lake. He realized it before I did but I didn't understand his distress until the ice gave way beneath our joint weight and we took the plunge.

Polar Bears are naturally efficient swimmers and icy water doesn't bother us one bit. I took it in stride, but I heard his stiffed cry and immediately knew something was wrong. As a genetically modified organism designed specifically to serve Human kind, his exclamation created an instinctual need for me to act and in a matter of moments I had hold of him and was dragging him quickly back to safety. Hypothermia is an ever-present threat for Humans in arctic environments and if water is added to it then they are looking at a death sentence. I knew this clearly and, once I got him to shore and checked he was breathing I did a quick check for the symptoms-- he wasn't even shivering at that point, and lost consciousness a few seconds later; it was bad.

Peter was not small for a Human, but far smaller than I so it was not any great effort to peel his soaked clothes off of him, wrapping him in my spare uniforms before grabbing him tightly to my chest; in the short time it took to be ready to move again his discarded clothes were already frozen solid. Using my body to shield him from the worst of the cold, I tossed all unnecessary equipment and ran the rest of the way to his cabin. He was still alive when we arrived and, fortunately, there were still some half-charred logs with embers in the fireplace; I grabbed all the bedding I could, piling them up around Peter before stoking the fire. It wouldn't be enough.

Stripping myself down the rest of the way, I joined Peter in the blankets, pulling him close to me to ensure that my body heat would infuse into him, hopefully warming him enough that there would be no lasting damage. I didn't realize just how exhausted I was until I found myself drifting off. Jolting awake long enough to realize that Peter was shivering (a good sign), I pulled the blankets tighter around us, and gave in to my fatigue. I was asleep in a matter of seconds.

I dreamed, but I couldn't possibly remember about what, though I'm pretty sure it was about Peter. The time I'd spent with him, and the agreement I'd made with The Assessor meant that, despite me being assigned to keep an eye on him, he was technically my handler. Peter had spent hours talking to me on the way back, and our close physical proximity meant that I had imprinted upon him. The genetic coding with which I was created meant that I would follow his commands within the scope of my assignment, and I would be loyal to him. Doubtlessly The Assessor realized such a thing, so why would he have given me to a potentially dangerous squatter?

Those were thoughts I'd had long since but, in the moment I first awoke, nothing of the sort had crossed my mind when I felt a gentle touch on the cheek of my fur. Opening my eyes, they met his; we were looking at one another for a split second before Peter jumped back in surprise. Based on the redness on his cheeks and his rapid heartbeat he was embarrassed, but, in that moment, I was just glad that he was alive. I turned my head to regard him and slowly sat up to avoid causing him any further distress with quick movements.

Even though the cabin was warm, Peter had just encountered extreme cold and the fact that he was wandering around the room naked except for a quilt around his waist caused me concern. I reached out a paw toward his arm but thought better of trying to force him to pay down if he didn't want to. "You should still be resting... cold can do some horrible things to your body if you don't take care of yourself."

An almost patient smile split his stoic expression and he held out a hand to pat the back of my paw comfortingly as he stated something. As usual I couldn't understand him so I let out a sigh, shaking my head. Glancing around the room I realized that I was still completely named. Geneticons don't usually have a problem with our bodies but every one of us knows how it can cause issues for Humans. Feeling a flush of humility, I quickly grabbed the comforter which had bunched around my shins and pulled it up to cover myself. "Sorry... I wasn't thinking... I know Humans don't like nudity."

His response wasn't what I was expecting. Laughing, he reached out to rest a hand on my elbow. I still couldn't understand his words, but I understood the meaning: he wasn't offended. It honestly helped me get past my social programming and, wrapping the comforter around my waist in a similar manner to what he did with the quilt, I glanced around the room; I caught sight of the darkness outside through the window and motioned to it with my muzzle as I looked back to Peter. "Looks like it isn't morning... you really should consider getting some more sleep."

When he looked at me quizzically I responded simply by pointing to his bed. He nodded in agreement but, rather than go there to lay down he instead took hold of my wrist and attempted to lift me or, more realistically, encouraged me to stand. At first I didn't think he understood what I was suggesting until, after a few seconds and more insistence from him, I realized that I was the one who didn't understand him: he'd taken three steps before I figured out that he wanted me to go with him.

Reserving judgment and presumption, I followed after him and made sure he sat then laid down. Pulling the blankets up, I was just about to tuck him in before he shook his head, grabbing the linens out of my paws, and slid over, patting the mattress beside him. My first assessment had been correct: he wanted me to join him. He wanted me to join him? He wanted me to join him! It took a moment for me to overcome the shock as he said something in Russian. Although I didn't know the words, the gesture he made toward the floor near the fire explained everything: I had been a source of warmth, and could continue to offer that service.

