'Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.'

— H. G. Wells (1898), The War of the Worlds

>To think almost exactly 100 years ago such a passage of popular fiction foreshadowed the terrible thing to come long after the passing of its author was a humbling and maddening thought, as if the universe itself, however cruel and indifferent, enacted a twisted poetry that rhymed the stanzas of human suffering between page and life.
>Yet the martians that fell from the sky on crossing trails of fire two years before were not imperialist conquerors of some neighboring empire just out of the gaze of our blinded eyes to the void, but rather they were a wounded rabble. Bested long ago by a far greater adversary that now descended on their inferiors and engaged in cathartic and indiscriminate slaughter.
>The year was 1997, Earth was under siege by marauders that had arrived on a half dead ship that drifted without aim or motion in the black for untold years before making a close pass by our azure pearl. At which point its crew scrambled away from their meteoric home and crashed headlong into ours, and so the war began.



Chapter 1: Re-entry
>Your vision and consciousness danced in a haze of smoke and darkness, the vague sting of distant heat, and muffled ring to your sides was all that assured you that you weren't dead right now.
>Drawing in air only met your throat with a rasping burn, the ringing faded into silence as you retched, the hot air tasting of fire and oil. The pungent offal of scorching desolation overwhelmed any comprehensive sense of smell.
>You stumbled forward blindly, reaching outwards, a fumbling advance into the darkness to reach your goal, keeping your eyes sealed tight to avoid the singing sting of the smoke.
>Your outstretched hand found a breaker switch in the wall and you jammed it forwards. The aggressive hum of fan blades greeted you with a sudden sucking of the fouled air away from you, and the crisp breath of cold air greeted your skin from the other side of the compartment.
>You dropped to the floor and retched violently, your lungs desperately spasming to force the clinging miasma out of your body.
>Empty, shaking coughs hammered your chest and gnashed your throat closed, everything stung with flicking trails of fiery pain.
>You opened your eyes, met with a vignette of the unpainted deck plate you collapsed onto.
>You could still feel the natural panic of your body trying to force a shifting echo of the smoke out of your lungs, but you needed to breath.

*BREATH*

>You forced your jaws open and opened your throat, cold air rushed in, a cold stinging following it down into your chest.
>Immediately you coughed again, your chest still thumped and flared in dull pain with each shaky report from your lungs, but now it was a productive cough, a cough with substance.
>That was better than nothing you supposed.
>Your first comprehensive musing after swimming your mind back into the land of the waking and you were merely thankful the violent shrieking agony of your lungs was actually moving air.
>How low you had sunk, but it was good to simply be.
>to be ALIVE
>You steadied your back against the corner and practiced using your lungs again.
>The cold iron and chilled air being bought in from outside by the ventilators did much to sooth your various hurts.
>The dull thrum from the duct above you took the hot, smoke clouted air away and provided a humming metronome for you to concentrate your breathing on.
>You timed your breaths with the slow, occasional tick from the fans above you shimmying on their bearings.
>It hurt to breath too deeply, your ribs protested with a creeping dullness whenever your lungs expanded too far, most likely one or more of your ribs was broken or fractured.
>You were simply elated you hadn't collapsed a lung.
>You must have sat there for a good few minutes simply recirculating life through your body with fresh oxygen before the thought occurred to you to find a way out of your situation. Helped by the chilled embrace of lifeless steel creeping onto your back, bleeding through your jumpsuit, a soft whispering of touch that snapped you back to reality.

>You hauled yourself up, using the breaker as a handle to steady yourself, and flicked the manual purge valve back off, the fans died down and the ducts above you shuttered closed.
>You were buried, and had to get out before THEY found you first.
>You stumbled towards the rear wall, legs shaking as you breathed steadily to recall your strength, the whole cabin illuminated in a dim sanguine glow from a single red light.
>You found the primer rod and wrenched it back, and slammed it forward into the wall, 5 pulls, no 6 it was cold out, maybe 7 just to be safe.
>The heavy bar of the ignition lever almost seemed to gleam at you, the silvery rod clean despite the grease and smoke that clung to you.
>You steeled yourself and laid both hands on the flat iron of the bar handle, found your footing and leaned your weight against it.
>As the bar started to rotate downwards you pushed forward, ignoring the flaring pain in your shoulders and legs as you slammed it down.
>With a clang the tension on the bar lifted and you guided it back into its upward position.
>You listened with an ear pressed to the icy steel as clatters and groaning sounded behind the wall.
>There wasn't even a sputter.
>But you weren't going down like that, you pulled the primer rod 8 times and wrenched the ignition lever down again.
Yyou listened, the movement lasted a little longer this time and you heard a single, dulled pop before the movement stalled.
>10 times then, and you threw more weight into the bar.
>The popping quickening into a slight sputter but went nowhere.
>Your heart tightened with anger, 12 times, throw again.
>Your body warmed with the effort, a dull murmur greeted your ears before it stalled.
>16 times, THROW the bar
>Your sure this was overkill, but you NEEDED this to work right now.
>A few deep rumbles and a clattering thrum before it stalled back.
>You threw the lever before the noise could die, and reached your left hand up towards the choke lever, easing it gently towards a halfway mark to help along the process.
>You got a few moments of life before it stalled again.
"motherfucker"

> 22 times, you think, you were losing count as you swore and practically tackled the bar forward.
>Immediately you braked the choke on as it started rumbling, and eased the manual throttle upwards as you started hearing a slow clattering thrum as it built faster and smoother.
"yes."
"yes!"
"YES!!"
>You played a delicate balancing act between the throttle and choke as you nursed the sputtering clatter into a healthier thrum.
>Slowly easing off the choke you pulled the throttle higher and higher, and the thrum became a low growl, your ear pulsed with the slight vibrations as the turn over approached.
>As the machinery turned over you wrenched the choke down , slamming the starter button with the palm of your hand and pushing the throttle fully open.
>A loud banging clatter filled your ears as the thrum moved into a roar, and then a powerful howl that hummed through the walls.
>And so the engines howled, letting whoever may take care to listen that they were alive, that you were alive.
>You eased the manual throttle lever down into the idle position, and the engines calmly emitted their constant pulsing hum.
>Your machine was alive, you had restarted its valiant heart. The clamor of a wide smile had edged across your face.
>Leaping for joy, hands held high in victory, you wiped the sweat from your brow as your machine rumbled contentedly, your arms and hands stained inky black from soot and grease.
>You imagined your face wasn't looking too pretty either.

>You looked towards the center of the compartment, the auger stood silent, hanging from a collage of cables and wires as the full body armature hung above its cradle, open and waiting.
>for you
>Despite the tinge of heat under your skin, the filth and grease that clung hard to your flesh, and the sweat and aches of exhaustion creeping along your physique you stepped in, steeling yourself for confronting the world.
>You pulled your goggles down and plugged in the sensory jack and guided your arms into their place as the armature clamped around your legs, hugging and supporting them in a spider's web of metal and struts.
>The armature snapped itself shut around you, as you gripped the hand triggers and your goggle screens flicked to life with a view of dark gray stone and rubble.
>You and the machine were now joined, both of you were battered and exhausted, but you would pull yourself out of this rubble with its help.
>You breathed deep from the cool air, ignoring the dull ache from your ribs and tensed yourself. You heaved upwards, the armature supporting your movements as the engines groaned with effort, the machine followed.

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>"Be part of the T.A. infantry, see the world, meet interesting people, stomp aliens, get your 5 minutes of fame on a propaganda poster."
>If you ever found your old recruiting officer you were going to strangle the limy little fuck.
>Your idiot Lieutenant, greener than the fucking grass, had gotten you and the rest of your platoon into one hell of a mess.
>You were having a very bad day right now, swearing vehemently as you tried to clear the jam from your carbine.
>Your ear piece radio had chattered off a general retreat order half an hour ago.
>But you were currently hunkered down at the end of a ruined road with the rest of your platoon overlooking a shell churned field that stretched out for a good 200 meters before ending in a ridge line that rose up ahead of you.
>You had intended to follow that order, the LT was all too eager to get the hell out, but you had a problem.
>Your entire front cordon was swarming with bugs, you were barely holding off a sea of black carapaces, gnashing teeth, and rending claws.

>You couldn't outrun the swarm, if you couldn't put enough dead bodies between your people and the bugs you would all be run down and torn to shreds when you turned to run.
>You thanked God that none of the bigger bastards had decided to show up, a few rifle rounds would cut down the little ones but their were just too damn many.
>Finally clearing the jammed round out of the chamber and charging the chamber to clear out any feed issues you snapped the bolt shut
>before you could raise your carbine to add to the clamor and chatter of automatic gunfire raking across the bugs you spotted movement to the far right from the corner of your eye.
>In what was undoubtedly some sort of landslide as half a towns worth of apartment blocks and strip malls had collapsed into a heap intermixed with a slide of stone from the ridge, you spotted part of the heap starting to move, and something very large was clawing its way out.
>The hairs on the back of your neck bristled as your swearing grew exponentially more intense.
>Today was turning out to be a REALLY bad day.
>You shouted a warning at the very top of your lungs, punctuated by a, in your opinion, well timed use of your favorite four letter words.
>There was a crash and a shrieking, guttural howl that made your blood ice over as the rubble started falling away.
>A dark shape lurched forward, trailing falling stones and steadily rising jets of smoke as it thumped forwards on two armored legs.
>....wait
>THATS A FUCKING RUMBLER
>It was far from a pretty machine but your heart soared to see it.
>The ugly thing stomped forward and turned its attention towards you.
>You couldn't help but give a cheering holler as its weapon arms raised towards the hoard.

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>Your view was clear now and your machine wasn't lurching as much now that the weight of all that rubble collapsed off its back.
>Far ahead of you, you sighted what appeared to be a friendly infantry unit currently holding ground at the shattered end of a road against swarms of small bugs advancing from the cratered field to your right.
>Your optics couldn't give you much more than, hazy, vaguely human shapes when you tried to zoom in to see exactly who they were, regardless, you needed to beat feet back to base, and they needed help. badly.
>Despite your damaged optics, precision wasn't needed here, just fire into the hoard and you'll hit SOMETHING, guaranteed.
>You tried the left hand trigger for the rotary cannon first, you growled as a grinding whine issued from your distant left as the barrels failed to spool up.
>The right hand rotary cannon fared better, with an electric growl the barrels spun into motion, and soon issued a low foghorn droning as a stream of 30mm tracers stitched their way up the hoard. A wave like gout of dark ichor, mud, and severed bits of alien shot into the air like a chain of geysers as you walked the stream of fire upwards from the hoard's flank.
>Thank the lord for the GAU-8 avenger.
>You kept pouring fire into the hoard, the coolant levels in the right weapon arm still fairly high to stave off overheating from either weapon mounted there.
>Still you needed more.

>Not just to cut apart the hoard but to still a hurt buried deep in your core, something beyond the ache of your ribs, or the flaring shiver of pain rippling over your muscles. Something that demanded blood.
>The machine's left leg was damaged, the auger locking up when you tried to bend it too far forward, a signal that damage rendered that part of your range of motion inaccessible.
>Still, even with a slight limp in both yours and the machine's step, you were making good time closing in to assist the friendlies.
>Your forward missile racks were down, bent beyond repair and jammed by debris.
>The shoulder cannon turrets, the left one wasn't responding to your control signal, but the right one did and you leveled its barrels towards the hoard.
>Three loud reports bounced their echo around the right side of the chassis as a triumvirate of 200mm shells crashed into the bulk of the hoard, sending squalls of gore, mud, and dead xenos skyward.
>You couldn't help chuckling at the grim display of gory fireworks, maybe you had snapped.
-Macabre piñata party!-
>No brain, no

>Taking offense at being blown into tiny pieces a shriek rolled like a wave over what survived of the hoard, half of them clumping back towards the ridge line to regroup and surge for another attack, the other half scrambling towards you.
"big mistake"
>You weren't so sure about using anything on the left weapon arm since it was likely beat to hell, but you deflected the right arm downwards as the tide of black forms raced towards you
>An inferno like gout of flame poured from under the rotary cannon as you sweeped the flamethrower along the leading edge of the incoming pack.
-need a light?-
>... not bad brain, not bad
>Calling it a mere flamethrower would be a disservice to the amount of napalm it spat. Geneva convention be damned.
>You noticed the infantry had taken the chance to run back up the road, in towards the ruined buildings that stood on either side.
>Stomping through the burning slurry that was most of the pack that charged you, you decided to send some presents to their friends regrouping by the ridge, a couple hundred 30mm Armor Piercing Incendiary rounds and 3 more 200mm HE shells
>Watching half dead bugs sail in a high arc before coming to an end in a crumpled heap seemed to faintly tickle some sense of childish glee.
>You sincerely hoped this was normal. ...As close to normal as blowing away hoards of screaming insect monsters with the world's most destructive full body prosthetic could be.

>As you climbed your engine of destruction up on to the road, you noticed your left leg was dragging more, its range of motion was shrinking and its responses to your input were becoming weak and sluggish.
>You were likely leaking hydraulic fluid from that leg, or it could be a problem with a power coupling. You were too preoccupied to check the gauges, but the drive linkages were still responsive, that leg could still be used to balance and keep your machine upright and mobile, even if it locked up.
>Keeping the machine facing towards the ridge to cover the retreating infantry, You hobbled backwards along the wide road, firing into any large enough gathering of targets as you moved.
>There was a definite temptation to simply turn around and start hobble-sprinting with the rumbler's good leg, especially as a practical tidal wave of black chitin broke over the top of the ridge. A certain phrase about tolling bells comes to mind, you had never seen so many bugs before, yet you swallow your fear.
>The infantry behind you have to at least get over that hill about 400 meters behind you, as you guess some motorized transport may be waiting there.
>Stand and deliver.

>Abandoning all pretense of accuracy in the face of this swarm, you fired wildly, jamming on the triggers to all of your operable weapons, you were wishing you had decided to ride with a sub gunner this morning.
>No time to lament over what you did or did not do this morning, the tide of bugs was steadily closing the distance.
>The pace of your backwards hobble quickened.
>Walking a rumbler in reverse was already slow, walking a rumbler in reverse with a gimped leg was even slower.
>Maybe if these fucking things were made in France the reverse gears would be faster.
>Oh God you did it now, you were chuckling nervously at your own internal joke, you were going to die.
>Your anxiety quelled a bit as you saw slivering enfilades of rifle fire zip past your machine's legs to pick off stragglers, the infantry hadn't abandoned you.
>You also heard, and felt, a familiar pounding of the ground far off in the distance behind you, artillery was just around the corner.

>You buzzed the leading edge of the incoming tidal wave of angry claws and teeth with the rotary cannon, then followed that with wide sweeps of the flamer, not even caring about the possibility of draining the fuel tank completely.
>It seemed to be staving them off, at least for now.
>Yet bugs are nothing if not unreasonably tenacious, they would find a way around the wall of inferno and continue their hungry pursuit.
>The pounding grew louder.
>Checking your rear cameras, sure enough there it was, looming over the crest of the hill, the 4 fat cannons of a Juggernaut.
>Now Juggernauts were rather ugly machines, at least the Rumbler had a sort of rough-shod charm to it. Juggernauts were 3 times the height of a Rumbler, and looked like someone bolted the front quarter of a naval heavy cruiser onto a pair of plantigrade stilts and then blunted its nose with a crowbar.
>Granted the 4 naval artillery cannons it carried paired in pillboxes bolted to both sides of the main hull were beautiful things.
>Usually they stayed in the back lines where their height and long range made them naturally suited as superheavy artillery. They were abysmally slow walkers and operated on a gyro system rather than the auger your own machine used, that meant if they took a hard enough hit to the side they were liable to tumble over without an organic balancing instinct hardwired to the legs to keep it upright.
>It braced one knee forward in a firing position and took aim at the gathering swarm just in front of you.
>You can't remember exactly what caliber those guns are off the top of your head, just that their a hell of a lot bigger than anything your machine carried.
>A quartet beat of enormously loud reports sent eruptions of debris and corpses high into the air in front of you and to your sides.
>It also sunk most of the road, and the buildings, the craters forming a sort of small crevasse the chittering, screaming mass of insects couldn't cross in good time.
>You almost couldn't believe what you survived, the landslide, half your weapons not working, the tidal wave of bugs.
>You were home free.

>Execute run-away.exe
>...
>run-away.exe has encountered a problem, would you like to restart? [yes/no]
"fuck fuck fuck fuckingfuckfuckfu-"
>Panic gripped at you as the left leg seized with a loud clatter when you tried to pull it away from the lip of the newly formed crater.
>You dug your right heel in to drag it off, but you weren't moving, if anything you were edging closer towards the crater.
>The rumbler's engines howled in protest as you put all the strength you could muster into stopping your unwilling advance forward.
>Easier said than done when your body was drenched in grease, sweat, and exhaustion, everything burned and you were fighting to keep your strength.
>You bent the torso downwards the get a good look at what was happening, what you saw almost stopped your heart for a second.
>A fucking Scarab had seized its pincer-like jaws around the left ankle, and was trying to tug you down into the pit.
>Scarabs were armored beetles the size of a double decker bus on steroids, and their favorite hobbies included digging, being evil, and dragging innocent mechs into pit traps.
>NOPE
>Jamming down on all the triggers for the frag cannons slung on the underside of the torso, you hoped like hell they worked.
>You were rewarded for your efforts, 6 double barreled cannons barked HE fragmenting canister shot simultaneously.

>The Scarab was thoroughly pulverized, your optics were splattered in gore and dark ichor, it was probably all over the front of the mech, you would have to clean that later, you scowled.
>You scowled harder as the dead bastard wasn't letting go.
>Your scowl only grew more intense as the scarab's limp body started slumping back into the crater, determined even in death to drag you down.
>It reached some sort of critical volume of sheer, incandescent rage as with an ear splittingly  loud tear and shuddering of metal coming apart, the scarab's corpse absconded with the lower half of your leg and your mech lost its balance completely, falling backwards and spinning counter-clockwise towards the road.
>You didn't even bother crying out or continuing your chain of expletives, but you were sure your face had contorted into the sort of image of frothing madness they put in a museum and called a warmask.
>Before you hit the ground one thought occurred to you, why the hell didn't your proximity alarm sound, your sub-gunner was supposed to warn you about tha-
>oh, right
>You should have tried harder to stay in the motorpool.
>Then a thumping pain shot into your everything and all went dark.

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<the infantry>

>That stray Rumbler was exactly what you needed to get out of the mess your lieutenant had put you in.
>The lieutenant that was valiantly leading the charge... away from the enemy, with their tail between their legs.
>You largely spent your time in the rearguard, alternating between madly sprinting towards the hill, and safety, and shunting bullets into any bug that looked like it was getting too close to your big friend.
>Your thoughts had been wandering quite a bit towards who the hell the pilot could even be, you mean, they DID just save your skin.
>The briefing never even mentioned a rumbler unit in your local area, and the one you were looking at now had practically just magic'd out of a landslide.
>It's not like you hadn't tried to identify what unit it was with, but half the plates were missing or burnt and the whole machine was covered in a caked on layer of dust and rocks to make any identifying markings illegible.
>Yet still you were plagued with questions of who they were, a rapacious officer type? a self styled knight in modern armor? or maybe a spunky mechanic adorned with an adequate sprinkling of grease. That's the type of people that drove those things, at least thats what the Propaganda showed you.
>You had almost stopped cold when that Juggernaut showed up, you were slamming a round home into a bug's chest and when you turned around you were staring down 4 barrels so large you could crawl inside them.
>Covering your ears quickly was all that saved you from going deaf, even the built in noise suppressors in your earpieces would not handle a Juggernaut's guns going off so close.

>You spared a quick glance back towards your stalwart rear guard. 4 massive shell craters formed a small crevasse through what was once the road, and a decent chunk of the town, the bugs seemed puzzled about how to get around it.
>The rumbler was standing a little close to the crater lip looking... almost bewildered, could a machine even express body language?
>Maybe the pilot was just a tad bit shell shocked and was contemplating their survival.
>You popped the rest of your mag into the hoard just for a little catharsis. A bug immediately catching a round in the head and tumbling into the crater, 2 more joined it.
>And then you turned and started jogging off towards the hill, only to be stopped in your tracks when you heard a loud clanging and the roar of engines followed by a overtone of dozens of explosions overlapping at once.
>Clutching at your ears you barely heard a cacophony of shrieking metal and a loud crash behind you.
>And there you saw it, the rumbler pitched over onto its side, engines stalled, unmoving.
>Most of its left leg was missing, a steady pool of oil was accumulating to its rear, and you had a dreadful premonition that the fuel leak would soon ignite.
>You would be damned if you let this pilot die like that, and you broke into a sprint towards the fallen titan.

>Looking back you could see only a pair of medics were following in your wake with a stretcher, fucking really?!
>This battered bastard had saved the whole platoon and you were the only non medical trooper going back?
>You made a mental note to write this off in your report as your LT inspiring cowardice. A field officer being a coward themselves didn't garner much attention, but when those same instincts spread to the cannon fodder? no, can't be having that.
>That was the sort of thing that got rookie officers busted down with a doubled demotion, and let certain persons stop being passed over for well earned promotions from said officers.
>You were still wearing your Corporal's stripes, you had seen more action than half of the green sad-sacks in the unit, but every time a round of promotions came you were passed over.
>You had to suffer the insult of a private under you being launched over your head directly into NCO territory, commanding their own squads, twice.
>Your own Sergeant didn't even let you command the other fireteam, you were always stuck under their thumb, they balked "veterans advice" to you as the other Corporal in the squad was given charge of the other half of your little knot of troopers.
>You absolutely fucking hated it.
>Scrambling on top of the inclined backplate you found the hatch that lead into the operators compartment, maybe this mysterious pilot could distract you from your ever bubbling anger from being treated like a pair of old boots by the incompetent that ran your outfit.
>You pulled hard on the lockbar, it was bent out of shape and really wanted to stick, landslide damage you guessed.
>Pressing your legs against the armored collar that protected the lip of the hatch and heaving the bar popped backwards, throwing you on your ass.
>You slid the hatch open, sunlight peering a yellow shaft down into the darkness of the compartment, and you popped your head through, laying eyes on the pilot that had saved your hide.
>Well.. You certainly weren't expecting this.

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<the pilot>
>Bleary eyed, you slipped in and out of consciousness, you couldn't remember exactly what happened, your head felt light, you were dangling from the ruins of your armature.
>Shit, thats a lot of blood, you hope it isn't yours.
>Your side hurts.
>You remember something about bugs and smoke.
>You felt angry, not sure why
>A bright shaft of light practically blinds you.
>It's heaven come to judge you.
>And they sent a pretty weird angel.
>You weren't sure you wanted to go, but those eyes, those luminous blue jewels seemed, surprised?
>Maybe you had died too soon.
>You could have a second chance if you were good right?
>Lips moving, something flew from your mouth you couldn't hear or think on, a last confession for your wounded soul.
>You were so tired.
>You needed a nap, anywhere was good.
>Those blue eyes kept watch as you drifted away.
>You heard the voice of your mother.
>A gentle song that echoed to you softly from the void you sank into.
>You hoped she was happy up there, you may not be able to join her.

>But in no time at all, the chorus faded, and you had the sense of weight about you again, you were on your back.
>Your bearings seemed to return to you, though you still felt every limb and breath sink with exhaustion.
>Hauled off towards safety in some sort of stretcher, the sun kissed your eyes with warmth, you denied it because that motherfucker was too bright.
>You strained your ears to listen over the clinking of equipment harnesses and the stamping of boots.
>Voices, what they said was too distant to make out, but they were female, of this you were reasonably sure.
>Your blind ass had just stumbled out of a landslide and saved a female infantry unit, maybe today wasn't the worst moment you had since that one time in high school.
>You sighed dreamily, forgetting your injuries, and promptly remembering them as your lungs twisted into knots under your chest.
>Retching your lungs out a second time today, you did not want to get used to this feeling.
>Someone laid a hand on your chest to steady your coughing.
>This hand felt like it was wrapped in shag carpet, and you felt small points, those were claws.
>Well, you just landed yourself as a casualty in the laps of a female ANTHRO infantry unit.
>fffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-
>You faded back towards the blissful unawareness that was unconsciousness.
>If you didn't wake up, well, then you would find out if those rumors about anthros eating their wounded were actually a load of bullshit or not.

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>Pleasant, floating darkness, you weren't just k.o.'d anymore, you were dreaming.
>It was at this time your brain decided to waste your precious rest with an impromptu history lecture.
>You tried to shoo away the hazy slideshow forming in front of you, but your rest was too deep, and you had little sense of self other than you are... somewhere.
>You were never good at the whole lucid dreaming thing.
>A few passages from H.G. Wells' War of The Worlds rolled by, making you hope for a little that you could dream of something fun, like seeing how poorly tripods would stand up against a rumbler.
>Then the slideshow began and immediately drew your attention and being completely in its dull enrapture.
>Goddamn exposition.
>You thought you were done with this shit in school.
>It was less a slideshow, more a slow animation, a very rough one.
>Your likely damaged brain recalling historical events it wasn't there for and didn't pay much attention to in class.
>You always liked older history, before the asteroid, before the panic over Firefall.
>Back when it was merely the twists and turns of the human species, being... well, human. Faults and flaws included.
>After the object came into the public knowledge it was all such a panicked scramble.
>Endless preparation and deliberation over a single facet, even before that night two years ago, the ship had overstayed its welcome.

>It all started a little over 50 years ago, 1946, when a drunk skygazer in New Mexico focused his ratty telescope on just the right slice of black to catch sight of something.
>A month later an actual astronomer came by, following a poorly worded report of a giant space rock, determined that he was just going to be looking at the asteroid belt and wasting a trip.
>Within a week the entire American Astronomer's community was raising merry hell over a rock a quarter the mass of our fucking moon on collision course.
>Soon every scope in America was looking at the same thing, and to their relief the astronomers figured out there wouldn't be a direct collision, by the time it got here it would simply be making a worryingly close pass, and it wasn't going to crash into the moon or anything.
>They also identified that it wasn't a space rock, but a space boat.
>This raised a whole new set of problems.
>In a meeting behind closed doors, President Truman correctly deduced this was a problem that could not be solved by a third B-29 with a suspiciously large bomb.
>Soon a lot more meeting were held behind a lot more closed doors, a lot of different doors.
>Many, many mutual defense pacts were signed.

>In 1950, knowledge of an asteroid was made public, they neglected to mention it was actually a ship.
>This caused a brief panic, until some genius pointed out the bi-line that said, 'NOT going to strike the earth and kill us all'.
>Then in 1958, the first generation of anthros stumbled out of genetics labs worldwide.
>You fell asleep during that lecture so the details were sparse to you, but some self described genius found some protein inside of E.Coli that made genetic therapy as easy as building blocks. Used this process to manufacture about a hundred thousand animal people, and then promptly died, or was assassinated, you cant remember which.
>In 1960 a leak clarified the asteroid was in fact a ship, and the spiking tensions over 'fuckin animal people' were put on hold for the apocalypse.
>In 1970 the mutual defense pacts solidified their globalist tendrils and the official formation of the Terran Alliance was announced. Just in time for the Soviet Union to fold over like a house of cards, and for China to shatter into warring states again in celebration.
>Soon the TA's first official actions were policing a civil war, so that we could at least hold the title of 'organized rabble' before the aliens came down to kill us all.
>By 1975 China was stable.. sort of.
>The newly christened Earth Defense Force went on history's most intensive recruiting drive, though most people just recognized it as the TA's military arm.
>By 1980 every military lab worth its salt was pumping out new prototypes by the dozens, including what led to the development of gyro walkers such as the Juggernaut, which then leaped into Auger mechs, like your precious Rumbler.
>As well as enough guns to arm the other 11.
>Then 1990 hit, and the war footing was full on, doomsday was only 5 years away, EDF and TA propaganda hung off every street corner like so much patriotic detritus.
>The recruiting drive turned into a full on draft.

>You weren't sure how you evaded the draft for so long, but after Firefall, the recruiting officer eventually popped around your house.
>You politely argued that since you knew your way around cars, you would be best suited to a quiet posting in the motorpool, away from the bugs.
>Although your father helpfully informed you that you were a lot less polite than you thought you were, the recruiting officer evidently either believed your bullshit or was greener than the emerald isles themselves.
>When your posting orders arrived in the mail, you were to report to a motorpool assignment after basic training.
>You had hung out there for a while, fixing trucks and logistics vehicles while "real" mechanics took a look at any tanks or heavier hardware that needed fixing.
>A few of your tips to the rookie engineers must have not gone unnoticed and soon people started figuring out that 1. you knew more about machines than you let on and 2. You fit the dimensions and physical fitness requirements to be a mech jock.
>Most of your fellows in the motorpool tended to be smaller, weedier men, and commonly used you to ship around heavy parts and boxes on base.
>Making constant jogs across EDF bases, some of which can measure miles across, while toting around oil canisters and boxes stuffed with industrial grade engine parts had given you the impromptu endurance training regiment of a lifetime.
>You sweat like a pig on a rotisserie at first but you could still get the day's work done.
>Soon the runs became routine, and steadily grew longer, and more dangerous when you were posted at field bases.
>MBT blow a header during battle and is stranded away from all the fun while its crew bitches about wanting to get back in the fight before it ends? Ring up the motorpool and ask for you to run their replacement parts out to them, bypassing the usual traffic jams on the supply roads.
>Soon enough you made a part run that changed your life for the worst, when you were called on to run a camshaft and assorted spare parts out to a stranded Rumbler.
>It was a bit closer to the front lines than usual, and bug stragglers hadn't been mopped up quite yet, but how could you say no?
>You had never seen a Rumbler up close before, and so you took the risk.
>Your 'friends' at the motorpool looked weedier and weedier as you loaded up your pack and crates and took off at a steady jog, you weren't some gigantic freak, but your fairly sure with the unintentional power lifting and endurance runs you were well over 200 pounds of muscle by now. Hard work has a way of doing that to people.

>On the way there a lone bug had tried to claw you apart, you emptied your sidearm into its head, 6 shots of .44 magnum, your pretty sure that was overkill, maybe you had a problem with disproportional force, this happened twice more along the way.
>Reloading your revolver for the third time, you lovingly brushed the dark purple goop and blood the bug got over your precious when the dim punk thought he was lucky.
>Your dad handed you this gun before you shipped out for deployment, you were never going to lose it.
>The first tip off that something was wrong when the Rumbler's commander, a man built rather similarly to you with a waving mane of blonde hair saw you rounding the corner with a camshaft stuffed into your pack, a crate full of parts over your left shoulder, and a smoking revolver in your free hand and shouted "Heya Dirty Harry, How's it goin?!"
>Commanders were never this friendly, and this guy had the shoulder pips of the unit leader.
>And he asked about you before even mentioning the parts he needed to get his machine up and running.
>A miles long run combined with fighting for your life three times in a row had shrouded the obvious to you at the time.
>You were being recruited.
>shit
>By the end of the day you had fallen right into the trap, the commander got rather friendly with you, you helped him install the new parts, he treated you to a light drink, and then not so subtly suggested you send in an application for a transfer to his unit.
>And you fucking did.
>What the hell was wrong with you?
>At least you actually fit in with the guys in the rumbler unit when you got there.
>And although your first steps were shaky, you took to the auger system like a natural.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>Before your dream recounted more of your history, it ended, and you started turning into the waking world, your slow thoughts warming up to your present situation, likely surrounded by fem anthros and rendered helpless by your injuries.
>Likely to wake up to a blur of fur dye and pent up sexual energy violating you.
>Likely to be passed around like an object around the whole regiment.
>Likely to die of exhaustion as they pushed you further and further.
>Of all the anthro centered gossip you heard flitting about the motorpool and the mech park, one subject stuck out a lot more above the others, animal girls thought of human dick as some sort of holy grail.
>Normally it seemed like half joking trash talk against the males, species A has a case of micropenis, species B are natural bottoms and their women aren't satisfied, species C has barbs on their johnson, species D has the stamina of an 80 lb. asthmatic... etc. etc.
>It all appeared to be the typical on base fun and games bored soldiers get up to.
>You even remembered Dylan, a 5'8" coyote joking along and laughing at all the little quips... until canids came up.
>It was at this point Dylan stated religiously defending 'the knot' like his life depended on it.
>You felt for the poor mutt, in a fit of retardation he had stepped right into the trap laid out for him in plain view.
>He and the other mechanics traded verbal blows, the pro human camp determined to dismantle whatever points the coyote bought up.
>Eventually he made long, impassioned points about how yes, while the female would be effectively stuck against the male after the... release, such long, unbroken intimacy was something to be dreamed about.
>It actually seemed to be making a few mechanics reconsider as they mulled it over.
>Until you stepped in with an anecdotal sledgehammer
>You raised the point that if the poor femdog wanted to rest or do something other than hold the very definition of a long, awkward, forced conversation, it would only stoke ire between the two. And any male with a knot would have to be above and beyond in holding attention and conversation.
>You slammed the point home that with Dylan's propensity to stutter and trip over his words when talks dragged on too long, with the hours they could be anchored together, it would dissolve into an awkward mess that would only harm the relationship.
>The human mechanics nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
>Dylan then sulked in the corner in defeat the rest of the night.
>But fuck Dylan, he had stolen your gun while you were sleeping one night, and raced around the base cracking off jokes and lies surrounding the very personal engravings along its silvery surface.
-engravings offer no tactical advantage watso-
>no brain, were not doing that
>Since you couldn't beat his ass senseless due to those pesky things called rules, you settled for undermining his sexual confidence instead, in lieu of a more physical payback.

>With all of this anecdotal evidence and wild rumors flying around your dome, your fear addled mind could only assume the worst.
>Which is why as you slowly creeped your eyes open, you were pleasantly surprised.
>You were face up in a plush bed, warm covers lay across you, you felt well rested, pleasantly dulled, and all of your wounds had been thoroughly seen too.
>You looked around, seeing a solid roof over your head, and large windows along the far wall, a hospital.
>And only one anthro in site.
>What you assumed was a wolf, having quiet conversation with a clustering of officers on the far side of the hall.
>You smiled contentedly as you watched the sky through the window.
>You passed that smile along to a nearby nurse.
>Who, taking notice, strode over to the officers and politely interrupted their conversation, and as one they all turned to you.
>Your smile was gone now.
"why me?"
>Softly dropping your head into the pillow, you listened with growing dread as the tapping of dress shoes slowly plodded up to the foot of your bed.
>Deciding wisely not to be an irreproachable ass to the people that could make your life a living hell as soon as you could walk straight, you sat yourself up against the pillows and took them in.
>Two of the officers you recognized, the first was Colonel Murrow, the immediate superior of your unit commander, and the man in command of the 512th Armored Fusiliers, your battalion.
>The second was a short, rounder man, advanced in his age, which you recognized as the local base commander.
>Four others stood with them.
>One was a short, blonde woman with a pixy cut, flanked by two abnormally tall men with short raven black hair, all of them wore slate grey greatcoats which you didn't recognize. The ensemble was complete with peaked caps.
>You wondered briefly if the wonder trio was trying on purpose to look like off brand nazis.
>The last was the wolf you saw before, still in field uniform and wearing the bars of a 2nd lieutenant, you could hazard a guess where she came from. 
>Her fur was a dull charcoal, and her off white mane teased into a regal looking fluff that clung around her head, neck, and upper chest.
>At least it would be regal if she bothered fucking brushing it.
>Forcing a chipper edge to your voice and a very slight smile, you spoke before the questions could start.
"Mornin sirs!"

>"It's three in the evening." One of the lanky fascists spoke in an inflection so flat HAL 9000 would be proud.
>You immediately decided you didn't like the robot, or its twin.
"Pardon my ignorance sirs, I came down with a minor coma." 
>You were on painkillers and morphine, you could get away with letting a bit of your natural charm edge in.
>The tinman opened his mouth to remark again but you cut him off.
"So... What are ya here for sirs? I never get so many visitors at once."
>"Yes, lets cut to the chase shall we?" said Murrow with a heavy sigh, thank fuck he was in your corner. You hated talking to the robot.
>Murrow turned to you. "Look kid, this is about reassignment, we got chopped up bad out there, your unit especially."
"How many others made it out?"
>Murrow only looked down, shoulders sinking as he sighed.
>You dropped the facade of a doped up smile. He wasn't saying what you think he was saying, he had to be overplaying it right?
"Sir... How many?"
>He shook his head solemnly.
>Your heart was twisting, and your expression soured further.
>It may have sent you into a heap of tears if the revelation hit you in a quieter moment, but right now you were mad.
>Mad at the bugs
>Mad at the world
>Mad at these fucking analysts staring at you like a data point on a board
>Mad at that fucking wolf that kept eyeing you from the back like you were either a toy or a piece of meat
>Mad at yourself for failing
>The woman spoke.
>"The 512th is in pitiable shape, over seventy percent casualties, we were not expecting a counter offensive on such a scale."
>"...Due to this, survivors of the 512th are being folded into other mechanical divisions, yet command saw fit to try something different with you given a relative inexperience with standard mech operational procedure."
>Translation: were sorry for your loss, someone fucked up but we wont punish them, fuck you and your feelings, everyone is being split apart and sent back to the front, your a fuckup with little experience and no shiny things on your jacket so you can go to hell and be some analysts' guinea pig.
>"To that end, you are to be officially attached to the 606th infantry battalion, B company, 2nd platoon." She concluded with a prim and professional smile, as fake as the congratulating tone of her voice.
>you threw your head back into the pillows with a groan.
>You considered running her out of the room with a screaming match but the painkillers were wearing off and half your body started protesting any movement with a dull ache.

>You were about to raise protest but luckily Colonel Murrow did it for you.
>"You want to waste one of my pilots on an infantry outfit?" he asked, incredulous.
>You were certain you weren't one of his pilots anymore
>You weren't sure if you even wanted to be.
>"Oh no it is not a waste, We are interested in seeing how independent mech operators will fair operating in close support of, and cooperation with, infantry."
>"So this is some hackneyed field trial? why not get a more experienced pilot?"
>"Experienced pilots are only open to operating with other mechs or armored elements, its rare to see them acting in such direct support of infantry, unlike our friend here." she said with a gesture towards you.
>No good deed unpunished.
>"Thanks for that by the way. Really saved my tail!" The she-wolf spoke up.
>'my tail', did she even consider the men. er. women underneath her?
>She flashed a toothy grin while staring right at you with dull silver eyes. 
>With the rest of her coloration, it it weren't for the yellow trim on her uniform, you would swear she looked like a faded monochrome photo.
>You locked eyes with her and stared her down as you scowled, remembering most wolf anthros didn't appreciate extended eye contact from those they weren't familiar with.
>You weren't sure if the almost imperceptible sting around your eyes was from your anger or exhaustion.
>Her cocky grin faded and she broke eye contact first after a few tense seconds.
>Big mistake, she had shown weakness.
>The woman turned to face you again, clasping her hands and smiling gently.
>You could feel it coming but you sincerely hoped maybe your suspicions were wrong.
>"And this is 2nd lieutenant Vilka, Once your transfer papers are in order you'll be taking direction from her" The woman seemed to chirp as she gestured to the wolf. You were really starting to hate that forced optimism.
>Your soon to be direct superior was a literal bitch.
>She also seemed to be fresh out of officer school, uniform two sizes too big, lacking sense of hygiene, slouching like she was overworked, overeager, you could practically taste rookie officer in the air.
>Rookie officers tended to get men killed.
>Men like you.
>"Any Questions?"
>You were about to ask where you could file your section-8 but the wolfess spoke first.
>"Just to clarify with the master sergeant here, he's only taking orders from me correct?"
>"Yes, as platoon leader you are the one responsible for delivering directives to maximize unit co-efficiency in the field, unless you are incapacitated or otherwise unable to assume command, at that point the master sergeant and his rumbler will fall under normal unit cohesion."
>A thin smile had dawned on her muzzle and you swore you could see her bushy tail wagging slowly, she turned to you with a thoughtful look and then stared out the windows.
>You don't have a good feeling about this.

>The rest of the officer's hemming and hawing went by without much input or attention from you, you were busy thinking and lamenting the impossibility of your position.
>It sounded like you were handpicked by multiple interested parties to be the star of the show for this little experiment, backing out would ruin you.
>Your dad, even with his factory job, wouldn't be able to take care of the house without your paycheck, signed by the same people that wanted to put your mech under the thumb of an infantry officer so green she might as well be an emerald.
>Said officer kept stealing curious glances at you, likely enamored with her new toy.
>Tough luck bitch, your mech was shot out from under you and left in bug territory, so you were just dead weight.
>At least until you recovered.
>Eventually you decided to just skip the pretense and picked up your old technical manual and flipped to the section on the auger system, giving yourself a refresher course over what bound man and machine.
>You couldn't just ask a pack of officers, however politely, to fuck off and leave you to your angry sulking.
>The passive aggressive hinting got across in time and they broke off the conference, the wonder trio stamping off with the base commander.
>Murrow passed you a look of sympathy and then quietly shuffled out.
>Thanks a lot asshole, if you really were sorry you would have kept the battalion together.
>The she-wolf stuck around for a little while longer, evidently attempting at small talk, and then finally taking the hint and leaving when you refused to give more than one word answers or look at anything but your encyclopedia of mech knowledge.
>Somehow she managed to get lost on her way out the door.
>goddamn butterbars.
>At least that little reminder of normalcy made you feel just the slightest bit better.
>But still, it stung.