It was an awkward moment as I figured the best way for me to lay on the mattress and still provide enough space for him; in the end I realized I could lay on my side. I used the only Russian I knew, saying the words The Assessor had taught me, and I thanked my host in his native language. Peter corrected my pronunciation, but did so with a tone that implied humor in the response rather than displeasure. He followed up with a very rough "You're welcome." in English.

I stayed as still as I could so as not to disrupt Peter's ability to sleep; he ended up fidgeting a lot, tossing and turning until he eventually ended up on his side as well, our two backs pressing together. It was a position with which I was familiar when I was forced to share a sleeping spot with another Genticon, but it was the first time a smooth, furless Human back was pressed to me; I realized yet again that I'd not had a H.I.D. injection in far too long as a little thrill shot up my spine... I liked the feel of his little furless body. I liked it a lot. With those thoughts in my mind I drifted off to sleep, which was full of every last dirty thing a genetically modified brain could come up with. My sleep, however, was disrupted by a voice calling my designation. "1243..."

I froze immediately, realizing that I'd been unconsciously humping my hips. My erection had long since emerged from my sheath, rock hard and aching but, even worse, it was surrounded by warm, soft skin; only then did I realize that I was holding Peter tightly to my chest, his back pressed against my abdomen and my member stuck between his thighs. Had I been grinding against him in my sleep? I was mortified!

Pushing myself backwards without realizing there was nowhere for me to go, I found the floor after a short fall, but the impact of the wood hurt far less than the impact of my indiscretion. I scooted back and away from Peter, trying several times to apologize but I couldn't figure out the best way to state it-- how do you say you're sorry for molesting your host in your sleep? I must have tried five or six times to come up with a coherent statement but, before I could manage to put something together he reached across the distance between us and grabbed hold of my wrist.

The physical contact only made things worse, especially since my hormones were still in high gear. Recoiling from him in order to try and salvage some amount of decorum, I didn't realize just how tightly he'd grabbed me and, instead of getting away from his grasp I instead pulled him right off the bed and he landed atop me. Advanced Geneticons usually limit communication to only Human-like sounds but, in moments of extreme stress we are occasionally known to revert to more bestial sounds-- I'm pretty sure I bear-noised at that.

Although I stared to struggle to get away from him again that stopped the moment he grabbed hold of my muzzle in a sure grip, issuing a single word in a commanding tone. Although I didn't speak Russian, I had no doubt that he wanted my attention and so, complacently, I ceased all struggling, moving only enough to cover my still-shamefully erect penis where it stuck up out of my sheath without regard to my social concerns.

Peter realized that words were not going to work so, maintaining eye contact, he slowly slid his hand down my arm until it reached my wrist. I felt my shame grow worse as he pulled my paw away from blocking my erection and, the whole time he held my gaze in his, speaking softly as he did so. His furless hand slid along my paw pad, thumb brushing over it in a way that sent a little thrill up my arm and then down my back before he pressed the back of his hand against the palm of my paw, and guided both to my groin. The moment his soft skin touched my exposed erection I thought I was going to lose myself to the insatiable need... but he continued speaking, and, even though I couldn't understand the words, I could understand the calming tone, and that was something.

Fingers lingering there for only a moment, he drew both his hand and my paw away. His hand slid around my paw and, gaze still holding my own, he pulled my paw closer to him and, to my surprise, he led them to his groin; I literally jumped in surprise when my fingers encountered his erection. I was astounded-- not only had I never encountered a Human in such a condition, there was no doubt in my mind that there was only one possible cause for his state of arousal. When he smiled, it removed all doubt, and the urgent, overwhelming insistence of my hormones began to shake my insides like a starving beast rattling its cage. I wasn't sure how I was going to resist them when Peter opened the lock by pressing his lips to my muzzle.

Lab grown Geneticons relied on hormone therapy to maintain our genetic cohesion but, at the same time, the side effects included an elimination of our sex drive. I'd been off H.I.D. for the better part of a week after having been on it for my whole life; the insistent need was something new. The Human in my arms was small and frail in comparison to a Geneticon; there was beauty in that. Peter was the most beautiful thing in the world, and he was mine.

In the back of my mind, the logical part which had long-since been overwhelmed by the overwhelming need of my primal drive knew that I'd imprinted on him-- the close proximity, traveling together, hearing him talk to me, being surrounded by his scent... none of that mattered though; not only was he not resisting, but his hands had moved to the most amazing place they could possibly go and, for the second time that night I unabashedly bear-noised.

His back was against the bed frame, and I could almost feel his body beneath me even though we were not touching... except his hands, which encircled my eager erection. I thrust once, then a second time into his fingers before I realized that it was not enough. I licked at the rivulets of saliva that had pooled at my lips. "Fuck, Human... I want you so bad..."