>The nurse eventually came around again and let you know the extent of your injuries.
>2 broken ribs, 3 more fractured, Right leg compound fracture, left shoulder dislocated and fractured, numerous contusions and minor lacerations, a few first degree burns, and finally a major laceration on your left side, it was a miracle your intestines hadn't fallen out.
>So that WAS all of your blood.
>And to round off the pain parade, a concussion with a minor skull fracture on your left temple.
>She refreshed your painkillers and gave you a small ampule of morphine when she moved your gimped leg and you just about exploded.
>She then puttered off to attend to other patients.
>And left you alone.

>Confident that no one was paying attention to you anymore, you bought the manual closer to your head.
>And you started quietly sobbing, using the thick book to hide your tears from the other soldiers in the ward.
>Everyone you had gotten to know and get along with in the rumbler unit was gone now.
>The one that hurt most was Obie, you never expected to run into your childhood friend out here.
>And he.... he died in the landslide, your support vehicles caught up in the crush just the same as your mechs.
>The guys in the motorpool never treated you as anything but a coworker, and you did the same.
>now
>...
>You had nobody.
>You didn't care your cheeks were getting wet and salty.
>The bitter taste of your sorrow on your lips wouldn't snap you out of it.
>The crushing vice on your heart kept you there.
>Eventually the tears ran dry.
>Setting the manual down, you pressed yourself into the pillows and pulled the sheets up to surround you.
>Why won't this hurt just leave?
>You fell asleep as the sun set, wishing you could just quit and go home.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>It was far from a restful or long sleep, and you were staring at the ceiling again in no time, at least the sun had gone down and they turned off the lights.
>Laying there, thinking about nothing and feeling sad until you felt eyes on you.
>You tried to ignore the feeling, a passing nurse was likely just checking on everyone.
>It wasn't going away
>you thought with trepidation over who the hell it could be.
>You huffed softly as you moved to pick yourself up.
>Your brain had been running in circles with the 'anthros are pent up sexual monsters' angle all night.
-its that lieutenant for sure... you saw how she was eyeing you up-
-soon as you meet her eyes shes gonna jump you, your gonna get WOL-
>goddamnit brain, n-
>...
>those eyes
>You passed them off as a hallucination at first, you could scarcely believe such an intense, vivacious shade of blue existed.
>Despite everything there they were, striking you to your core, glimmering softly in the dim light like perfectly cut sapphires.
>You stared, losing a sense of time, you stared despite something telling you that maybe you shouldn't.
>You stared, because last you saw those eyes, you thought they were perfection descended from heaven.

>"um.... hey."
>....
>shit. what the fuck could you say? 'thanks for saving me, your eyes are hypnotizing, please don't leave'?
>You finally managed to pull your gaze away from the blue, you would swear those things were magnetic the way they just seemed to draw your attention.
>You settled for simple.
"hi."
>Don't want to scare off your guardian angel with your raging angst.
>A warmth flushed into your face.
>Shit, were you... blushing??
>Something lessened the grip in your chest and you felt your heart rattling its cage.
>She was just some trooper that pulled you out of a rough spot, why was your throat tying itself up in a bow?
>...A trooper with the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen...
>GODDAMNIT
>STOP TRIPPING OVER YOURSELF AND SAY SOMETHING
>You coughed lightly.
"so.. you were the one that pulled me out of my wreck... right?"
>She nodded.
>Catching the faint whispers of a silhouette as your eyes adjust to the dark, you saw a muzzle, and a pair of tall ears as she moved. 
>Some sort of canine.
>You thought over how long she was just going to stand over you, examining, but before your runaway mind could make any nasty conclusions she spoke again.
>"look.. this might be a little weird but just trust me. ok?"
>Wait what
>The securing warmth of your covers dissipated as she pulled them off you.
>And you suddenly realized even with half your body covered in gauze, bandages and casts you were a bit exposed. Only wearing your under uniform, functionally just grey boxers with a grey and black tanktop.
>She leaned over and forced her Arms behind your knees and upper back, and hoisted you up in a carry.
>your sensitive nerves and eyes couldn't help getting a sense of her as she did this
>Her arms were covered in a short, dense fur that was smooth and silky, and powerful muscles coiled just underneath.
>Holy hell she was strong, like a rock covered in a goose down comforter.
>She was amazingly delicate as she lifted you off your bed, only illiciting a soft groan from you.
>Her ear flicked at attention and she pulled you close in towards her middle as she rose.
>You were further off the ground than you thought you'd be, evidently she was tall too.
>Those sapphire eyes reassured you that she meant no harm.
>Otherwise you might be freaking the fuck out.
>Still this was more than just a bit forward, and your brain was running around screaming that you were being dragged off for snu snu.
"Ooookay, where are we going? why are you holding me? and why are you touching me?"

>"Outside. You can't walk. And I wanted to repay you personally for saving me."
>The faintest trace of a smile glinted on her muzzle.
>You tensed up over the thought of being thanked, outside, personally~, while out of earshot of the hospital staff.
>"Don't worry, it's not a sex thing."
>Her smile shied away slightly.
>Did she just read your fucking mind or something?
>You had exited the ward and continued along the dim hallways.
>It would be more creepy if you didn't have this tower of a woman carrying you.
>You looked up and caught her eyes again, despite the darkness they still seemed to shine with light.
>"Heh, believe me, if I wanted to ravage you i could think of a lot better ways to do it."
>The chorus to A Flock Of Seagulls' I Ran (So Far Away) started echoing in the back of your head.
>not cool brain
>not cool
>You tensed again, uneasy about where this was going.
>Your eyes refused to adjust any further to the shade on this moonless night, but as you passed a window you thought you caught a glance of her ears wilting.
>Everything about her was throwing you through a loop, was she trying to keep you on edge, or perhaps she honestly didn't have a handle on how to talk to you yet?

<her>
>'Ravage you'... did you really just fucking say that?
>What the fuck is wrong with you?
>He tensed in your grip again, and your ears wilted.
>You were just trying to do something nice for the poor guy and here you were low key threatening him with a subtext that smelled of rape.
>At least he didn't raise too much protest when you picked him up.
>And he seemed hesitant, but willing to go along with you for now.
>You think it had something to do with your eyes, when you found him, dangling in his mech and half dead, he had locked eyes with you until he fell unconscious.
>And again he stared right into you for an uncomfortably long time when you met each other's gazes.
>He was hard to read, immobile ears, no tail.
>But you could feel the tension in his injured form.
>His face smelled faintly of salt and wetness, the smell clinging to his nearly naked skin, you could tell he had been crying.
>Your heart sank as you remembered your debriefing, his entire unit wiped out, his battalion broken up and soon to be folded into other units.
>He needed someone right now, someone to at least keep him occupied so he wouldn't think on his loss too much.
>He shivered, and you almost stopped to think about bringing him back to the ward and getting his blankets.
>Yet a familiar tinge of scent hit your nose as you inhaled.
>He was scared.
>For fucks sake say something you dumb bitch.
>Fix this!
"Look, uh, sorry about the... sex quips. Just not used to humans ya know?"
>He grunted uncertainly, some of the tension receding, but he still felt like a coiled spring in your arms.
>The last thing you needed was for him to get flighty and hurt himself while trying to move, that would go on a report for sure.
>Then your damn sergeant would sit you down and have another lecture about 'temper' and 'control' and 'ego' and 'not striking a superior officer even though she has more fur than brains'.
>That last point was definitely you, but the rest of it could easily apply to Vilka.
>She was the one that needed the talk, not you.
>As you made your way towards the rear balcony another smell hit your nose, the fresh scent of water, with a touch of salt.
>Dammit, now look what you did.
>You had left him to his own thoughts too long, and the tears were about to start again.
>You looked down past your shoulder, and met his eyes again. They were wet, and glistened as you passed another window.
>You took a quick breath, and cooed softly.
"Hey"
>It seemed to work, he stopped mid breath and seemed to still, you were quickly learning humans, or at least this one in particular, liked eye contact.
>Your instincts in the back of your head didn't agree with you, the primal bits in your head still quietly asserting there was some contest of dominance between you two as your eyes met.
>But you bit them back, for his sake.
>He was teetering on a precarious edge that led down a very long slope.
>You had seen this before, too much time alone and he could spiral straight down.
>Down low enough to consider...
>Taking his own life.
>The thought made the fur on your neck stand on end.
>You had to gently pull him away from that edge, you had helped him before, you would do it again, no one else would.
>Couldn't have your knight in shining armor offing himself could you?
>Well he wasn't a knight, and the shining armor was pitted, burned, and drenched in grease but the point still stood.
>He had saved your ass, and everyone else in the platoon, you owed him this much.

>Really every conniption you had about the shiny, chivalrous mech pilots was shattered today.
>You peeled open that hatch expecting some unflappable 8 foot tall tiger to give you a thumbs up and a bow.
>Not someone just as young, scared, and confused as you.
>Which is why you spoke with sincerity.
"I'm sorry about how I'm handling this, you must be pretty nervous, but... well, I couldn't just let you mope around and spiral into sadness. What you need right now is some fresh air. Someone to talk too, being by yourself while in the pits is rough. I know. So... I decided to be here for ya!"
>His tension seemed to slowly melt as you rounded a corner leading out to the balcony.
>You drew your lips in a closed smile, feeling a little easier, you could do this, just be careful with where the conversation goes.
>You pushed open the checkered door leading out into the open balcony.
>It was still early in the night, and the air was pleasantly cool, the warmth from the day not sapped away yet.
>There was no moon tonight, and nothing but an endless band of stars hung in the dark.
>You set him down on one of the loungechairs, he made even less of a groan than he did when you picked him up.
>Fuck Vilka, you had a subtle touch when you needed it.
>You leaned back into the other loungechair, it wasn't quite fashioned to handle your size, and it creaked a bit under your weight.
>You silently worried about it folding under you, you at least hoped if it did snap in two he would find it amusing.
>You looked over towards him, he seemed to be trying to avoid your eyes, likely thinking back at how awkward he must have looked staring at you like an expectant pup.
>But you caught his gaze again and he seemed subtly entranced, his favorite color MUST be blue.
>You held an expectant look and a slight smirk, edging him into saying something and projecting an air of confidence to help him along.
>While waiting you took him in through your peripheral vision.
>While definitely shorter than you, he really fit the description you had in your head of a dude that struggled sweatily against a full body armature all day
>A body built for endurance and strength rather than showing off, smooth and powerful, rather than bulging and brash.
>You hated so called body builders. building every tiny tendon into a veiny balloon. Bloating themselves up to the point of uselessness where they couldn't even scratch their back without pulling something. They weren't even all that strong, not really when compared to actual power lifters.
>It made you feel a bit squicky about your own physique, self conscious because you didn't fit within that narrowed definition of a strong woman.
>But him intaking breath to say something snapped you back to attention.
>"... thanks."
>You had to swallow down a happy whine that almost materialized in your throat.
>No crying, no mention of dead parents or what not, no moaning over what he lost, he was thanking you.
>You must be some kinda wizard.
>And to think Vilka and the sergeant kept saying you didn't know your way around people, fuck em'.

<him>
>You thanked her for what she was doing for you, going out of her way like this was something else.
>She was something else, and you had to bite back a bit on the fluttering your heart was doing, but there was no way you could suppress your blush, something in her eyes was just magical every time you stared at them.
>You managed to pull your eyes out of those deep pools again, you must look like a creep staring at her so much.
>You also heard a faint noise that she caught in the back of her throat, that seemed to rise after you thanked her.
>She must be talking to you like this to keep your spirits up, maybe she had seen someone in your position before, she seemed happy her method was working.
>She was right about fresh air, you didn't realize how stuffy the hospital was, the cool air nipped at your bare arms a bit, but you were warm enough for now. And something about the slight cold lifted a weight off you.
>Your eyes still refused to open up more, the doc must have given you something to keep your pupils from dilating too far, did you little good to see in the dark.
>It was slightly brighter outside but the moon had refused to show up, so you were still in the dark as to what exactly your mysterious canine looked like.
>So far you knew she was tall, strong, and had shorter fur, at least on her arms. Plus those enchanting blue eyes.
>You strained to glean more as she relaxed in the other chair.
>She moved a bit, and that you picked up on, she wasn't just tall, she was large too, and not in a bad way.
>You thanked whatever source there was for your fortune, after those two hawkish analysts, you didn't like lanky people.
>She had to be some larger variety of wolf, or maybe some XL dog breed, like a great dane or something.
>But she spoke up before your thoughts could run on too long.
>she was shepherding your wandering mind away from any dark places it may run into.
>The concern was genuine, and it warmed you.
>"Your not all alone right? ya gotta have someone out there that worries over ya."
>Your thoughts immediately went to your father, you barely even considered him in your depression other than without you he wouldn't be able to keep his own home.
>And here you were moping so hard that suicide may not have been as far away as you thought it was.
>Dad would be absolutely devastated if he lost his boy.
>Guilt practically punched you in the gut, but better to feel guilty than suicidal.
"My dad, he cares so much for me, He can't even keep the house afloat without my paycheck to help him along."
>You didn't question why you were sharing something so personal with her, she was trying to help, and thinking about your pops, you wanted that help.
>"Well, thats just one reason to keep forward. He wouldn't be pleased if you gave up on him right?"
"Right."
>"I know its not easy but, every time you think your in the dark, you just gotta tough out a bit, your in a tunnel sure, but that could be a corner just up ahead, and when your round it. Theres the light you were looking for."
>She had a beaming smile, you could see the starlight glinting off her teeth.
>You couldn't help but spread a thin smile of your own.
>"Your being assigned to our platoon soon, it won't be easy, but I'll help you whenever I can."
>You were really feeling better now.
"Thanks, that means a lot."
>Okay you definitely heard something that time. A short, light whine, that reminded you of your dog when you came home from school.
>And that just made you smile.
"You really that happy to get my thanks?"
>"er."
>You caught a flick of movement, her ears bounced low and she looked away from you, with what little body language you could pick up on she seemed sheepish.
>That's just fucking cute.

>"Guess the secret's out then huh? ... I guess I'm just happy the man that saved my life is thanking ME for something."
"Hey you saved my life too."
>She caught another whine before it could escape her lips but you still heard that slight peep from her throat.
>"That I did, but you saved more people than I did, people I know, so I owe you something right?"
"I wouldn't think of it like that."
>"Okay, stop mixing up my mental image of mech pilots."
"Sorry?"
>"When I first joined I thought of mech jocks as knights stomping around in giant suits of armor ya know?"
>"Then I met you and you seemed so scared and tired when I popped open that hatch, which really bought around my view of things."
>"But now here you are making me go right back to the knights in shining armor trope."
>Now it was your turn to be flustered.
>Hell you didn't think you could blush harder but you did.
"I uh, I'm not really the selfless noble type."
>"You sure about that, sir Lancelot?"
>HOLY SHIT. STOP
>You were worried about getting cold out here but you seemed to be getting even warmer than you did inside.
>Your face flushed with the licking flames of embarrassment, her praise conveyed as so genuine.
>You couldn't stop it, it jumped in your chest and crawled out your throat, a short demure giggle.
>Your dad would have a fucking field day if he saw you like this.
>As you looked back you could see more motion, that has to be her tail wagging, and it was only making you feel warmer.
>"You came out of nowhere and even with your armor all busted up you stuck to our rear guard, only a real 'selfless noble type' would do that. You really care about people, I can tell."
"Oh really now?"
>"Who else would let a big bad anthro take them out of their bed for a talk when they were so vulnerable?"
>the starlight glinted off a wide smile, her deep blue eyes warmed with joy.
>HNNNNNNNG

>You wanted to hide in a ball, you were redder than a dying star and you were certain she could SMELL your embarrassment.
>How the hell was she doing this to you?
>And to think you teased Dylan about tripping over his words.
>You weren't even tripping, just sliding along the floor, scrambling into walls.
>And she seemed all the happier for it, which just made the problem worse.
>"Now then, I know for sure lieutenant Vilka isn't going to make it easy for you to integrate alongside the troop, but you can ask me anything, and I mean anything and I'll be there for ya."
>"I've been in that troop for longer than most of the 'veterans' and I can help with anything you need to know to make things go smoother."
"Really, even though your still a corporal?"
>Her smile seemed to fade a bit at that and she cocked one of her ears, but she seemed to take it in stride.
>"Humph, yeah, I've gotten passed over for a loooong overdue promotion more than a couple times, even had two privates under me shot over my head without so much as a recommendation from me."
>"At first i just assumed Bureaucratic incompetence, but soon it just became inexcusable."
>"I've complained to the major, and even the colonel about it, repeatedly, but they won't give me the time of day."
>"Keep telling me that I have a temper problem or use some ancient disciplinary action as some half-assed excuse to keep me down."
>"That bitch Vilka is in on it too I swear, she takes every opportunity to yank my tail. Just because she knows in her fuzzy head that I would make a better lieutenant than her anyday, I wouldn't even get lost like she does."
>She finished with a pouting huff, you noticed she growled slightly whenever she mentioned Vilka, she must have really been peeved by her, and so were you.
>The way that wolf looked at you earlier in the day you felt like an object or a test subject, but your friend seemed to treat you with such a refreshing, genuine kindness.
>You had to repay her for this, and get her name too.
"Look you may not be able to due much but maybe I can, after all as the center of attention, maybe I can make some waves."
>Immediately she snapped to you, ears up and eyes wide, you caught her tail wagging furiously, and... was she panting?
>"Really!? You Would Do That?!?!"
"Sure, after all I made a hell of a friend tonight."
>"YES!!"
>She pumped her fist, tail whirling even faster, you could hear it.
>She then looked a bit taken aback as she sheepishly calmed herself.
>"... sorry. heh."
>You took the opportunity, as much as it discomforted you.
>You reached your right hand out in introduction, being careful not to twist too far or move your leg.
"Tom, Tom McWhicky"
>She looked at you thoughtfully, and then stuck out her own, clawed, hand. Clasping yours, you weren't even nervous about the claws.
>"Teth'ra, Teth'ra Magual"
>She had a strong shake and smiled fully, you returned the favor.
>Hell, your initials matched, maybe even your middle names.
>Fate seemed to work in strange ways.
>"Oughta get you back to bed so you can be ready, right?"
>You couldn't argue with that, you needed to get your rest.
"Sure, take me home squire!"
>"Alright, alright, don't make me drop you."
>The ride back to your ward was quiet, you barely felt much aching when she scooped you out of the chair.
>You wondered if it was practice or if she really was just that attentive.
>Maybe her sharpened senses had something to do with it.
>She deposited you so gently in your bed you barely recognized she had put you down until you sank into the mattress and she roughly threw your sheets back over you.
>You lay there for a few minutes, just feeling happy, than sleep seemed to rush over you as you drifted into it, still wearing a slight smile.
>She really did throw you through a loop.

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<Teth'ra>
>You listened just around the corner to his ward with an ear tuned against the wall, you heard little, and eventually nothing, he had settled into his sleep without incident.
>A wave of relief washed over you, dragging a heavy breath out of your lungs.
>You did it.
>The others couldn't be more wrong about you.
>You strode the halls of the hospital, returning to the base proper.
>Wearing an idiot's grin the whole way.

[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]



'You'll find boredom where there is the absence of a good idea'

-Earl Nightingale

>In the absence of the enemy, boredom is the soldier's greatest enemy. He must keep himself occupied, for if he has nothing, he will be told how to keep occupied, and it will inevitably be less pleasant than his own choice. Left to boredom too long, a soldier may become destructive, to others, or himself.



Chapter 2: Recovery

>That first night you slept so soundly your internal clock hadn't even saw fit to wake you up for morning PT.
>You were feeling much better and your aches didn't seem to protest quite as intently.
>You were going over old facts in your technical manual, mostly concerning power curves and tuning.
>You were convinced you would be receiving a factory fresh rumbler, that meant adjustments, lots and lots of adjustments.
>The armature was designed to be fitted as closely as possible to the pilot, it had dozens upon dozens of adjustable bars, dials, and settings.
>Adjusting one took a lot of time and careful manipulation for that perfect fit, which is why the pilot did it himself.
>The quickest way to piss off even the most veteran pilot was fucking with his auger, that was a line you just don't cross.
>Eventually you set the manual down, wishing for new reading material.
>Teth'ra stopped by at this point.
>At first you weren't even sure it was her.
>She strode in at a massive height and you wanted to hide yourself in your manual.
>But those blue eyes cored you as always and you didn't reach for it.
>She came and pulled up a seat after giving a curt wave.
>You were thankful that she wasn't just standing over you this time, because she was GIANT.
>Easily she stood at least 7 feet tall, maybe higher, especially factoring in the ears.
>Now that your eyes actually worked and it was light out you could get a good look at her.
>She had a long, thin muzzle, with very tall, distinctly pointed ears, all adorned in a short dusky grey fur.
>She looked like something that stepped off an ancient egyptian mural.
>Once again, Teth'ra surprised you, she wasn't a wolf or a dog at all, she was a jackal.
>Her fur carried a distinct shine to it, healthy and well cared for, she even had some other coloration.
>Distinct markings of dusty gold.
>A thin stripe on her chin, points on the tips of her ears, and even a loose band just below her neck that seemed to hang off her shoulders.
>You asked if it was Fur dye.
>She seemed dejected and then barked that it was natural, and appended her point by presenting you with her right wrist.
>Another loose band of golden fur hung loosely at her wrist, really the only thin parts of her arms.
>"Go ahead, feel."
>The fur parted softly as you smoothed your fingers up her arm, the gold feeling no different from the grey.
>Running your fingers up her forearm further, feeling the soft give of relaxed muscle that quickly became too dense to push into.
>The wide profile of her arms was most certainly muscle.
>"See? No slickness or weight from chemicals or dyes, all natural."
"Sure, I'm not exactly an expert on the topic so how do I know your not lying?"
>She gave a curious twist of her features and smirked again.
>"Smartass."
>She informed you she had more bands, one on the other wrist and two more on her ankles, then she pressed in on talking, mostly her getting a sense of how you were faring interspersed with complaints about duty shifts.
>She would have come sooner to her valiant sir McWhicky if she wasn't caught up being told what to do.
>She looked at you expectantly, likely expecting to send you toppling over yourself in another fit of embarrassment.
>You informed her that last night your nerves were up something fierce and you normally weren't that much of a pussy.
>She cocked an ear, looking defeated, but seemed to brighten with a slight smirk.
>"Fine then, I'll just have to find another way under your armor~"
>The smirk had grown.
>That smile did not make you feel easy.
"I thought you said it wasn't a sex thing?"
>You said this more to reassure yourself than anything else.
>But rather than admit her hypocrisy she pressed on
>"Well.. Your not an expert on the subject, so how could you know I wasn't lying?"
>Oh she's good

>But you fought dirty to preserve your dignity in front of the others in the ward.
>You changed the topic to a subject you were sure would throw her off of attempting to smash through your mental defenses and render you a bright red giggling mess again.
>You had to have this talk sooner or later.
"So. What flavor of incompetence should I expect out of Vilka?"
>That did it, a rumble flowed off her chest and her ears lowered as she looked towards the wall.
>oh shit
>You looked away from her, twiddling your thumbs and hoping you hadn't set her off too badly. Trying to ignore that feeling that you were about to catch claws to the temple.
>She sighed heavily, deflating as she sat.
>You dared to look back, she continued gazing at the wall.
>Her body language was foreign, but she seemed, not angry, just... tired.
>She looked back to you. "I... I'm sorry... It's just. She pushes me so far sometimes."
>Her shoulders slump.
>"I try so hard but, she just won't stop riding my ass about everything. I'm getting to the end of my rope again."
"Again?"
>...
>She huffs wearily, staring at the wall.
"Teth'ra"
>She says nothing, ears held low.
>Okay enough, you can't have the both of you being depressed.
>You know that she has a gentle streak, especially concerning you.
>She won't hurt you, even if she doesn't accept what your about to do.
>Stop panicking brain.
>You reach out with your left hand and delicately cup her chin with your fingers.
>She doesn't shy away from the touch.
>You tilt her head up towards you, she still refuses to look at you.
>You start gently rubbing your thumb and index back and forth, you catch her gaze as her ears raise slightly.
"Teth'ra"
>...
>She gives a half sigh, half whine as she gently moves your hand away.
>...
>"Vilka... has some... issues, with pressing her authority."
>"I don't think she acknowledges my limits. She just thinks I'm the toughest bitch in the outfit."
>"... Everyone does..."
>She looked to you pleadingly, you gave a small nod to hear her out.
>She needs to get this off her chest.
>Her very.. bountiful chest
>WAVE OFF
>NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT
>"I've tried so much to get her to back off, even complained to the higher ups."
>"But they never gave me the same stock they give to that prissy bitch."
>"Eventually she... she pushed me too far. And I laid claws on her, even drew blood."
>"She backed off after that, but after a while she seemed to think about reasserting her authority."
>"So she got back on my case, with a grudge this time."
>...
"So she has control issues and a petty streak, anything else I should lie awake worrying over?"
>That strategic tug at her sympathy seems to have worked, her ears raise and her eyes dance back over you.
>"Well. She has been pestering me about you... a lot, so beware that her attention seems to be squarely on you."
>A thought occurs to you.
"You don't think she know about t-"
>"-The balcony? No." She lowers her voice to a husky whisper so as not to be overheard.
>"All she knows is that I came by that night and got something out of you." She added a laugh as she realized what she said.
"You don't think she's jealous do you?"
>Teth'ra seems to freeze and star off into nothing for a second.
>Motion draws your eyes down.
>If Vilka's uniform was two sizes too large, Teth'ra's unzipped jacket is two sizes too small.
>Damn those things are big.
>You guessed that estimating the cup sizes would be a complete waste of time as those puppies seemed so large it didn't really matter.
>Evidently her white undershirt agreed, the thing so stretched out and abused it made no effort to contain the monsters.
>Leaving it to what must be a bra woven out of kevlar since it hadn't snapped yet.
>You wondered how heavy they were, how they moved, how they would fe-
>MISSION CONTROL WAVE OFF
>EYES ON THE OBJECTIVE
>Teth'ra erupted into a loud, boisterous laughter that startled you, hell it seemed to startle the whole ward.
>Eventually she settled into a low chuckle as you tried to figure out what was so funny.
>She smiled widely "Vilka, jealous. *snrk* Can you imagine her tripping over herself for the smoothskin? Ha ha heeeh"
>The weight on your chest pulled off, relieved that she was out of her slump.
>Wait 'smoothskin'? was that some kind of slur?
>Eh, she must have just thought of the first thing to come to mind, best just forget about it.
>She wears a pleased expression as she fusses with her jacket.
>"Well I'd stay around longer but i got work to do, motorpool. Grease monkeys don't know how to clean up."
"Oh hey, I actually used to work in the motorpool before I joined in with the pilots."
>She turns as she stands with a thoughtful look.
>"Weird, I never saw you there."
"As one of the biggest guys there, I was mostly out running parts during my shifts, that's probably why you never got me."
>Your wondering how differently you would feel about her if you met in less extraneous circumstances, especially considering her size.
>"humph, all I got was some mouthy little coyote jagoff, I could smell how desperate he was for me."
>"Then one day he fell over himself and just kinda... stopped."
>Now you chuckled.
>"what?"
"I think that had something to do with me, one night we were having a debate over some wild rumor that anthro women thought that humans were best in bed, and the little mutt stumbles right into an argument about canine knots, I told him with how long that he would be... erm, coupled, that with his tendency to trip over words he would just fuck everything up."
>She gave you a smirk as her glittering blue jewels seemed lost in thought "Guess thats something else I might have to thank ya for. Later Tom."
>You slumped back in your bed, content that you weren't alone out here.
>mission accomplished

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<Teth'ra>
>You strode back out of the ward, letting your tail wag lazily behind you. His mood hadn't worsened while you were gone.
>You were even better at this than you thought you would be, despite a few hiccups here and there, You felt a flush of heat in your ears, fucking shameful.
>'smoothskin'
>To think you let that little slang for human penis edge into your conversation.
>Yet it did make you think.
>Vilka, lusting after human cock like a begging puppy.
>You fought back another gut punching incentive to laugh.
>And today you even let him rub your chin... delicately~
>The flush of heat coursing your ears only grew.
>God what's next you absolute degenerate? hand holding? petting? ear scratches?... belly rubs?
>Or maybe even something a little lower.
>It wouldn't be too hard to convince him, he trusted you, sure he wasn't unfit but you outmassed him by a significant margin, and he was injured.
>NO BAD
>You shook your head free of the sin edging into your quaint little story of rehabilitation.
>You were just having thoughts like that because he was a bit... exotic.
>Sure you had seen humans before but to be so close to one...
>Besides he was nice to talk too, such genuine concern over your problems.
>The chin thing too though.
>What else could he do with those hands?
>NO
>Sure your fast friendship was strange, but that was circumstance.
>He magnetized to you so readily because all of his friends were gone, plus the whole savior complex thing, in both directions.
>This murmur of attraction under your breast was just confused nerves talking.
>You were overworked and pent up, you had to distract yourself.
>You thought about something else, namely Vilka's insistent pestering.
>She seemed to be dejected when Tom refused to associate with her that first day after he woke up.
>Of course he refused to give her more than one word answers, because she was an idiot that believed that mask of amiability she wore would just skip over the fact that she was a fresh faced officer that pretty much forced him into a position he didn't want after his personal tragedy.
>She had made herself his enemy just by being in the room and pushing too hard, too soon.
>You smirked to yourself as you remember her pleading with sergeant Baker over how she could win his heart or some shit with the right approach.
>You don't mean to eavesdrop, its just those tall ears of yours pick up so much... you can't help it.
>Keep telling yourself that.
>But your smile dropped and your countenance hardened as you remembered what you overheard after you snuck back in to camp. Careful not to let anyone know where you had gone during your free time.
>Vilka happily psyching herself up to crack open Tom's hard shell and sooth his ills. Waxing eloquent of how she could fix his shattered soul, that dreamy sigh that capped it off about made you shatter your teeth.
>This petty fucking princess was not going to edge in on your territory.
>She would undoubtedly try to drive a wedge between you and Tom, and do more harm than good.
>She about pushed you to the breaking point, theres no way you could let her near him.
>You let out an angry huff and suppressed a growl building in your chest. If anyone was going to be Tom's sapient therapy dog it would be you goddamnit!
>Vilka could take her fuckups elsewhere, he was YOURS.
>...
>shit, were you really getting that possessive?
>You idly scratched your side.
>How long had it been since you... had relief.
>Thinking back you couldn't remember, and you felt just so pent up.
>Maaaaybe it would be best if you got your kinks worked out before Tom recovered enough to be mobile.
>He would be relying on you to help him get around before his legs worked completely.
>And with all that close contact~
>You thought about how gentle his fingers were, stroking through your fur, and how they would feel in your-
>Okay that settles it.
>You tried to ignore the mischievous glance from the chubby snow leopard at the front desk as you left. Sure, sure, you hung out with the human two nights in a row, so what?
>Then you set off on your evening PT run, taking you conveniently out of sight and downwind.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Tom>
>The week floated by in a vague cloud of painkillers, morphine sulfate, and conversation.
>Half the waking day you were out of it, after you were cheerily informed your treatment had been fast tracked, you had been going in for surgery every other day.
>The other half you were trying to ignore the odd ass feeling of your bones throbbing while reviewing for your inevitable tuning over every inch of a brand new rumbler.
>Interspersed were visits from Teth'ra, she seemed far more relaxed after her little slump over a problematic LT you both knew, but that could just be the drugs talking.
>Your conversations were frankly forgettable, between the pleasant morphine haze and the pedestrian topics you stuck to there were no real highlights, but the company and attention were the highlight of your days anyway.
>The concoction the doctors had been applying to the busted bits of your skeleton made you really damn hungry too.
>The other troopers in the ward cheerily held roundabout conversation during mealtimes, mostly reminiscing of their own experience with what everyone referred to as 'bone hurting juice' when they caught on as to how the doctors were treating you.
>Apparently it was some trick they learned from studying the bugs.
>Aliens are fuckin weird man.
>Goddamn you were high.
>The nurse came by with fresh morphine amps all the fucking time.
>How were you not addicted?
>The only other piece of cloud like memory you could actually get your mental hands around was a snickering Private that had been bunked up on your right.
>Was he snickering? maybe something was just fucky about his lungs, you don't know you were high.
>Regardless he relayed a number of stories to you about Teth'ra, and her temper.
>Even dulled by an industrial grade amount of painkillers your brain was keen to seize on the sense of danger.
>In between long bouts of laughing... no your pretty sure it was coughing now, He would spin tales of the jackal in her moments of weakness.
>She wasn't the angel you thought she was at first, but you figured that out pretty quick, she struck a CO (even if in your opinion said CO sounded too dense to even empathize) and she made mention that her record was spotted with troubles.
>The private had seemed convinced he was making you scared of your newfound friend.
>You had faced acid spitting bugs the size of fucking buildings, his little horror stories don't mean shit.
>Eventually the doses lessened and you started climbing down, the last night in the hospital was a little restless, the slightest tinges of withdrawal affecting your sleep, your dreams were strange and disjointed. flashes of light and dancing glints off of things that wore no shine, and a few disjointed memories tied into a loose chain.
>Eventually your dreams edged towards violence, and you saw it again, him, again.
>That bright sash of crimson, and your being flared in rage.
>But then you were rocketed out of your sleep by the sensation of being sat upright.
>You tensed, but elected not to scramble as your senses hadn't all returned to you.
>Bleary eyed, you looked and stared at the doctor who was kicking you out of your plush bed.
>At 6 in the goddamn morning
>Every good trooper uses recovery time to sleep in, being booted off of an actual mattress at a reasonable hour was just taunting.
>By the time you had been checked over, handed your pill bottle and a crutch, and then told to leave it was more like 10 in the morning.
>Wasting your fucking resources. 4 hours of sack time gone!
>And so you hobbled your way out, only to get stalled further in the lobby.
>You weren't sure why the hell the receptionist was asking so many questions about Teth'ra.
>What you were sure about was she stood at roughly your height, was kinda chunky, and very excitable.
>She was also covered in hair and very liberal about showing those meat carving teeth.
>And she was getting too damn close to your face, nose sniffing curiously.
>Making an excuse about elbow grease, you pinned your crutch under your right arm, and hobbled out a pace someone who was not you may have called excessive.
>But you were you, that snow leopard was freaking you out, and that hobble jog was perfectly reasonable.

>And so you found yourself out in the chill of the morning air, with nothing but your boots, cargo pants, under uniform, and your service jacket.
>And no fucking clue where you were going.
>You considered hobbling off to your cot but that was likely moved in the reorganization shuffle.
>Oh! Wait, your gun.
>You weren't lost and confused, you would just have to go to the supply office and get your stuff back.
>Even if it did mean dealing with Chen, the fucking rat.
>Well, he wasn't an actual rat, he may have actually been a pleasant sort if he was. Rats were surprisingly hygienic and social.
>Chen believed hygiene was something that happened to other people, and he spent most waking hours cooped up in a supply bunker.
>Things also went conveniently missing in his care, if he 'misplaced' your gun you would throttle him.
>He likely wouldn't be stupid enough to raise a scene over it, he knew not to fuck with you.
>Before you could continue reminiscing a snicker sounded behind you "Looking a little lost there pal."
>JAYSUUUuuuuus... oh, its just Teth'ra
>OH
>It's Teth'ra....
>Wearing her usual outfit, the too-small shortcut jacket thrown over a white undershirt with baggy camo cargopants and boots.
>Lazily leaning against a young maple and giving a content grin, she somehow seems even larger than she first did that night.
>She clasps her arms above her head as she stretches with a yawn, exaggerating the size difference even further.
>You would be lucky if you came up to her chest.
>A week straight on your back had dulled you to exactly how much larger she was.
>You glanced back as your nerves started buzzing, Her undershirt ridden up to expose her stomach, a rock solid core softened slightly by a layer of fat augmented by the fur.
>All of her hard edges seemed softened by it, evidently she quite happily built up just enough bodyfat to smooth out the impressions her muscles pressed into her flesh.
>You imagined it slightly hid just how dangerous she was, like a sock full of quarters.
>You cringed remembering your older cousin.
>He deserved that belt to the head, you gave no qualms about what uncle Barry had to say.
>But soon you head the soft thump of her raised boots lowering back into the ground, and you were in the present again, feeling heated.
>You tugged at the collar of your leather service jacket, it felt oddly restrictive right now.
>"So, where are we off to?" she asked flatly.
"Er.. su- supply office. Gotta. get my gun."
>You forced a sheepish grin, to play off your nerves as awkwardness.
>She liked awkward, you liked awkward, because awkward wouldn't make her mad.
>But maybe she would assume you were being awkward because you were staring at her tits, oh god.
>breath deep, calm... fuckin calm dammit.
>"Well, lets go. The walk will help me wake up."
>Why the hell would she be tired? it had been 5 hours since the usual time for wakeup call, you at least had been rolled out of bed earlier than usual and were coming down of off a clinical high.
>You opened up your jacket, the cool buffeting air would help you think, thinking was good, thinking kept you calm.
>You followed Teth'ra at a distance, trying not to make the divide obvious, she was your friend... right?
>She led the way naturally, her size seemed to subconsciously push away any obstructing troopers, people moved around her rather than past her, and didn't seem to give much thought to you.
>Something you were quietly thankful for, word had spread far by this point, one of the last of a broken regiment, survivor of a dead unit, you had a reputation now.
>A reputation you weren't eager to have anyone test.

>Teth'ra's ears hung slightly lowered, her thin, brushy tail seemed to bristle as it idly swayed in time with her step.
>Remembering how your old pooch would hold her ears and tail, you hoped that you were reading Teth'ra's correctly as impassive, rather than quiet annoyance over your behavior.
>"Hey... you doin okay back there? I can help you along if you need."
>The question caught you a bit off guard, you looked back up to find her wearing a faint trace of concern.
"No.. no, I'm fine."
>"... alright, just let me know if you need somethin."
>She sighed lightly and went back to looking forward, ears ever so slightly lower.
>Damn you felt awkward, she could probably SMELL how anxious you were.
>You remembered one of your biology lessons from class, predator-spliced anthros had noses keyed to pick up chemical and hormonal signals on others, mostly from their breath or sweat, detection of more primal signals, fear, anger, adrenaline, arousal came more easily than subtler queues for higher emotions.
>Oh God they can literally smell fear.
>This was not helping your nerves.
>And you were going to be working with an entire platoon of them.
>They would know your weakness anytime you were upwind.
>Likely some to be unconcerned with your space like that snow leopard.
>Your throat within easy reach of those teeth.
>Buried instincts stirring at the scent of fear.
>You shuddered.
>Inhale, count to four, exhale.
>...
>She's not one of the bad ones.
>She only wants to help.
>She won't hurt you.
>You were starting to believe it.
>That first night she broke through your guard and only offered kindness.
>The second time she confided in you and let you get close.
>You had to push yourself to accept her. Even with what she was.
>She had shown you nothing but care and concern, even if she had that... potential.
>You couldn't drive her off with your fear.
>Ok, maybe that private's stories got to you a bit.
>You would feel better when you had your stuff back.
>You continued hobbling along the lengthy trek across the base, well it felt long, between your slowed pace and your electric nerves.
>The two of you were passed by a troop marching the other direction, a large wolf lead them, bellowing a marching cadence as a mixed clustering of troopers, mostly humans, repeated the cadence in step.
>He flashed a toothy smile, light gleaming off his sharp canines as he passed, and continued bellowing, the drowning stamp of boots followed him off.
>...
>The glint of teeth
>...
>You shuddered again.
>Inhale, count to four, exhale.
>...
>She won't hurt you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>The trip to the supply bunker was surprisingly tame considering how Chen usually is.
>Of course he tried to deny knowledge and make a fuss when you questioned him as to where your gun went.
>He was already nervous just from Teth'ra being in the room, even leaning over the counter and with him 'safe' behind his blast proofed slab of glass (that still had a hole in it for that dip thing you push stuff through) she absolutely dwarfed him.
>The loud, uneven camber of your forceful limp just set him over the edge.
STAMP
TACK

STAMP
TACK

STAMP
TACK
>Teth'ra looked back to you and her eyes lit with understanding as she moved aside, God she might be as bad as you are.
>But there was business to be done, namely prying your kit out of the ratty bastard's greased palms.
>Of course Chen was trying not to seem like the sweaty pushover that he was, and attempted some gentle resistance to your questioning.
>You, on the other hand, were cranky and impatient from both the heat, and the smell.
>Locking Chen in a hotbox for hours a day was a recipe for bio-weapons.
>He saw your wisdom after you took Teth'ra's hand radio set and made a very pointed threat about having a conversation with a trio of officers from central who would be very keen to know why shit keeps disappearing.
>You congratulated yourself for figuring out who the wonder trio was, and also shrinked at not recognizing their uniforms immediately, you must have really been out of it.
>In short your threat was to expose the on base black market by screaming over the command channel until the right set of officers started shouting at you.
>Chen was cooperative after that.
>Mental note: being this evil gets shit done, do it more.
-this is why we can't have nice things-
>shut it brain
>He had your gun, and all your other stuff, equipment harness, radio set + head set, flak vest (shrapnel wounds are a bother, even if you hate the fucking thing), those nice leather gloves you like (hand triggers chafe something fierce), and your sensory goggles, those things are never supposed to leave your head.
>While he was rooting around in the back you also made him get Teth'ra a shortcut jacket, like the one she wore already, except the correct size. Your libido wasn't opposed to letting her walk around with only one layer, but she may be the only friendly face you have to count on, and if she was going to be working with you, those bloomers needed more concealment than those stressed out undershirts.
>Those things could be, massive, distractions.
>It also served as a peace offering 'sorry for being so fucking weird, please don't leave'
>You stepped out and started clicking on your gear, its bulk settled on you nicely.
>You looked overdressed but all the extra weight and protection eased your qualms, almost like a security blanket for adults.
>Besides you still needed to find where your footlocker ran off too.
>With a comforting snap, you settled the sensory goggles into that familiar furrow pressed into your hair, where they would stay.
>You took the goggles off while you were asleep sure, but if you went fucking anywhere you wore em, those damn things are expensive, loads of useful features built in too.
>Plus the goggles are a badge of honor that says 'yup, I'm a certified mech warrior.'
>'Mech warrior' wasn't the official nomenclature, but it caught on with the civvies, rather than calling everyone different names by the machines they drove, or just 'pilot'.
>Rumbler pilots, like you, were called jocks. Your machines were loud, aggressive, and headstrong. You suppose the moniker fit.
>Strider pilots were mockingly called dancers. Those machines were light, fast, and precise, with the strutting legs to boot.
>Thumper pilots were called boomers. Big guns, thick armor, and bigger explosions, even if they were slow on the uptake, what with all the extra weight.
>Then there were Leaper pilots, everyone called them rocks. They jumped like rocks, landed like rocks, and sat witheringly in enemy fire spraying auto cannon shells and missiles before jumping again, which was vaugely rock like.
>You never got Leaper pilots, they were an odd bunch.
>Then there were the walkers, and technically vertical tanks, like the Juggernaut.
>Walkers didn't exactly have dedicated pilots due to the gyro system, same with all vertical tanks, the larger models such as Juggernauts had dozens of crewmen, and were ran more like ships than a pilot and his machine, along with support crew and riders.
>You only had a sub-gunner to fret about, to sit at the gunnery station behind your armature and watch the screens, gunning down small targets with the assortment of MG and auto cannon posts scattered along the Rumbler's hull.
>A good sub-gunner could keep you from getting swarmed by small fry and augment your environmental awareness.
>Teth'ra joined you outside after you finished gearing up and mentally running lectures.
>Her new jacket looked like she wouldn't bust the zipper if she tried to cover up more.
>You found yourself thinking if she would be a good sub-gunner.

>She seemed like an attentive sort, attentive was perfect, fast reaction times, multi tasking, keen situational awareness, and an ability to track multiple targets at once.
>Those were the main points of a good gunner. The more you thought over it, the more it seemed like she may have a fighting chance to fit the bill.
>Course' anyone who took a crewman position in a machine like yours had to at least hold the rank of technical sergeant.
>That kind of promotion may not fly with Vilka, the way Teth'ra told it, the LT had a vendetta against her.
>Well, you guessed the bitch was your LT now too.
>But you were the new guy to the outfit, you could get away with disruptive moves like launching the platoon troublemaker up a few steps.
>Especially since you were the first jock to be permanently linked with an infantry unit.
>You also made a promise.
>You would select whomever you liked to be your gunner, an effective team bond was a keystone to an effective pairing, and right now the only one you liked was Teth'ra.
>The LT wouldn't be stupid enough to send you out without your gunner, especially since your machine was on its own.
>You would have to talk about it with her later, right now you were wondering where the hell you were even sleeping.
>With your gun at your side your anxiety was far more muted now, a distant sense of dread, rather than a looming shadow of doom.
>"Time to go meet the platoon, Your supposed to be there at 12. Ya ready now that your all suited up tough guy?"
>Something is knocked loose in you, a dark crawling comes bubbling from the drop of your stomach.
>You were wrong, the anxiety is back in full force.
>You meet her eyes as she was giving a knowing grin.
>She must have seen something in you, as her expression lowers, her ears drop.
>You can't bring yourself to look at her as you feel those sapphires slowly burning a hole into you.
>Why doesn't she say anything?
>The silence creeps in from everywhere.
>Not even the wind helps.
>You don't feel the malice of a predator, so why does your breath catch in your throat when you try to speak.
>The unspoken question hangs there like the sword of Damocles. Dangled on a thread
-whats wrong?-
>Dammit just do it.
>...
>Inhale, count to four, exhale
>...
>She's not one of the bad ones
>She only wants to help
>She won't hurt you
>As the words crawl off your tongue, you feel a pit deepen.
>It cuts your chest from within.
"I'm scared of anthros... have been for a long time... I'm not sure I can do this."
>Your throat grasped uselessly as the last tufts of air left you.
>You can't look at her, your feet anchor you to the grass by the road.
>The uncaring pavement looks nice.
>It won't judge you, hold expectations over you, or be disappointed in you.
>It feels nothing. Like your machine.
>A soft whine.
>The pat of her weight on the grass, growing closer.
>She still says nothing.
>You suck in air, bracing.
>No strike comes, no claws, no teeth.
>Instead you feel her on your back, strong arms pulling you in, claws leaving small blotches of numbness.
>You tense and close your eyes.
>She presses her warmth against your front, your jaw hits her shoulder.
>Why isn't she angry? She should be angry.
>Her teeth must be poised right over you.
>Your shaking.
>It flows in your ear, a whisper honeyed with care.
>"I won't hurt you."
>You freeze.
>She's doing it again.
>The tears start warming the corners of your eyes, you fight them, you can't break down, you can't.
>She just holds you, swaying softly.
>The rise and fall of her breath swells into yours.
>There is no rhythm or tune but for the slowing beat of your heart.
>"I don't know what happened to you to make you this way, but I will never hurt you."
>"We saved eachother."
>"I'm your angel right?"
>It comes back like a white dove roosting before dusk.
>What you said as you died.
>'My angel'
>Could heaven have sent her?
>Your pit drops away.
>The cut isn't there.
>The creeping feeling is gone.
>All that is there instead, is warmth.
>Yes, they could have sent her.

>the tears don't edge at your vision anymore.
>Your heart feels elevated.
>Your arms coil up and embrace her in turn.
>Her breath rises against you as she releases a pleased huff.
>She tucks her head over yours, the bottom of her snout tussling your hair.
"You are."
>a happy whine comes out of her throat, she makes no effort to contain it.
"I've pushed myself so hard to accept you despite... what you are... your too kind."
>That earns you another, shorter whine and a nuzzling along your scalp.
>She acts more and more like a lapdog when she feels affectionate.
>You lose track of how long you both stand there, lost in eachother's presence.
>Eventually a thought occurs to you out of the warm stupor, what if someone saw you two like this?
>But you aren't the one that moves first. Teth'ra gently puts you down, you didn't even notice she had lifted you off the ground.
>How the hell does she read you like that?
>How does she manage to put you at ease?
>Scent alone doesn't explain it.
>You swear this girl has some sort of empathetic gift.
>Your caught in her eyes once more, the magic is there all over again.
>She keeps her strong hands on your shoulders, the claws don't exist to you right now.
>"You don't have to present yourself to everyone, your injured and stressed. I can stand watch while you sit off to the side."
>She adds a mischievous grin.
>"Besides, if anyone does get too close. I'll bite em'!"
>She makes a light click with her teeth, pantomiming more of a nip really.
>Still trying her best not to scare you, sweeter than sugar.
>You sound like an absolute sap right now, but she had some sort of disarming effect on you.
>The baser parts of you squirmed and recoiled at her, not understanding, she was one of them, the other, despite how other your real enemy was.
>Your higher functions understood she was a friend, was protective of you, and seemed to better you, even if she was dangerous.
>Something else entirely disregarded the danger wholesale, accepting absolutely that she would never be the predator you feared. And it pushed you to hold fast to her companionship and refuse to let it go.
>Her hands were off you now, and you felt a bit imbalanced as her support left.
"Teth'ra?"
>She looked down at you, expression neutral now, but you could tell something in those eyes was glimmering with expectation.
"Help me walk, will ya? It's almost noon"
>Another choked back whine, does she even mean to be this cute?
>You offer your left arm to her, she snakes her right under it and clasps you on the back, hefting up some of your weight with little effort.
>That warm smile is heart melting, you mentally slapped yourself for being scared of THAT.
>It's almost like she's pulling puppydog eyes as she helps you pick up a much faster pace now, heading out towards the eastern field.
>That tail is definitely wagging by now.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>The eastern field is more like a mulling of hills within the base perimeter, pretty much where every unit that can't fit into the overcrowded barracks and isn't carrying heavy equipment sets up their camp here.
>The 512 always camped close by the mech park.
>Where the hell would you even store your machine now? The mech park was on the opposite side of the base.
>You wondered if Vilka was scheming to conveniently solve your problem with her staff vehicle.
>You hadn't even properly met her yet and your already paranoid of her. But Teth'ra's situation gave you that impression.
>If you owed her something before, you definitely owed the jackal for how much of a stabilizing element she was.
>In both senses really.
>With her acting as your other crutch you could move quite steadily now, of course the doctor told you it would be 3 days before the swelling on your right leg went down enough for you to really use it, and even then not to put major stress on it for a week.
>Then there were both times you were on the verge of breakdown and she was there.
>If she wasn't so comically large you could excuse yourself for thinking she was a walking, talking, therapy animal.
>Comical, of all the adjectives to use for her size, you settled on one of the least threatening.
>You were really believing that little mantra now.
>As you closed in towards where the 606 was camped you heard the unmistakable badgering, knife-handing, nagging shouts of sergeants getting their grunts in a row.
>You were going to be propped up on display in front of almost 50 anthros trained to kill, you hoped dearly that Teth'ra was dead serious about staying at your side.
>B company, 2nd platoon. With you onboard that made 49 in this little group.
>EDF rifle infantry platoons were organized into 4 10-man squads, with a command squad of 8.
>Each squad was headed by a sergeant and 2 corporals over 7 privates, the squad operated in 2 5-man fireteams during combat, one fireteam headed by the sergeant with the other usually commanded by the more senior corporal.
>You remembered Teth'ra was rarely given command of the other fireteam in her squad, despite being the most senior corporal in the platoon by her account.
>You soured, wondering if it was the sergeant or the lieutenant responsible.
>At least if it was the sergeant you could technically pull rank and badger them into cutting her some slack.
>Actually are there any badgers in this platoon?
>You saw them lining up around a clustering of tents and crates at the base of one of the hills.
>Well you'll be damned there's actually a badger
>Somewhere above 4 and a half foot, built like a dwarf, and currently making up for her stature with excessive volume.
>One of the sergeants you guessed.
>Looking around at a distance, the whole platoon was female, not a sausage in sight.
-this is either a bad anime or the best anime-
>This is no time for chinese cartoons.
>No this was time to visibly seize against Teth'ra as you saw a small ocean of fur and teeth.
>She stopped and gripped your back more firmly.
>Her touch was relaxing, but it was trying to fight your resurgent fear.
>Then she started rubbing the back of your neck.
>Those eyes are magnetic again.
>"I wasn't kidding about standing guard over you."
>"They won't jump on ya just because your nervous. And if they don't keep their distance..."
>She makes that light snap with her teeth again.
>Your ready... hopefully.

>The both of you sit yourselves on a crate to the side of the knot of officers inspecting the formation.
>One of them, some sort of brightly colored reptile looked like she was about to start shouting.
>You made an exaggerated pantomime to your crutch, Teth'ra did the same.
>The lizard? turtle? snake? whatever stood there for a second, mouth half open before standing down.
>She finished conversing the that familiar monochromatic wolf and then turned and walked away, maybe one of the higher ups over Vilka's head.
>Vilka herself seemed puzzled when she looked at the two of you.
>Teth'ra only returned a raised eyebrow.
>Vilka soured and huffed as she turned back to the formation, 39 troopers all lined up by squad.
>Great, those two might be fighting over you.
-will be-
>Gotta have hope brain, gotta have hope.
>Might as well get the glorified meet and greet over wi-
>"AWRIGHT MAGGOTS LISSEN UP"
>fuck you, that badger was loud.
>And had some sort of speech impediment.
>Don't laugh, badgers are hyper aggressive.
>"YOU BUNCHA FLEABAGS ARE OUT HERE FOR INTRODUKTIONS"
>She punches the hard syllables like they're bugs.
>Vilka then steps forward, puffing out her chest, and from your angle, failing to look intimidating.
>"Alright girls, we have an outside specialist freshly attached to us, our new mech pilot. Tom!" she finishes with a gesture towards you and a too large smile.
>The quiet murmur among the troopers dies off immediately.
>They're all staring at you.
>Your not sure if you should freeze solid or attempt to duck inside your flak jacket.
>Your body does an admirable job of attempting both inbetween coiling every muscle for fight or flight.
>"Hey! That's enough! He's fresh out of hospital!" the jackal barks.
>You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding as they mostly turn away from you, muttering apologies and excuses.
>You certainly got your daily shot of adrenaline.
>Teth'ra lays a hand on your back, helping the electric state of your body to ground itself.
>You catch Vilka eying you like the way a mother eyes their kid expecting them to 'do that cute thing'. Seemingly unaware of how you almost reached for your gun.
>"Well master sergeant. You got something to say?"
>Fucking hell. You can't take this anymore.
"I pilot a rumbler, Don't get underfoot, Don't touch my stuff."
>You pick up your crutch and hobble off.
>Your not sure which instinct is stronger: the racing high of the adrenaline, or the need to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment.
>Teth'ra moves to follow.
>"And where are you going corporal Magual?"
>"Someone has to settle him in sir."
>She leaves before Vilka can piece together an excuse to keep her from doing work without being ordered to.

>The rest of the afternoon flows by without any more inadvertent heart attacks.
>Most of it is spent sweating, and swearing.
>You hate setting up tents, Teth'ra hates it too.
>Vilka had rather cheerily welcomed you to set yourself up right next to her tent, you pitched on top of the hill instead.
>You acted the paranoid and started balking about sight lines and firing angles to get her to accept it.
>When you started pointing out good chokepoints in the woods just outside the fence for claymores and anti-personnel mines, she backed away.
>Teth'ra had to keep herself from busting out laughing.
>It was a surprise then, as when the sun set and the fucking tent was finally standing upright, Teth'ra dragged out her cot and gear and shoved it in, opposite yours.
>"If it ain't me then you would have to share with some other mutt."
>Can't argue with that logic.
>Having her close by would be nice too.
>You hunched over outside, lamenting how the gremlins in the support crews would usually do this shit for you when you were in a proper mech outfit.
>Teth'ra hadn't broken a sweat (can anthros even sweat?) but she was larger and had function of both legs.
>The two of you just sat in the grass catching your breath for a bit, looking at the darkening reds and purples of the sun turn over to dusk.
>You supposed an idiot who wasn't worn to hell fussing with a tent for the past few hours would call it romantic.
>Then the alarms started.
>Granted they were very far off, you could barely hear them, but you recognized what they foretold.
>They whined for 2 minutes before a staccato beat of 7 rolling booms echoed across the air.
>The static artillery was firing.
>You didn't remember how large those guns were, just that they were absolutely devastating.
>Teth'ra twitched her ears as the ghostly trace of a shell howled overhead far to the east.
>Soon you were looking at her as she smirked to herself, your raised brow was enough to get her to elaborate.
>"A new offensive is starting, that is the initial bombardment going out." She said, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the battery.
"Were already pressing in again?"
>"mhm. Driving north up the coast, support from the navy the whole way."
>"They're trying to get enough men within striking range of their main nest up north."
"Anchorage"
>You remembered the fallen capital of Alaska, overwhelmed within the first months of the invasion, long range reconnaissance had painted it as the biggest hotspot of bug activity in the American North-west. The marauders had turned the place into a breeding ground for bugs.
>Fort Sumter, the base you were standing on right now, had blunted the swarm's advance down the pacific coast long enough to establish a cordon across the northern wilderness, Keeping the rest of former Canada bug free.
>Since then the EDF had been striking into the Alaskan cordon, determined to level Anchorage, the source of the bugs threatening North America, before the swarms became too powerful for the cordon to remain effective.
>The city of Seattle, which was home to millions, Wasn't too far south of Fort Sumter. It would become a dead zone like Anchorage if that nest wasn't destroyed in time.
"Isn't it a bit above your paygrade to be knowing these things Teth'ra?"
>She flicked an ear, smirking "These things aren't for show."
>Her mood became more somber. "I think i know why were pressing so hard on the attack too."
>"It sounds like Europe is in trouble, I know the trans-Atlantic lines have been dark for a while but apparently they get a signal through to us in the new world now and again."
>...
>"I didn't hear it myself, but... What little news we are getting, doesn't sound good."
>"They need help over there, but we have to solve our problems here first right?"
>She tried to remain neutral, but her eyes betrayed a worry, a deep one, that both of you were feeling. 'what if Europe is gone?'
>More marauders would swarm across the Atlantic, overwhelming the east coast.
"Well, we better hope that those defiant few hold on long enough for us to mash some swarms."
>"yeah"

>The stars showed themselves, and you turned in for the night, she waited outside while you dressed down to your under uniform and crawled into your cot, setting your gun and goggles on the folding table at your head.
>You called for her to come in and she changed while you pulled your covers up over your head and turned away, a blatant showing that you weren't looking.
>It wasn't strictly necessary in the military but the acknowledgement of privacy had done a lot in making sure bunkmates don't stab eachother, especially in mixed accommodations.
>"Alright you sap, you can look now~"
>Dare you, with that tone of voice?
>Yes. Yes you do.
>You turned to find her grinning gently, but obviously wilted with fatigue, wearing a form hugging pair of grey shorts, and what was more of a glorified sports bra than a tanktop.
>She stretched with a long yawn as her bones popped softly.
>For the first time you were seeing her as a woman rather than as your weird anthro friend.
>And to your... shame? you liked what you saw.
>Her chest was already on the list of things you may or may not have leered at, but the way they seemed to fight against her top just enhanced the point of how big they were.
>Her solid core flexed and unwound with her stretch, hard edges artfully softened by that layer of fat.
>You imagined if you ever got to run your hand along it, it would feel like steel. Warm, furry steel.
>She possessed berthing hips a pachyderm would be jealous of, and legs built like trees.
>All of this you gleaned in a quick pass over before you lay on your back.
>You were just being polite and not staring, You weren't scared of your genuine uncertainty of how she would respond if she caught you looking.
>Certainly not.
>At this time Captain Richard believed it to be a good time to go join the fight, and you had to mentally wrestle with urges over your bodily control tower to keep the bastard on the runway.
>He coasted for a little while but you managed to prevent the achievement of takeoff speed, your deathly certain she would smell that if you failed in the endeavor.
>She flicked off the lamp hanging from the beam of the tent before lowering into her cot.
>A chorus of straining fabric and belting snaps followed as she settled.
>If cots had a language, that was crying for help if you ever heard it.
>She fell asleep rather quickly, and you steadily willed yourself to follow.
>Once your unit was officially on it's feet, the future was uncertain, interesting, and above all dangerous.
>Best not lie awake thinking about it.
>It's not like you can change it.

[----------------------------------------------------------Chapter End----------------------------------------------------------------]


'The fight itself ain't even the worst of it ya know? Once your in the battle really the only thing you can do is just go at it like you were born for it, everything just moves so fast you have no time to think over when you might buy it today or if you even will. The worst part is just before, when you think about family n' your future n' things. And you worry over every little thing that could go wrong out there. The battleplan never survives first contact with the enemy s' what they say right? Well, I stopped worryin' bout that.
Just you watch me, I'll be out there mashing bugs like no tomorrow and come home with girls all over me!'

-unknown private of the 58th airborne, interviewed shortly before the failure of operation Winter Gate and the fall of Alaska, the 58th was wiped out to a man.

>The dust was still clearing, J-troop 3 reported 'Titan's magazines had just detonated. The light tank ahead of you rumbled over the incline and sped down the hill, Thatcher jumped after it.
>You warmed the jets to leap over the drop after them, the battlenet was alive with chatter. LT-troop 9, farthest ahead in the clouting dust and smoke, reported that the enemy still wasn't advancing shortly before their transmission was cut.
>You came down at the lip of a shell crater, but this place wasn't choked with the viscera and detritus of dead bugs the bombardments usually caught. What the hell was happening?
>Thatcher was already up in the air again ahead, punching rockets out towards the crag almost a kilometer and a half away.
>Some vague mass moved in the haze ahead, Thatcher pursued the movement with the steady thump of his autocannons as he bolted forward.
>You had no luck getting a missile lock, your radar confused by the chaos, you looked towards Thatcher's thumping advance.
>Just in time to see a blinding white shot impact his cockpit, his AC turned skywards, still firing as the whole machine locked up.
>His screams over the radio were the only thing you could hear, shortly before his whole machine turned to fire.
>You jumped again, heart hammering, just in time to avoid another white ball of hissing death.
>Thermobarics detonated ahead, bright blisters of orange fire casting everything in hard shadow as you landed.
>Silhouettes of more machines moved ahead, jumping and sprinting, desperate to close the distance to the crag.
>They were never this accurate this far out, not before, what the hell was happening?
>The battlenet was no help, reports overlapped in warbling chaos as the dead screamed their hearts out over the lines.
>You sprinted forward after you landed, the jets had to cool, the dark sky backlit by dozens more thermobaric detonations, AC tracers streaked in long arcing lines towards the crag.
>A machine ahead jumped, but too late, it was caught by the leg and span into the dirt. Who even was that? Rook? Tim? Melbourne?
>Another squadron dashed serpentine to your right, the leader was caught in the chest, his heavy shoulder launcher misfired, the missile careening wildly forwards.
>It detonated in another orange inferno, catching the forward most machine at its edge.
>They had the right idea, you jumped diagonally. Two more shots screamed past, one aimed at the ground and the other aimed for the top of your jump.
>It would have caught you center mass if you hadn't picked another direction.
>Heat alarms chirped in your ears, there was no time, you had to move.
>You sprinted to the left as another shot almost clipped your right arm, you raised it, the steady clatter of 50mm shells hopefully throwing off their aim.
>You jumped again, ignoring the screaming heat alarm, the gauges don't matter, you have to live.
>You slowed your descent with thrust but something was wrong, you came down too hard.
>the left leg screamed as its joints buckled, you could still stand, drag yourself somewhere safe.
>The light tank rumbles by your feet, but catches a shot and is thrown backwards, fuel and ammo cooking from the unbelievable heat.
>You had forgotten about the crag!
>You turned just in time to see your death screaming towards you on white fibrous wings. Backlit by the fires and dust of hell itself.
>Heat, burning, unbearable heat.
>You had only wanted to fly.

>... --- ...
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>-.-. .- .-.. -- / -.-- --- ..- .-. ... . .-.. ..-.
>. .-.. .- -... --- .-. .- - .

>- .... . -.-- / .... .- ...- . / -.-. .-. --- ... ... . -.. / - .... . / -.-. .... .- -. -. . .-..
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>.- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / - .... . .-. . / -.-. .-. --- .-- -.
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Chapter 3: Repair & Redeployment

>You stirred from your rest, brought up by the hiss of rain. You hoped it wasn't quite as bad as it sounded.
>The cot groaned as you picked yourself up, the dim greying blue of an overcast sky peeked through the tent flap.
>You had no idea how long you slept for, yesterday wore you down to the bone. The fact nobody had sounded reveille pointed to the rains being as bad as you feared.
>You stretched with a wide yawn, the cot snapped in protest.
>You stood up still gathering your bearings and stretching, and tapped your head on the tent beam. You forgot how low these damn things are.
>The cot across from you was empty, they must have woken before you.
>Cautiously you unzipped the tent flap just enough to stick your hand out.
>Immediately it was drenched by icy sheets of water.
>You growled as you pulled your hand back in, of course it was freezing rain, the worst kind, and it was coming down heavy. It always soaked straight through your fur and left you a shivering mess.
>Wiping down your soaked paw on your blankets you contemplated where Tom could have gone too.
>You guessed not being covered in fur is an advantage if you don't want to get wet, he probably dried off easy.
>You sat down, hoping it would let up soon.
>Still the rain came in hissing sheets, the smell of wet land overwhelmed anything the wind may have carried, your ears couldn't pick out anything subtle over the deluge of noise.
>Was this what it was like?
>To be human?
>Practically scent-blind, half deafened, cold, only relying on your eyes.
>And alone, so alone.
>The rain drowned any scents from the others. Tune your ears as you might you hear no one else close by.
>You hate the rain.
>You tinge with sympathy towards Tom. You didn't even know where he was.
>You have to wonder how often he feels this way.
>You didn't want to step out into the rain and make yourself sick, but the encroaching sense of isolation was edging up your spine.
>You needed some sort of sign that at least someone was present.
>Scanning around, you settled on the silvery shape of something on his table.
>His gun.
>You held the revolver carefully, making sure not to mark its gleaming silver finish with your claws.
>Inscriptions edged along its surface, six segments of some foreign script were engraved on the cylinder, seemingly one for each chamber.
>You noticed a seventh inscription on the thumb groove of the hammer, the same unreadable lettering.
>Turning it over a large engraving dominated the side of the barrel, a name, flourished by floral lines that flowed like waves 'Mariah'
>Someone he knew? someone he cared about?
>You ran your nose over the black leather grip, trying to pick up his scent. A faint trace of it was there from his palm, but it wasn't much, he must clean this thing regularly.
>You whined softly in disappointment, old pack instincts were picking up, anxiety over being truly alone.
>You of course knew the others were still around, but your instincts needed confirmation, movement, a fresh scent, something.
>And you were unwilling to go out in the downpour, your coat didn't adjust well to the wet cold of the north, getting soaked wouldn't help.

>You shiver as the icy fingers of the rains bleed through the fabric of the tent and grip at your sides.
>Throwing on some clothes you think about what things of his would carry a fresh scent.
>You manage to crack open his footlocker. You hope he doesn't notice the claw marks along the inside of the lid when he returns.
>Harness? no. flak jacket? maybe. workout clothes. bingo!
>Almost like some sort of evolutionary narcotic, the heavy scent of his sweat grounds your nerves.
>The sign of life accepted by the animal within you as proof you had company.
>You weren't being weird. promise!
>Then your ears twitched, you slammed the lid, about had a heart attack, and launched your head into the crossbeam all in the span of a few seconds.
>Sitting on the floor clutching at your scalp, ears pinned back, you saw Tom standing at the flap looking bewildered and soaked under a rain coat.
>Oh God he must have seen you, your ears are flush with fire right now.
>he regarded you before zipping the tent back up and unbuttoning his coat.
>Dropping the water-repellent garment and producing a pack, he drew out a heavy fleece coat and another rainsheet and tossed both at you.
>Both seemed to be in your size.
>He was now standing over his foot locker, another fleece coat in hand, and looking at you with a quirked brow.
>He knew not to say anything right away, let your wilting nerves do the persuading for him. It was working
>You relented, not wanting to put undue stress on either of you.
"Look, I'm sorry if it seems weird that I... messed with your clothes. But the rain It. It just blocks out all the smell..."
"I need some kind of scent, I get nervous if I can't smell anyone else around."
>Tom seemed like he didn't know what to feel right now. He sighed heavily, steadying his crutch.
>"Fuckin. Whatever... Just put those on, Vilka wants a more proper introduction than that shit show yesterday."
>He clasped on the coat and threw the rain sheet back over himself as he stepped back into the frigid torrent.
>He hadn't asked you to help him walk this time.
>One step forward and two steps back.
>Idiot

<Tom>
>Well that was fucking weird.
>Finally come down off of all the drugs they pumped in to you in hospital, you thought maybe things would calm down a bit.
>Of course, you momentarily forgot you were now bunkmates with an anthro.
>You also forgot that reality itself has a vendetta against you.
>You then walked in with fresh cold weather gear for both of you, only to find she was gently inhaling your spare tanktop, the one you ran PT in.
>The excuse she offered about needing the scent of another person within easy reach made some sort of sense.
>You had heard before that anthros get antsy during heavy rains, dulls their senses and they start getting panicky.
>You didn't imagine it was severe enough to warrant breaking and entering.
>This new information was making you panicky.
>Vilka had practically cornered you when you ran to the supply bunker early in the morning to pick up gear suitable for this shit weather.
>Well she really just stood at the door looking pleased with herself until you eventually agreed to her proposition, if only to get her to stop staring at you.
>Said proposition was a more, 'personal', meeting with her and the senior officers of the platoon.
>Basically everyone but the grunts.
>The only thing that didn't make you consider the benefits and drawbacks of going AWOL was she agreed to your condition you bring Teth'ra with you.
>She seemed puzzled, until you started explaining Teth'ra had helped you greatly during your recovery, even stopped by everyday to keep you occupied.
>At that point her expression was looking less pleased.
>Leaving out any mention of the balcony or your near breakdown outside the bunker (your amazed no one saw that), you explained that you were raised in a purely human city, and anthros were foreign to you.
>Aside from the bold faced lie about why you were really so averse, this meant Teth'ra was your gateway in to understanding and befriending the platoon, and without her talks would be getting nowhere fast.
>Her satisfied grin had morphed into an intent grimace at that point.
>She tried to stare you down with hard eye contact, it may have worked if she hadn't flinched the first time you two played at this.
>You were swallowing your fear for your own sake, without Teth'ra there to act as a buffer you may do something you'll regret.
>You put that same burning intensity to your stare that your old sub-gunner told you you got when killing bugs by the truckload.
>5 seconds later you imagined her wearing a red sash, that turned your glare downright murderous.
>2 seconds after that she broke off suddenly and agreed to you bringing your favorite jackal along.
>You then shouldered past her and left before she could gather up her courage after you played what must have been one of the most important staring contests in your life.
>Now you were here after taking a walk around the base to think.
>The rain bought a real grounding weight to your back, that made those imaginary importances riding your shoulders feel real.
>And the smell was refreshing, crisp, and solitary.
>It drowned out the memories of bad smells, burning flesh, streaming blood, rotting bodies.
>Those were already horrid enough to deal with when they occasionally leaked into your compartment, you didn't want the experience in high definition.

>The jackal eventually stepped out of the tent, looking as large as ever.
>Draped in what was more likely a tarp for covering small cars than a rain sheet for keeping your kit dry.
>It even hung over the tip of her muzzle, making her resemble some sort of olive green grim reaper, if the specter of death had a snout and very obvious hips.
>She must really hate rain, you guess with all the fur you couldn't blame her.
>What you could blame her for was touching your stuff, even if her excuse was making you think twice.
>Even with how much you've been getting to know her, the two of you are still very, very different.
>What you walked in on just reinforces that.
>She wasn't saying anything on the way towards the command tent, maybe she was being hard on herself for her little episode.
>Maybe you should apologize. You were a bit hasty in your reaction over it. Though you doubt you'd be heard over the incessant rain.
>Of course now you had to go stare down Vilka and her goons, you didn't have to be scared, Teth'ra would be there to keep you safe.
>You mentally prepared yourself, reinforcing your state of mind back into being the perennial ball of rage.
>When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Get Mad!
-I DON'T WANT YOUR DAMN LEMONS, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THESE?!!-
>You arrived at the command tent, and found a note explaining that due to the lord on high ringing out all of his old towels over your heads that your little meeting was being held under a solid roof, one of the now empty barracks as troops had departed en masse this morning to join the offensive.
-I'M GONNA BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN! WITH THE LEMONS!!!
>One trip halfway across the goddamn base in hurricane force rains later you were simmering with rage, fucking perfect.
>You had enough of this goddamn rain.
>You looked back at Teth'ra following passively under her tarp.
>Why did you get the feeling you were being followed by a dog that had just been kicked?
>Maybe you could repair this... somehow.
>That level of connection you felt that first night, when you really didn't even know exactly what she was, that felt nice, it would be nice to have it again but something seemed to be making her flighty beyond the rain.
>Maybe you could snap her out of it with some strategic prodding at the local chain of command, if only to get her to keep herself from doing more weird shit.
>You pulled open the door and stepped inside the nice warm barracks, hardwood floors squeaking under your drenched boots as you shook the rain sheet off your back.
>You inhaled the air, untouched by the weather, and grumbled deeply, this much rain got old fast. You liked a light drizzle, not a repeat of the flood.
>You looked back to see Teth'ra peeling off her tarp, she looked miserable.
>fuck
>You were about to start prepping the 'I'm not mad BUT' speech, but you were interrupted by Vilka calling from somewhere further in.
>"Well master sergeant, we're waiting."
>...
>"Should I start calling you Tommy?"
"Just hang on a fucking second!"
>Last thing you wanted was for a pet name from the bitch
>You huffed heavily, your friend looking... well shit, almost exactly like a dog looks when it knows it did wrong but is just so SORRY.
-stop melting my heart you monster-
>You sigh more gently this time, your anger blunted into more of a burrowed hatred rather than actively simmering.
"Look, I'm not... mad. About your..."
>Vague hand waving? emote you hack!
"...scent deal, just... we'll talk about this later okay?"
>She nods, that might just be the best your gonna get out of her right now.
"But for now I need you to shape up before we go into the lion's den aight?"
>Another nod, she's not looking quite like someone stepped on her tail now.
>You wish she'd say something... anything really.
>You started hobbling off towards the source of Vilka's obnoxiously cheery voice, by your best guess you would be having a mental throwdown with round about a dozen anthros that likely didn't like you after your stunt yesterday.
>That was more manageable than 50, yet still your breath was on the wire.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>She'll be there to keep you guarded.
>They can't hurt you

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>Teth'ra seemed to get the gist and toughened into a more neutral expression, you could still see a touch of nerves edging through with minute twitches of her tail. She was at least trying, bless her heart.
>Although the jackal had rather quickly shed her coat saying it was too warm, you had no qualms about dealing with a little heat.
>The heavy winter waist coat added a wide layer of bulk onto your figure, enhancing the image of the mechanic/ athlete.
>You popped your collar over your neck and pulled your goggles to sit just above your eyes. With less of your face to read that may keep them from taking advantage of any twitches from your part.
>You hated having to think like this, with human officers simply pulling your best impersonation of an easter island statue was enough.
>Anthros on the other hand, if they could read you as well as Teth'ra, needed to be grimaced at from a healthy distance with as little on your part in terms of expression, body language, or changes in inflection.
>Damp boots still squeaking on the hardwood, you came into an empty R&R hall to find Vilka and 5 others, one of which was the badger.
>Half an enemy force is still an enemy.
>Vilka immediately eyed you as you entered, the movement of her bushy tail was easy to pick out.
>"Glad you could make it Tom" Her lips curled into a generic smile as her eyes still examined you up and down.
>You were glad for the extra layer, the Coat and baggy utility pants did much to hide you from a gaze you were quickly growing uncomfortable with.
"Use my rank or last name if you would."
>In your experience officers that got chummy this early on tended to be the same ones that used people. Cut the informalities short and they have to scramble to find some other way to work their chains into you.
"sir"
>You added absentmindedly, a conveyance that you weren't here to make friends, and a faint cue that you didn't respect her authority.
>You sat on one of the unused pool tables and folded one of your legs over the other, noticing a flick of movement from Vilka's muzzle.
>Was that what you thought it was?...No, there's no way. Get back on to the task at hand.
>You stared away from Vilka as you got to work identifying the other threats in the room.
>First up: the badger you recognized from yesterday.
>Not quite as short as you remembered, but still built with a distinctively wide and stocky stance. She seemed more agitated and bored than anything.
>She seemed to be more interested in Teth'ra than you as the jackal sat down on another table ahead of you and to your side. Perhaps the two of them have some sort of rivalry?
-all of them hate her and by extension us-
>shut the fuck up brain
>As the jackal and badger had a presumed stare down, you turned your attention to one of the others wearing base sergeant's chevrons.
>There was what you guess was a mouse or rat, bright white fur with cherry red eyes, she was thin and dexterous. A frock of fur on her head teased into some sort of psuedo-hair and two small incisors peeked over her lip.
>You sized her to be slightly shorter than you as she caught your gaze and then quickly turned away, fidgeting with something in her paws and flicking her gaze to various things across the room.
>Looking on you found a bear, maybe the only one here larger than Teth'ra. If not in terms of height than in terms of bulk.
>Large and brown, and covered in dense fur, definitely a bear, she seemed to regard you rather warmly as you passed over her, even though she looked like she was on the verge of falling asleep. Looked likely to be a bog standard brown bear.
>Then those teeth showed in what may have supposed to have been a motherly smile at one point.
-NOPE-
>You mentally screamed to think on the possibility if she was a larger and more aggressive breed of bear, like a Polar or Grizzly. Or, mercy on your soul, a Kodiak.
>Looking back across Vilka you saw the one sergeant sitting the closest to you and Teth'ra, a silver vixen.
>First thing that catches your eye is a nasty scar across the top of her muzzle, and another one that almost dug into her right eye.
>But somehow it hasn't deformed her, her pale green eyes give you a wink as you get the general sense of her.

-oh boy here we go-
>You then promptly stare ahead at nothing in particular, contemplating if you were more intimidated or disgusted by the obvious flirt.
>Your brain is eagerly running back to the 'sex monsters' train of thought. They have you outnumbered 3 to 1. But your far from cornered.
>And finally, the beastie sitting in Vilka's shade.
>...
>Holy fuck is that a fucking sabertooth?
>Those fangs must be as wide around as your wrist.
>Are there fucking dinosaurs too?
>You can't handle being jumped by a motherfucking t-rex.
>She's pretty much Vilka's size, much to your relief. Her jacket bears the patches of a master sergeant, fresh too, likely to keep you from pulling rank on what must be the LT's right hand.
>You still have seniority of experience and over 100 tons of building sized 'fuck you' on your side, assuming the bureaucrats haven't weaseled you out of a rumbler.
>She seems to be scanning through a sheaf of papers in her paw, the clawed digits managing not to tear a hole in them.
>Vilka clearing her throat brings you back to the matter at hand... paw... whatever.
>"Well everyone, you all know master sergeant McWhicky."
"No you don't."
>The wolf's breath caught in her mouth, and for the briefest instant you saw confusion, but she quickly resumed.
>"But he does not know any of you."
>You kept quiet at that one, you were snippy, but unwilling to push it.
>The badger gave a growling huff as she picked herself up from her spot leaning against the wall.
>"Heya, names Maxine Baker." She offered a paw forward but you weren't moving from your spot, you gave a casual sort of wave.
>turning your wrist in the 'hey cool I get it' sort of way. She huffed again but didn't plod forward on her stubby legs.
>Her voice was gruff and high, and the hard k in her last name almost made her cough out the syllable like a gunshot. Like her species' infamous aggression manifested in the way she spoke.
>She went back to looking bored as the vixen took up the slack, not moving but looking over to you intently.
>"I am Lyudmilla, and I see you hev made friends with my star corporal. Vhet will be most... interesting-"
>She spoke with the deliberate hint of a slavic accent, her voice smooth and practiced. You caught the slightest hint of sarcasm at the mention of Teth'ra.
>You lightly flexed your legs to keep the blood flow away from your sin-sword, trying to tempt you with that practiced taste of the exotic. Fukin witch.
>Your gaze flicks away from the fox as Teth'ra seems to grumble something under her breath.

>"Sergeant Astroya, proper introduction. if you would." Vilka seems to let the hint of a growl follow her sentence.
-it begins-
>for fucks sake brain.
>"Of course, I hev merely never seen a man get so close to Magual without her mauling the poor thing."
>Teth'ra growls in response. "And I've never seen you stick by anyone of em' that disappears between your legs."
>Oh shit
>You have to admit it's actually funny, as you suppress a snort and clear your throat
>Lyudmilla takes a paw to her chest and cocks her brows at Vilka like a powdered aristocrat balking at the roguish upstart.
>The badger chortles from the other side of their little half circle. That earns her a snobbish glare as the vixen's wide ears fold down.
>"She's got ya there Lu, never were for more than the one night stand huh?"
>"Bah! I hev merely not found the right vun. Not everyone is so crude as you, you little she-demon. hmph!"
>Another round of laughter from Maxine, even the rodent seems to relax and produce a shallow grin.
>The... well, your starting to narrow on rat, something about the fluff around her cheeks, speaks now.
>"Hi... I'm uh.. Sergeant Cherbrie. Eva... Eva Cherbrie... heh." Her voice is light and almost squeaks, it's actually kinda cute.
>demure, shy, and evidently a bit awkward. You could see her as the sort of cutie you would try to charm the pants off when you were young and stupid, if she was human. Yet for now she's just the least threatening, maybe you could actually get acquainted with her.
>You had to at least make an attempt to integrate right?
>"Anyways. it's uh. nice to meet you!... Mr. McWhicky.. sir." Her looks say rat but her demeanor screams mouse.
>"Would you like to come to um.. d-dinner?"
>....
-program:Brain has suffered a runtime error. initiating reboot. start in safe mode? yes/no-
>You blinked hard as every thought in your head ground to a screeching halt at once.
>di-did that demure little mouse just ask you out? after she just met you?!?! FUCKING WHAT
>"PHAHAHHAAAA haa ha ha, Look at that Lu, even Eva makes more of an effort to reel in a catch and keep em than you!"
>Teth'ra jumps in, coming off the tail end of a wheezing, breathless laugh "Damn Eva! never thought you had it in ya!"
>The vixen seemed stunned, making a mixture of half sighs and hissing inhales in between bouts of stammering.
>She finally found her bearings. "Oh please! she couldn't maneuver her way out of a paper bag if vere was so much as a mention of sex!"
>The mouse in question squeaks bashfully and buries her head in her hands. How the fuck is something that cute an NCO?
>And why the fuck did she ask you out?
>Vilka steps in looking rather annoyed. "Dammit Eva. You were supposed to leave that to me!."
>"sorrryy, it.. it just slipped out" Now you were thoroughly confused.
>The she-wolf sighed heavily "The platoon is heading out to a formal dinner in town Wednesday, before we're shipped out later. I want you to be there Tom."
>...
"I'm not really sure. I'll be busy with tuning and adjustments, a new Rumbler takes a lot of time and ca-"
>"Consider it a personal favor. And a way for us to get acquainted."
>You considered arguing but she seemed very insistent, your sure she had something more in mind than just dragging you out of your hole.
>You would probably just end up 'forgetting' about it anyway.
>The whole time the vixen and badger continued their argument, which had come to some sort of conclusion.
>Blowing off Vilka, you keyed in to what they were doing and tried to stabilize your rather confused state.