Although he couldn't understand English, I think my tone said it all. He gestured behind him with a flick of his head and said something in Russian; I had no idea what it was, but I was willing to assume that he was suggesting we get back onto the bed-- whether that's what he meant or not didn't matter at that point; I wrapped a single arm around his chest and hauled him up onto it with a quick heft and I followed after him, wrapping by body around his as I reveled in the feel of his naked form every place it touched my fur. I loved the feel of him... the scent of him... the sound of his breath and his little gasps-- I knew I had to have a taste.

Pinning him to the mattress with my chest on his belly, I pressed my nose to his sternum, working my way up to his collar bone which, as I snuffled it, I caught the most amazing sent of him, and that was my opportunity; nibbling at his skin, I shivered at the sound of his gasp and, resisting no longer, I stuck my tongue out, licking one long, powerful stroke from the base of his throat to his left shoulder. He moaned, which was music to my ears-- I had to hear that sound again. I had to taste more of him. I had to feel more of him.

Kissing, licking and nibbling all over his chest, shoulders and neck, I did anything and everything I could to make him replicate that beautiful sound, all the while my erection hurting even more in the most wonderfully masochistic way. With my motions all but on autopilot at that point, we ultimately ended up on our sides, his back to my abdomen as I nuzzled the back of his head. My right arm was under his head, wrapped around him so that my paw was resting on his left shoulder while my left paw groped his hip.

I shivered as my member found its way back to between his thighs, slipping into him in a way that made me bite my tongue so hard it bled. I loved it all, and I wanted more... so much more. Nuzzling Peter's cheek, I pressed my hips forward and I felt the tight, furless skin of his thighs grip my shaft from either side; it was unlike anything I'd ever felt, and I didn't want it to end. Peter's hands ended up on the back of either of my paws and, to my surprise, I felt him pushing back against me, his hips riding my pelvis as each of my thrusts brought my erection slowly further upward until I felt his scrotum brushing against my shaft each time I drew back.

The sensations were amazing, but there was still something missing. I thought back to the shiver his touch had sent through me when his fingers had brushed my erection. Licking his cheek, I rotated my paw on his hip until I could grab his hand, and I slowly brought it down to my preferred target. "Can you do that again? I-- I want to feel your fingers on me. I...I need it."

Even though he didn't speak English, Peter seemed to figure out what it was I needed so badly and I felt his fingers tickle my length... but he surprised me when I felt not only his fingers, but also his own erection; he'd gripped them both, pressing them together as he started to thrust his own hips. I happy acknowledged my approval with a pleased rumble; what I felt in that moment was far better than anything that had come before. At that point, I didn't bother holding back.

No longer ashamed of my bear-noises, I embraced them as surely as my needs which were joyfully mirrored in Peter. I don't know when it was, but, at some point I had gripped his shoulder with my teeth and I felt blood-- not a lot, but enough to register. Was I hurting him? Did I harm my Human? The sounds he made did not suggest that he was in distress-- far from it. No longer able to hold any control of my thoughts, the logical part of my mind surrendered, saying the exact same thing as I acknowledged about maintaining decorum and restraint: "Fuck it."

I felt the moment Peter crossed over the edge. He cried out, hand tightening around our joint members, and his began to pulse. His grip changed too, and my next thrust was touched in such a way that I gave into the pressure building inside me, letting out a roar of surrender as I let loose. It felt like a spray hose with a trigger nozzle compressed, only I was the hose, and Peter was the hand opening me up... and I unloaded with eagerness. I had never ejaculated before, and my body was more than willing to make up for lost time.

Holding my breath for the entire duration, I heard my heart thundering in my chest as my whole body shook. The sensations that permeated me, spreading out from my testicles and making my every last extremity tingle was so overwhelming that I had to remember to draw breath as they finally released me from their euphoric grip... at that point the rhythmic pulsing in my groin had slackened off, creating lingering little sparks of pleasure dancing through my core. After that, I was able to actually take stock of the world around me and the first thing I remember feeling was... sticky.

Collapsing back against the mattress, my entire body felt heavy. Despite feeling exhausted, the close proximity of Peter made me want nothing more than to have him even closer. I pulled him to my chest again, renewing my licking of his neck and shoulders-- I felt a little remorse for the little pools of blood on his shoulder but those were gone with another purposeful lick and he seemed none the worse for wear. He was an amazing Human, and, rather than push me away, willingly snuggled back against me. The only thing I could think of saying was repeating the phrase I knew in Russian: "Thank you, Mister Kuzentsov."

He chuckled, and replied with what I later learned was "Petr. Call me Petr."

I did ultimately learn to call him Petr. And speak Russian. He also learned English. Life was good, and got better. Just like the sex.