>As Lyudmilla glared at the badger, Maxine merely returned the very model example of a shit eating grin, then it turned cocky as she gave a challenging wag of a finger to the vixen and thumped a fist on her collarbone. With this sort of typical banter your tension ebbed away slowly.
>Teth'ra just looked back and smirked at you as she returned to spectating the soon to be catfight. The vixen's voluminous tail twitching angrily as your thoughts wandered.
>Maybe you were a bit hasty in your initial judgments, although they seemed to retain behavioral quirks from what animals they resembled, they seemed to act like anyone else. As foreign as they looked.
>Granted the flirty vixen was just fodder for your mind to keep running up the nymphomania angle, Teth'ra's more than odd behavior in the rain made you think maybe they were slaved a bit more to their senses and instincts than it may first appear.
>Yet they still had claws, and teeth, and a lot of them were bigger than you.
>But maybe, someone like that demure little mouse, with dull scrabbling claws and teeth made for gentle nibbling rather than tearing and slashing. Less in touch with their internal animal.
>Perhaps one far off day, when the bugs were gone, when the marauders lay in smoking ruin, and you finally have a real home. Then maybe you could bring yourself to entangle with someone who lived in the skin of a beast, or even love them.
>But that was a dream, one you may never have, the bug swarms grew more by the day, the marauders determined to kill all of mankind, even if it ends them.
>and as for a home... what could you even do when you left the military? sure you had your machine smarts, but you weren't certified by any of those foppish civilian engineering schools. Common mechanic work may not pay well enough for you to keep your legs under you, like your poor dad and his factory job.
>You had escaped death a few times out here, but you weren't one to push your luck.
>And soon enough you would be heading out into the heart of the war, where your luck would be pushed with or without your say.
>All it takes is just a bridge too far.
>...
>Might as well watch the catfight and forget about your lack of a future.
>Teth'ra was snickering as the badger and vixen started towards their mock confrontation, the fox trying to adopt a pose of elegance as the badger put up her dukes and bounced around with vigor.
>The stubby brawler's stance wasn't bad, but her footwork was sloppy. It practically screamed 'I have no plan of attack other than wing it'
>If it was a real fight Lyudmilla would already be on the floor, her savant pose was worse than no stance at all.

>Then something heavy impacted your shoulder and you jumped out of your skin.
>Wrenching your shoulder back away from the distinct sharp points of claws and ducking backwards, you stamped your legs under you and pushed to the right, launching away from the direction of attack as you caught your footing under you.
>Whirling around you grasped at your holster, for the gun that wasn't there, why the fuck didn't you bring it?!
>But you paused and found your answer as you stared into the stunned countenance of the bear.
>If you had it on you and loaded, this could have been a disaster rather than just.... whatever it was!
>Still, you stared wide eyed at the bear, those massive claws, sharp as razors had almost pierced into you, the threat was there, you have to keep your distance.
>Your breath comes in deep, ragged shunts, your lungs processing as much as they could to keep you alert.
>Your heart hammers in your ears. The claws, those fucking claws.
>Asses the situation: bear in front, 5 to the side, no 6, no weapon, outnumbered, exit beyond the enemy.
>A figure peered around the wolf, threat number 6, those teeth, knives that could punch through your throat.
>...
>The glint of teeth
>The flash of claws
>Your rooted in fear, helpless
>You can't even choke out a scream
>"Tom!"
>Your vision blurs as a shot of steel races up your spine, and suddenly your staring at deep blue eyes.
>The jackal's face is wracked with concern, and then anger, she turns to the bear.
>"You still got snow in your ears Darla!!? Ya DON'T sneak up on people like that!!"
>The bear mutters something as the jackal turns to you, features twisted in some faux sympathy again.
>She speaks gently "Tom. look at me. It's gonna be okay, just calm down."
>Something familiar in the jackal's voice sparks at something in you. The pace of your breathing drops slightly. Your right leg shakes slightly, a flaring pain you didn't notice surrounds your knee.
>"Are you alvright?" The fox advances.
>More claws, more danger, you back away quickly, don't let them get close, ignore the pain.
>"Back off Astroya, let me handle it."
>It has a name? that can't be right. animals don't have names.
>"I am perfectly capable o-"
>"I'm the only one he knows!" The jackal hisses, some spark in you squirms at her voice, but why?
>She takes slow measured steps, claws low, shoulders down, shes not a threat.
>No! she's trying to trick you! You back away, arms raised... why are you shaking?
>Something in the blue calls towards you. No. No! its a trick! It's all lies! they walk and talk like men but their animals all of them!
>You've seen what they really are.
>Some spark in you crawls as you scan over her eyes. stay down dammit!
>"...hey." That spark is flaring, you shake. Stop! "Tom, its me, you got nothing to be scared of from me."
>"I won't hurt you." Why does it sound so genuine? It's a lie! Those teeth will gnash into your neck, the claws tear you to ribbons!
>Something warm twists as you feel uneasy, electric waves wash out from your center as your whole body convulses lightly.
>What is she doing to you? Why are you shaking dammit!
>She's getting too close, no. No.
>"I will never hurt you Tom. please, I can help you."
>"Just let me in."
>Those deep blue eyes. sapphires. calling. calming.
>No. she.. she can't be, she's one of them.
>stop shaking. Stop Shaking!
>Something warm has infested you, it's trying to take over. Make it stop!
>A soft whine, like a dog, those eyes catch yours.
>They look on the verge of tears. why?
>you can't stop shaking.
>"Look at me Tom. I promise with everything I am, I won't hurt you."
>"It's okay."
>The inner warmth consumes you.
>....
>You blink your eyes slowly, something dances on the tip of your tongue. Some haze can't quite form it.
>Something approaches, you take shaking steps backwards, don't get close. don't get close... please.
>Your back hits a wall, no, a corner. You have to fight but you can't.
>Blue, that lovely blue, somehow it has your complete attention, can you destroy something like that?
>You shrink into the corner, hoping to be left alone, for a chance at escape.
>It towers over you, everything is bleeding darkness, is this it?
>It leans down, breath washing over your hair.
>You have no future.
>Something touches you.
>Everything tenses, bracing for the end, it does not come.
>Some... clarity fogs over you.
>... those eyes again
"t-"
"Teth'ra?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>Wordlessly, she pulls you in close again, every nerve is alive, your heart still pulses angrily in your core.
>Her breath is shaky, and you catch sight of her tail, bristled and tense.
>You feel like you could melt into her, but the others are here, you can't let your guard down.
>Shakily you stand yourself upwards, she supports you the whole way.
"I. I have to leave, please."
>Your pleading is quiet and childish, you hide yourself behind her large frame as she helps you walk out.
>"Corporal Magual, Explain!" The hairs on your neck stand, you tense to run for the door, the jackal locks her grip around your back and pulls you closer under her side.
>"Back off!" she growls. Thankfully the owner of the other voice seems to let the challenge go unanswered.
>Soon enough, your out of the hall. She throws on her coat, barely bothering to button it, and then throws the rain sheet over the both of you.
"t-tent"
>You choke, the door opens and she helps you out into the rain, it's not as bad as before, but the pressure knots your back.
>Everything twitches and shudders as you try to unwind the tension from your body.
>She says nothing, hurrying you along back to your cot.
>Shame licks at you, why won't she say something? say anything!
>You panicked, fell back on instinct, and let it take over in your fear.
>Your an unstable mess, your a burden.
>You slump more from the shame dragging you down than anything else.
>She's the only one you have now, and she saw. Saw how much of a shivering fuckup you really are.
>Every time you thought you found some sweetheart before, and you opened yourself completely to them, they ran. Everytime they recoiled at what you are, and suddenly it's 'not that kind of relationship', then it turns to the breakup, then their off in someone else's arms, whispering in their ears, laughing at you.
>You got used to it, learned to shut yourself in and use them, like they used you, the ones that hurt were those you called friend.
>You got to know them, and they you. They would prod and edge on, trying to bury deeper into what you are.
>Gently, always gently you would dissuade, turn them away with a twist of phrase, distract them with a joke, steer towards something fun when they edged too close to what you hid.
>You never forced them away, out of some vain hope if they uncovered it naturally, they wouldn't leave.
>...
>That they would understand.
>They never did. And now there she was, a complete accident had shattered your facade like so much glass.
>At least she was letting you pick up your pieces before she abandoned you. Not that you could blame her.
>You had known her for all of a week and it was already over, must be some kinda record.
>Your whole dynamic moved at breakneck speed, and it crashed just as hard.
>That deep pit dragged your heart in, and it wasn't coming back out anytime soon.
>It moved so fast, and a week from now you would both be dead.
-you have no future-
>You cringed, wanting to just curl in on yourself and cry, the rain was doing a hell of a job weeping for you though.
>She hurried you along as your breath came in heaving shudders, your eyes watered and stung. The floodgates would open after she was gone.
>No need to let her see you shatter further.
>It's a terrible day for rain

>She still said nothing as she helped you into your tent. She tossed the rain sheet aside and starting taking off her coat.
>You threw yours off and let it slump in a pile on the lid of your footlocker.
>Hobbling over to your cot you set yourself down and left your crutch against the back pillar.
>You hung your head and waited for the shouting to start.
>It's a cold, creeping sort of despair really, It climbs your throat as its withered black vines bear dry fruits with no substance.
>You taste the air, damp and heavy.
>It knots up in you, that flowering realization. Your alone, so truly alone.
>Chancing a flick of the eyes outward, she hasn't moved. Why is she still there? Why doesn't she leave?
>The tempo of your lungs is more evened out, just waiting for her to leave, so you can stop pretending that your holding it together.
>Men don't cry in front of others, especially a man in the army, it just doesn't work that way.
>You hear some squeak from the wind, it must move to pick up for the slacking rain.
>Some slight smell leaks in through the outside, the clinging artifact trying to stimulate you to move, to do anything really.
>Another noise from the wind, but something sounds off. You raise slightly trying to listen over the softened hiss of the storm.
>It comes again, just over the pattering clamor of droplets. It sounds like... a sob?
>That damnable human curiosity gets the better of you, and you forge on into the dark, raising your head.
>She hasn't moved, the fleece thrown to the ground by a jilted hand. Your narrow eyes crawl upwards, nothing is telling you to stop.
>You let yourself open your eyes as you raise them full. She stands unmoved, Her back tight and shoulders wilted as dead roses.
>Her proud grey ears laid low like the sails of a decrepit sloop. Another short rasping croak and her back jumps as her head moves like a petal caught in a breeze. The clear crystal of a tear rolls off her cheek and spats against the ground.
>Your sanguine core stirs in its prison.
>Why is she crying?
>Your the one who should be crying.
>"Wuh-why do you hate me?" It comes in a whimpering choke, punching you in the chest like the words had made material as they flew.
>The heart rattles its chains.
>You had never even thought, how alienated she must feel from you, your actions reflected on it. The way you shied away as you learned what she was. Your hesitance to speak out for her. The crass way you disregarded her today.
>The way others retreated from you.
>She had acted out because she was scared. Scared of being alone.
-like you-
>And you had shirked her because it was just some quirk in her behavior.
-yer a scumbag alright-
>not helping.
>Now she was going to make you cry for entirely different reasons. Your heart thrashed furiously in its pit, a hunger stirring that demanded you at least try.
"... Teth'ra"
>She's not trying to hide it anymore, her restraint slips, her shallowed breaths louder and more obvious as she quakes.
>"Don't Lie!... I saw how you looked at me. Like I was some kind of animal!"
>"That's what we are to you right? Animals that pretend at being human? What I am!"
>Where is this coming from?
"Teth'ra I-"
>"What if I don't want to be human?! To be normal!... What if I just want to... to...." A powering sob racks her frame, she shudders as she buries her muzzle into her hands. Legs quivering. She's openly weeping now.
>Your heart is screaming.
>Fuck this subtlety shit. time to load up and roll out.
-she saved you, you owe her this-
>Yes... yes you do. You steel yourself as you lurch off your cot and take an aching step forward.
>Your leg screams its own chorus as you move, it can go fuck itself, your heart is louder by magnitudes.
>Shakily... another step. and then another.
>Just like that first day of Rumbler practice. When you first crammed yourself into an armature. Step by step.
>Tears of your own well at the corners of your vision as you edge closer to her, without the distinct tap of your crutch, she seems not to take notice.
>Every cry that escapes her hits you behind the ribs, yet more reminders of how terrible you were. Your on the verge as you stand behind her. She no longer looks like the giant you were so scared of, she looks pathetic, small, pitiful.
>She looks like you feel.

>You reach up and seize her shoulder with a firm hand, careful to make certain your grip can be easily slipped, and the points of your nails face away, as if you had claws of your own.
>She jumps slightly and seems confused but doesn't shrug off the touch, you go in for the kill.
>You pull her shoulder towards you, forcing her to turn on trembling legs to face you.
>You nail the left hand on her free shoulder as she faces you now, blue eyes watering like the ocean itself had sprung a leak.
>You catch them in your own eyes this time, you do nothing to hide the pain that contorts your image.
>You have to carry her now.
>You have to hold her together.
>Despite trying to hold some sort of strength to your voice it all collapses like molded stone, you stammer it out, wavering and warbling.
"I'm Sorry! Okay Teth'ra... I-I'm sorry that I've been so fucking wrapped up in myself!"
"I've been trying! Trying so fucking hard to see you as a person, And I know you are! Your wonderful! but I just can't. Fucking get over it!"
>Goddamnit it's all falling to pieces, you aren't supposed to be crying, not now.
"So please. Just stop alright? Your gonna make me cry now you fuzzy idiot!"
>Now you need support, how much of a pussy are you?
>You press down on her shoulder and she seems to oblige, lowering herself until the two of you are at about equal height.
>You aren't sure which one of you pulls for the embrace first, but you crash into eachother. It's rough, but your saved from toppling over by the fact she's kneeling and is unable to really lean her weight on you.
>Still she sobbed as she buried her muzzle under the crook of your chin. The crying accentuated by sharp, pleading whines. Poor girl.
>This calls for heavy artillery.
>Even as you bite back your own streaming tears on allowing her, 'your angel', to get like this, you curl an arm over her shoulder and bring your hand around to meet the ruff of her neck.
>You hoped that the canine part of her was as predominant as you were hedging your bets on right now, the chin rub was a fantastic trick, and now you hoped some more of the sort of attention you would give to a hurt dog would help her.
>this stuff is soft as downe, and you bury your fingers in and find her skin.
>Silky grey ruffles under your touch as you scratch in gentle circles along the back of her neck, her breath sharpens noticeably as she buries herself into you further, the whining becomes softer, she opens her mouth slightly and you can feel the heat of her breath washing over your neck.
>For a split second your worried those teeth may nape you, but she shoves her muzzle forward, stopping before she tilts your head skyward. The bridge of her muzzle nestled against your jaw, the soft fur of her face feeling like velvet remnants of the strangest beard you ever tried to grow.
>You lean your whole hand into your scratching petting, working into the tense coils of her neck, another needy whine and she squirmed against you.
>It's working. At this point you aren't sure what part of her is actually the one thats in control, the friendly neighborhood anthro, or the doggish jackal, currently pleading for your attention. In either case both of them are fine by you, always were a dog person.
>"Don't go." She whines sharply again.
>Your other hand lowers onto her upper back and you start scratching, journeying your fingers over the furrows and hills of her physique.
>She gives a shuddering breath and an almost moaning whine as you feel her tension start to melt away.
"I won't."
>Her muzzle flicks under you as she rests her chin on your shoulder, it almost fits into the hollow of your throat like a puzzle piece.
>"No. I mean it... I can't see someone else go and leave me all alone again." Her voice rumbles into your throat, its an odd feeling.
>Wait... again? dammit Teth'ra!
>Something about the knot in her back tells you she needs to talk about this.
>You hope she doesn't have to make you ask. But as the seconds drag on it seems like you might.
>It's cliché as all hell but fuck it, your life is becoming more like a soap opera as the days slide past.
"Who hurt you?"
>She immediately tenses, a little air is forced out of your lungs as she whines mournfully.
>Probably should have been more delicate with the wording, because she's not being quite so delicate with your ribs right now.
>The jackal almost seems to emit a low howl as she pulls herself against you. Your torn between the threat of being crushed if she squeezes any harder, the urge to cry yourself, and that churning feeling yelling at you to fix her.
>Dammit Jim! Your a mechanic not a therapist!
>But your the best she's got right now
>You decide to tough it out, you give her a pat on the back and move a hand to cradle the back of her head while you keep your other on her neck. While gently shushing into her ear. Which isn't hard since the thing is practically right in front of your lips.
>She takes a moment but then inhales deep. Here it comes.
>"I'm an only child... b. But, I wasn't always."
>...
>"My parents emigrated out of Egypt in the 70's, they came to the states. To get away and start a family."
>Egypt, of course her folks came from that hole in the sand, where else would a name like hers occur?
>"I almost didn't happen ya know?... Mom was beat real bad in one of the attacks, caused all sorts of complications later. Because some backwards asswipes fuckin stoned her, Because she was an animal!" Her breath comes in quick inhales and shudders, even as her despair creeps into her voice she's trying to hold it together.
>'because she was an animal' She likely wasn't thinking about it but the accusation was clear. This is one hell of a guilt trip.
>"They didn't have much. Gave up everything to get out, but they wanted to settle somewhere arid. Best environment for us pups right?"
>"So they took the cheapest option they had.. Utah.... And there we were, one of the only anthro families in state, surrounded by humans and that weird little cult of congeniality they got goin' on down there."
>"They had me first, came out a bit late and a touch on the large side, but mom was a champ. Her second was a still birth, I was too young to even remember how she cried."
>"Then, when I was five they had Dera'ket... Was excited as hell to have a little brother... Someone else I could play with!"
>"None of the other kids would come near me, either they were scared of me, or their parents forbid them. My claws hadn't even really come in yet, but still 'accidents will happen' they kept saying."
>"My dad didn't fall for their bullshit, wanted to storm out there and snarl at them why they were trying to get rid of us or convert us. Mom always erred towards caution though."
>...
>"Wasn't an active sort of persecution. Mostly just avoided us despite the missionaries coming to our door on the regular."
>"We were always invited to the social functions, either too late for it to actually matter or some thinly disguised rally for their hokey religion... I'd rather that they would've just left us alone rather than pretend like we're accepted."
>"Where it really showed was at school, the teasing, the bullying, the thinly veiled threats."
>"Hey look it's the mutt. Anubis is here. The mighty hunter shows herself.... Wanna be tamed bitch?" She cringed at that last one.
>"I managed well enough but Dera'ket.... He wasn't as tough as me, but I always tried to look after him as the oldest in the litter."
>"Despite the trouble I would get into, I chased away his bullies, bared teeth at punks, got in a few scraps after my claws grew in."
>"They would always get off scot-free, because according to their dipshit puritan parents, they were perfect little angels that could do no harm. Meanwhile I was the little terror with teeth and claws and nasty things. 'Why can't you just act like a normal girl?'"
>"But fucking year differences pulled us away from eachother... I would come home to him crying in his room, I would have to get mom because he wouldn't let me in."
>She's edging closer and closer to hysterics as she speaks, the shudders rocking the both of you become more desperate, some pleading part of her hinting to not spill her heart out.
>Too little, too late.

>"It got worse and worse after I started high school.... Puberty came at me like a truck, and I was always on the edge of my nerves. Often times I would have to force my way in his room when mom wasn't home and he was crying."
>"jus-Just to hold him close, and lie straight to his little ears that everything was gonna be ok!"
>"But he would just come home worse and worse! I... I-I tried everything! But he never let me in!"
>You know whats coming, but you can't brace yourself enough.
>Her grip tightens, she's approaching the breaking point.
>"And then one day he j- he ju- he just..."
>"HE NEVER CAME HOME!!"
>You honestly find some pain from your chest as she her arms constrict around you, burying you into eachother. She lets loose a long crying howl. Before bawling her eyes out.
>You find yourself sobbing now, because of her.
>You must remind her of the downward spiral her brother took, the one that must have ended with him taking his own life.
>The isolation, the bullying, a suicide in the family, a sibling even, an only sibling.
>Makes your own shitty days at school seem like a cakewalk.
>You had no idea. And your heart is breaking its chains trying to leap out of your mouth.
"I'm sorry Teth... I'm so sorry..."
"I had no idea."
>"i-It's not your fault!" She chokes out... This girl is turning your heart inside out and reshaping it to be three sizes larger.
>Your not sure what to feel other than sorry for her, every emotion swirls in your head.
>The strength is fading from her legs, you can feel her weight start to hang off of you. You tense your legs trying to keep her upright as she slumps, arms holding strong.
>"Don't Go! don't go don't go don't go!" She's begging like a broken child, frantically nuzzling you along your collar bone and neck. Her black nose a bizarre cold spot that nudges at you deeper. She must think your trying to pull away.
>You relent defeat and gently let her pull you down. You'd be lying if you didn't have to fight a little to get a decent lungful of air.
>You let her pull you slowly, dropping your good leg to take most of your weight, and the other being kept out of the way as to not aggravate your condition. Your sure not to drop onto her in a heap as you go from standing to sitting before she leans her weight on you as shes above you now, and trying her best to curl into your chest.
>Your positioning is awkward and you cant really hold her up, at least not without possibly throwing out your back, damn she's heavy.
>You don't skip leg day but lifting with your back is a bad idea, so you settle to let her down easy, shifting your legs slowly so you aren't laying on yourself. She still does not relent the vice grip she has on you. The whole time she's nuzzling and whimpering and crying.
>Forget opening the floodgates, the fucking Dam broke.
>How long has she kept this in?
>The last few inches to the ground drop away as both of you hit softly, you make a mild grunt of discomfort, choking it in to stay strong for her. Despite your tear slicked face.
>Something crackles and pops at your hip, you look up investigating as Teth'ra whines, not letting you pull away.
>"Don't gooooo-" Christ, shes like a puppy.
>Your damn hand radio is barking something, you take it out of the belt loop and turn it off, tossing it into the tent.
>Fuck it, this is more important right now.
>You have a bereaved jackal girl clinging to you acting like a pup some punk nailed with a rock, All of your dad's little wisdoms and your experience about raising your own pooch kick into gear.
>You knead your hands across her back, everything of hers twitches and uncoils as you work in with the heavy petting.
>She isn't letting go yet but her whimpers are getting steadier, less intense, you do your best to help her work out of it.
>Still she holds her head under yours, nose buried into your collar, the chilled spot twitching uncertainly.
>You work your hands up in tandem, and you bring them around to her head as you cup both sides of her jaw, fingers spread into the ruff of her cheeks.
>She freezes.
>Now it's your turn.
>You nudge her up, well sideways, until you can see her clearly. Those blue eyes glimmer and spark like the dancing ocean at sunset.
"I won't leave you."
>You go in for the kill running one hand up her cheek to tease the base of her ear while the other slides forward to stroke her chin.
>This never failed to make your old girl happy. It oughta do the trick for a 7 foot+ jackal.
"The sort of pain your going through is terrible, the last thing you need is to be alone with HuIT"
>The last syllable is strained as she squeezes you.
>The tears are finally being held back as she gave an almost mirthful growl "mmmuarf~"
>Was that a bark? an honest to god bark?
>"You better damn well mean that." Her voice still wavers.
>She inhales greatly as her death grip loosens, to the applause of your ribs. But you know that her little pouring out hasn't ended yet.

>Are you ready for round 2?
>You aren't sure but fuck it you have to try. Especially since she isn't letting you go until she's done.
>Her eyes are distant as she recounts.
>"After Dera'ket was... gone. Something in me snapped, and I just. Calmed down I guess."
>"I forced myself to stop in some stupid hope someone would come by.... someone.. like you."
>Not sure if the heart squeeze is from her words or her clinging to you.
>"But no one came around came around back then, they all kept their distance. So I got pissy, started lashing out, pulling stupid stunts."
-doesn't that sound familiar?-
>...
>"I.. I was so damn stupid. Kept getting in fights, hitting the weights only so I could be even scarier in a scuffle. Kept thinking, 'they wanna see a predator? give em' one!'"
>"I even sharpened my claws and filed my teeth for fucks sake!"
>Somehow the image of a spunky young Teth'ra taking an iron file to her canines is more endearing than it is frightening.
>"I hung around with the bad crowds, still didn't make friends, I was just the big angry bitch they used to keep things civil since I was always looking for a fight."
>"But still I.. I looked for someone, I was desperate... Mom almost shut down after it happened, and dad. Dad just growled at the neighbors and hit the bottle. I didn't want to be alone... I DON'T want to be alone."
>She passively runs a hand along your back as she continues.
>"Sophomore year I saw some skinny nerd eating all by his lonesome. I moved in with all the subtlety of Patton charging across Africa."
>*snrk* "Once he figured out I wasn't there to disembowel him, he was... actually very sweet. Thought it was just the coolest thing ever the queen bitch of the school wanted to know such a little dweeb."
>"His older brother didn't like the look of me. He was some college ball jock with a bigger padded cup than a brain. Overall fucking scumbag too, not just some angsty kid like me or those punks I hung around."
>She looks more distant now, ears low.
>"Then I had to distance myself, My first heat came on, and hard... It was really for the nerd's sake more than mine."
>"Mom told me that the first heat is always one of the worst, and you can't even trust yourself within sight of anyone you might uh.. fancy. Ya know?"
>"So for once I was a good girl and took my pills, and argued with the teachers over hiding myself away in study hall rather than attending class. Had to get mom on the phone. Humph, swear that was the angriest I've ever heard her."
>"But one day when I was starting to come down off it, The jock and three of the angrier fuckboys I had more than one fight with came out of nowhere when I was walking home. They cornered me in an alley. barking some shit about 'taming the beast'"
"Oh god Teth'ra.. They didn't-"
>"No, I about bit their dicks off." She manages a small laugh.
>"The sight of the cops coming across a scared little 16 year old jackal in an alley, teeth and claws dripping with blood and hugging her own tail must have finally done something. Everyone backed off real quick. I sent those four to the fucking hospital, One of em' even in critical condition."
>"Teenagers got juvie and expulsion. And as for the nerd's big bro? Tried as an adult and put away in prison, for attempted rape with intent to murder."
"Think he's in one of the penal outfits?"
>"Humph... If he is and the bugs haven't gotten too him first, remind me to tear his goddamn throat out."
>"All of them said I went feral, turned into some kinda monster. I barely even remember what happened myself, Just came to with em' screaming on the ground and the taste of blood in my mouth."
"And the nerd?"
>"Blamed me for his brother getting the slammer, no idea where the hell he went, I shoved him aside, hurt to do it but I knew better than to keep someone that could hurt me close."
>"The whole thing was a wake up call to my folks too, they snapped back into actually taking care of me. Dad even took me out to get licensed and got me a ratty old truck so I would never have to walk home again."
>"Course I got yelled at and beat over the head for just about every stupid mistake I made since the suicide. But it was better than them leaving me to turn into a street rat."
>"Then the draft started and I was an early pick... and here I am."
>She had recovered over the course of the final leg of her speel.
>...

>"I uh. I should... Probably let go of you. now. Right?"
>Back to her old self, you would sigh in relief if she wasn't holding you so close.
"Yeeeeeah- You probably should."
>She gingerly relaxed her grip and scooted away from you, avoiding eye contact. Her ears doing some odd swiveling dance.
>She sat up and you moved to do the same, illiciting a pretty heavy groan, fuck why were you so sore?
>Immediately Teth'ra snapped to attention, looked to you, looked to your crutch at the back of the tent, and then back to you.
>"Oh shit! you didn't walk on your bad leg did you?"
>You moved to stand.
"Te-"
>"-NO NO NO! Don't walk on it!" Immediately She squats low and shunts her arms under you for another princess carry.
>Was she seriously fussing over you even after the breakdown she just went through?
>She hefted you off the ground, and you threw an arm around her back for support.
"I'm fine! don't y-"
>"No your not fine! You've had a very stressful day, you need rest."
"I need rest?!?! After that little collapse back there? No you ne-"
>This time you were cut off by being dumped unceremoniously on your cot, and you cover being thrown over you, which you immediately fussed with.
"Teth'ra! don't yo-"
>A furred hand pushes your chest down, as she continues doing.. something, with your sheets "I'll be fine"
"I'm not the one that spilled her heart on the floor!"
>A soft growl and she manhandles you as she tucks your blankets under and around you.. wait, was she cocooning you with your own damn blankets?!
>Feeling unusually brave you square your shoulders and heave outward trying to squirm out of your fabric prison.
>She shoves you back down and tightens the bundle around you, growling as she places a hand just below your neck.
>Satisfied with her work she steps away. "I'm going to go explain in detail to command how Vilka fucked up today, this is going on a report anyway so might as well beat her to the punch. YOU stay here and get some rest!"
>She then throws on the tarp and leaves into the far more mellowed rainfall.
"Teth'ra"
"... Teth'ra!..."
"Teth'ra!!"
>You huffed heavily as you set your head back against your pillow
"TETH!!!"
...
"motherfucker"
>Thinking on it you were actually a lot more tired than you remembered. Today was mentally draining.
>You sighed as you tried to settle in to get some sleep...
>Were the insides of her ears redder than usual?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You awoke gently to darkness. Warmth constricted you on every side... oh, right. Teth'ra had decided to treat you like some sort of human burrito, you wished she would have stuck around and talked to you instead of running off. You were left relieved, but also confused and tired. Every feeling from the day had swirled like the rolling of the ocean within you, you weren't certain what exactly bubbled up to the surface.
>You looked over to the jackal in question. Sleeping soundly, practically melted into her cot. Seeing her so relaxed reassured you that nothing else had gone wrong while you were out. You felt a tinge of guilt for how you were thinking before, so focused on her species rather than what kind of person she was.
>And she was a wonderful person.
>More feelings fluttered within you, dancing like a cloud of birds in a waltz through the air.
>Well, you couldn't just fall back asleep to set your rhythm in line with the standard, you had to get up and do something to facilitate that.
>Damn this blanket wrap is tight.
>Still you gently strained out against it and started shimmying, if you could just get your shoulders free enough to snake out your arms.
>You muffled your sounds of exertion as not to wake Teth'ra.
>Eventually with a groan you shook your shoulders free and managed to work your arms out, and felt along your cocoon for the telling edges of the blankets to roll it off you.
>Hell she tied some knots in here too, just to keep you from squirming out easy.
>Mental note: if you ever need someone restrained and your short on zipties just pass the jackal a bedsheet.
>Managing to untie and roll out the crinkled mess that was your bedding, you finally got step 1 complete, now for step 2... this might get tricky with those sat-dishes for ears.
>Slowly... ever slowly. You creep your legs over the side of your cot and gently teeter forward.
*pop*
>...
>dontwakeupdontwakeupdontwakeup
>A slight roll of her shoulder but nothing more, the ice of your spine goes back down.
>The fabric of your cot makes a few more soft pops and snaps as you pick yourself off of it with all the speed and dexterity of someone handling a live bomb.
>It feels like 10 minutes have crawled by when your weight is finally off the noisy fucker and you can stand upright.
>Amazingly Teth'ra still hasn't stirred aside from the minor fidgets a sleeping body does. Either your being more ninja than you think or she's sleeping awfully sound.
>Still taking it slow, you creep over to your crutch and pin it under your arm, and start walking towards the front of the tent, being careful not to make any distinct tapping sounds from your faithful wooden assistant.
>You freeze solid as the jackal produces the low throaty murmur of a growl, you sucked in air, waiting for her to bolt upright and ask what the hell you were doing.
>But it trailed off almost... pleasantly? she pulled a short intake of breath and moaned lightly.
>Phew, just the stirrings of pleasant dreams.
>That's a relief, no need to abandon your plan to shake her out of a night terror.
>A few more feathered steps and you were squatting over your footlocker, praying that the hinges don't fucking squeak.
>How long has it been since you last oiled the hinges?
>The lid peeled open without any verbose complaint, fantastic.
>You rustled through your clothing to find you prize, tucked away at the bottom.
>You raised the polished black case and set it to your side, careful that the handle doesn't make any clattering ticks. And closed your footlocker again.
>Step 2 accomplished, now for step 3 to edge you out of the danger zone.
>You hike the case under your free arm and edge out, slowly unzipping the flap and slipping out the half opened envelope.
>A clear night sky greeted you. Crisp night air slowly whistled by, things seemed oddly still despite the fact you were on an active military base.
>Seems like the majority of the troopers housed here abandoning it to join the offensive gave you some peace and quiet, long as you stay within the perimeter and don't bother the patrolling night sentries, fine by you.
>You stamped off to a certain little rock outcropping at the north of the eastern field, the pale kiss of moonlight touched everything as it hanged in the sky.
>For the next little while you engaged in some self recommended physical therapy to get your leg worked out so it would still be in shape when the doc gave you the go ahead to start running on it.
>When you felt winded enough you sat down and cracked open the case to get yourself back into a restful mood.
>Nothing does that quite like a song, so you pulled up your guitar, cleared your throat, and started plucking out the first tune to come to mind.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSe2k3P8wRE

[--------------------------------------------------------Chapter End------------------------------------------------------------------]


'The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.'
 
-Lao Tzu
 
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>... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. / -. . .-- / .... .- ... / ... .... --- .-- -. / .. - ... . .-.. ..-.
>.. - / .- .--. .--. . .- .-. . -.. / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . / .-. ..- .. -. ... / --- ..-. / -... . .-. .-.. .. -.
 
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Chapter 4: Gravecall
 
>A gentle, floating sort of warmth, Everything just... sits, tranquil, pristine.
>The air holds no buzz, no murmuring, no thrum.
>Every part of you is at peace, there is no tension, no worry.
>Only your gentle rise and fall is what moves, the beat under your chest is so calmed you can't even feel it.
>A homely cream glow pours in from the window.
>The dither of small voices outside, laughing, at peace.
>A door gently creaks open, and she's there again.
>You always know the hazy thing is a she. It just is.
>You feel a warm radiance from her, it's love, she stands there waiting for you.
>But you can never bring yourself to look at her, even when you catch a glimpse she's merely a warm blur, a stand in for an actor that will never appear.
>You can't move anyway. and you know what happens next.
>This is the future you can't have.
>A deep humming drone cuts across the silence. You move by roaring engines, You come from the night, Death is all that awaits you.
>The voices are gone, she is nowhere, faded back into nothing as your pleasant surroundings fall away into a starless void.
>The cold shoots through, gripping into you like the claws of a voided behemoth.
>Your spine entangles with a marionette of wires, flesh peels away and rots as nothing but burning cold enraptures you.
>The iron bolts on to your limbs, entrapping you in your tomb.
>The droning bellows in your ears, it is everything and nothing.
>Your eyes are peeled away for hollowed lenses of clockwork and rusted spikes.
>You are a monster of iron, standing, corroded, hulk, a thousand fathoms tall.
>But you are still powerless, locked in vigilance over the black ash of a dead world, a macabre titan carved of the corpse of everything that was. The dark sky roils and bellows.
>a sea of bodies lies below you, every hollowed eye is upon you. judging, hating, calling for you to join the nothing.
>This is the future you chose.
 
*
>Your eyes open with a start, needles retreat from your spine as your heart spasms. You hate that fucking dream.
>The distant roll of trumpets cuts across the morning air, reverie.
>You inhale deep through your nose, time to face the world.
>Despite your dream you feel well rested, well enough for having woken up in the middle of the night beforehand.
>Time to hoist yourself out of bed, you fully expect Teth'ra to have already gotten up and left.
>Stretch the shoulders and up you go.
>As you sit up gathering your bearings there's a protracted yawn, and its not yours. The lump on the other cot produces two burly arms and a yawning muzzle. You smile slightly seeing she hasn't absconded before you could get a chance to talk.
>"S' it morning already?"
"Can you not see the fuckin sun's out?"
>"fuck off its five in the morning." she groans.
"Well its time for you to run off again, thats reverie sounding."
>"... I did not run off."
>You toss an empty water bottle, which bounces tinnily off the tip of her nose.
>"... Point taken"
>You start buckling on your kit to get ready for the day, lacing up your boots as she rises like some ancient leviathan shaking off a coating of dirt. The whole time you exchange passive aggressive glaring and maintaining an air of disapproval.
>Eventually as she finishes lacing her boots she relents.
>"Look i'm sorry I left so suddenly yesterday... I had a lot to think about."
>There's what you wanted to hear.
"No shit?"
>She rolled her eyes with a faint smile and a huff.
>"I'm sorry about putting you through that, I jus-"
"I'm the one who should be saying sorry here, I focused on what you are rather than who you are. I was wrong to do that."
"I just haven't had..."
-don't remember-
"... Pleasant encounters with anthros in the past. And I let that color my perceptions unfairly."
>...
>"You still tried to help when I was down, that means... well, it means a lot. That's a good friend in my book."
"You got shit taste in friends then."
>That guilt was re-surging again, you had driven her to tears because of how stubborn you were to accept anything out of your norm.
>But before you could even think on it more she had knelt down in front of you and bought you into a loose hug.
>Always with the hugging, this one.
>"My taste in friends is fine. You just need to stop doubting yourself so much."
"You... don't blame me?"
>"For what?"
"The way I acted. The way I pushed you?"
>"Look, I know what you must be thinking, That I'm willing to get so close to humans even though I've had.. less than optimal memories of them while you can't say the same for anthros. But I won't judge, I grew up utterly surrounded by humans, I know not all of them are bad."
>"I can't even imagine what happened to make you so scared, but I can only assume anthros were a rare commodity where your from, so you don't know any better."
>Ignorance is bliss.
>You can see her tail slowly wag, her energy is infectious and you find your spirits lifting a bit.
>"So I'll just have to teach you better." A hinting of excitement floats on her voice.
"I guess."
>"No guessing, I'll show you that you don't have to think of everyone as a threat."
>She breaks the hold and tussles your hair roughly as you hiss in frustration.
>"'cept for Vilka, she can go fuck herself" she says as she stretches, cautious not to hit the crossbeam.
>"I gotta report to rolecall, you get off, lucky you." Then she walks out.
>Might as well do something today.
 
>You finally remember where you threw your hand radio the other day just before you walked out looking like an idiot.
>Turning it on you fully expected to be screamed at for missing some important appointment, but there was nothing.
>You still dreaded the possibility of having to explain to anyone wondering why your coms were off that you were busy consoling a jackal woman having a full on breakdown.
>Would anyone even believe she was capable of an emotion other than anger?
>Then again same could be said about you. especially considering most people that knew better were dead.
>...
>Teth'ra is right, you need to stop making yourself depressed.
>Honestly speaking, you had no idea what to do with yourself. You couldn't just wander off to do PT, uppity leg and all, doctor's orders to avoid walking on it until Thursday. Defying a doctor's order is only for those with a death wish.
>You had nothing to work on. No poker games, drinking alone is a bad idea, and you didn't even have any good books on hand.
>You can't just go follow Teth'ra around.
>Nobody knows you do that thing what with the guitar and it's going to stay that way.
>What the fuck do you even do?
-masturbate and lament your life-
>First of all you're surrounded by snouts with a far more acute sense of smell then your old pals, and second.... well you don't know what the fuck they would do if they caught that scent. Start their heats? go into frenzy?
>That wasn't the sort of question you could just ask Teth'ra either 'yo it cool if I thrash joystick even if the smell alone sends everyone into a sex-crazed blood lust?'.
>The thought of them pinning you down and shredding your clothes and mangling your skin with it, and rutting against you.
>Jesus Christ how horrifying!
>You shuddered in revilement, your not even sure what they have downstairs, are they more like animals, or like humans?
>Sure you joked about the male equivalents that one time, but that was just stupid rumors.
>And that is ABSOLUTELY NOT a line of questioning to ask the one anthro you trust right now.
>To think of it, laying with an anthro, you didn't... hate the idea, but it confused you greatly.
>Could you even? even disregarding the teeth and claws.
>The logical part of you reasoned that due to the nature of being bipedal and the fact anthros were originally engineered from the human template meant it would be inefficient and illogical for them to have anything but human like genitalia.
>Your fear of the exotic and unknown whispered that you didn't know for certain.
>You tossed aside the internal debate
>It wasn't an issue you needed to worry about, not unless they were the aggressors. Being honest the only one of them you would hold any interest towards would be Teth'ra.
>That mouse, Eva, was kinda cute, but you had moved past women like that. You didn't like the idea of being with someone so.. passive.
>Lyudmilla had made an impression, but there was a reason women are called foxy for nymphomania related reasons, and she was the very definition of foxy. Plus it would be near impossible to think of that as anything but a one night stand.
>The others you had met yesterday were just.. no.
>especially not that goddamn bear.
>Vilka's peculiar interest in you was uncertain, she could be eyeing you for any number of reasons you could think of.
>The thought that it was for sexual interests, eugh. She already raised all sorts of red flags from what Teth'ra told you, she was also slacking in both posture and hygiene, the signs of someone entirely unfit to do the dance of love and care.
>But Teth'ra... You knew her, she was soft and vulnerable on the inside but hard and strong on the outside, which reminded you of yourself if anyone. She was also very caring and attentive with how she had been looking after you. And, her figure, umf~
>Plus you got the definite sense of tomboy from her, and tomboys were your cryptonite. A loving woman you could play poker and box with, who could hold down hard liquor and get all girly when she was drunk.
>The sort of girl who would whine and complain about wearing a dress to the ball, but show up looking far more beautiful than any 'proper' woman. And even if she teased and pushed you about squeezing her in a dress, you would know... You would know that it was her decision just to make you happy.
>The sort of woman that would tackle you into a wrestling match, that would devolve into sloppy, passionate sex.
>She would feel right at home going out with you and the boys to a dive and shooting pool. The sort that would protect you just as much as you protected her.
>The sort of woman that would have such a light of love and adoration for the children you would have together, unafraid to box anyone across the ears for mistreating your kids. The sort you could hold close when she worried and fretted over being seen as anything but the wonder she was.
>...
>Shit now you've gone and done it, your procreation destination is certainly getting active now.
>You have to address this sometime, just so things don't get awkward between you and your favorite jackal. But how?
>Well... if you could get far enough downwind you should be ok.
>fuck it! It's better than doing nothing.
 
>You were about halfway out of the camp when you radio screeched like a tropical bird being sucked into hell, its talons raking along a collage of chalkboards the whole way.
>Its life calling: your going to die scared, tired, and alone; you will never pass on your genetic lineage with a loving partner; You've been having this fantasy since highschool; and she isn't interested in anyone outside her own species.
>Bonezone is kill
>rest in peace stunty magic man of Penalia, we knew you for all of five minutes.
>"eyyyyy heloooo, jackass, your radio is on again..."
>That was the voice of captain Vegalta, the man that led the thumper unit of what was the 512, you had no idea where the remnants of his outfit were sent to after the 512 was dismantled, and you had no clue why he was on your frequency.
>"Tommy boooy, I know you can hear me." Just for that quip you would leave him hanging just a little longer while you come up with a method of retaliation.
>"Pick up the phone!"
>You slowly unhooked the radio from your belt loop and held it up, clicking on the transmit tab
"It's a radio chief."
>The hissing at the other end of the line went dead for a brief moment.
>"I fucking know that!"
"Ya sure, you had trouble remembering my name."
>Vegalta had always attempted to come up with stupid nicknames for you, everyone just called you Tom, or failing that, smartass.
>"Look I tried to get a hold of ya yesterday. Where were you?" he didn't rise to your bait, must be important... maybe.
>Granted he was still being the loud fuck he always is, and you still needed your payback.
"I was ahhhh, busy with sumthin'... yeah.. busy~."
>You put as much of your acting chops into your delivery to make it seem like you were lying in bed with a lover in the afterglow.
>"fukin' just... Whatever!... Get down to hanger A32, north side of the base near the east field, ya know it or not?... jackass"
>You gave your best evil grin, Vegalta was a self-styled lady killer, and would get testy if their was talk that someone was getting more tail than him. Which wasn't hard since he made the mistake of initiating a long and deep rivalry between the 512 rumblers and the 512 thumpers, and your troop got real good at sabotaging his little dates.
>Those were fun days pulling off what felt like shit out of a heist flick with your pals and Captain Willard... days that were gone now.
 
>fuck, what did Teth'ra say about making yourself depressed.
"Yeah I know it. Why?"
>"We got a surprise for ya!" belted in a different voice, one of the other boomers, you couldn't place a name to the voice but you had hung around a couple times with him.
>Normally you would be suspicious of such an offer due to the 'friendly' rivalry your two troops had against eachother, but those spats had died out when the battalion was dismantled. Might as well.
"This better not be a joke or i'm gonna shoot one of you."
>"Ah relax, bygones are bygones now, see ya in a bit Tom." they knew your dead pan delivery well. While you were a bit miffed about having your train of erogenous thought bumped off the rails, hanging out with the guys one last time before they shipped out was fine by you.
>You mentally put aside to save some time in the day to get your issues pressed out, your sure the little breakup party they no doubt had planned wouldn't last long into the night, not without the rest of the jocks there. Hell, without most of the battalion there.
>...
>fucking hell stop doing that.
>You'll just load more of your angst onto the only friend you have in this world.
>Eventually you hobbled your way over to A32, this was actually a fairly large hanger, a couple mechs plus spare parts and support rigging could be comfortably fit within, you entertained the thought that the surprise could actually be a fully functioning Rumbler, dolled up in memory of the 512, but that was too optimistic.
>As you walked the perimeter towards the hanger doors you would likely just be getting drunk off your ass and singing to  the memory of your old pals, certainly a more pleasant way of remembering them than the official methods.
>Some boomer you recognized stood at the corner excitedly waving, a familiar face, just one you can't nail a name to right now.
>"Yo Tom! come see, your new machine came in yesterday morning!" he then retreated around the corner in a jog.
>You mentally had to restrain yourself from ditching the crutch and running around the corner to see your new darling.
>But still you picked up your hobbling pace.
>Your building sized mass of fuck you! was back!
>Sure it wasn't the same old machine, but it was likely a custom order just for you, after all you were a sole survivor! you got medals and shiny shit for that!
>What high grade parts will it have? maybe a new weapon system? New engines?
>Maybe it has giant ass pile bunker fists so you can smash the everliving FUCK out of any enemy monster or machine or machine-monster you find like so much squishy pancakes!
>Maybe some micro-delay load, burst cannon shoulder battery to fling a wall of high explosive death from afar!
>A rail cannon that launches thermobarics! or even fucking NUKES!
>Giant mini guns! Death Rays! Swarm missiles! Drills to pierce the heavens!
>The possibilities were making you fucking giddy like a kid on christmas, maybe you had been reading too many comics in your spare time.
>Ah fuck it! You got a new mech!
>You rounded the corner and strode the short distance to stand in the shade of the open hanger door and gawk at your new baby.
>Your beaming smile shattered like a cheap Fabergé egg when you saw was NOT a Rumbler, but a vaguely assorted pile of pieces and systems and half built blocks and plates, hanging around some ugly ass endoskeleton.
>Your teeth attempted to grind into dust in a single pass as every muscle in your body locked up and your eyes started burning.
>Were your clenched fists pressing so hard your nails were drawing blood? you don't care right now.
>In one lightning snap you turned your head to stare your BURNING FURY right into the soul of the sniveling little shit who said you had a... surprise.
>This is not a surprise! This is a giant Fuck-off mess! was your crutch rattling against the ground from how much you were vibrating in your incadescent rage? you don't care. It don't matter. None of this matters. Aside from strangling the lier your looking at right now!
>"now uhhhh. I-I know this looks bad. b-b-b-But! i-i-It's one of them new modular deals! yeeah! it uh- it came. like. this."
>"S-still a work in progress y-ya know?"
>work in progress.
>Work in Progress?!
>WORK IN FUCKING PROGRESS?!!!!
>How the fuck were you supposed to turn this pile into a functioning mech inside of a FUCKING WEEK!!
>WITHOUT a support crew!!!
>Something in your brain twitched as everything burned, the apologist backing away slowly as you stared boggle eyed at this thing they dared to ship you instead of a working machine, you can't hold it in anymore and you have nothing within easy reach to destroy.
"FFFUU-"
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
<Teth'ra>
>Pushups were no sweat, You had been doing hundred sets since you were 14, if anything it was cute how others thought the morning PT routine could wear you out.
>Vilka had been wearing on the troop particularly hard this morning, likely to make everyone appreciate the little wine n' dine she had planned for tomorrow, and by extension her. You hadn't even began your run yet and the complaints were already starting.
>Of course you ignored them, you were more concerned with letting your thoughts wander as you nonchalantly powered through this non-effort.
>The corporal to your left wasn't feeling quite up to it, she was already huffing and her ups were getting a little shorter while her downs went faster.
>You had told her multiple time before to lay off the snack cakes and actually fucking lift, but nooo she wanted to have a full figure for the boys.
>You were certain she was just jealous you had both the strength and the looks to show her up. She never failed to mention how you were soft around the edges 'oh those blimps are so damn big, how do you keep em' like that without stuffing your face?'.
>Its not like a high-carb, high-protein diet with plenty of hard work was some long lost Tibetan secret to immortality.
>Though she seemed to give that classic bratty bitch snickering when she saw exactly how much you did eat. She stopped after you snapped your jaws shut about an inch away from her nose with a loud *clack*.
>Still a real mood killer, you had been feeling a lot better since yesterday and everyone else just has to ruin it, and right now its Vilka trying to push the whole troop over the edge because of an 'outlying performer'.
>"fuhhhuuck *huff* how do you *huff* do this all fuhkin' day?" she asked breathily.
>You took the opportunity and with a huff launched yourself up further than usual on your upstroke and turned to lean yourself onto a single arm, and continued the pushups on a single closed fist. You faced her with a clear grin and condescending eyes.
"Ohhh you know... I just lay off the transfats and work hard instead of worrying what cute boys think when they leer at my ass."
>Yeah that definitely got right under her skin, she looked like she wanted to say something but was just too mad to think. And too tired to even say it.
>Then break was called and she dropped onto the ground in a wheezing heap. Fuckin newbies.
>Lyudmilla was about to start berading the lazy shit, which you were all too eager to sit and watch someone else suffer besides you.
>But your ears swiveled as the wind blew in, and judging by how many stopped in the middle of what they were doing to listen you weren't the only one hearing it.
>It sounded like a rocket motor on full blast but maybe that was the wind disrupting it.
>What the hell was that?
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
<Tom>
"-UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuck"
>You heaved for breath, you weren't quite so sanity-splittingly pissed now, but still white hot hatred burned in you.
>How the fuck were you supposed to fix this, it's in fucking pieces, and you can't have more than a week before you ship out.
>there's no way you can do it... there's no way.
>You felt your beating heart trying to pull its best freestyle dance routine. what the hell can you even do?
>"That had to be some sort of record breaker dude."
>You were the son of an Irish bastard and an Italian opera singer, you had one hell of a set of lungs on ya.
>Not like that was going to help much. You can't fucking piece together a machine out of this mess no matter how long you can hold a note.
>You looked with exhaustion more than anything towards the boomer, the weight of the impossibility of the task in front of you setting in.
>You started croaking out your objections.
"How the fuck am I supposed to fix this? It's in fucking pieces, you.. you can't get a machine out of that!"
"fuck me."
>Your legs felt hollow, you leaned on your crutch more. Would they send you in without it? is this how you die? Bureaucratic incompetence?
"I mean you can't even.. just... fucking how?"
>Shit, you felt like you wanted to cry again. You should have waited to see if you couldn't have bought Teth'ra along, then you wouldn't have to act like a bitch in front of anyone but her. She would have done that magic bullshit with her nose and mauled you with self help advice and the sort of presence therapy only a sapient dog is capable of before you even got this far.
>There goes that crippling loneliness again. You pulled your head down, and considered how to get rid of the only other person here before the waterworks started up again.
>"Ya do it with OUR help."
>...
>You chanced a look towards where you assume Vegalta was standing.
>Holy shit.
>They're all there. Everybody from the 512 that got out alive. All of them wearing wrenches and jumpsuits.
>Goddamnit guys!
>You find your breath catching in your throat. Don't cry!
>Don't cry in front of them you pussy!
"Well?.. The fuck are you all looking at?! Get to work!"
>they gave lazy salutes and started in towards the heap of parts.
>Glorious fucking faggots everyone of em'
>fuckssake don't cry, not in front of em'
>You hobbled off towards the tiny corner office within the hanger and shut the door, confident nobody could hear you over the starting din and racket of assembly, You let out the the cry that had been bouncing around your chest.
>Those fucking assholes.
>They made you so damn happy.
 
>When you recovered from your moment you stood up and hobbled out, badgering your impromptu work crew on every fine detail and adjustment. If they had come together to make your machine, they would do it right.
>You tried your damnedest to hide just how much this meant to you, but you had a sneaking suspicion they had an idea of it anyway.
>Still, they didn't call you out on it, you need to be strong.
>They understand.
>The rest of the day rolled by like this until the sun hung low and you decided it was about time to turn in.
>Looking back the progress made was phenomenal, most of the core systems were in place, auger, fire control, engines, transmission and drive linkages, hydraulic and power lines.
>Most of the plating and housing for the legs was complete too and had been bolted on.
>A few key differences were showing up as you looked over the half built mech, the feet for one were a different shape, with wide wings that folded out towards the rear and a practically naked back heel which supported an oversized quad chamber blast vent. The whole array was covered in wide, down-faced digging claws while the forward heel and the stabilizer wings were heavily armored with blunted plates.
>Vegalta rather cheerily informed you the differing foot pattern from the factory standard "cleated boot" was for increased traction in all directions to accommodate a brand new full motion gearbox.
>You had heard of the "reverse-Y" foot pattern before, mostly from one of the few anthro pilots you ran into bitching that the digging claws faced down rather than forward so they couldn't use them to kick things. You counter-bitched that in the event of CQC in a rumbler, kicking things was a terrible idea. The wide flat-top body of the torso would get in the way and not having both feet dug firmly into the ground would just give your opponent unneeded opportunities to flip you off your balance.
>If anything you beat the fucker into submission with the weapon arms and shoulder charges coupled with judicious application of the frag cannons before stomping them when they're on the ground, Where the digging claws would do more than make a mess. That got you growled at and called a 'brutish monkey' and with your goat and adrenaline up you made ready to demonstrate on his stupid face before the guys stepped in and pulled you away before you broke someone's jaw. Good times.
>The leg plates also had more prominently flared cowlings, which were currently empty but would shelter blast vents in the future, and from the looks of things, larger than your previous fair.
>Blast vents were an essential part of mobility for any high speed machine that locomoted by legs, bipedal or otherwise. With how many moving parts are included in the complicated machinery of a set of mechanical legs that can roughly follow a human range of motion, friction heat from all the moving parts builds up fast at speed. Coolant fed radiator coils leech excess heat from component groupings and breath it into the air gap between the machinery of the leg and the armored shell. This heated air is then discharged by the blast vents using mechanical diaphrams that are operated by the compression and impact of the machine's legs every time it takes a step.
>The harder the impact, the more is vented, this keeps the leg components at a stable temperature to avoid certain actuators and rotors from melting during an extended sprint. With the higher bore blast vents, especially the monstrous ones included in the new feet, how much harder were they expecting this machine to run?
>A new gearbox can't make that much of a difference.... Could it?
>They called it full range, which was just ridiculous, it couldn't follow the movement of its operator exactly....
>But then why the massive upgrade to the blast vents?
>Perhaps they were just anticipating an increased load in weapons and armor.
>You would see how much this claim was worth when you gave the first test piloting of the machine.
>You made your way back to camp... fucking full range motion, ludicrous.
>You were more than ready to conveniently forget all about Vilka and her little event the next day, Teth'ra was already asleep when you wandered in and you didn't want to wake her just to share your overflowing excitement about building a new mech with better parts.
>The idea of a full motion gearbox was of course impossible, but the improved traction and no doubt more refined and updated systems would edge on the performance of your machine to new heights.
>You went to sleep entertaining the idea of 'ordering' Teth'ra to help you and the guys with construction and fine-tuning, you were certain she would prefer your company over her usual days. Plus you needed some way to segue into inviting her on as your sub-gunner.
>No big deal right? just a natural opportunity to solve both of your problems with one stroke. Not like you were asking her out or anything.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>The night passed without incident, no wake up calls, no disturbing dreams.
>You awoke rather naturally, and pulled yourself up in your cot on autopilot, reaching for the mug of coffee that wasn't there.
>You reminded yourself Jurgen isn't around to brew you coffee before anyone else is up. not anymore.
>You blinked hard to clear that early morning fog from your eyes. You found that Teth'ra was still asleep.
>Watching her closely she didn't seem as relaxed as the night previous, you hadn't thought on it yesterday since you were dog-tired.
>Her breath was shallow and rapid, she started turning fitfully, distant whimpering held behind some invisible wall.
>oh no
>Do you do this? even with how she may lash out when you pull her out of it?
>You didn't think on that question as you already were gently pulling away the blankets to get a firmer hold on her.
>Her whimpers were restrained and distant, but there was an underlying desperation to them as her legs tensed and her chest hammered with each one. Some invisible hand from her dreams choking her voice.
>She fidgeted and curled, some unseen beast haunting her.
>A harsh strangled whisper from her panting muzzle. It sounded so far away, she was calling. Screaming from some pit within herself.
>"tom" She's calling for her knight, time to ride in.
>Your such a hopeless fucking romantic aren't you.
>You lay a hand on her shoulder as you lean in, holding her neck as you mumble into her raised ear.
"I'm here"
>The result is immediate, all of her tenses as she gasps for air, shakily returning breath. Slowly she uncoils as she feels you holding her in place.
"Bad dream?"
>She nods shakily as she still faces away from you, she hoarsely grunts "Y-yeah."
>You pull away and let her catch her breath, and pull in a folding chair to sit down by her cot.
>While she composes herself you pull out a pair of old mugs from the supply cabinet and pour out some of the water in the small tank there. Grabbing a couple packets of that ready to go coffee mix and dumping it in before setting them over your little butane burner to warm while you stir in the powder.
>This MRE coffee mix tastes like watered dirt but it's better than nothing.
>You sip at it and grimace, Jurgen's blend has this beat by miles, you would have to ask the man how he did it when you got back into the hanger. Your sure you saw him yesterday, skulking around lugging ammo crates.
>Sipping on the caffeinated liquid garbage, you reminisced over how handy of a man Jurgen was. He was always cold and didn't talk much, but you could tell he cared with how he did little things like that special blend of coffee he woke the troop with.
>Everytime you were camped up in (or anywhere near) a city or town, he would wander off when it was quiet and return with pack-fulls of fresh food, alcohol, and medicine. He was probably off raiding homes and clinics but it's not like the bugs ever left anyone behind to moan about their things being requisitioned.
>The precious few times a survivor was happened across it was usually some thin, ghoulish sort of person that managed to squirrel themselves into a barricaded hole too small and too well built for the bugs to bother with rooting them out.
>Months of isolation and critical shortage of supplies or any sort of human contact while waiting for nothing but an inevitable death took their hold. Most shelters turned up with the sole inhabitant dead, either by starvation or their own hands.
>What people made it through that alive by some miracle are forever altered, half the time they end up attacking the infantry that stumbles across them during building sweeps. Others are broken completely, just a gaunt husk without someone home.
>Poor bastards, all of em'. They probably spent the weeks in those cramped little boxes of safety, wishing they had the courage to die side by side with who they held dear rather than run and starve themselves out in a hole.
>There used to be more survivors, early in the war. Entire families, even whole neighborhoods and classrooms would be found huddled behind some battered blastdoor. They used to be called miracles, now every survivor you find is some broken loner or rarely, a desperate pair. Now they're called tragedies.
 
>You rose from your musings as Teth'ra sat herself up and draped her legs over the side of her cot. She huddled the blankets over her shoulders against the morning cold.
>You offered the other mug and she took it, gently cupping it between her paws. Grimacing as she took her first sip.
>Neither of you likes this trash, no one does. If anyone actually enjoys the taste of powdered coffee they're either lying or insane.
>Or they're a high ranking officer too dead inside to care. Never trust anyone who can suck the shit down without grimacing.
>The only guy you ever knew who didn't balk at the taste was that sniper, and he scared you. You were certain he was some kind of sociopath.
>And Dempsy never drank coffee, just chugged soft drinks and rotted his teeth while leering at women.
>Teth'ra looked deep in thought as she nursed her bitter stimulant. Something was bothering her, something beyond what caused her little breakdown before, or anything you could draw a bead on. It showed in the way her tail hung.
>You wanted to say something, but it was better to just leave her to mull it over for a little while, thats always how everyone handled you when you got moody.
>Just hold off for a bit, no need to appear needy in regards to keeping her in high spirits, that would just annoy her. You cringed more as you edged towards the bottom of your mug, you didn't even have a shot of whiskey to chase it down with something that didn't taste like a used air filter.
>You polished off your mug and set it back on the table, with absolutely no intent to refill it, this was military grade coffee after all, one cup was more than enough. Drink more than one and you would be so jittery you would make a tweaker look collected.
>Your friendly jackal was still sipping tentatively at hers, looking more present than earlier. The time was right, better now then never to ask her.
-social interaction! hisssssss-
>calm down! It's not like your asking to take her out for a drink.
>You're just asking her to get all sweaty helping you with your big gun.
-*screams autisticly*-
>No!... You just need her helping hand for some very personal adjustments.
>...
>fucksake! It's NOT a sex thing! that was one of the first things she said to you!
>But then again that second day when she came by she seemed to be less committed to that promise than what minimum suggested she intended to keep it.
>But was she teasing? or was there something else there?
>You pulled away from that downward spiral into the next. It's fine, the two of you won't be alone, the hanger is absolutely packed with pretty much everyone left from the 512 helping with your project.
>But you knew those guys liked to get up to shit, if they suspected you were having... thoughts, it didn't matter if you actually had a thing with her or not, they would conveniently arrange to bump you two into each other.
>Regardless you want to figure through what's bothering her. So it's time to ask her to help grease your throttle cable.
>FUCK
>You took a moment and fidgeted with your fingers. Stop freaking out dumbass!
>The only thing you need from her today is to press your buttons to find those sweet spots.
>Tapdancing Christ, your hopeless.
>Just belt out the question before it gets any worse.
>By now she's polished off the cup of reject grounds and has shifted a little to get more comfortable.
"soooooo, *tsk* Wanna help build my mech?"
"I'm sure the guys can find a good place for you to help out, like handling those big driveshafts."
-*mental headslamming*-
>smooth dipshit... real smooth.
 
>She looks rather thoughtfully out towards the forward corner of the tent as she allows the blanket to slide off her shoulders.
>Your head sags downwards as you lament your raging hormones. You made a mental note to work out your kinks when you got the chance, just so things don't get weird. Well, weirder than they already are.
>You notice her shorts have ridden up a bit from there usual cut. and those legs are bare to the world right now.
>The rolling, heavy hills of her thighs entrance your errant gaze, an ocular fly caught by a meaty spider. Very. Meaty.
>Large enough around to hug like a teddy bear filled with that stress ball gel stuff.
>She shifted and the behemoth rose, coiling under itself in a great swell that sprang taught against her skin.
>Hidden collections of fat clinging to the leviathan like delectable lampreys jiggled tantalizingly, revealing themselves to your small corner of the world.
>To think that beautiful swelling of power had a twin, solid, caressable handhold fo-
>You forced your eyes closed and pulled away, inhaling greatly to clear your mental state. You prayed she hadn't noticed, you've been slapped and screamed at for less.
>As you dared a peek she was still thinking over the question, but you had a different sort of problem as you lurched back into self awareness.
>Your certain other dog had risen to the challenge of the twin leviathans and was ready to go barking up those trees. And your damn brain wasn't holding the leash.
>The mental wrestling started in earnest as you boxed your own swell back down before it became noticeable.
>You crossed your legs, just to be safe. Teth'ra eventually turned back to you, as you fought with the strength of Adonis to keep from looking at her legs again.
>Just watch her eyes idiot. Indeed this helped, they seemed warm as she wore a pleased smile.
>"hmmmm... Yeah sure why not. It isn't a vacation, but I'll take any opportunity to forget about-"
>"Hey!! Hope i'm not interrupting anything!"
>You almost jumped out of your chair, the jackal bolted upright and slammed her head on the crossbeam again.
>Jesus
>You caught your breath and laid a hand over your startled heart as you gazed up at the culprit that had spoiled your quiet moment.
>Currently nursing a healthy laugh with a paw to her nose and a shit-eating smirk was the bushy, tangled mane of a greyscale wolf you know.
>"hehehehe. So Tom, you ready for dinner today?" She asked with a wide smile.
>Both you and Teth'ra must be giving identical glares but it doesn't seem to deter her.
>"-Vilka." The jackal finished her hanging sentence from her new spot on the floor, rubbing a fresh sore spot between her ears.
 
>The canine in question seemed to pointedly ignore her counterpart and stare expectantly at you.
>No clue occurs to you as to what shes thinking, as she only holds her muzzle through the flap, her ears and tail (the very things you were getting used to reading) completely out of sight.
>What energy you had before was bleeding out of you.
>Can't deal with this shit right now.
"Yeeeah, about that.. My mech came in pieces so I have to devote every waking moment to working on the damn thing."
>For once you didn't have to break out your well-worn talent for bullshitting. Vilka seemed to turn from expectant to thoughtful.
"I can call the guys up on the radio if you think I'm lying."
>"Now I didn't say that."
>You had nothing reliable to read right now other than her voice, you weren't trusting anything she said or taking any chances. So you slid your radio off the table and called up Vegalta.
"Hey Chief, pick up the, 'phone'"
>You wouldn't forget that little slip, you knew, and he knew it, and you would never let him forget.
>"Har har Tommy boy. Anyways good mornin', watcha callin for? You don't already have a date lined up to duck out on us with do ya?"
>You cringed softly at another one of his terrible nicknames. You noticed Vilka took peculiar interest in the conversation. Teth'ra was just on the floor, massaging her scalp and softly swearing.
"You know I hate those pet names you try to give everyone Chief. And quite the opposite, my Lieutenant seems confused about how I HAVE to be there to coordinate construction and tuning of my new machine, so I have to blow off her little dinner plan."
>You stressed a few points of speech in a subtle hint to the boomer captain that you would rather not socialize with your CO. He would understand.
>"Actually Tom-"
>oh no, noo no nonononono
>"-Your LT must be a lovely gal to treat ya to dinner-"
>FUCK You had mentioned the dinner plans and her gender! That fucking idiot thought you were trying to blow off a date!
>"-And I'm not the kinda guy to let life get in the way of things like that-"
>No Vegalta. Your just some matchmaking clown that thinks its nice of you to try to get everyone laid, regardless of if they actually like the girl or not.
>Your resolve was plummeting and Vilka's eyes seemed alight with mischief. Seems anthro eyes aren't that different from a human's in terms of expression.
>"-So you and your lady lieutenant have fun with your little outing, we can manage here without ya. Actually close to finishing! Have fun!"
>"Sounds like a plan then!" Vilka chirped happily and then disappeared before you could offer a different excuse.
>You felt your eye twitch, today was already ruined, is it too much to ask for just ONE quiet evening. Preferably with your new friend.
>Teth'ra sighed heavily as she picked herself up. "Guess that's that then."
>She threw on her clothes and stepped out before you could conjure anything to get her to help you and her blow off this whole charade.
>You settled for clicking on your radio again.
"... I hate you Vegalta. I hate you so fucking much right now."
>"Tchh, Oh come on Tomcat, that anthro pussy has go-"
>You turned off the radio, set it on the table and quietly restrained that part of you that wanted to march over there and beat that boomer idiot over the head, with a pipe wrench.
>One day, goddamnit, just one day of peace and tranquility before you marched off to get killed. Why must you be denied this?
"Why me?"
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>You decide to keep it simple, civilian clothing was permitted since this was pretty much an 'unofficial' social outing. So you dig out an old pair of blue jeans and nice black collared tee with a few crosshatched diamond patterns about the shoulders in white.
>You liked this shirt, and at least wanted to look presentable for your own sake more than anything. Showing up in uniform is just asking for unwelcome attention, lots of questions about being so hard up and needy women thinking they can crack your hard exterior open with their hooks.
>Still, you were a mech warrior, and that was bound to charm one of the servers at the joint, hopefully some cute redhead. So on went your service jacket and your goggles.
>You dug out a fine toothed comb and ran it through the morning mess that was your hair, bringing out what volume and waving charm you could put into it with some passes. Allowing yourself to find some of your confidence.
>Today didn't HAVE to be bad, just find some corner table to keep to yourself and possibly Teth'ra, Hang out some, get a nice meal free of charge. And if any cute waitresses come by and strike up conversation about the goggles you can tell them: yes, you do drive a massive, thrumming, beast of a machine.
>*sploosh*
>You gave a show winning smile as you looked at your trim self in the small mirror. Not bad, not bad at all.
>You would have to shave soon, and you wondered over the idea of growing a beard, a little extra hair is hardly a problem when surrounded by furry bodies right?
>Briefly you pondered if anthros view human men as more attractive with or without facial hair.
>Once again, a question you shunted aside, it doesn't matter to you, not unless they start throwing hints your way. Then you have to figure your way out from there.
>If anyone it would likely be that vixen, Lyudmilla. But you had the impression she does it to everyone.
>The rest of the day crawled by as you largely wandered around doing nothing. Well that was a lie, you were trying to find Teth'ra, to at least hang out before the inevitable awkward dinner. You weren't liable to have another panic attack, as long as no one touches you, But just being in the same room as almost 50 snouts without an easy way out with only one of them that you trust is bound to set you on edge.
>Eventually you managed to catch up to her as everyone was making ready to head out.
>But before you could ask her to stick with you Vilka called from a jeep packed with her and the sergeants, the passenger seat conveniently empty.
>You aren't playing this fucking game, you merely hold up your keys in response. If it's so desired, a trooper's civilian vehicle can effectively be shipped to wherever their deployed at for their use off the base. Soldiers like yourself took advantage of this and bought along your automotive darlings, even if they had to sit for a long while in a stuffy communal garage.
"Hey Teth'ra I could give you a li-"
>When you turn she's gone. Your heart scrunches a little. why is she avoiding you?
>Did you do something else wrong? Why doesn't she just say what's bothering her?
 
>The other vehicles in the small convoy start peeling away as you walk towards that empty motor-bunker that has your car.
>You turn back to see a shapely figure with an angular face and a voluminous tail standing all by her lonesome.
>"Oh dear~ It seems I hev been left without transportation. Vhat ever shall I do?"
>The vixen's acting is terrible, you groan and roll your eyes as you make towards the garage.
>"It seems I must ride vith you, dear Tom." Swear to god if she sheds on your upholstery.
>She follows you daintily as you crack open the corrugated door and find your car waiting not that far in.
>Your big old noisy darling, a 1970 Camaro 427 swap. Seven angry liters of big block V8 sat under the veiny bulge of that overlong hood. Likely making promises your own package under the hood won't measure up too since your not a freak of nature.
>You still adored the old machine though, it was your first and only car, a hand me down from your father, and it was pretty much the same age as you.
>The midnight blue paint untouched by dust or sunfade, it glimmered softly as you ran a hand along the cold curves of your old steed. Almost as if you were making an apology to it's stalwart old spirit 'sorry for leaving you alone so long, let's go somewhere and forget about this for a while'.
>All the memories you had with this old girl, losing what was close to you made you want to hold on to them all the tighter. Especially as you glanced around the garage and saw the other cars, the ones owned by your ex-pals.
>Eternally faithful machines slumbering. Waiting for that kiss of life from masters never to return.
>It softened your heart to see them abandoned, monolithic reminders that yes: they were here, and they aren't coming back.
>You breath deep and forget.
>Time to worry about the now. To her credit Lyudmilla doesn't interrupt your quiet moment. Only smiling faintly as she cracks open the passenger door and settles herself into the seat.
>You hope she propagates the trend and keeps to herself during the ride. You may forgive her for that flirt earlier and the obvious game she's playing now.
>You open the door, taking in the sight of the hood and those fat bordered stripes of white that adhere to the dorsal surface before you sit in the tan upholstery.
>Some people call the faux-wood paneling and the coffee cream leather tacky but to you its home.
>Keeping the door open to enjoy the sound that wheezing behemoth of an engine makes you crank the starter. And get nothing.
>Right, she's been sat in a garage for ages, battery is likely flat.
 
>"Heving trouble getting it up?" She smirks faintly with a sly laugh, her little joke is more for her own amusement than antagonizing you. Everything she does is practiced, measured, and restrained. But you knew that she could be rattled like anyone else.
>Without speaking a word you pop the hood with the tab in the foot well. She watches you with curiosity as you go around back and open the trunk, the carefully knitted composure fading as you produce a large black box with jumper cables dangling off it instead of a tool set.
>You wire the jumper plugs in and flick a few switches on the top of your handy little box. Climbing back in and cranking the starter again.
>It turns, turns again and then the engine breaths into life with a burbling roar, the growl bouncing around the garage with an overnote din of sound and fury. The whole car shakes as the engine kicks into its gurgling idle. Lyudmilla bristles and softly clutches at her comforts as the mask of practiced composure cracks open, leaving her eyes widened and her form tense as she hovers off her seat.
>Sure the over sized engine guzzles gas and makes a lot more noise than it needs too, but it just feels more alive that way.
>You unhook the jump kit and slam the hood, relishing as the vixen makes eye contact and she can't hide her surprise.
>You stash it back in its place in the trunk and then climb into the driver seat and make to pull out of the garage. The car seems to purr happily to get back out in the evening sun.
>"Vet was... more than expected." You allow a satisfied smirk to creep over your lips.
>As you pulled out of the garage and out of the base onto the roads proper she regained more of her composure. You weren't too far behind the rest of your group so you took your time, making a point to drive along the freeways and drive rather boringly at that. Engine roaring the whole way because the thing has no overdrive and regularly pulls 2k rpm at highway speeds.
>This was to let the fox know you had more than enough grunt under the hood to pull something stupid and have some fun, but that you would be as boring as possible around her in an attempt to dissuade what interest she may have in you.
>If anything you knew taking the back roads to the base with Teth'ra in the passenger seat would really allow you to cut loose and enjoy yourself, she would be the kind of girl to go straight along with it too, maybe even egg you on. This is why tomboys are best.
>The vixen would just tense up and refuse to let herself enjoy it, but then conveniently swing around to 'liking the power' after it was said and done. She asked you inane questions during the drive there in between relaying directions.
>"So vere are you from?"
"Boston"
>"Vaht did you do before the mechs?"
"Motorpool"
>"Vaht vas your childhood like?"
"...Different"
>"How vas your time in the 512?"... Willard, Obie, Kask, Terry, Felix, and so many others. How dare she bring up their memory while it's still sore.
"I'm sorry, are you filling out a fucking questionnaire?"
>"Merely curious." she says defensively. You shoot her an intense glare and then go back to eying the road. You're done talking.
>You turn up the radio as she huffs gently and adjusts her pearly white tube dress. It clings to her figure like so much plastic wrap.
>She pointedly adjusts her chest while she fidgets, trying to get you to pay attention to her and resume conversation.
>Real fucking classy, but you refuse to play this game. The rest of the drive is silent on your end.
 
>Eventually you arrive at the place and find its lot packed, so you motor around the block and park in a lot a little ways around the corner. The rumbling big block seems almost reluctant to shut off just when it had gotten up to stretch its legs.
>Lyudmilla disembarks with a fluid grace but you can see her twitch uncertainly, the rattling from the engine probably has her off her A-game. Still, she attempts to uncover the mysteries that are you and yourself as you walk.
>"I may be late in saying it, but apologies for the. erm.. incident, the other day. From all of us."
>...
>"sergeant Smith was coming out of her winter daze, she wasn't thinking when she set you off." You have to wonder if bear anthros legitimately hibernate or if they just slow down during the winter months.
>"I do hev to wonder why though. Would you care to share the defining incident? so we can reach an.. understanding?"
-don't remember-
>"Your fear must originate from somevhere, It could help greatly if we just-"
"It's none of your business."
>It really isn't, all they need to know is not to touch you, the only one you trust that far is Teth'ra.
>The fox keeps quiet at that, you just want to get this over with and go back to base. You need to let off some steam.
>The restaurant is some Italian joint that you've never popped in on, you puzzle over why you haven't heard of this place before, Italian is your favorite. You wonder what sort of Soprano/Montana type of guy owns the place.
>As you walk in, your hit across the face with the reality of it, the whole place is run and staffed by anthros. There goes your whimsy over charming a cute waitress, it's just not the same when their covered in fur.
>You try to pick out Teth'ra in the crowd but there's no luck, in the moody lighting with the crowding of snouts and ears, you can't see which pair is hers.
>And you find the only seat waiting for you is at a round table with Vilka, and the other sergeants, plus a few faces you don't recognize.
>Your beckoned to sit down after Lyudmilla, hemmed in with the fox on your right and Vilka to your left. Still you can't pick out those gold-tipped ears or vivid blue eyes, your doomed to socialize with your friend's tormentor.
>You made your orders and then you proceeded to button down and shut up. It would be easier to slip into a slightly less nervous state of mind if you could actually see Teth'ra in the crowd, just to know she's here.
>You pulled the same trick as you did last time, jacket stays on, goggles over your brow, act like a statue. Anyone asks, your cold.
>And they did ask, and your answer got you a round of sympathetic cooing from around the table, the timberwolf waitress chimed in with melancholy that you must be so cold without fur. This was a mistake.
>Vilka in particular fawned over your misfortune. You thanked your fortune when the food arrived so you could have an excuse to just flat ignore everyone. Of course the torture didn't end there.
>Lyudmilla wasn't shy about trying to pressure you into some sort of corner, and you kept on the backfoot away from her, but this sent you closer towards the wolf.
>even as the feeling of dread crept around your lungs, you noticed the wolfess would conveniently wander her paw closer and closer to your unused hand when you were staring at your plate and ignoring the fact a conversation was even happening at the table.
>You stuffed that hand away in your pocket, complaining that the restaurateurs were keeping the heater off.
>This earned the act of Vilka rubbing a paw along your arm and cooing "Poor thing is so cold without anyone to warm him up", To your credit you didn't launch out of your chair because she made the move very obvious but every second of her rubbing along your sleeve made every nerve crawl.
>Your anxiety tangled your breath and the volume of your internalized screaming was approaching the sort of cacophony one gets when dropping a live frog onto a hotplate.
>Where the hell is Teth'ra?
 
>Still you cant pick up any trace of her, and your heart shrinks in on itself further. She's supposed to be here, to step in when your in over your head. And your far in over your head.
>Constant eyes on you, Lyudmilla and Vilka closing in on you from both sides, The pressure not to lapse back into instinct, Your stomach doing corkscrews.
>You breathed steady to keep yourself calm, but your heart shuddered with every beat. You refused any alcohol, though the others may fawn that it was you being responsible, you really didn't need any extra encouragement to throw up.
>The she-wolf was all too eager to guzzle down expensive wines and loudly reminisce about misadventures at officer's academy.
>You slowly distanced yourself as her movements became more impulsive and erratic, but this set you closer towards the vixen. Who made eyes at you as she sipped tepidly at a cocktail.
>You tried not to pay attention as you leaned back and scanned for your one refuge, your jackal, where is she?
>Still nothing, your gut lurches. The atmosphere in here is oppressive.
>You close your eyes and concentrate your breathing on the distant ticking of a ceiling fan, barely heard over the murmur of voices.
>You were back home, listening to the racket from that bashed old ceiling fan in the living room, the murmur of voices and occasional growl or bark was just noise from the tv. Nobody else was here right now, and the gentle aroma of Guinness and cigars masked by cheap air freshener greeted your nose like an old friend. Your dog curled herself at your feet, huffing softly. The soft presence of her long velvet fur sliding up your- waaaait a minute!
>You snapped back and pushed some errant touch away from your leg. Eyes fluttering back into the now, you glanced around trying to find your culprit, but nothing gave them away.
>While you didn't feel immediately sick, unease still hung over your every thought.
>Vilka was in the middle of some rambling story, her snout lurching in seemingly random directions as she recounted. You turned away only to come almost nose to nose with Lyudmilla's sultry gaze as she leaned towards you.
>You leaned away, recoiling, both from the proximity and your spiking unease. You wanted to find Teth'ra, just to shelter in her shadow a few minutes to collect yourself.
>The vixen kept her eyes on you. "I know you must be a little nervous, dear Tom..." understatement of the century.
>You feel that something sliding up your calf again, it's definitely her leg.
>"But I promise you. You can still enjoy yourself- Ve don't bite... hard~" It slides up your leg onto your thigh, edging gracefully towards your precious sausage and eggs.
-RED ALERT-
>Everything recoils. GET IT AWAY! GET. IT. AWAY.
>At this point you don't give a damn about how much of a scene you make, you shunt away and then bolt upright, marching promptly to the men's bathroom. It's empty, perfect.
>Lurching in one of the stalls, face flush with heat, you prepare for your stomach to heave, you feel violently ill.
>Your breath is heavy but the main event refuses to appear, small comforts.
>You gather your strength and take nice long look at yourself in the mirror that dominates the wall.
>You look like hell, a pallor mix of red and paleness splotched across your face, its natural color retreated.
>Your eyes are haggard and stressed. Now that your actually alone to think you can collect yourself.
>You wash your face over with cold water, trying to shake off the clinging film that sapped your resolve.
>You can't take this anymore, you drove yourself in, you'll drive yourself out, even if you can't find Teth'ra.
 
>But your little escape was not to be, as you exited, darting straight for the door, everyone else was already making ready to leave.
>fuck your timing.
>When you did get outside a slurred voice called from behind you as you turned for the corner.
>"Ooooooh Tahm~" followed by an obviously buzzed giggle. The wolf could at least still walk straight...-ish.
>As she bore down on you, breath swamped with the smell of liquor and wearing a pleased grin with a half faded gaze, you noticed the vixen trailing off towards one of the jeeps, giving you a prompting wink. You returned a death glare in kind.
>Oh christ finally! You see Teth'ra! your gaze flicks past the wolf propped against the building corner towards the large frame of your friend. She notices and your eyes carry a heavy pleading look to them, but her own scan you ever so briefly and then flick to Vilka before shrinking away. Her ears go flat as a frown purses her muzzle. The blow in your chest feels like a hammer.
>fuck your life.
>Why in the flying hell is she avoiding you? with that little display it's obvious she would rather not. so why?
>"Yah know Ih'd rather not ORDER you to drive me home there hairless."
>Great now the bitch is being a drunk flirt AND a racist.
-we aren't so pure ourselves-
>shove it brain, we have good reason.
>You hunched up your shoulders and let the nastiest scowl sit across your face, having the vixen prodding at you was one thing, but a drunk wolf? You hopped she was the sort of drunk that got motion sick so she would at least button it during the ride.
>You skulked around the corner and she followed, you heard her feet scrabble a few times as she took uncertain steps but no tumble.
>She seemed delighted as you plodded towards your car, would you really soil your darling with this wreck in the passenger seat?
>"oooo You drive one of these beasties- mmm! You HAVE to take me to base in this bad boy then... don't make me order you to~"
>No choice then, if she sheds on your upholstery your going to strangle someone. But your frayed nerves still twitch as she stumbles by you and waits expectantly at the door. You climb in and unlock the other door.
>She pretty much falls into the seat, tail swaying haphazardly, her ears are off-kilter and sagged, and you notice through the whispy fur within them they're flushed an intense red, guess you know how alcohol affects that then.
>You crank the starter as she fumbles for her seatbelt, silently hoping the battery went flat again so you can pretend you have no jumper kit and call for a tow. The old girl turns right back into life as you twist the key. Your not sure if you should be happy or pissed, so you settle for a close relative, apathy.
>Vilka gives an almost girlish squeal followed by deep laughing, and capped off with what your dead to rights sure was a growl of pleasure as she settles into the vibrations the engine cascades over the car. You even see her leg twitch slightly.
>Your agony increases tenfold and you offer silent prayer to whatever god may or may not be listening that she isn't... leaking on your upholstery. Those stains do NOT come out easy.
>You palmed the shifter to put it into drive, but found your hand being capped by the sort of warmth one would expect out of a fleece blanket. Gently you put the car in gear and then slid your hand back onto the wheel, sucking in air, if you had jerked upwards those claws would have done damage.
>"whoops~ hmm hahaha" You shot her a look of incredulity. She returned a lazy smile and bedroom eyes. You felt sick all over again.
>Should your drive careful to avoid exciting her? or drive fast to just get this torture over with, despite what she may think over the possible (and nonexistent) connotations.
>Fucking hell, the real answer is you want to go home, get drunk, and set fire to things but that's not an option since life decided to take your existence as a challenge.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>Still as you peel out of town, things just refuse to work the way you want them too. Vilka attempts to goad you into taking the back roads rather than the highway. You weren't listening but a convoy of emergency vehicles raced towards the highway as you waited at the stoplight. The highways are likely jammed now because one idiot slammed into another idiot.
>Your starting to swear reality itself really does hate you, if you want a good nights sleep, you'll have to pour out the throttle along the winding back roads through the hills instead of dealing with the pile up. Vilka took this as victory on her part.
>Your hackled nerves flattened out as you focused on the road, apathy giving way to that quiet anger that you hold across yourself.
>The sort of anger that just dares some idiot to come along and give you a good excuse.
>The engine purrs like a salacious cougar as you drive far above the posted speedlimit on these empty roads that snake through the hills. No cops patrol out here, and even if you are pulled over, your military. They can't just slap you with a ticket for getting back to base at your appointed time. Not with a war on.
>Despite what European motor 'enthusiasts' would tell you, the car corners fine, a few rollbar adjustments do wonders. As long as you ease off the throttle around the curves it won't fly off the road.
>You concentrate on the road, and Vilka focuses her concentration on breaking yours.
>She times her questions with hairpin turns and switchback curves, coupled with a charcoal paw always hovering dangerously close to your legs. The threat is clear 'don't answer and things quickly become uncomfortable'.
>At least that's the interpretation you stick with, if you got the sense she planned to neuter you, you would panic all over again.
>Your getting more and more of a sense of the devious control freak Teth'ra's tired ramblings painted the wolf as.
>The first question comes as you hug a sharp left.
>"Sooo Tom, no anthros huh?" Shes trying to bait you towards something, but your not sure what. You project your genuine ignorance.
"No clue what your talkin' about"
>She humms playfully, then attacks when you begin a switchback with a right.
>"Really Tom? There are anthros all over Boston. *tsk* shame for lying to me like that."
>Those inane questions from the vixen were intel gathering, you note not to reveal anything more about yourself to any of them. ever.
>"I think there's something more than us being... foreign~ No one must have shown you that we can love." her paw slides closer.
>"What really happened? I'll guard your secret, you're safe with me."
-DO. NOT. REMEMBER.-
>The chicane leveled into a downhill straightaway, You stamped the throttle as the camaro eagerly leaped ahead, this threw her off guard.
>Your still the one in control here, and anger hardened your resolve. How can she invade your sanctity in one moment but promise security in the next? The answer is simple, the spider is inviting you into her parlor, you stand outside with a lit match.
"None of your damn business!"
>The dip pulls into an uphill climb, and you depress the throttle more, the engine growls angrily. And you fire back an accusation of your own.
"Is this what you play at? Send out your little pet sergeants to gather blackmail?"
"Your my CO, not my shrink. I don't need to tell you anything."
>The hill levels into a right hairpin and you let off the throttle, braking as you squeeze the machine around the tight bend.
>And just like that, she takes the advantage to press in again.
>"Secrets are unhealthy to keep Tom... I want to know."
-DON'T-
>"This is why I allowed it, those things can eat away at you. You can tell me-."
-NEVER-
>Another straightaway, it's a short one.
"It's Master Sergeant McWhicky. And all you need to know is: NOT TO ASK ABOUT IT!"
>The volume of your own voice almost surprises you. Something approaching a growl loosed from your throat as you exhaled.
>Despite her subtle 'threat' over you and your somewhat opened guard from driving, some angry thing within you edged you on to counterattack, It held your guard for you.
>The turn approached and you didn't tap the brakes as much, lurching around the corner faster than normal, keeping the wolf from regaining the advantage. You struck in, taking advantage of her lapsed concentration.
"And how much do you know of secrets, you must keep plenty if your so willing to gather more. I don't need or want your pity."
"And as for what I want out of you? I WANT for you to do your fucking job, and give me a target!"
"I don't need your faux sympathy. I don't need your hollow concerns. And I won't give you something to hold over me. Your my lieutenant, you tell me what to shoot at. end of story."
>She remained quiet at that, even as another turn came up. A cold hatred in your gut resurfaced and you drove angry.
>This was supposed to be a nice quiet evening: you were supposed to have a table to yourself and Teth'ra and chat about life; you were supposed to enjoy a quiet, homely atmosphere without feeling threatened and sick; you were supposed to be having a laughing jackal playfully edging you into taking these rolling turns at speed; you were supposed to be letting her know just how safe you felt near her, how much you recognized her as a protective and caring person, how you would be happy to call her friend and comrade.
>...
>How you would confess that she was the best thing you could have asked for that night.
>And maybe you could tell her, tell her why. And she would keep you from spiraling into darkness, when you did defy that part of your mind that kept that gate locked.
>Teth'ra...
>Something is pulling her away from you, you want that something dead. Or at least gone.
 
>Your drive continued as dusk crept across the hills, you flicked on the headlights as this side of earth retreated away from the sun's warm radiance.
>The stars would show themselves soon, perhaps you would lie out under the open sky tonight, and just think.
>That and have a quick wank when you were certain absolutely no one would know, you need stress relief.
>Your thoughts kept wandering as Vilka idly brushed her mane with her claws.
>With what Teth'ra revealed to you that night out under the rain, what she did was making more sense to you.
>It also clicked with how tired she was under both Vilka and Lyudmilla, she split her time between barking angrily at superiors stifling her potential and carefully watching over you. She wanted to guard you from their influence, so they can't pry away what friends she does have.
>Course there's only so far that can go, Lyudmilla was easy enough to distance, you held rank. Vilka was another matter.
>So far you had been rather clear that your not looking to make nice. There was a creeping suspicion she wouldn't let that deter her forever.
>She was invasive and opportunistic. Parasitic sympathies seeking to tunnel in and twist your feelings towards her purpose. A tactic you were familiar with. She was just waiting for an opening to pounce on.
>The base wasn't terribly far off now, it was still a bit of a drive but with your passenger finally taking the hint, the minutes ticked by faster.
>Of course the radio had decided it can't grab a clear signal out here, you allowed your thoughts to wander more, leaving the she-wolf to deal with the silence beyond the low roar of the engine.
>The first thing you thought of was Teth'ra again, she had occupied the forefront of your mind recently.
>The jackal had been invasive too, but the key difference was the utter lack of malice behind it, she never pried too deep, and established real connections with no ulterior motives, aside from maybe pissing off Vilka. You were fine with that.
>You only got the sense the she-wolf was trying to play off your emotional shortfallings, or guilt you into some contract. The way she stared at you never failed to irk you.
>Teth'ra had never failed to attend to your instabilities when she accidentally set you off. Her timid care and restrained curiosity put you at ease. She even comforted you when she didn't have to, when it may have been simpler for her to let you drift.
>If she had been at that table she would have rested a hand on your shoulder and deflected conversation away from what would have set you on edge. Vilka had obviously planted Lyudmilla at your side to get you riled up and force you closer to her out of desperation.
>That was the difference. The jackal may have made the first move but otherwise she was patient and let you come to her on your own; keeping you close enough that the decision was easier on both of you and you could shelter under her until you had regained enough of your pluck to go out again.
>The wolf had organized a spider's web of her underlings to artificially stress you, shunting you this way and that until you conveniently fell into her grasp so she could pretend it was a happy accident. Once you were there, she would not be likely to let you leave on your own again. She would stifle and chain you, worming her hooks into you and cooing that you didn't need anyone else.
>She would treat you the way you caught her looking at you sometimes, like an exotic pet.
>Some deep part of you, brimming in a cauldron of buried rage, accused the wolf of organizing the bear to intentionally set off your little panic attack earlier.
>You had trouble refuting that claim, in the haze of your primal recounting of the events after you launched into instinct. Something in Vilka's eyes seemed like she had been expecting this, and Lyudmilla was bizarrely quick to approach you until Teth'ra stepped in.
>Maybe they just weren't expecting so severe a reaction. Or it could be your imagination painting an enemy where there was none.
>Still, it seemed like Vilka's intent was to drag you close, whether you wanted it or not.
>Her tail brushed by your arm, you turned to see she had wrapped it around herself, she was wearing some glimmering deep blue tube top.
>You hadn't even really noticed before. Come to think of it you didn't even see what Teth'ra wore, probably something boyish.
>You could not imagine that girl in a dress, not unless it's something truly special. Your thoughts came back to your musings on tomboys and a slight smile winked across your jaw.
 
>You went back to watching the road, allowing yourself to enjoy the speeding straights and the winding curves a bit.
>You resisted the urge to tap the handbrake on a wide yaw to the right, don't wanna have too much fun.
>"Watcha' thinking about?"
>Does she not know when to shut up? She was probably expecting you to spout some topic she could leap in on.
"Teth'ra"
>You spoke flatly. The smile creeped up a little as you noticed the wolf's tail bristle out of your peripheral.
>Probably mad you weren't thinking about her. Good, you wanted her to feel just a bit of what you had been sheltering all evening.
>"She's... quite the character isn't she?" Definitely a more preferable character than her.
"Yup"
>"You know she has anger problems right?" In your experience its a good problem to have, keeps you motivated.
"Yup."
>"She even scratched me once, right across the cheek! Did you know that?"
"Yup"
>Jimmies are officially rustled, judging by the agitated twitch of her tail.
>"And still you hang around her?" Well, you hang out more than around, seeing as how the jackal actually speaks to you as a friend.
"I suppose your jealous."
>Something was making you brave, might have to do with that burning core of choleric rage currently stewing quietly in your diaphragm.
>"Jealous? of THAT?! hmph!"
>Something about the way she said that made the trace of your grin vanish, your middle stirred.
"She's a good trooper. And the best friend I can ask for right now."
>"You can ask for better!" You felt your internal heat start to crawl towards your throat, your face sagged into a scowl.
"I'm guessing that means you right? because your such a fucking saint yourself?"
>You didn't disguise the venom that dripped on your voice, your anger was becoming more fitful, why were you getting yourself so worked up over an anthro?...
>She was your friend, that's why. But evidently Vilka was either too drunk or mad to care.
>"Oh please! Of course you can do better than that uppity little notch-ear! I do my model best to help and heal you and she just shoves herself in and ruins everything! She can never just sit still and be content! always gotta push! Always gotta bark up the tree!"
>Your glare forward grew deadly, and you suppressed a growl shunting its way up your throat, letting it escape with a blowing of air through your nose. But she continues.
>"If I had the option I wouldn't even deal with her, she was some holdover from the previous Lieutenant. Real idiot that one! Didn't even have the decency to leave me anything but a mess before he carked it. Bit much to ask for even for an academy prodigy!"
>The alcohol isn't speaking for her, it's giving her the courage to speak herself. You wanted to scream at her for disrespecting the dead like that, but some baser part of you riveted your jaw shut so she could dig her grave deeper.
>Even the sharper way you pushed the throttle and revved around the corners wasn't tipping her off.
>"So there I am, with a quarter of a functional platoon and an uppity alpha wannabe begging me to take position as A-squad leader with tears in her squinty little blue eyes. And she has the gall to say I don't know this platoon when I tell her the army doesn't work that way! Please princess! I read everyone's files!"
>"And so I put those lazy gadabouts to work and she collapses because she just can't look after herself. So I give her some stims and she won't stop sneaking away from her duties to talk with her precious little dyke buddies. Unbelievable! So back to work she goes and then she acts like it's my fault when she almost drops again. And then the bitch tried to claw my goddamn eye out!"
>"She's fucking dangerous is what she is! That oversized whore just can't leave anything alone, especially my business! I don't know what bullshit she fed you, but she is absolutely no good for you. I did you a favor ya know. Ordering her away from you under penalty of a good court martial. For all that you've been through you deserve a better soul, a kinder soul, someone who understands. You deserve ME!"
>"That ornery omega should be glad I'm a generous alpha and that we live in an enlightened time. If I was less of an upstanding model, I would have had her shot!"
>Your knuckles cracked, teeth ground, eye twitched. an almost red haze edged on your periphery. You barely held yourself in place as your fist balled tight and bit like an angry cobra trying to reach across and shatter the bitch's jaw.
>You let the low rumble of a growl bounce around your throat, if your mouth opened now hell would spill from it.
>"Hmmph, glad you agree." she chided triumphantly. If you weren't busy driving you didn't know what you would do to her stupid face.
 
>The drive continued as you edged closer to the base, hell it would probably only be an hour or two's walk from out here.
>You wanted to go to your cot, scream a record breaking chain of obscenities into your pillow, and then pass out.
>"Wait! Wait! Stop!"
>The exclamation jarred you out of your furious trance and you slammed the brakes, the car grinding to a screeching halt as you expected to see a fuel truck overturned on the road. There was nothing, not even an animal encouraging natural selection.
"fucking. what?"
>"I love this spot! We can watch the sunset from this hill right by the road here, overlooks the whole base!"
>If they wanted you to avoid the temptation to strangle your commanding officer they put you in the wrong fucking unit.
>You forced yourself to wear a mask of calm, a plan had come to mind.
"really now?"
>"yess, It's wonderfully romantic. I always wanted to share this with someone that caught my eye. someone like you!"
>You swallowed the bile that burned your esophagus. And looked over, an air of serene calm painted over your fury.
"sounds... wonderful."
>"Isn't it though? come on, there's more than one nice view to see up there~"
>You let her believe the illusion that her coaxing was doing anything other than making you want to vomit.
>Forcing a nice, complacent veil over your voice, you offered up the bait.
"well, I guess it's better than nothing. I was a bit stressed tonight."
>Some devious grin flashed on her face. yeah, she definitely planned that. She struggled a bit to undue her seat belt and then happily picked herself out of the seat, stumbling a bit as she made contact with hard ground again.
>She beamed over her shoulder as you fake smiled and pretending to futz with your own belt.
>She skipped along happily, tail fanning in a distinctly devil may care manner. hook.
"Vilka~"
>She paused halfway up the hill into the grass to your salacious call, only to see you wearing a dirty scowl with your hand on the inner handle of the open passenger door. Confusion dawned across her face. line.
"Stay the hell away from me bitch."
>and sinker.
>You slammed the door before realization could sink in, slammed your steed into drive and tore off down the road.
>You didn't even bother to check the mirror, your imagination filling in that blank wonderfully. God that felt GOOD!
>A rumbling chuckle barked from you, that was downright therapeutic, you didn't even have to lay a finger on her. If anything the emotional dropkick was even more satisfying!
>You cared nothing for what hell you may catch in the morning, you didn't care if this stunt made a lifelong enemy of your LT.
>What you did care about was getting Teth'ra back by your side as soon as you can, you had made up your mind.
>As soon as dawn broke tomorrow you would storm into the office of the brigadier general himself and raise merry hell until you got this mess sorted, hopefully with the bitch cycled out for someone who was actually tolerable.
>You were riding the same sort of high you got after a major victory in battle, you could punch the world straight in the mouth right now.
>As you rumbled closer towards the base, remembering to lay off the throttle before you go powering through the front gates, that happiness faded a bit. This was far from over, if anything this was just the first shot fired in this microcosmic war.
>But you kept your confidence, ousting Vilka's unacceptable behavior to the general would be the tactical nuke to end your war as swiftly as it began, you were never one to play fair.
>Remembering what that canid cunt said as she excused herself in her rant over Teth'ra your anger flared all over again. And you made plans upon plans to make life for her a living hell. You glared pointedly at the gate guard as you rolled back in to base, and soon enough your car was back in its little shelter.
>You found your tent was missing when you marched back into the east field, everyone's tents were missing. One mild panic attack and some asking around later, you found that you had been resettled into one of the empty barracks.
>You scrambled back that way, hoping like hell your suspicions weren't right.
>Of course when it comes to matters against your interest, your always right, You found your footlocker at the foot of a bunk that was next door to the officer's quarters, and your platoon was pretty much the only ones using this building.
>So you hiked your shit to the abandoned end of the building, picked a bunk in the corner and settled everything there, fuck Vilka, fuck the sergeants, fuck dealing with anybody that's not Teth'ra right now.
>Everything about today had been draining mentally and to a degree physically, so despite yourself as soon as you settled in, you dropped into sleep almost immediately.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>Your dreams that night were fitful and violent, highlight reels of your most gory moments strapped into an auger. Recountings of those street rumbles you got into when you started growing hair on your chin. The amateur boxing you did in high school. The knife fight you got into west of Worcester when you had decided to take the camaro street racing out in the countryside.
>Reminders of that squirming, hateful part of yourself that you would rather forget, just so Teth'ra wouldn't have to see it again.
>You awoke with your sheets an absolute mess and a note posted on the wall opposite you, oh boy here we go.
>While other people have normal problems like sleep apnea or getting munchy and wandering to the kitchen like a zombie, You apparently had become a full on brawler in your rest.
>The note detailed that you had taken surprisingly coherent swings at anyone that touched you. You even landed a solid hit right on an unfortunate trooper's nose. Some of those hooks and jabs in your dreams felt more present than others.
>Still you had shit to do today, so you mixed up your garbage coffee, downed it in a single swig, promptly dry heaved, and then slipped out the back door.
>You marched with purpose towards the brigadier general's office, you would shove this issue right down command's throats and get them to choke on it until they fixed it. There was no fucking way you would work with this platoon unless this shit was fixed pronto.
>You barged in the door and the secretary almost spilled her mug as you trounced up and demanded the earliest possible appointment with the general.
>You were told that he had been expecting you and to head inside. That was... unexpected but still, you had a fucking mission.
>So you pushed open the door and the courage in your throat got caught in a net. Vilka and Teth'ra were there, a third chair waited for you as the general faced the open door, hands propping up his salt flecked chin.
>"Sit down son." That tone snapped at the back of your head, the tone of command you were wired to obey like a dog whistle. You stowed your resolve away for the moment and did what you were told.
>"You came sooner than I expected master sergeant, where is the runner I sent for you?"
"I uh, I came here as soon as I woke up sir."
>He quirked a brow at that, and ice shot up your back. It's bad luck to get someone so high up the chain curious about you.
"I merely thought it prudent to report my... altercation with the lieutenant there as soon as possible sir. And to air my grievances about her unacceptable behavior... sir."
>Vilka piped up "And exactly what part of my behavior is unacceptable?!"
>"Lieutenant." The general warned, the she-wolf promptly flattened herself back into her chair.
>So she failed to pick up the hint from your angry driving and a bubbling fury that was so palpable she must have been able to SMELL it, but the command tone had her obeying like a perfectly trained puppy? Fucking wondrous.
>Teth'ra kept her lip buttoned and pulled her best impersonation of a statue. You admitted she may have the right idea.
>Then the questions started, and all three of you were asked to explain what was going on and how you felt about it.
>Vilka weaved a tall tale of a young hopeful officer being kicked down at every turn by a seditious corporal despite her best attempts to help and make nice, Who wanted to help a wounded mech pilot, only to see him seduced and turned into an insubordinate cretin by her arch nemesis.
>Teth'ra painted a picture of an experienced but beaten down corporal that had been ostracized, bullied, and worked half to death by an uncaring sergeant and a devilish incompetent of a commander. That in desperation for companionship after her friends had been transferred out or lost in the field, reached out to a traumatized comrade that had saved her life. Forging a powerful connection and looking after his mental well-being with care, despite her commander's unprovoked attempts to sabotage her. How hopeless she felt when flat out ordered under threat of court martial to cease her friendship. Who didn't even know how much he fought to defend her honor.
>You relayed your experience of a red-blooded mech jockey waking up in the ashes of his unit, stumbling out blindly and following his God-given duty to save an infantry unit caught out alone and surrounded, not even knowing they were anthros. A good soldier who was tossed about by the waves of fate to end up fighting alongside the very unit he saved despite the prestige of a mech warrior demanding a better posting than a glorified guard dog for a pack of rifles. But he found a brightside when he was visited by a strong and caring jackal when he teetered on the edge of oblivion. Forging a hard as iron friendship and camaraderie with her. Angered greatly when her vindictive bitch of a CO refused to let a good thing stay alive. The rage that burned in his heart when in a drunken fit, said CO belittled and dehumanized his friend into nothing more than some broken drone to be scrapped, and then proceeded to level unwanted sexual advances on him. But restrained himself to merely dump her just outside the base for a head clearing jog instead of giving in to the urge to throttle her, a model of discipline.
 
>The general didn't seem to give Vilka's tale much stock, you don't get so high without a potent sense for bullshit.
>Teth'ra's lamenting caught his attention as he listened closely.
>Your good soldier routine seemed to stoke his interest, although he didn't ask questions as you were recounting there was more than a few poignant changes of expression on his part. Vilka shifted nervously, perhaps realizing what happened in your car yesterday wasn't an artifact of the liquor playing with her memory. Most telling was a rather intent narrowing of the eyes when you spoke about the drive back from dinner.
>He asked about that further and you suppressed the bouncing glee that was starting to ricochet around your head as you enthusiastically recalled every nasty detail, and your suspicion that she wasn't drunk enough for the wine to be speaking for her.
>The she-wolf shrank into her chair, her face twisted into the image of a scoundrel betrayed. Guilty as charged.
>The score was 2 to 1 in your favor, and you allowed yourself to relax slightly.
>But the wolfess was never one to leave well enough alone, you had learned she had an alpha complex and she wanted everything back under her thumb.
>To this end she accused you of lying, about your past, about where you had grown up, about why you were racist against anthros.
>Teth'ra rather eagerly leapt to your defence, rightfully accusing Vilka of being a control freak. Claiming that you had felt pressured and threatened by the LT's overbearing mannerisms, and that she herself had made fantastic work of helping you through your aversion to anthros.
>The general than demanded more details of such incidents out of the jackal, she wanted to keep your little secrets, but he just bore down at her in that unstoppable way higher officers learn to get enlisted to spill their guts.
>She shamefacedly lowered her ears and recalled the more tender moments the two of you shared. That first night where despite all her nerves and whispering insecurities about the possibility of failure, she hauled you out to the balcony and talked you out of your depression.
>The second day visiting you, where she had shared her lamentations and you had helped her for a change with nothing more than a gentle touch and the right words. The general looked to you and you nearly nodded that it was true.
>That day outside the supply bunker, where you admitted your fears and she helped you regain your confidence to face the very same platoon that so discounted her. You once again nodded along that this did in fact happen.
>And finally, your nervous breakdown in the rec hall, where she had managed to approach and talk you down before anyone was hurt.
>Vilka barked that she was overinflating the severity of it and that she had more or less cornered you and dragged you off.
>Before you could stop yourself you fired off that Vilka had intentionally put you in such a stressful situation, that she had intended for you to have a panic attack, You accused her of staging the whole thing to set you off so she could worm her hooks into you.
>Soon you went on a tirade, your anger flaring, accusing the wolf of the sort of machiavellan plots that would make the Clintons proud (at least before they were found out and executed by the republic senate)
>The screaming match began in earnest from there.
>You were the loudest much to Teth'ra's surprise, but the jackal soon got her dander up too and traded insults with Vilka.
>This went on for a good 5 minutes, until the general's voice cut over all of you.
>You collectively realized you were fighting in the general's office and promptly sat down before you were shot.
>You opened your mouth to stammer out an apology but it was his turn to start shouting.
>The general must have been a DI in a past or current life, and so you sat diligently, weathering the storm as you awaited the 2 coins on your eyes to pay the fair across the styx.
>At the end he had made his resolution over you crystal clear, likely in an attempt to never have to see any of you three in his office ever again.
 
>You were to get your shit straight and stop agitating every issue, Your position was not in danger but he made it clear any more violations on Vilka's part and you promptly report it instead of taking matters into your own hands. You were also told very bluntly to reign in your anger issues off the field, you hadn't decked anyone yet but he wasn't taking that excuse.
>Plus any more mental breaks on your part would have you pulled off active duty and sent to the shrinks. That threat rang hollow to you, as much as you despised shrinks, these days the army was too desperate to let the crazies off the field to get checked.
>Vilka was getting her spirits back up until the general tore into her. Barking and shouting that she was too much of a bright eyed academy fresh dumbass to acknowledge and address the self-evident issues her troopers displayed. And that ignoring it and treating them like conscripts was the wrong answer in every category.
>She was flat out threatened that if such flagrant displays of malicious incompetence surfaced again, she would be busted back down to corporal and flung into an actual penal battalion to see the other side of what she had put Teth'ra through.
>That had her legitimately terrified, and it should, penal outfits were called 'suicide squads' for good reason.
>By far he was the 'nicest' to Teth'ra. Actually lowering his voice and telling her that what she had been put through should never have happened. He told her that her experience was too valuable to be wasted under a sergeant, and that post haste she would be given a promotion to be put in charge of an understrength assault squad that had been looking for a platoon to transfer into along with a new sergeant.
>You swore the poor girl was fitting to burst into tears of joy.
>But he also warned that she would be watched carefully to see if she really was the command material he thought she was.
>The two of you were then excused from his office and ordered to wait in the lobby until he had finished his chat with Vilka.
>You swore your heard the she-wolf crack off a hurt whimper like someone had struck her on the nose.
>As the door closed behind you, it became deathly silent, and both you and Teth'ra shared a look of worry for what sort of hell was quietly being unshackled in there.
>But Vilka deserved that sort of thing... right?
>You both sat down and let out the breaths you didn't realize you were holding. You frowned and fidgeted with your fingers.
"Well... that.. went better than expected."
>"*sniff* yeah.. yeah, It. It did." You tepidly displayed your concern, looking up to the jackal at your side, the faintest glimmer shone in her eyes.
"You okay?"
>She nods with a little effort, evidently trying her best to keep collected.
>"I'm okay. It's just.. I never thought I would be out under her thumb ya know?"
>"And.. my own squad?! I got so worried I would never see the day, I always wanted to prove myself like that. But... I'm not sure what to feel right now."
>You rested a hand up on her shoulder.
"You should feel happy."
>She nodded softly as the tension in her shoulder slowly cooled. You caught the secretary staring at the two of you, she went back to shuffling papers when you slid a glare at her.
>You folded your hands in your lap and waited quietly until the lieutenant timidly shuffled out of the office. Her head straight down, ears folded, and tail hanging limply. Her just desserts had been served.
>The general handed both you and Teth'ra a sheet each. You had both been assigned to duty shifts the rest of the day.
>You had all but ditched the crutch yesterday as your leg felt perfectly fine, and apparently this meant you were clear to do busy work.
>your hopes faded a bit as you realized you and her were working on opposite ends of the base. It faded more when you remembered.
>Gravecall was tonight.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>The clear night air stung at your lungs, you stood rigid, a lone pylon raised against the chilling breeze.
>The silver of your uniform glared under the lights, eyes watched from all around. Still you stand.
>The air tinges and burns your throat, no one stands by you, your shoulders want to sag. Still you stand.
>The names are called at a flat pace, distant as they move from the other side of the platform. The silence after each call punctures your heart. Still you stand.
>A name is called, a parade ground voice responds. Another name, no response, a report takes to the air in their absence. The hammer blow of the salute threatens to knock you off your feet. Still you stand.
>The steady tap of drums calls for bearing and honor, the mournful howl of pipes pulls at your heart. Still you stand.
>The names continue, some respond, others are gone, their absence made weight by the lull after their names. The rifles lend their barking cries to spare your own voices. Still you stand.
>You swear you can see them in your mind's eye, surrounding you at every angle, shielding you from the wind, their faces bold and hopeful. Your heart wrenches as the wind ices your breath. Still you stand.
>The boomers stand in a clump on the far right, a few dancers stand sparsely to the near right. Still you stand.
>To your immediate right, but still at great distance five rocks stand in a tight clump against the wind. The colonel bears his shoulders at the head of the platform, he hides his face as he turns his head down. Still you stand.
>The colonel keep his head low, and holds his cap over his face, You tower unerringly on the far right. More eyes are on you than anyone else, for you are so perfectly alone. Still you stand.
>You keep your head level, your eyes shrouded in shadow by the peak of your cap, every medal and honor that had been pinned to your breast threatens to drag you low. Still you stand.
>The salutes pause for a precious few moments as the names of the leaper pilots are called, and all five respond in turn. Then every eye turns to you as the speaker makes ready to read off his list. All of them can see you clearly, there is no hiding or running from this, it wouldn't be right. They all must see through you, how you want to break the dam, scream at the sky and ask why, why it had to take them. Still you stand.
>The first name sounds over the air "Captain Willard, Gaius D." no response, the report sounds for him, the rifles' clamor grips your heart. Your eyes are wet. Still you stand.
>"Lieutenant McPhearson, Obie H." The rifles cry again, a tear falls. Still you stand.
>"Master Sergeant Kask, Vincent P." a report. "Technical Sergeant Hawking, Edward D." a report. "Sergeant Masters, Marcus A." The drill of the rifles continues unerring, each report hammers your chest. Each name calls their face in front of you, your cheeks are slick with tears, you refuse to be moved, you must stand for them. Still you stand.
>"Master Sergeant O'Neill, Terry C." report. "Technical Sergeant Fairgrave, Wallace K." report. "Master Sergeant Smith, Felix S." report. The names continue, every one a face you remember, every one a report that shoots into your heart. The tears flow and you strangle every cry and wail, holding them down in your chest. Your arm trembles as you hold salute. Still you stand.
>Your head is still high as every name stings your soul, you must stand for them, not because you are strong, but because they can't. You keep your jaw shut, even as your face is slick with the water of your sorrow. Still you stand.
>You feel tears hit the breast of your dress greys, the honors glitter under the light. Your throat pulses as you swallow every cry that tries to leap out of your lungs. Even as you quake, a young sapling against the storm. Still you stand.
>You see them now, spectres of the wind that stand in shimmering traces of the men that were. You gather from the strength of their defiant faces, hopeful despite the falling sky. There is one last name to be called.
>"Master Sergeant McWhicky, Thomas A." The speaker concludes. It catches in your throat, some base part of you wanting to quit. You never knew when to quit so you bark it through anyways, it's uneven, loud, and quavering with raw emotion. But you want to let it know, let the world know, it has not won!
"Reporting!"
>Still you stand.
 
>The lights shut off, and the murmur of sorrowful voices in the gathered crowd fills in for the silence. Gravecall for the 512 fusiliers is concluded, the unit is officially no more, Its survivors honored and made to stand in the absence of their peers.
>You turn, still holding back the gathering tide as you disappear behind the stage with everyone else that stood under the harsh glare of the lights.
>Before anyone says anything, all of you pull eachother into a tight embrace and weep. You weep for those lost. You weep for those still here. You weep for the future, when more of you disappear.
>You pour your heart out surrounded by your comrades, your brothers. The tides would pull you away from eachother, some would be alone like you, others moved in groups, some sent home. You would keep your binds, keep in touch as long as you can, passing ships still keeping their beacons lit to guide eachother in the fog.
>The drums begin and so goes the march.
>You lead into the first verse as the pipes join in, singing the old ballad as it was written, in Gaelic.
 
Wander my friends, wander with me
Like the mist on the green mountain, moving eternally
Despite our weariness
we'll follow the road
Over hill and valleys
to the end of the journey
Come on my friends and sing with me
Fill the night with joy and sport
Here's a toast to the friends who have gone from us
Like the mist of the green mountain,
gone forever.
 
>A second time, and a third you all cry through the verse. The night is closing away and it's time for you to journey on separate ways.
>But no matter where you go, what you fight, or what you see. You all still stand.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>You crawled back towards your bunk, your strength taken away after you retreated from the public eye.
>A few saw you, but none approached, your head held low as your cap shielded your burning eyes from the outside world. You were glad that you held enough respect or sympathy to be left alone.
>The future was still uncertain. Vilka had been put in her place. Teth'ra was now in the position you promised her, even if your actions only had partial blame for why she was there.
>All things considered you should be looking up, most of your immediate problems with the platoon are solved. So why does sadness cling to everything?
>You'll have to see if you've managed another depressive episode tomorrow, for now you were still sliding the slick weight from the ordeal of gravecall off your shoulders.
>You came back to find your shit reorganized once again, your bunk was in some corner of an unused barracks hall. As the platoon specialist you conveniently got to sleep on your lonesome, granted you weren't quite as seperate from the rest of the platoon as the night previous but you were fine with that, considering Vilka wouldn't be bothering you anymore.
>You hung up your cap and unclasped the constricting collar of the ceremonial garb. Dress greys always made you feel like you were on display.
>The uniform was folded away quietly and you shivered, clasping hands on your shoulders. Anthros never kept the fucking heater up high enough.
>Too tired, too damn tired to drag yourself around to find the thermostat and crank it up a precious few degrees. The other bunks in the hall had no blankets, or even mattresses.
>The oversized bed lulled gently to you, shoulders sagged, knees ached. Your eyelids felt heavier and heavier with every second that coasted by. Exhaustion pulled you low. Let me down easy.
>Your thoughts froze over as you started shutting down. pushing yourself under the thin covers to insulate against the prying fingers of cold tapping silently on the windows.
>It was the middle of March, but a cold snap had chilled the air, and it would only get colder as you moved north into the tundra and permafrost. The cold of death, whispering for you. Ignore it, it holds nothing you want.
>Lying there staring at nothing, you can't sleep, the cold even snakes under your covers, tomorrow you move out.
>Your machine is reborn, waiting and ready. Your friend in this madness has her own power to help you now, as you will help her. Your officer has been rebuked by a higher authority and will leave you be. So why aren't you ready? Why can't you rest?
>All at once those niggling voices shepherded into the deeper, doubting recesses of yourself come out now that your too exhausted to guard their pens.
>Your new machine is too different, you have no experience or feel for this new modular thing. Your inexperience will get you killed.
>He's out there, waiting for you, to finish the job he started. You'll never see him coming, no one does.
>A flash of crimson, that's all they say, A flash of crimson and a machine falls, their pilot gone. A flash of crimson, and your machine falls next.
>He's always at a distance, waiting. He always sees you first. You can't get close enough, he'll cut you down as the reaper cuts the chaff.
>Humanity is dying, spinning endlessly into the uncaring void as it spits and bites and snarls like an animal. Our death will hold no quiet dignity, we will go out screaming into the night for the fallacy of a second chance.
>It matters not how we have shaped ourselves into the beasts that prowl the land, that soar the skies, and cruise the depths.
>The enemy is without number or mercy, hoards of lifeforms far superior to the frail human physique guided by glimmering, impossible machines.
>You will never know the love in your dreams.
>You will never claim a home for yourself.
>You will never survive this war.
>It will claim you, as it has hundreds of millions of others.
>...
>Your mind drifts down further as sleeps embrace curls around you with all the expediency of a glacier.
>Your half awake mind thinks in disjointed parable.
>Spinning, fragmented chaos. Held together by roping strands of blood and sorrow. Twirling endlessly, a dance without direction or purpose. Before it shatters like spun glass when victory never shows itself. The shape of things to come.
>...
>It's freezing.
 
>Something stirs, a welcome feeling. You're being watched again.
>You waken slightly as a weight cascades over you, pressing out the chill. More blankets.
>Then another weight settles at your side and crawls in next to you. This is more than a bit forward. If she were human, you'd be questioning if she was into you.
>You guess anthros are a bit less restrained about physical contact due to their slightly more animalistic nature, can't hurt to make sure though.
"Uhhh Teth'ra?"
>"Shut up, you look cold." Her voice is low and tired, exhaustion must cling to her as it does you. And she was right.
>Then it went further, her powerful arms shifted you towards her, she rested her head on the pillow above yours.
"This is more than a bit forward ya know?"
>She only grunts in response, you turn to shuffle away in order to maintain a less... suggestive distance. But she pulls you in closer.
>She presses your back into her, your head is sheltered in the crux below her neck, She cranes it forward, encircling you further.
>Her body exhumes warmth, and you find your eyes growing heavy despite what parts of your brain suggest to move away. She wraps her legs around yours.
>You've only known her for two weeks and your already spooning, but something about this is okay. It's calming, You can't think of anything but her right now.
>You can't help but share your concerns over what lies ahead.
"Teth? What will we find out there?"
>Her tired voice rumbles out of her throat, soothing you as she mutters.
>"... I don't know Tom, I honestly don't know... But what I do know is we can help eachother out there."
>"I'm not losing you.. I've already lost so many out there. I will not lose any more."
>Her gentle words mean the world right now, as they flood in like the tides and sweep away the doubts.
>The cold is gone now, kept at bay by the stacked covers and the warmth of both of your bodies.
>You gently get a sense of her scent as you start drifting. She smells of spices peppered with lilac and honeysuckle. Did she smell this pleasant before?
>The sense of it wafts over you, your eyelids smooth down. And you drift away.
>Your dreams are flowing and serene. Something edges on your sense of self, its violent and wants to hound your rest.
>Some other presence chases it away every time. Some warm bliss that shelters you.
>You allow yourself the rest of lifetimes, something on the horizon will call for every ounce of your strength you can muster. You must build it when you are safe, and looked after.
>For her. You must stand.
 
[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]

'Forewarned, forearmed; to be prepared is half the victory.'

-Miguel de Cervantes

>The creation of the full body kinesis feedback armature device (named shorthand as 'Auger') represents a valuable insight into the nature of anthropomorphism and attachment that an individual will display towards a valued machine or vehicle. It is already considered perfectly healthy in many circles for a functioning adult to view a personal vehicle with an inordinate amount of attachment and humanizing aspects imprinted onto the object. The 'Auger' system seems to take this phenomenon to a new height. The 'Auger' represents a far more tangible connection between man and machine than any previous method of operation. The subject inputs control with the movement of their own body, and the machine mimics the input near perfectly barring technical limitations or damage. Because of this the imprinted "connection" the operator believes they have with the machine is magnified greatly.
>It is the professional assertion of this paper, and it's author, that such strong dissociative behavior will only do harm. Many pilots I have interviewed hold that the machine feels like a 'second skin'. This is extremely problematic. I have observed in times of duress pilots react with misplaced anger and even very real symptoms of shock even after a stress event should their machine suffer extreme "injury" such as loss of limb. This is all despite the pilots coming out entirely free of bodily injury.
>This journeys naturally into dissociative episodes and rather disturbing degrees of anthropomorphism imprinted onto the machine. Multiple times the subjects refer to the machine as 'she' in loving fashion. There are consistent mentions of 'becoming one' a natural intensifying of the aforementioned 'second skin' statements. This problem only intensifies with the introduction of 'sensory goggles'.
>These items of eyewear use a sophisticated series of hololensed screens and ingrained optics to give the wearer such benefits as a heads up display, status reports, and 'battlenet' connections while operating the 'Auger'. Most importantly, they link in to the machine's own systems through a data port that then displays visual feeds from the external cameras of the machines over the pilot's vision. This very easily allows the subject to fool themselves into believing the machine is their own body.
>This leads further into a whole host of problems including, but not limited too: sociopathic behavior, episodes of extreme violence, dissociative delusions, schizophrenia, and sadism. I will cover these issues with perfect accuracy within this documentation.
>Yet before we began, I must pose a question to the Terran Republic military arm, the reader, and by extension our entire race.
>Even with the threat of extinction should defeat occur: Is it really worth throwing away our humanity for so shallow an attempt to grasp at victory in this war? By discarding the very things that make us human, we are no better than the marauders.

-excerpt from the preface of 'The Kinesis Problem: A Study On the Damaging Psychology of the Auger System', published by Doctor Alexander Koroi, Ph.d, 1986.
-This paper was reviewed in full and declared unfactual and inflammatory by the Republic scientific council. Most copies were destroyed.



Chapter 5: Mask Machine

>Slowly, ever slowly, you came about to the land of the living. Your senses slowly returned to you one by one.
>You were somewhere tight, and warm. It smelled strangely pleasant. And the securing warmth enrapturing you was... breathing?
>Pushing out gently you found yourself restrained on pretty much all sides, and that warmth was becoming a heat that actually may be a bit excessive. As toasty as you were you needed to go, for... some reason.
>Your bleary eyes were no help, opening them all you got was some grey haze.
>You feel along whatever is locking your chest in place. burly, silky, soft.
>Right... Teth'ra.
>...
>It's not like you can shake her grip anyway, and you wouldn't want to rouse her this early. You both need your rest.
>Just five more mi-
-today is the day we die-
>...
>Just gotta ruin everything, don't we brain?
-...-
>The cold shock of reality leaping into your warm mental insulation is enough to push you into a more operational state of mind.
>Guess those five more minutes are up.
>Right on cue the gentle giant begins stirring. A slight tensing of her legs brings you further out of the morning daze as fur brushes against skin.
>The haze over your eyes even lifts away. You realize that you had been staring at the underside of her muzzle as she had done her model best to envelop you.
>Well good morning there beastie, good morning yourself, and good morning rocketmah- woah! wait. shit.
>Either by virtue of your dreams being too pleasant, the inordinate amount of close contact, or the fact you just realized her chest is pressed very firmly against your back; is about to make things awkward.
>You can't break away. You can't get your dog back down in time. And to top it off you have no clue how she will react.
>Take in a great breath of air, go rigid, if she gets mad and slips the hold just book it.
>She yawns greatly and murmurs dreamily. The feeling of her throat humming against your head coupled with her breath pressing her breasts against your back is not doing you any favors.
>"Mornin'" She idly slides one of her arms off you and moves it south.
>You can only lock eyes at the wall in growing horror as she moves to scratch something of hers out of routine. Her furry palm like some foreshadowed meteor of imminent doom as it falls squarely on your dawning forest.
>You choke a whimper in your lungs. It's like if the Tunguska impact actually did more than burn down some trees.
>Her paw cups over your rouge saluter, the warm pressure starting on it making you tense your whole body like a spring.
>She freezes too... makes a few pointed sniffs... and seems to stare straight ahead.
>...
>You have no clue what to do at this point... Come on brain, give us something... anything?
-...-
>That's it, you're dead. You are dead now.
>...
>"... uuuhhhhhhh"
>... fuck it, you have to try something to worm your way out.
"Yeeeeeaaahhh.. I should go..."
>"mhm"
>...
"Teth'ra your not letting go."
>"mhm"
>It was about now your brain decided to finally kick into gear by internalizing a bellicose clashing of confused screaming and random noise like the parkisons' orchestra and the local tourretes shelter had collided in a band march.
>You sucked in air again and started getting ready to scream yourself. You had no real gaging for how she was reacting and the lack of movement on her part was growing increasingly disconcerting.
>But finally the cup over your folded pride was relieved, and you exhaled as you waited for the awkward pause to stretch into oblivion.
>"Sorry..." Your tension recedes a bit.
>Wow. No biting, scratching, or tearing of your pants... Maybe you had panicked a bit, but who wouldn't with knives that close to the family jewels.
>Still wanted out though.
"If you wouldn't mind."
>"I. uh"
"Teth'ra!"
>Finally the other arm unclasps from across your chest and you immediately haul yourself upright onto the floor. It all feels like record time as you shuffle on your full gear, lace your boots, almost vomit swallowing the bad coffee and then bolt out the door. Taking care to stop in the Isolated hallway and get your boy flattened out before anyone else noticed.
>You then remembered you would need your gun today as you were actually venturing into the wild again. So you whirled around, stamped back in and almost had a heart attack when you saw her in the middle of unbuckling her bra.
>Thinking quickly you pull an arm to shield your eyes as if protecting from the heat flash of a thermonuclear blast. You fumbled around in the footlocker, found your gun and ammo pouch, and then bolted back out.
>After the mild panic from waking up to your friend awkwardly cupping your junk subsided, a different kind of panic took over.
>You have to move out today, you have not had time to test your rumbler, and the pre-mission checklist for a fresh load can be hundreds of items long. shit!
>Boots thumping hard on the scuffed hardwood floors you ran full pelt up the hall, slammed open the exterior doors, almost bowled over some random private, and sprinted off to the hanger to get yourself ready.
>Though you had to admit on the run there your excitement was starting to take hold again.
>New mech, new day. And all the bugs you can stomp.
>Plus... maybe... a second shot at a certain bastard.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Teth'ra>
>You've certainly had more stressful mornings... but this?...
>The shame licking at your ears with its heated tongue. That subtle twitch of desire downstairs. Your own uncertainty over how to even handle this.
>The worst part is you had locked up completely... just sat there stone still with a hand over him. Like you were hypnotized.
>All that passing conversation you tuned in on came flooding back. Those skinners and their lust mad ramblings over smoothskin when they thought nobody could hear them working themselves into an early heat.
>You remember something in you jostled in your chest, making you stop and listen to the circling of privates as they poured in watered down liquor rations and giggled amongst themselves.
>'No barbs!', mewled a lynx. You pained for the cats, those things never did sound pleasant.
>'such stamina, I heard with the right.. care. they can go for hours!' chided a mare. Probably frustrated with how many stallions were two pump chumps over-relying on their stigma. You scoffed to yourself remembering what few horses approached you, and were quickly scared off by a flash of your teeth.
>'they are so caring in the afterglow too, I heard they absolutely adore the feeling of fur against their bald little pelts.' confided a doe.
>Then a grey wolf chuckled deeply. 'No knot either, when your done.. you can hold them this way and that. And they're fine with it. The affection they can give even while tired out. pinching, scratching, ear rubbing. mrrrr~'
>You had to admit that got you thinking more than the others.
>Recalling your mind back to the present, you tried to bat down the embers of desire before they fanned into flames.
>You couldn't go thinking of Tom like that... or could you?
>He was just so soft, and small. But he was also tenacious judging by what you heard of how he dealt with Vilka.
>But you had never seen him get angry like that, not outside of that argument in the office, just scared and tired... and sad.
>Seeing him up there on that stage, bearing his heart to the world, shivering as he realized how alone he was.
>You saw flashes of your little brother all over again, and you had to hide away in the back of the crowd as you cried for him.
>Maybe it was the fact that display had you ripping your own heart out that made you hold him so close last night.
>Which, judging by how he was scrambling to get his kit on and leave, may have been the wrong idea.
>Despite tasting the air with your nose the signals are too confused to pick out what exactly is driving him to go.
>Is he trying to hide his own shame from you? Or have you roused some sort of fear in him?
>Or maybe your over aggressive attempts to help are just shocking him back into that 'me or them' mindset.
>The uncertainty pulls your ears low as you watch him dash out.
>You can't deny when you two first met you had fantasies. And when your errant hand brushed his equally rebellious manhood, you had to fight off some part of you that wanted to jump on him. He probably felt violated.
>And you just froze, making it worse.
>You would allow him some space and hopefully both of you can sort yourselves out, assuming you even survive today.
-you're more likely to die than he is, this may be your only chance-
>He trusts you, but definitely not that far. It's been more subtle recently, the way he twitches at the near pass of claws, how he hides his neck, the silent retreat he slowly pulls if your mouth is too close for comfort. He probably doesn't even notice it himself.
>Your fairly sure he would never even think of someone outside his own species like that anyway, doubly so being human.
-His subconscious still reacted-
>...

>You shake it off, no need to rattle your focus before you need it. Your a soldier, not a drama queen.
>You rubbed at a sore spot on your chest, while pressing his back against you for so long wasn't... exactly the most comfortable. Cupping his head between your girls wouldn't be wise, even if it was far easier on them.
>Those carapace vests sure did a damn fine job of making them sore anyhow, it would be worse when you got saddled with the heavy variant, since you were now a squad leader, and an assault squad at that.
>You decided to at least let them hang free while you rode through the morning routine. And allowed yourself to find some excitement, what would your new squad be like? just how much would they be outsiders like you?
>It was a bit of a stretch finding the little plastic clasp but off it came and-
>You bolted arms over your chest to keep the bra from falling away as Tom came racing back in.
>He almost immediately threw a forearm over his eyes as if gazing at the sun. Furiously muttering some bizarre mash-up between apologies and some sort of rambling technical checklist as he retrieved his gun and ammo bag. Blushing a rose red the whole while.
>Then he bolted back out just as fast and you heard the stomp of boots running out of the building.
>Breathing a sigh of relief, you let your shoulders slump back down. Just to be safe you took a good sniff, his scent still hung around but there was no fresh scent wafting back in. you let the bra clatter to the floor.
>...
>Well, he isn't coming back anytime soon, and better now then never to sate that itch before it drives you up a wall.
>You took a nice deep breath, keeping an ear out in case anyone decided to interrupt you.
>And you took your mammaries in your paws and started your massage, easing the soreness as they filled and flowed out of your hands.
>You worked in with the flats of your claws, kneading in to sooth your bruised flesh, your short hair flushing and ruffling as you worked.
>A pert nub flicked through your fingers, you took a small breath with vigor, a momentary spark of pleasure flicked out from the sensitive teat.
>Your thoughts flared with the electric sensation and wandered. How good it would feel for a second pair of hands to help you.
>To sooth over your bumps and gentle hurts, a kneading, soft touch to heal the ails that came with your size.
>Hands without claws, that could work as vigorously as they needed without the threat of pulling your fur or grazing your skin.
>Your own paws wandered forward, squeezing as flesh gorged out between your digits, you rolled your sensitive points delicately between your thumb and index. More feathering shocks of passion rolled through you.
>Your leg twitches as you feel your downstairs start to warm. You breath gently, impassioned.
>Perhaps if you could show him, if he came back, he wouldn't be so scared of you. That trust could go far enough and...
>...
>wait.. what the hell are you doing?
-it's love~-
>No it's not... not when he doesn't even show any signs of genuine attraction.
>So why were you rubbing yourself up over the thought of... Of him walking in on you?!
-you want this, take it-
>No, you had shown just how restrained you could be, and you wouldn't betray his trust like that.
>Your aches were taken care of anyway, you just got over excited in the moment.
-The skinners have a point-
>Absolutely not!
>You were a godsdamned ROYAL JACKAL! THE VERY PICTURE OF RESTRAINT, GRACE, AND POWER!
>The spitting image of the ancient god of death themself!
>You were a noble creature! You didn't rub yourself off playing with your tits over some broken little human!
>... even if he was kind of cute.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You finally managed to calm your little surge in hormones, it was just a natural response to your awkward situation. You smelled arousal in the air, your body responded since spring is the natural breeding season. Nothing. More.
>Just a typical case of spring fever playing with your base desires, daring you to act on them when you really shouldn't.
>At least you weren't in heat. You suppressed a shudder. Your seasonal spells could get really bad. Besides you weren't due for that for another couple months.
>Lyudmilla had always coyly offered that she 'knew some certain places' that could alleviate such a burning instinct.
>You had no idea why your spells got so intense, but you point blank refused to let that nympho bitch act like she could just hand you off like so many high-class tablescraps.
>She offered that she knew more 'personal' methods of relief, if you shared, if you pleaded.
>You will never be brought down to begging like some common house pet, you are better than that.
>You beat away the heat in your ears and straightened yourself out. Your a squad leader now, and today is your first action in that role.
>You have to be on top of your game...
>Okay maybe one peep of excitement won't hurt anyone.
>A few tail wags too, and a smile.
>Oh you can't keep lying to yourself! Your excited as all hell for this!
>Finally! A chance at command. The chance you were waiting for.
>All because of him.
-you know yo-
>No. You're in control of yourself, and today is a day where you need to focus. A single moment of lapsed concentration out there can do more than land you in spiking sexual tensions with your partner.
>Wait. Partner! No! he's... your uhhh.
-future fuckbuddy-
>FUCKSAKE NO!... he's a trusted comrade and personal friend, yeah.
>You can't have your loins tied in a bow when you meet your new charges. You take the opportunity of the morning ritual to steady yourself.
>You're a soldier, a sergeant, and the meanest bitch this side of the atlantic, you don't fawn over boys.
>You don't fantasize about jumping bones on your small human friend.
>And you don't let your tail whip around in excitement.
>This damn heavy vest is even worse than the normal one, at least it doesn't constrict around the other parts of you it shields aside from your bust.
>The crisp morning air greets your nostrils with a flourish, you swear you can smell the over-potent scent of a lilac bush somewhere.
>Reminds you of home.
>You'll have to check in on your folks sometime. Just to let them know you're alive.
>You glance down at the notice slip again, your supposed to meet up before you embark, doesn't say where.
>Guess they'll find you. That's their first test, being able to find their superior in the shuffle on base.
>Lord knows there were more than enough times you had to track down Vilka when even she herself didn't know where she was.

>You posted up at the apc your squad was assigned to ride as you waited.
>Baring the new chevrons on your shoulders with pride, you pretended not to notice the charged glares from the rest of the platoon.
>Let them talk and chide when your back is turned, it just means they're too scared to say it to your face. Scared of you, of your stature, of your skill, of your bearing, and of your resemblance to that old mythos. As they should be.
>The other troopers came and went in the shuffle of bodies. Riflemen of all shapes and sizes squeezing themselves into an armored box that would then tear off down the road. Most of them were human, typical fair.
>You still watched, trying to eye which clustering of figures is your squad. Regrettably you weren't told much about them, just that they were battle-hardened assault specialists that had survived their old unit being cut to ribbons by a combination of bugs and administrative fuckups.
>This meant they were either driven into being emotionally compromised wrecks by survivor's guilt like Tom. Or they thought they could take on the world by their lonesome because they got lucky a few times.
>As much as it would be a pain to keep them in line you hoped they were the latter. Looking after 7 shades of crying mess would be a chore.
>Guilt nipped at you. Looking after Tom wasn't a chore... was it? Then worry bit into you. How is he going to handle being redeployed? especially with the heart tearing yesterday.
>Why did he have to remind you so damn much of Dera'ket? Granted he seemed far more up to task and willing to converse when he was stable. But the pitiful way he would just shut down when his emotions overcame him...
>Fuck, you were becoming like your mother.
>No time to sit around and muse, as a clustering of bodies broke from the embarking crowds and made towards you.
>Their equipment harnesses were loaded for absolute bear, the sort of loadout that speaks volumes about previous mission experience, supply problems, and a healthy dosage of pure paranoia.
>If they were ready for a week long siege without resupply, maybe they wouldn't be as much of a burden as you thought they were.
>One of the corporals, some tawny lioness kitted out with a lmg and a grenade launcher slung over her shoulders and enough grenades to make most squad grenadiers blush, marched up to you with gusto and attempted to stare you down.
>It would have been a site to see if she wasn't comfortably within the realm of a full head shorter than you.
>You rocked forward onto your boots from your standing recline against the hull of the tin box and stared right back down at her. The faintest shine of amusement in your grin as you quirked a brow as if to ask her 'how did you think this was going to go'.
>She had gotten too close for anyone's comfort but your own as you peered straight down the barrel of your muzzle into her eyes, the color of golden wheat in the honeyed radiance of the morning hours. She would be a pretty thing, if she didn't insist on holding her face in a snarl in a quickly failing attempt to intimidate you.
>Her face twitched and softened with uncertainty, you held fast to your bemused smirk. If she were a canid, or really any species with a longer muzzle, you would be touching noses right now.
>The massive swell of your chest, obvious even under the compressing strain of your vest, hung dangerously close near her neck.
>You could just let yourself fall forward and smother the upstart feline. Something she seemed to pick up on as she slowly started to shrink away.
>Some days you loathed your genes, but today you were elated that your size had allowed such a casual upper hand.
>You kept your eyes locked, the classic way for dogs like you to show dominance, if she thought she could walk right over you, she was wrong.
>No growling, snapping, or bristling. Your cold composure and amused temperament more than enough to convey that you thought so little of her would be threat, it was basically nothing. A stellar first impression for a sergeant if ever there was one.
>The lioness stepped back and broke from your gaze, shoulders shrinking a little as she scratched at her forearm with agitation.
>You allowed a slight "humph" to bounce in your throat as she conveyed her nonverbal surrender. Only now did you open your mouth.
"So. This walking armory must be my new E-squad. Correct?"
>"yes ma'm" sighed the lioness. Obviously she was rethinking her stance on you after you had shown to be anything BUT a pushover.
"Sergeant Magual."
>You extended a paw towards the big cat. You were mean, but fair. Hell, she even called you ma'm
>She raised her head, and seemed bewildered that you weren't punishing her for something. She then timidly took your paw into her own.
>"Corporal Feldspar" She wasn't trying to crush your hand in some petty attempt to regain the ground she lost, you extended the same courtesy.

>You allowed a slight smile to wink across your muzzle, pleased that she had fallen into line seeing that you and her may be cut from the same cloth. Internally you were practically giddy, but you had to maintain that bearing of the unmoving royal jackal, at least for now.
>The rest of the squad seemed a little bit easier to work with now that you had disarmed their ringleader's attempt at sedition.
>The other corporal didn't really come forward, she crossed her arms and stood at the back, the Lioness informed you the doberman's name was Duran.
>She was a flamethrower specialist, and according to the lioness, gave everyone the cold shoulder.
>That certainly explained it, what flame troopers you had met tended to be... damaged. You hoped that you would be able to keep any of her more glaring issues that arose in check.
>A grenadier stepped forward, private Matthews, some kind of monitor lizard, bundled up in enough cold weather gear to tarp an MRAP. Not that you could blame the cold-blood, as long as she could still handle her gear through her wool gloves.
>The other of the three grenadiers counting Matthews and Feldspar stepped forward. Private Pliskin, an Ocelot.
>Then the two remaining privates stepped forward in tandem, lugging a giant of a gun between them with the assistance of some sort of sled. Cheerily introducing themselves as privates Mocha and Minna Jorgenson. Sisters, and the gunners that handled the squad's fire support, a 40mm Bofors autocannon.
>The two of them looked to be house cats, the fluffy white fur and the dark points around their faces and extremities made you guess at their breed as Himalayan. If it weren't for the former sister's eyes being a misty blue to the latter sister's shamrock green you honestly wouldn't be able to tell them apart.
>Same mannerisms, same tone of voice, same body language, even the same scent. Twins in more than just appearance.
>You would have liked to take the time for more formal introductions but such things would have to wait, assuming all of you got through today alive. The Lieutenant had called over the radio that the troop was departing within minutes.
>You stopped with an ear quirked to the east as you heard a deep barking clatter. With a few barely audible pops and a grunting whine, it soon became a mechanized howl. Bellowing out of the open maw of a hanger east of you, as if some metallic hellbeast had been woken from a deep slumber to its tail being pulled.
>Tom and his Rumbler. The howl died down as the engines settled into a calmer rate after letting the world hear their guttural voice.
>You couldn't help but watch the hanger as the squad hauled their overabundance of gear into the apc behind you.
>Maybe something about the way his machine moved would tip you off to how he was fairing. That's what you told yourself at least.
>You kept your attention clued in as the deliberately slow steps boomed out of the hanger.
>thump.2.3.4.thump.2.3.4.thump
>You could maybe understand the slow shuffling steps were so the machine's weight wouldn't do any damage to the base's road surfaces or hanger floor, but the anticipation was nipping at your heels.
>But slowly it showed itself, the massive bulk of its body and its two lugging weapon arms peeking around the hanger door. Colored in a fresh coat of drab green, somehow it seemed to be missing something without the faded whites of rock dust clinging to it.
>And there was the unit markings clear as day on the shoulder, well, there were actually 2?
>The more prominent was 606 in the center of the plate, with an... added touch. An anthro version of the battalion mascot, a hellhound, seemed to be sitting provocatively in the zero. The toned orange and chocolate of her legs dangling off like it was a tire swing.
>A simple white toga preserved her modesty, meaning it lay in a heap across her lap. Comically overblown tits hung out as she seemed to howl upwards, framing her muzzle and the small priffing flame that danced on her lips in the center of the zero as the rest of her body lay draped along the inner curve of the digit.
>You weren't sure if it was artsy or tasteless, maybe a mix of both. Then you frowned as you mentally compared breast sizes and found the pinup's bust was actually closer to yours than you'd like, framing that earlier thought about them being overblown viciously.
>You scowled as an annoyed grunt leaked out of your lips, he better not have painted that.
>You flat ignored the clamor of voices, boots, and engines as you called up Tom's frequency. Even as the sisters made a racket dragging the autocannon into the troop compartment you ignored it.
>Why did he flee from you when THAT was on his machine? Was something wrong with you? You can't have been too big for him, not with the knockers on that piece of work!
>It was probably the size of the rest of you at work again, every damn time you thought you had someone, either as a close friend or something more, they would suddenly get all antsy because you could bench press them. Every time some dumbass would waltz up and expect to tame the beast but would quickly wilt and pussy out when you got excited and keyed them in to just how strong you were.

>Finally the static hiss and pop gave way to a clearer channel. You tried to hide the annoyance edging into your voice with sarcasm.
"Tom, your unit marker is a little... exposed."
>"uuuuuuggh... Blame Vegalta! That's what I get for telling that horned-out dumbass not to paint my nose art!" His annoyance was genuine, and you started to feel a bit guilty as you realized you were about ready to go off on him over some tasteless smut that wasn't even done by his own hand.
>That guilt then gave way to confusion as you thought over what he said.
"Wait... You guys do nose art? Isn't that an airforce thing?"
>Your ears tuned and you glanced sideways as Feldspar waved you over to embark. You kept your ear piece on and listened as you stepped over the awkward shape of the autocannon taking up the space in between the short rows of canvas seats. He continued with a heavy sigh.
>"ACES do nose art... us regular schmucks don't. Being, a survivor doesn't change any of that..."
>You held your response until you weren't so close to prying ears, ducking through the troop compartment up towards the hatch well at the front of the vehicle.
>Managing to squeeze your shoulders and your chest through the hatch wasn't easy given the extra bulk from your equipment, but soon you were stood up out of the hatch behind the driver's compartment. No company except for the open air and a .50 cal on the pintle mount.
>The 8 wheeler's engine gave a hearty groan as your knotting of vehicles slid into motion. A convoy of personnel carriers following the thin spires of the radio aerials from a trio of command pattern IFVs. You watched the rumbler step out forcefully onto the sodden earth outside the base, finally putting its foot down and digging its claws into the dirt.
>The machines stride was immediately longer and heavier as it started its march alongside the road, clawed heels kicking up dirt as it stomped forward. You continued your conversation as you watched it, watched him, confident your squad wouldn't be able to eavesdrop with your head out in the air.
"But with how many bugs you must have killed."
>"If you're talking about the small fry they don't fucking matter. The swarming bugs of all spices, the scarabs, the stags, they don't fucking matter, any dumbass with an auger frame can take those by the boatload."
>Something in his voice belied anger, the way the machine moved seemed to reinforce that. You listened, as that's all you can really do.
>"The difference between an ace and an amateur come out in the wash when you face the bigger targets. The more monstrous varieties of bug, and marauder battleframes, the more dangerous threats. You need at least five victories against targets of those varieties to be considered an ace... I only have one, and even then it's because I got lucky..."
>The tinge of doubt in his voice pursed your frown a bit, how could you be mad over something so petty when he was practically alone with a roiling sea of doubts and second guessing.
>Looking towards the rumbler's nose, you saw a single chalk white marker painted onto the chin of the rumbler's axe-headed bow plate. A stylized skull with razor like teeth missing its lower jaw, 3 hollow eyes, one nested above the other two, glared from it's center. A kill marker for an enemy battleframe.
>Your gaze flicked back to the shoulder, the smaller unit marker made you tinge with worry.
>Nested into the upper corner of the plate was a smaller trio of digits, 512, a small simple cross marker hung off the top corner of the 2. Then there was another skull, hanging above the zero of 606.
>It was far larger than its cousin on the nose, and it was an outline of the skull rather than a complete marker, a bright red sash of scarlet cut across its eyes along a north-west to south-east bearing.
"What's with the marker on your shoulder then?"
>You had a feeling you wouldn't like the answer.
>"That's not a marker, it isn't filled in yet..." He gave a shuddering inhale as if some shot of emotion had just run through his spine.
>"It's a promise. I'm gonna kill that bastard. Or die trying."
>The resolve gripping his voice in tandem with unfiltered anger pushed on your back as you felt yourself tense.
>You sighed as your ears dropped... had he really gone and just accepted his death like that? You tried to swallow the creeping dread crawling up your throat.
"Good luck out there."
>"... Yeah"
>Tom didn't look so small now.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>The few hours of relative peace you had during the ride still had a faint tension hung over them. You spent them in silent worry and contemplation.
>You alternated between watching the rumbler jogging alongside the road and watching the sky as you picked out wisping contrails and the glimmer of silver wings between the shuffling clouds.
>The air force had cleared the local sky of threats from above, and now wing after wing of bombers and other ground pounders soared far above your head to drop death on high onto the hoard. You could only imagine that miles to the west, the navy was rolling a non-stop bombardment up the coast line.
>Yet even these silent reassurances of allied power did little to remove that minute knot of tension clinging between your shoulders.
>If Tom got carried away, he would let his buried rage drive. His untamed need for vengeance demanded it. And there was nothing you could do to sooth it, not with how far you were from eachother, in both senses of the phrase.
>You had so clearly broken in your prematurely awakened maternal instincts again, working diligently to smooth over his hang ups, coaxing him away from his fears, keeping him from wandering into his doubts when he was unoccupied, and being the rock for him to shelter under when the tears came.
>But that flooding torrent never came, the closest you got was that heart breaking moment of gravecall, and you couldn't be there for him. Instead you were the one that broke first, spilling over how alone you felt, because those wild eyes he made at you when that idiot Darla set him off made you feel like he saw you as nothing but another threat to his life.
>The way he seemed so morose over what he unintentionally did to you... He was battling himself to see you as a person, rather than some monster that walked off the side of a cartouche. You worried over what sorrows of his own he held behind him.
>How would they eat at him, shake his resolve, and make him doubt if he didn't share them. You wanted to press into him, make him confess what acidic memory was coiled around his heart so you could rip it away from him and crush it. But his fear kept you on a gentler approach no matter how much you ached to bury to the heart of this matter.
>You wanted to ask point blank 'why are you so scared of anthros, scared of me?' But some crippling doubt over what you might uncover or stir within him chained those words back into your gullet.
>Whatever it was, it festered to become a far more ingrained response and instinct than a simple qualm over teeth and claws. It was an outright phobia.
>You had no idea how to approach that.
>But you had no idea how to approach that first night either.
>Improv only gets you so far, and that in particular was a delicate issue.
>The chatter among your squad died off about an hour into the ride, as if the excited deliberations over their change in status dropped dead when that wind of decay whispered in everyone's ears. 'you might all die today' it rasped.
>Eventually you picked out the distant echoes of cannons, and just like that all the preparation came back to you as the flow of vehicles towards the front snaked onwards.
>big gun: check  belts: check  backup belts: check  sidearm: check  spare sidearm mags: check  grenades: check  radio: check  earpieces: check  heavy carapace vest currently mashing down your proud bust like so much water-weight: double check
>Crippling worry about the definite possibility of death hanging over your every action:
>... check
>You breathed in and shooed away the fear, you had been through quite a lot and still managed to worm your way out of any deadly predicaments. And Tom... well, he may be tougher than he looks, he also has hundreds of tons of armor and an arsenal to shame an entire rifle battalion on his side.
>You couldn't help but worry over him, you really were becoming like your mother.
>Oh wait... your fucking squad, should probably bring up that little item on the list.
>You had spent far too long as a corporal.
>You squeezed your torso back down the hatch, to awkwardly bend over and take a hard look back them while your feet remained planted on the platform for using that pintle mounted .50
"Report ready status."
>No flair or getting personal, not yet. You would prove yourself before you let the mantle of the no-nonsense gal slip.
>"Ready ma'm" Feldspar nodded, she was turning out to be rather stalwart, and you guess that she may have snapped into this loyalty towards you due to maybe seeing some sort of kindred spirit behind your eyes.
>Duran merely nodded slightly, the sisters gave almost perfectly synced thumbs up, Matthews and Pliskin shared a reaffirming look to quench their worry, and gave shaky nods.
>Good enough for you, you gave a curt nod of your own and returned to staring out at the scenery.
>Mountains had risen up on both sides as the road followed the lazy path carved by a humble river as it wound through the narrow valley.
>The old highway kept shooting north as best it could, snaking along the terrain and hugging the mountains after crossing the river at a small village.
>The rumbler was obviously too heavy for the bridge to really hold together between it and the constant traffic, Vilka rather cheekily offered to call an airlift. What slight smile was there faded again when the machine just forded through the river like it almost wasn't even there.

>The valley pass snaked north again and the road followed, Within a few miles the pass leveled out into a genuine valley as that distant echo became far more clear thuds and booms of cannons.
>The valley held the shape of a triangle tapered to the south, a fat hill rose in its core, and you saw the feint outline of a small town squatting by the winding river near the eastern edge of the valley. The quaint small town of Ashcroft.
>At least it would be quaint if it wasn't an abandoned ruin that was left inside the Alaskan cordon with the bugs for two years.
>The town had recently been cleared and now the front had moved up to take the crossroads at Cache Creek, the struck town's northern neighbor that guarded the northern mouth of the valley under the watchful gaze of that fat hill. That was all you were told.
>The lack of information didn't sit well with you, and you looked for any opportunity to get a more in depth explanation of the local front.
>The rolling thunder of cannons grew louder and louder, a din of small arms chatter and the tapping of autocannons joining into that cacophony of full scale battle. soon enough your section of the convoy pulled off the road and came to a halt in the dried ghost of what was once an arable field.
>You hauled yourself out of the hatch, having to shimmy as your hips caught on a latch, and dropped with a crunch onto a bed of pale yellow cereal grasses. Long since dead with no farmers to tend to the fields.
>Ahead of you a clustering of walkers sat on the tawny loam of a baldspot in the land. Fat chrome barrels raised skyward as they punted high gauge cannon shells into the distance. It was the very thing that every infantryman takes as a good omen for the impending fight, an artillery park.
>Your squad shuffled out of the back doors, the sisters hauling out the bofors on its odd collapsible sled. Your best guess was it was some sort of rigging that helped them move and set up the man sized gun so they could actually use it.
>The dead grains crunched and folded under boots, you waved Feldspar over to explain to her that you were going to go have a chat with the local artillerymen to get a better read on the battle at large since they were the ones that spent all day staring at maps.
>She seemed rather puzzled, citing that the pre-mission briefing should have covered everything. That poor, clueless soul.
>The noise hid your disappointment in her well, and you explained the reality of the situation to the lion.
>The brief never covers anything beyond 'go here and take objectives A-Z, we won't tell you why or how. Here's some vague positional data and a snippet from another units report that all is well and bug presence is perfectly manageable. Said unit last went through the area at the start of the war, and all recent intel reports are classified. Good luck, don't die.'
>You also explained that your dear Lieutenant was too fresh and trusting of the system to smuggle in a briefing that wasn't shit. This meant you had to do everything on your own.
>Including gathering enough intel to asses the local tactical situation in order to lessen the chances of all your asses being killed.
>Luckily artillerymen were the rifles' best friend. They killed most everything before you had to go in and deal with it up close, they were always a friendly sort, and very trusting since all of them were half deaf.
>It's only natural you stop by, say hello, and ask to take a look at their very detailed grid maps. And maybe get some pointers as to what enemy positional markers demand a convenient misinterpretation of your orders so you can avoid them.
>Feldspar got the gist that what you were doing was for everyone's survival, so she thankfully stowed her objections and casually helped you defy the chain of command.
>They grow up so fast.

>While your squad marched off to distract everyone with how blatantly new and competent they were compared to the rest of the platoon; you spied the closest artillery officer in his natural habitat, hunched over a map.
>The officer hadn't keyed in to your approach, in between permanent hearing damage and his own efforts to coordinate fire missions over a headset radio, It's rather hard for a poor artilleryman to key in on much at all once the guns get firing.
>You thanked whatever technical genius was responsible for producing the automatic noise dampening for your ear pieces, someone with as sensitive ears as yours couldn't go without it.
>You gave him a short tap on the shoulder with the flats of your claws and motioned to your neck with your other hand as he turned. The signal that you wanted to talk over radio to actually get a word in over the roar of guns.
>He nodded curtly, and held aloft a single gloved hand with a raised index, 'just a minute' he mouthed. He could have been shouting it in actuality, but over the bass strumming pound of the guns you would have never heard a sound from him.
>You took the wait to look around. Tom's Rumbler stood a good 200 feet or so ahead of the rest of the platoon, seeming to stand mid-stride. The weapon arms thrusted forward briefly in agitation. It was uncanny how well the small movements like that conveyed natural body language, but the controls were made to follow the pilot's movements almost exactly.
>By your best guess he had been ordered to halt while the rest of the troop sorted themselves, and wasn't happy about it.
>Your ever-present worry circled around your head again, he's far too eager to draw blood.
>You distracted yourself by peeling your eyes towards the squat, bulky artillery walkers posted around the patch of dirt.
>A chrome barrel raised skyward, A great plume of fire and smoke followed, even through the noise dampening you heard a dull resounding thump that hit your chest as the gun rocked backwards in its hydraulic cradle. The breach split open, pouring smoke, and spat a smoking casing.
>The legs of the machine were rooted into the earth and compressed with a hissing of steam to counter the recoil as the gun reset into firing position.
>Already, three men shunted another shell into the breach. And with the pull of a lever it clamped shut. Five seconds passed, and another shell flew.
>You watched the artillerymen at work for a few minutes, drinking in the way they hoisted and rolled. Discarded casings piled high in brass mounds.
>You turned back to the officer to find him turning to you, your sense of timing is something else. The two of you thumb the microphone tabs pressed against your necks, you honestly have little clue how they manage to pick up your voice so clearly despite the deafening noise.

>The conversation over the map managed to give you a very good idea of what was going on. The advance was coming in from the south and east as two seperate offensive wings closed in towards Cache Creek, using a clustering of fire support elements sat high on the ridgeline of the hill dominating the north of the valley, to cover both wings as they closed in.
>The bugs seemed to have congregated in these mountains however, and astounding numbers of the monstrosities swarmed to meet the advance head on. Taking this valley had proven to be the first real roadblock on this league of the offensive.
>Advancing north from Ashcroft along the main highway was a collection of armored elements with light infantry support. The tankers had been shunting fire at their front cordon for hours and still the swarm piled in, held back by constant artillery barrage, air support, and the definite range advantage the tanks' various long barreled cannons gave them.
>But the armor officers were getting impatient and demanding that the town and it's crossroads be taken by nightfall with an armored blitz up the highway. Reinforcements were certainly arriving fast enough to facilitate a push, and the infantry officers were trying to calm the armor corp into a more reasonable rolling fire advance at a walking pace.
>While the more common armored units with their groupings of light and medium tanks were content to sit still and slug it out, the agitators were the so called 'landship men'. Heavy tank commanders too trusting of the invincibility their larger hulls assume, wanting to just wade in to the bugs and start grinding them under tread.
>The worst agitator was a unit of three Goliath superheavies sitting at the front of the line. Getting rather tempered when mechs started moving in to the area to 'steal all the glory again'. The fact that one of the incoming pilots was a rather well known ace wasn't helping matters.
>The infantry officers had correctly told the tread heads they were full of shit, and that advancing too far forward would just have them getting acid spitters on their flanks.
>According to every good rifleman the correct response is to sit tight and just have the airforce level the town before moving in to coupe de gras any surviving bugs. The issue being that command wanted the town and its crossroad highways roughly intact to ease further advance into the Alaskan exclusion zone.
>Regardless of the concoction of battle-stress and inter-branch animosity clinging to the air, a plan had been formed. It wasn't a work of tactical genius or even the best plan that could have been executed on notice, but it was a plan.
>The eastern wing of the offensive, which largely consisted of infantry elements backed by some vertical tanks and light armor such as IFVs would dig in and draw the bugs to them using seismic hammers to agitate the swarm into shifting its focus off the tanks.
>The bugs would have to funnel out of the chokepoint between the hill and the northern border of the valley that made the eastern exit out of town. Once out in more open terrain of the few fields hugging the narrow end of the hill off the highway, the artillery and airforce could comfortably pound the hell out of them. Without the worry of collateral.
>This would allow the armor enough breathing room to kick in the advance they had been clamoring for, so they could roll through town and secure the northern mouth of the valley.
>Up on the hill itself, the mixing of snipers, gunnery and mortar teams, at-guns, and mechs would creep forward, providing fire support as necessary to either side.
>The mechs would be split between the hill and more direct support of the armor until they got to town, at which point the mechs would break off and swing around to pincer the bugs between themselves and the infantry. Allowing the infantry to sweep in and clear the town of any stragglers.
>The plan was solid, and it's not like you could think of anything better on the spot. That's why you had never been shuttled off to some ritzy officer's school to be talked at and play grab ass. One thing seemed to stick out plainly to you though.
>Before the prattling of the officer rattled on further, you leveled a claw over the marker for a bunker complex sat squarely at the northern head of the ridge.
>Labeled as 'Complex H37', The commanding view this place held over the crossroads and the surrounding town was no accident, and depending on how deep into the ridge it was buried, it could be an active nest. Compromising the flanks of both wings as they moved forward.
>You caught the slight malting of surprise and satisfaction on the artillery officers voice, It was a little patronizing for him to be impressed with you pointing out this obvious strategic point as the problem it is.
>The bunker was too deep in to split open with anything short of a dedicated bunker buster, something the air force didn't use much of anymore, usually preferring napalm and old fashioned high explosives to specialty munitions outside of those crazy tunneling bombs they use to collapse nest tunnels.
>With so many abandoned machine gun nests and AT posts dug into the northern corner of the ridge, bug acid spitters could have any number of naturally fortified positions to attack the armor from. Not to mention the other swarmers pouring out of the deeper reaches.
>The officer confirmed your fears as he explained H37 was built 13 years before firefall, and part of it's construction included an extensive barracks and command post buried into the hill, but the bunker also held something important.
>recessed into a crater of concrete on top of the ridge was a hellfire battery, a battery that still had ammo.
>It was obvious H37 was a lynch-pin objective for securing the valley, it would deny the acid spitters concealed firing positions, clean out a minor nest, and that hellfire battery could devastate the advance of any further swarms moving towards the area.

>It was at this point you had a dreadful premonition, H37 isn't just THE objective in the area, it's YOUR objective.
>You would be in the center of the battle, underground, with the bugs, in the DARK.
-told you we would die today-
>You try to shake away the fogging miasma of doubt, the officer not noticing your momentary shiver and the loss of your front of the unflappable royal jackal.
>The dread started its creep back up as he explained there were really only two viable entrances to the complex, first was a motorpool on the north face of the ridge, connected to the eastern highway by an access road, the other was an airlock on the south face of the ridge, only accessible by a narrow path that clung to the south of the hill's more severe slopes.
>The infantry would be sent out along that path to make a run at clearing the bunker while the swarm outside was distracted. They would be making the push without any direct fire support. They would be hidden from the support elements on the hill, and artillery couldn't assist for fear of destabilizing the ridge face and cutting the access points down to one.
>Close air support wasn't in the books either, due to the terrain and the mess of bugs. Fighters couldn't get low enough for strafing runs and gunships wouldn't hold up well to the amount of ranged bugs mixed into the swarms.

>This sounded more and more like certain death by the second. You tried to restrain the wilt of your ears and the shaking starting on your breath.
>Not everything is against you, just because this sounds like the most dangerous assignment a rifle can be flung into doesn't mean it's your assignment.
>You're better than this! you don't quake and cower just because a tight spot may come along.
>You're a royal jackal, the very image of dignity and strength in both senses of the word.
>You don't run, you square your shoulders and stand high.
>You don't flinch, you bear your teeth and stand your ground.
>You don't hesitate, you lunge and strike down your opponent before they can mount a resistance.
>Your larger, faster, and stronger, you resemble the old ideal of death personified, and this is no coincidence.
>All that's missing is a ceremonial lance and the eye of Ra painted over your own. But your new weapon is more than enough.
>The promotion up to sergeant had granted you the capacity to get your claws on something that was typically reserved away from grunts.
>An M2 Browning, modified in a.. semi-official capacity to function as a 'rifle' for troopers of inordinate size, like you.
>Now it wasn't a full scale M2HB, even you may have some trouble handling that in reasonable fashion, despite being able to lift all 83 pounds.
>The barrel was shortened for maneuvering the gun, many of the parts had been lightened or re-forged using lighter metals than the standard issue, and an over sized rifle stock and trigger were fitted to the rear with some internal adjustments so you actually had something comfortable to hug under your arm or press to your shoulder.
>The chop job had shed 35 pounds off of the big mother, still leaving a more than healthy 48 pounds for you to heft around, something lesser women would fold like paper under.
>On the front was the handle of a rubber chainsaw style grip fitted ahead of the feed port to ease handling the weapon as the wide square of the machine gun's body wouldn't work well to keep it steady, and only a complete idiot would think grabbing hold of the barrel with a damp rag would possibly work.
>You guess being so big has its advantages. The 'rifle chop M2' as it was semi-officially cataloged was even originally put together  when a Caucasian Shepard gunner with a surprising amount of gunsmith education had just decided to take her Ma Deuce off it's tripod and use it as a rifle.
>Her little story even got on national tv around a year before firefall. As the reporters interviewed her, she cheerily shared that 'Soldier of Fortune' magazine had inspired her to do it, while flashing a big K with her fingers. It was a salute for some fan club of gunsmiths and hobbyist shooters that were avid readers of that old magazine series.
>Seeing such a large anthro up on screen with pride in her eyes over her story made you feel more secure back then.
>There was one more personal touch you had snuck in with your feminine wiles, damn it felt good to think you actually charmed someone like that.
>The quartermaster on duty at the time you got the gun with your fresh promotion was apparently rather flustered with the sight of you.
>shameless thespian you are, you laid it on thick and pretended not to be sent reeling by the sight of his neckbeard and fatbody cheeks. At least he washed unlike that little prick Tom had to deal with.
>A little hip sashaying here, a stretch there, playing up what you remembered of your parents' accents, and making a show of 'accidentally' busting open your jacket zipper left the idiot a mess of bright red putty to squeeze through your paws.
>It felt downright evil, and shamefully good, to have that rare chance to work some magic. Guess it was elements of that mischievous trickster stereotype loaded onto 'lesser' canids like you, and species like dholes and especially coyotes.
>But the more tangible reward was worth it, all ten of the hundred round belts you were issued carried an extra kick, explosives.
>Still only .50 cal, but the extra kick could make a mess out of a bug's soft tissues and fracture their natural armor.
>The weapon is there, anchored to you. It is a wordless promise of strength, you'll make it out alive.
>You are a genuine article Nubian, you aren't scared.
>Time to rock.
>Before you could leave the artillery officer clarified that the job of taking H37 was going to a fresh infantry unit that had just arrived to the front.
>They were the 606 Hellhound rifles, they even had a mech attached to one of their platoons, not that such a thing mattered with the bunker, poor bastards.
>...
>Oh god
>That killed the mood
>You took a shaky breath as the officer finished deliberating over his map.
>You thanked him for the briefing on the local tactical situation and walked away before he could catch the way your tail curled or the way you attempted in vain to swallow the growing lump in your throat.
>Running a hand along the barrel of your bulky gun, you tried to ground yourself before anyone caught sight of you fighting the instinct to hug your tail and whimper like a pup.
>NO!
>you aren't some stupid kid anymore, you wouldn't honestly consider running from your duty, you don't jump at an oversized tick in a broom closet, you shoot it in the face.
>...
>You shunt in a deep breath, remembering that trick your DI taught you in basic.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>Can't remember where he said he learned it from, best you got was mentions of some stormtrooper built like a fridge in Norway.
>You Gave the barrel shroud an affectionate pat, time to go to war.
>Still it reeled in the back of your head, and you were more worried about your own survival than Tom's. At least he had the Rumbler.
>You swallowed the lump again, managed to regain your stone mask, and met up with your squad. Nobody else had noticed your little intel gathering session.
>Sure enough, your platoon was selected to follow the captain himself up the ridge path.
>Vilka had agreed whole heartedly to this glorious suicide mission.
>This is it.

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<Tom>
>You hadn't even killed anything yet and your dander was already up.
>First of all, while you had initially been relieved that you were even assigned a sub-gunner, he was some fuckwit slacker from a thumper unit where the lazy shits came in pairs and barely had to do their jobs because thumpers barely move.
>You had to snap at him multiple times to watch his damn screens, and you were fairly sure the motherfucker was a stoner on top of that.
>If he dared to try and defile your machine with a puffing of mary jane, you're pretty sure at this point you would just fucking strangle him.
>The second mark was Vilka being a precocious little bitch again, acting like something that's leagues taller than a house can't ford some shitty little stream.
>The next was you being ordered to do naught but sit on your hands for what felt like half an hour straight while the bugs were just up the road, waiting for a good stomping.
>Test after test rose against your patience today, it was approaching its limit. Migrant swarms of the enemy were right there, just out of reach, taunting you. Why don't they let you kill them?
>"So the hero of the 606 shows himself. What great and terrible secrets does the lone survivor hide?"
>THEN THERE'S THIS ASSHOLE!
>Of all the fucking people to butt in and test your newfound reputation it has to be him.
>Orville Redenbacher, the crowing loon of a dancer ace that lifted the title of The Red Baron off of Manfred von Richthofen's bloated corpse.
>It didn't fucking matter he had twenty five confirmed kill markers. Far as you were concerned, he was just another annoyance goading your blood into a boil. The clincher was that ludicrous accent he wore like so much cheap makeup.
>You choked in the growl building in your throat. Maybe you had been hanging around anthros too long, you caught yourself growling more than usual.
>The naturally low cadence of your voice seemed to just fit with ease into such an animalistic expression.
>Regardless it's best to at least humor the idiot with a response.
>Breath, there's no need to force an incident despite your fuming state of mind. Redenbacher is just living up to his assigned stereotype of the rambunctious officer, you still despise anyone trying to pry in to your assumed mental hangups however.
>"Hey man.. is that The Red Baron? Love that dude, he's a great personality."
>This would be easier if your sub-gunner knew when to shut the hell up.
"Well if it isn't Monty Python and the crawling circus. What can I do ya for Manfred?.. oh wait, your *cough* British."
>All the things you thought you might do today, and sarcastically talking shit to a well recognized ace was not an item on the list.
>Life finds a way.
>The pause before his response is lengthier than expected, either he's taking your insult in good spirits, or your venom is more potent than ever.
>"I do see they haven't lowered your spirits any." That angry thing buried in you warmed, as if in agreement.
>Burning, shaking, thrashing needs are what boils in you, a want for blood.
>You ignored the chipper ace, pulling up the local battlenet while you sat still.
>Just behind you was the unit marker for that artillery troop, happily responding to fire missions pinged onto the map by unit commanders from both sides of the advance. Armor was driving north along the highway while infantry cut around the north of the hill by the highway that led off into the east.
>A simple pincer maneuver to crush the bugs between two fronts. At least on the grand scale.
>With armor concentrated towards one front and infantry on the other the two sides were far from equal.
>Best guess on your end was the armor would advance first while the infantry dug in, than cut the swarm in two and crush the half not pushed out of the valley by the armor against the infantry. But the plan hardly matters since it's bound to go wrong.
>You noted other mech unit markers in the area, Redenbacher and his 3 ace wingmen moved along the west side of the highway, likely using the slope of the mountain to advance hard north and get good flanking shots on larger targets in the swarm.
>A thumper unit sat on top of the hill, ready to turn their guns to assist either side of the attack. Although it didn't say specifically, your suspicions pointed towards that unit being Vegalta's.
>Then there was a half strength unit of Rumblers on the east highway, only two machines, nothing about their unit name or number rang any bells with you.
>And finally you. Labeled rather flatly as 606-B2R, the only machine on their lonesome.

>You spied two main problems on the map, first was that clustering of markers labeled as some abandoned bunker, which would be a pain in the ass once you got far enough ahead.
>Then there was a unit of three Goliaths parked up at the head of the front.
>Goliath commanders were never cooperative in your experience, just because the dense fuckers had similar tonnage to a mech didn't mean they got to act like one.
>Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't get ahead of themselves and pull something stupid because they get too damn competitive with the mechs for their own good.
>"Say old bean, how about some friendly competition?"
>The internal whiplash from being snapped out of your grim deliberations on what would go wrong by the chipper offering of the ace caused you to blank for a moment.
>"Let's see just how much your willing to give ol' jerry a wallop! See who between us can take down the most marks today. Spirit of vengeance and what not!"
>This walking caricature can't be fucking serious. A proven ace thinking that a one-mark nobody will even have a chance?
>But something inside you pulses your blood with heat, and a snarl decorates your countenance. It's that same feeling from when you stumbled out of the landslide, bloodlust. You readied to indulge it.
>If this was the spirit of vengeance, it edged you on with anger to forget about your weak-willed worries and doubtings. And to show this prancing gadabout priss what vengeance fucking looks like.
"Your on motherfucker!"
>Your subgunner let out a prolonged sigh to say something. "Ya know ma-"
"Screens!"
>You snapped at him while thumbing the transmitter off, then back on again as Redenbacher spoke with a chuckle.
>"Spirits are definitely high there chap. But surely you know that this dance will be mi-"
"Keep prancing sir Robin. I will mash enough of these goddamned bugs to fill the fucking canyon!"
>With that you cut the com. Your teeth slowly ground as your breath came heavy from pursed lips. Waiting, just waiting for the chance to cut loose.
>You decided to reign in the heated edge of your hatred until you needed it up the road. And you started running down the mental pre-battle checklist to keep your immediate focus off of visions of ultra-violence. Soon, soon enough you could indulge that madcap instinct to destroy.
>Munitions are topped off, fluid levels look good, power is flowing normally, engine temperature is stable, and your fuel reserves are still high. The long trek north barely dipped into your reserves as you were mostly coasting along on minimal power.
>You only really started burning through your reserves once combat began, where you needed to squeeze out every ounce of power the engines could give.
>You check over every weapon system for a second time. Still the heat nips at the back of your skull.
>Some ancient mantra winds upwards from the deeper pits of your psyche. You think on something else to ignore the words, not yet, vengeance will come. It's just up the road.
>And so your mind wanders to the first subject of engagement it can pull up: Teth'ra.
>You realized with a slight flick of embarrassment you had been thinking of her a lot recently, but could it really be helped?
>She was the only solid friend you had out here, and the way she acted was vexing to the lurch and roll of your tumultuous emotions.

>There was something else there between the two of you, you can't keep ignoring it. The question was what?
>She approached you aggressively and seemed to disregard your personal hangups about space, but at the same time she seemed to give you distance whenever you showed your discomfort.
>If she wanted you in... THAT measure, surely she would keep pressing in the offensive rather than backing off.
>At the same time she teased and smiled, but after you had shown your fear she was so damn careful, while still keeping close by.
>If it were anyone else you would assume they were just fucking with you.
>Teth'ra was far from a normal woman though, even barring the species which just confused you further.
>Just walking around, some of the old flings you had in highschool probably would have accused her of being a dyke just from appearance. That girl was massive and the fact anthros can only really grow out their head fur to simulate hair, provided they have the inclination and genetics to do so, didn't help her boyish appearance.
>She also acted so different to most of the romantic interests you fruitlessly chased after in your youth. She fit the niche of that ever-absent tomboy you fantasized about after graduation, when your love life just crashed and burned.
>She came to you, she knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was to get close to you. But the sticking point was still: why?
>If she was a more socially graceful creature your inclination would tilt towards her wanting your kibble and bits, but she wasn't.
>There was no mindgames, no schemes, no double-think or purposeful double entendre. Just her over-aggressive approach and her blunt charm along with an earnest friendship.
>Really it was damn lucky circumstance and the hypnotic color of her eyes left you so receptive that you didn't immediately panic at the thought of that giant jackal dragging you out on a little excursion that by all accounts should have raised the alarms in your head that she wanted you inside her and wouldn't take no for an answer.
>The very things she spilled in front of you when the damn burst concerning her past made those assumptions fold in on themselves.
>The isolation, the sadness, the blatant inexperience with matters of love; Maybe she just had no real idea how to correctly approach someone and just struck lucky with you.
>But still, why?
>Did your heroic stunt set her loins ablaze or did your sorry state just remind her so much of her brother that it overwhelmed her better judgment?
>Likely the answer was somewhere in between, then a third musing occurred to you. To anthros, humans are exotic, and taboo. Interspecies relationships triply so, and that was another factor drawing her towards you.
>Still, she obviously wanted companionship out of you, and she got it. You were out here ready to trust your lives to eachother, and the two of you had developed a solid rapport.
>But what flavor was she after? romantic? platonic? commitment? some selection of two or all three with a dash of happiness?
>Then there was her species, anthros went into regular seasonal heats and you had heard somewhere they got more frisky in the spring. It's spring, and that just added a layer of complexity onto the query.
>Topping it all off was how she didn't seem to make a big deal out of close contact through genuine ignorance of the effect it had on you, or some instincts telling her to bury you in her fur, or yet another option: she knew perfectly and was teasing again.
>Tapdancing Christ this was confusing.
>You were an engineer, you solved practical problems.
>Women were not practical problems.
>Perhaps this is why you didn't enjoy any real success back home.
>Even if you did have more experience, Teth'ra was so different, so unique, that you still had little idea what it was burgeoning between you two.
>You would ask her, that was it.
>She was blunt, you would be blunt too. Assuming the two of you survive the upcoming storm, you can sit down and have a real talk about what it is that's going on between you as something about her behavior led you to believe she was confused about it too.
>She wasn't petty, and wouldn't abandon you just for sweeping aside the fog and mystery and asking point blank if she genuinely wanted more than friendship, unlike that cunt Jessica.
>As for your end, you weren't far enough along the path yet for it to hurt just to be around her if she said no.

>That train of thought had run its course, and now you stood twiddling your thumbs waiting for the halt order to be lifted so you can move up towards the front and watch bugs explode.
>You thought about the possibility of marking Teth'ra's location on your map in order to keep an eye on her, but no specific marker for her squad was available, just the marker for her platoon as a whole, and theres no telling how a platoon's squads can split and spread out.
>No go on that front, best just do your job. If the fucking captain would let you!
>You groan and flit your fingers along the trigger bars nestled below your palms in agitation, the cadence of a chant tries to sneak in your mental back door. But you try to keep yourself occupied to bottle the rage up until you can use it to incinerate the bugs with the fire smelting in you.
>All of those little hand triggers are there as you feel the aluminum caps through your gloves and...
>There's one extra?
>It's something to do, and your curiosity seizes on the anomaly that was there under your fingers the whole time without you even having noticed.
>Wonderment settling onto your mind in the place of the earlier confusion and the building fury before that; you Tapped at the side of the new trigger cap to bring up its assigned weapon on your screens.
>A stat panel flicked into the left side of your vision... Fang missiles?
>When the hell did you get these?
>Why didn't Vegalta, or anyone else, tell you of this new weapon?
>Why didn't you even notice you had a new system?
>And what makes these missiles so special compared to the regular HEAT warheads you racked in the forward launchers by the hundred?
>They were larger bore, came from 4 tubes nestled next to the nose plate, 2 to each side, and they came loaded in quad-packs. 16 shots.
>High velocity, minimal guidance, a hell of a lot of space dedicated to the warhead.
>And something about the warhead itself seemed a bit-
>"Master Sergeant McWhicky, you are to take the rumbler and move forward to assist the armor corp with their breakthrough which is starting in about ten minutes, any further orders from there are to help the striders drive the bugs towards the infantry once breakthrough is achieved and the northern mouth of the valley is secured. Do you copy?"
>The deep tenor of captain Lyon's voice cuts in on your musing over these strange new missiles that just appeared from nowhere.
>You blinked hard three times, the sensory goggles registering the ocular command and dispersing the info panel and expanded battle net map from your view. Leaving you with the crisp image of the cluttering of treads milling about to either side of the highway ahead. The mountains rising high on your left, and the forward ridge of the hill on your right.
"Copy, anything else?"
>You regretted the question as it escaped your lips on reflex. Captain Willard always had a plan, and you had grown a habit to key in and ask for details since they were usually rather good.
>"Negative. That is all."
"Roger."
>You breathed a sigh of relief, the infantry officer hadn't taken your unintended invitation to tell you exactly how to do your job today.
>The mystery munitions could wait, it was time to go to war.

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>Walking with this new gearbox was equal parts incredible and disconcerting.
>Full-motion wasn't just some cheap label tacked on for a 5% increase in response time, the difference was night and day.
>The first step almost had you keeling over as the machine's leg suddenly moved way too far, too quickly.
>Despite this the near perfect ratio of synchronization between your legs and the rumbler's made it easy to regain your balance despite the flailing protest of your new subgunner.
>After that you made sure to be careful with how you moved. You had to fight all of your old training that taught you to exaggerate your movements to get more motion out of the gearing on the legs.
>Accounting for input delay and compensating for differing ratios was out of the window.
>You relearned those slow, tepid steps to edge your way off the tarmac.
>Walking came next as you felt more secure with the machine's clawed feet burying into the dirt.
>Then marching as you started getting the hang of this bizarrely natural feeling of control over the machine.
>With the new gearbox, the melding between pilot and machine was that much closer. You could operate the machine without having to really think too much on how you moved rather than where you moved.
>But how much of your old skills in the original rumbler would be without use now? How many of those little tricks to smooth over the bumps in the auger system were useless now that so many of those bumps had been flattened?
>How much would old guard pilots like you have to relearn from scratch?
>Old Guard...
>Already thinking like that, and with only a single kill mark. A sign you were growing bitter in their absence?
>You sure snapped at Redenbacher and your subgunner like a bitter old veteran. And you were only twenty five.
>Guess the war makes sure you grow up fast.
>Today you relearned how to crawl, how to walk, and how to march, soon, you would start running.
>The forward cameras broke over the top of the incline that obscured your view of the battle, your objective, some hodunk little place called Cache Creek, stood on the crossroads.
>Just looking at the black, smoldered branches of the town's broken lines confirmed your running confirmation of what happened to settlements left behind in bug territory. It was utterly thrashed.
>Only a few buildings were in enough of a shape to remain standing, some warehouses, a few compact apartment blocks, no higher than 8 stories. A house or two.
>The rest was the twisting black and grey of ruin, mounds of concrete rubble and wilted steel beams choked the narrow streets off of the 2 highways coming together in a T-junction at the base of the ridge.
>It wasn't leveled completely, there was enough infrastructure still standing that there was a remote possibility of it being used as a major supply depot. Guess that's why your briefing folder included standing orders to keep as much of the place intact as you could.
>If it came down to a choice between your life and some ratty, shell cratered apartment blocks, that choice had already made itself.
>Still you doubted if this battle would test you far enough to disregard your orders in the endeavor of self preservation.
>The dulled report of cannons bounced into the hull from every direction around you. The tanks were on all sides of you, mostly sheltering under what sparse cover they can find off the road.
>A Correlian MBT hid its hull in an irrigation ditch, its smoothbore 140mm cannon launching a shell towards the shifting mass of targets skittering everywhere through the town and along the open ground.
>The mainline tank's remote gunnery station buzzed a clustering of bug warriors with a humming stream of .30 caliber rounds.
>The shifting mass of bugs seemed to end at round about 400 meters in front of the armored wall, and tanks of all shapes and sizes punched shells and bullets into the tide to keep it locked back.
>Even now a few heavy tanks crawled forward towards firing positions alongside the forward-most elements, that trio of Goliath superheavies that sat lackadaisically on the breadth of the highway. You check the unit marker for the trio again, you've never heard of them.
>It has to be a fresh unit, the same for half of the heavies, the idiots wouldn't sit out in the open thinking their invincible if they had seen what out there can pose a threat, even to a Goliath.
>Greenhorn tankers aside, your at too much of a range to really cut loose, you'll let the tank corp keep slugging until the charge comes. Best to conserve your ammo for the important part.

>Just this little bit longer of waiting for the charge to sound, at least being able to see the enemy is helping you to reign it in.
>The engines thrum and tick, cannon report beats from every angle, your own steps are a powerful war drum as you creep slowly towards the edge of the formation.
>You can tell that around you the shots are becoming less frequent, the tankers coordinating to give the bugs less reason to view this wing of the advance as a threat.
>The air is pregnant with the smells of heat, oil, cordite, and smoke. The smell of battle, it calls you.
>This is where you should be.
>You feel it rattling up through the legs, a deep pulsing in the land itself, the bugs take notice too.
>The swarm's movements shift direction like water, as a great rumbling starts distantly on the other side of the hill.
>The east wing must be using seismic hammers to draw in the bugs, opening their throats to the readied fangs of the north wing.
>And the dumb animals are falling for it perfectly. It's hard to keep your feet from drifting forward, from just lunging at this sign of weakness.
>Just a few more minutes, you flex your hands over the trigger bars. just. a little. longer.
>You turn your head, the view from the external cameras shifting in perfect sync to gaze off of your left side.
>Far over the tops of the Goliaths, almost posing on the slope of the mountain are the four striders of Redenbacher and his little circus troop.
>They seem determined to keep up the shtick of roleplaying as the flying aces of the first world war.
>Redenbacher's machine is painted the exact shade of signal red as that ancient fokker tri-plane, rounded white highlights frame black silhouettes of defunct national symbols. A few house animate tracings of machines in motion, or the female form striking a pose.
>Not as trashy as Vegalta's handywork, the poses are surprisingly tame and theres no detail beyond the flat black.
>The hawkish nose of the machine is bordered off in stark white as you recognize the barrels of a 20mm rotary cannon peeking out from the nose plating. And the torso missile block is capped in white as it hangs off the right side of the main body.
>Of course the strider's main feature is always on proud display. A dorsal mounted 80mm railcannon, this weapon uses a sleeve of electro-magnets to propel a ferro-magnetic slug at ludicrous velocities. It's said to be one of the few weapons that can readily destroy a battleframe if aimed right.
>Because of this striders always skirt around the fringes of a battle picking off targets as they please.
>The right weapon arm of Redenbacher's machine differed from the standard pattern, it carried a single frag cannon and... some sort of sword?
>That was just downright insulting, it's not like the ponce would ever use that for more than decoration, or making a show of an enemy that was already dead.
>Fucking propagandists. You turned your attention to the 3 other striders, one was dressed like a Sopwith Camel, RAF roundels and all.
>Another was painted black with tan flecks seemingly scattered on at random and wore kaiser-era german crosses. The third machine wore the same crosses and was painted a vomit-inducing shade of mustard yellow.
>Vegalta may paint borderline porn on machines, but at least he knows how to pick colors that aren't an absolute eyesore.
>You turned your attention back to the thinning flow of bugs turning east, the mission clock in the corner of your vision ticked down the 2 minutes remaining until the assault got underway.
>Agitation, that's what smothered every thought in your mind like the clinging blankets of an oil spill. Tapping your toes inside your boots you watched the seconds tick by, you could swear they were going slower just to taunt you further.
"Just a little longer."
>It repeats again and again, Rolling in your head to keep your composure until the leash is slipped, a mantra with no tempo.
>You will win this battle, even if you have to smash down what little remains of Cache Creek and choke the valley entrance with bodies.
>You have to win, for your own sanity. Anything but victory and you may feel the spirits of the damned staring daggers into your back.
>It was their departure that stirred this primal heat in your core, you had to make the most of it to honor them, and to protect what you have now.
>The one person you have now, she's too close for either of you to willfully abandon eachother, and you would protect her as needed.
>You were the one that had that strength now.
>It didn't matter if some armored bug showed itself on the road ahead, you would tear open its plating and maim its innards.
>There was no concern if a super swarm broke over the hill like an ocean of darkness and hunger, you would burn them to cinders.
>Even if Redenbacher himself fell to some glint of silver held aloft by wisping ethereal string, you would kill every marauder machine you could lay your fire on.
>Ten seconds left. nine. eight. seven. six.
>"Ready!" Barked an order over the general channel.
>Five. four. three. two.
>"All units, commence firing!"
>One.

>Sound and fury, The world itself seems to cough a great rumbling of smoke as every cannon fires at once. The horde is smashed.
>Engines flare their growling song to the chorus of industry, every shot a beat on the drum, every splattering death ahead of you a note in the chaotic symphony.
>The music of battle, it propels you forward as you start in with long strides. The shuddering steps providing your own tempo to the dance of death.
>You're still not sure if you can fully cut in, but as you step over a light tank, your finally closing in enough to start.
>Beyond a massive sprawling of twitching limbs and bleeding, mangled corpses caught by the initial frenzy of cannon fire, The swarm shifts to attempt to cover against the renewed threats driving headlong into their exposed flanks.
>The Goliaths move to your left, rumbling down the road like mountains set into motion, exhaust pipes disgorging great trails of dark smoke, Their great many weapons batteries disgorging just as thick a volume of shell and shot.
>Heavies and mediums surge forward alongside the road, the heavies streaking onward boldly as the mediums dash serpentine into the fields and sparse trees.
>The lights race along the flanks going from cover to cover, their diminutive hulls allowing them to shelter behind fallen redwoods or boulders.
>A bash-beetle springs from it's place of hiding in front of a Correlion, the smoky grey titan responds with the main cannon, blowing a hole through the armored beetle's head, with a lurch it settles, blood leaking from it's chitinous plates as the medium tank rolls over its body.
>Now it's your turn. You zoom in on the hoard ahead, largely warriors scrabbling towards you. Compensate for travel time and fire.
>Six reports echo from above as the shoulder cannons add their bite to the orchestra. The shells find their mark within the clustering of warriors. How many bodies are sent skyward? 7,18,20? The count doesn't matter too much.
>You see one warrior stricken down by the shrapnel, one of it's proud spearing claws sheared away at the shoulder as its remaining five limbs scrabble in blind panic.
>A monster bred for death, mewling and screaming like some pathetic cur as its life blood leaks from it. Let THEM suffer. Let THEM die in agony! It's the only just course of retribution for every life they snuffed!
>A manic grin finds its way onto you, fire runs through your veins, you exhale vapor and venom, the smoke of fury burns behind your eyes, your legs will thrust you across mountains to smite the devils and choke every ounce of baleful light from what hollow, inhuman things pass for their eyes.
>Even as you keep pace with the rumbling of the tanks it isn't fast enough. You need to get close, to take satisfaction is seeing what tiny shrivel of intelligence these inhuman husks may hold leech out of them as they die.
>Your hatred burns for it. Something sadistic twists for it. Vengeance demands it.
>Time to run.
>Engines howl, strength coils, your voice raises. With a lunging step forward your pace more than doubles, you will be the vanguard for the wave of iron and fury to crash into them.
>The feeling of man and machine intertwined is electrifying. The diesels roar with fury matching your own as every one of your steps slam into the dirt, pushing you hard at speed neither you or the machine have been graced with on the field before.
>Now your close enough. Green pips appear above active targets as you trace your eyes over them, narrowing into red diamonds as the radar achieves lock on. Once all the pips have flowered into diamonds you depress the triggers for the forward racks.
>Missiles fly on fiery wings and smoking tails. Arcing into the sky as they shriek outwards and then flit downwards just as a falcon would dive onto its quarry.
>You witness another warrior burst into viscera as the warhead strikes into its chest from above. A quartet of its fellows are caught by shrapnel and frenzied tongues of fire.
>Chattering lines of tracers zip into stragglers and outliers as your remote weapon stations open up with their small caliber snare.
>You see about 3 cut down in the span of 8 seconds, your old subgunner was way faster. This is unacceptable.

>You're close enough now, and you raise the weapon arms as you warm the barrels of the twin rotary cannons.
>They growl and roar. Two metal lions issuing their challenge.
>You sweep upwards, scything a road ahead of you, and then sweep to either side with abandon, no friendlies are anywhere near your line of fire.
>The way the warriors burst and crumple in on themselves as they're struck by the enormous energy of the tandem GAU-8s brings a malting of satisfaction to you.
>Now they actually scatter like ripples as you close further and further towards the charred refuse of the dead town.
>Then a counter to the roar of your rotaries rises from the north behind the pitted face of a scorched apartment block.
>Three challengers step over their smaller cousins in the scattering hoard, stags.
>Slavering bipedal monstrosities about four stories high. A quartet of squat limbs supported an equal number of curving blades shaped from excessively hardened chitin. And a six eyed head curved upwards in a large branching horn.
>These things served as some sort of small scale swarm leader, and the bug's own pathetic biology attempting to match the strength of human industry.
>Stags regularly clashed with mechs, but given a rumbler was already larger and likely eight to ten times their mass, they were always at a severe disadvantage.
>The plus sized arthopods were a menace to infantry and lighter vehicles, but with pilots like you around they fell to be such a non-issue that the mech corp stopped counting them as kill marker material a few months into the war.
>A shame since they were still a problem if they attacked in number, and the trio of them issued a counter charge.
>Righteous fury flared, even if you were caught ahead of the armor, you would not show weakness.
>You issued your own challenge against the disgusting trollops, striking the weapon arms against eachother thrice-fold with a loud clanging. As if some ancient god struck hot iron onto an unmoving anvil.
>They roared in response and closed in as you continued your own charge forward. You would best them head on, holding the advantage in mass and firepower, you could not lose.
>Your subgunner said something, the words don't reach you but the tone does. His strength falters as he shouts out his fear.
>He doesn't matter, not here, against opposition that won't fold under his wilting effort.
>You lead in with the monster on your left, panning the rumbler's torso to orient your big guns as your opponent charges.
>The stag is incoming with a low head, attempting to use its horn. You answer with the right side frag cannons, the spread blows apart the insect's head with a spraying of gore and fluids as it falls forward mid stride.
>Sweeping right as the remaining two get even closer, you clamp the trigger for the left side frag cannons at the center stag and keep the momentum of your rotation going.
>The center stag kilters to the side as it catches the bulk of the spread to the chest. The remaining threat opens all four arms to attempt in attack as it closes in to melee range, but you've already accounted for this.
>The auger tenses and hugs into your body as you push against it. The engines howl with fury as you use the momentum of your torso sweep and step in with your left, keeping the left weapon arm deflected outwards at about stomach height.
>The left hook sweeps past the stag's wide open guard and crashes into the side of its head.
>Wailing in pain, its head is cracked and leaking dark ichor as shreds of soft connecting tissue dangle like frayed wired from shattered chitin plates. The momentum of its charge carries it forward and it falls, skidding along the pavement and coming to a halt under you.
>Already it still attempts to stand back up, such tenacity is a human virtue, and your blood curls to see this horrid cur trying to usurp your rightful place.
>You bring the clawed foot over its head as it shakes and pushes, and you slam it down.
>Once for a warmup, twice for good measure, thrice to make certain.
>You rake the clawed heel backwards, shredding and crushing whatever is left of that thing's head as you rake dark streaks and shreds of viscera along the broken asphalt.
>Panning your optics back towards the fallen form of the beast that took center stage, you see it has managed to pick itself up and lurches towards you unevenly. 
>Probably thinking in whatever slurry passes for a synaptic organ that it can catch you offguard while your front is panned away from it. But you are the beast of a hundred eyes, nothing escapes you.
>Its fractured chest leaks blood and shreds of soft tissues, utterly ravaged by the frag cannons' explosive shot. Still it meekly calls a lowing howl as it steps in towards you.
>You bring the left weapon arm forward with an underhanded swing that catches it in the chest. The monster stumbles backwards, its reactions and strength already dulled by its injury.
>Pathetic alien, it cannot fight on through thick and thin the way you can, the way humanity has always done.
>It gives a mournful scream as its upper right arm breaks away from it, the tendons snapping as it sloughs off, dragging a tail of gore with it.
>Still it advances, accepting of its death even as its strength fails. Good, it knows its place, but you are not merciful, not with the fire of ages screaming under your breast for more. More blood, more death, let them know fear. Let them know they made a mistake attacking the rightful owners of that black sky.
>Even as its limbs falter it still attacks, trying to lunge forward with a bite from its bizarre four part jaws.
>You counter with a forward thrust from both weapon arms, jamming both into the beast's mouth as it weakly attempts to do anything more than scratch paint.
>It pauses and emits some sort of lowing sound as its strength continues to bleed from it. Your core rumbles to make it suffer.
>With a growl you depress the triggers for the flamers, and napalm streams into the inhuman monstrosity's innards.
>You shove it away and it wavers backwards, screeching as its limbs attempt to bat down flames it cannot reach.
>Smoke billows from the creatures openings as it sways and staggers drunkenly. You cross the right weapon arm over its chest and heave its burning body to the right, lifting the creature off of its feet.
>It careens into the ruins of a house and lays there squirming, too weak to do anything but suffer. Pathetic.
>If the bugs do operate as a hive mind as many say they do, some grim part of yourself hopes the creatures can feel eachother's pain as the stag cooks from the inside out.
>You continue your press forward as the armor catches up, you have work to do.

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<Teth'ra>
>Cordite and smoke clung over any scent in the air like film, the chatter and thundering of guns in all directions drowns out the slighter sounds your ears may pick up as they swivel to and fro.
>Once again, you don't have the option of falling back on your other senses beyond sight, and once again you pang with sympathy over what humans must have to live with.
>At least once you were actually in the bunker maybe the outside confusion would be muffled enough to bring your other fundamentals back in line.
>But you aren't sure which option is worse right now. Out in the chaos of a larger battlefield you have the distance and time to engage, but so many things outside of your control can go wrong and bring about your end through no fault of your own.
>Inside, you may have your senses about you again, but in those claustrophobic corridors and dark chambers you wouldn't see the enemy until they were already too close. Plus there may be hundreds of them hiding within that death trap.
>You can only hope your superiors allow you the time to be methodical and exceedingly careful about this, or at least put your squad in the back so you are the first out when the retreat is called.
>Suspicions whisper that it won't be that way.
>Your neck bristles, and you try to flatten down the ruff of your neck before anyone notices your nerves surfacing again as you continue marching.
>The air is cold and fouled by the battle as you step in behind the shallow tread marks of the IFV ahead of you.
>You would follow behind the three light vehicles on your way up to the bunker, hopefully without the bugs taking notice of you. As being out in the open with only a trio of autocannon tugs that ditched the TOW launchers for better radios keeps your fur on end.
>Your squad keeps step in front of you, so they can't see your weakness peeking out of your back, but you can see theirs.
>Duran strides at the head, her pace is measured and habitual. 
>Her shoulders seem to fade but the way her ears sag suggests some brand of tired acceptance. As if the comparatively stunted trooper simply doesn't care if her death comes instead of being fearful in its anticipation.
>The flamer's armored fuel tanks cling onto her back as the wand is stowed loosely on its hook at the pack's right side. She carries an smg tucked in front of her rather than the napalm caster.
>You wonder if she's anticipating an attack outside of the thrower's effective range or maybe she isn't an unapologetic pyromaniac the way other flamer specialists are, but you can't be certain that she doesn't at least have a streak of that temperament.
>The doberman's stub of a tail gives you nothing so you turn your attention to see how the others are faring.
>The twins keep in stride as they drag along the bofors, easier going over the smooth grass of the strip of green dipping down to the side of the road.
>While to a casual glance they would seem at peace, the ways their ears swivel and the inferring flicks of their tails at any unusual noises that edge over the distant battle clamor betrays how jumpy they are.
>At least they're keeping the outward mask of composure. You're not the only one feeling the tension in the air.
>Matthews and Pliskin have to be the newbloods in your outfit, they seem to visibly jump at just about everything.
>The lizard constantly tastes the air in some effort to smell the bugs over the overpowering scents of gunpowder and fire. And the ocelot scans the nearby trees with eyes and ears and sometimes turns to face towards a particularly close booming of a nearby tank gun.
>Likely the poor girls are thinking any allied shots nearby must mean the bugs are right on top of them. With that much it's obvious how new they are to this sort of situation.
>Feldspar walks at your side and you consider turning your head to evaluate her, but she must have had the same thought concerning you.
>"Scared, aren't ya sarge?"
>For all of your practiced composure, the fur on your neck and tail refused to flatten out, and she saw right through you.
"That obvious is it?"
>The creepings of doubt itched under your ears, already you failed to present the beacon of strength your men were supposed to rally under.
>Soon you would be labeled as a failure in command. You only had six to look after, and circumstance was shaping to destroy them.
>You were too scared to think of a way to ensure that didn't happen.
>"I'm scared too ma'm, it's alright if you're a bit antsy." Looking over you could tell she wasn't lying. The minute twitches of her tail and her own fur standing at attention along her spine gave it away.
>"Some days I can't get over the pre-action jitters either. You hide the ears and tail well, but the fur is kinda obvious with it being that short and all."
>It wasn't the typical pre-battle nerves pitching you closer towards panic, it was the dread of being thrown at a near-impossible objective.
>The inference that you were so inexperienced as to be wilting to a simple case of nerves was insulting considering how the lioness challenged you earlier.
"I could say the same about you corporal. Besides.. I'm more worried over the objective than the battle."
>That seemed to get her attention. Feldspar's ears flick and momentary worry dresses her eyes. If the big bad queen bitch that is her sergeant is worried over something, it must be terrifying.
>Such a little reassurance that the lioness is feeling more of that terror than you helps to re-secure your confidence in your own authority.
>"What would that be ma'm?" You can pick out the worry floating on her voice, another reassurance she thinks more of you than as just some uptight NCO.
"This path we're following? It leads up into a bunker complex at the head of the ridge..."
>"So that's where we're going..."
>Her silence conveys more than words ever could.

>The IFVs ahead of your troop narrow into single file from their three abreast formation before. The path up to the bunker is too narrow for the vehicles to pass one another.
>But that means if your forward IFV takes a hit, your armor support is completely stalled for the rest of your advance to the insertion point.
>Yet more possibilities outside of your control to worry over.
>Looking around you count the rest of second platoon as well as Alpha company's first platoon.
>More bodies between the bugs and you, all in all a little over a hundred being sent in this side of the bunker.
>The steady thumping of the armor corps bombardment slowly winds down, and you feel a different kind of thumping through your boots.
>Seismic hammers are pounding away at the east wing of the advance, drawing the bugs away for the armor to ready a charge.
>The clowns commanding the Goliaths gun their engines as they sit in place, waiting. Looking over to your left, you see Tom's Rumbler has posted up at the leading edge of the formation, and seems to entirely ignore the tankers' boasting.
>On the other side of the hill, that low chattering of machine gun and autocannon picks up as the jokers over there throw just about everything they have at the agitated bugs.
>Stuck in the middle, is you.
>As your advance crawls forward along the narrow path it's bizarrely quiet. Without the rolling fire of all those big guns you can hear the wind shift and whistle as it rustles through the tawny grass.
>You make the most of this and direct your ears forward, trying to clue in on anything approaching over the low hum of the IFVs' engines as they crawl ahead.
>Nothing about the noise ahead of you seems out of place. The anticipation of some sort of attack while your out in the open like this is maddening, especially as nothing comes up as a sort of forewarning.
>By your mental pacing, the troop is about halfway towards the bunker, and still your anxiety climbs, squeezing your heart and raising needles out of your skin.
>You're not sure which is worse at this point: the heart straining tension from expecting an attack at any second or actually being under fire.
>Still nothing.
>And then everything.
>Five minutes on the dot after the seismic hammers started, a cataclysmic explosion of noise from the left pins your ears down and sends you diving against the ground on instinct. Half the troop joins you.
>Checking over yourself, nothing seems amiss. You ignore the dull throbs from your chest pressing into the earth and that sore spot from your chin scraping across the dust.
>You aren't bleeding, nothing is jutting out of you, and nothing feels like it's broken. That or you haven't noticed anything like that.
>A quick headcount turns up your squad. Feldspar is almost on top of you, the Jorgenson sisters are hunkered behind the bulk of their cannon, Matthews and Pliskin have practically fallen over themselves, and finally Duran squats low, seeming to trust that her relative proximity to the vehicles will shelter her.
>Looking around everyone seems to be in possession of all their limbs, your focus cuts back to Duran.
>Hauling that fuel tank really filled out her legs, and she about looks fit to burst out of her very worn and threadbare pants, that's a uniform violation waiting to happen.
>Wait...
>Were you really snapping into the NCO role so casually?
>The adrenaline shot must be forcing you into the rut of routine and drill since you can't confirm any immediate danger.
>The cacophony earlier was just the armor opening up with every gun they have at the same time. Without saying anything first.
>assholes
>You're unsettled, but alert. The initial panic has flown away and carried the anxiety with it, now that something actually did set you off.
>The march picks up again as everyone dusts themselves off.
>As of now you are combat ready, your fears have been shunted out of you, and your body is more than ready to either attack or retreat.

>Captain Lyons pokes his head back out of the hatch he dove in, the prideful creature apparently can't be bothered with walking when theres a perfectly good IFV to stuff his mane into.
>And to hide in when the shooting starts and there's no point in keeping at that game officers play where they pretend to lead from the front.
>The day an officer actually uses a rifle for more than decorum is the day you have officially died and been sent to hell to be tormented for all eternity by visions of things that are blatantly impossible.
>Impossibilities like Tom thinking of you as anything more than the strange, headstrong, maladjusted woman that crashed into his life, and alternated between fixing his ills and setting him on edge all over again, as well as depressing him with your own issues.
>With no present threat, your adrenaline addled brain starts running down any solid chain of consciousness it can muster.
>Namely how you're already sinking and muddling your relation with Tom.
>You never learn, and here you are doing it again, going in too strong and too fast.
>Your increasingly lonely heart decided to latch onto the first hint of genuine companionship it could get its focus on, and it drove you to override your better judgment.
>Looking back, you can't even explain your rationale behind that first night. In that jittering afterglow of combat, slowly climbing down from the restless impulse of adrenaline, some passion stirred violently towards your savior.
>You restrained yourself throughout the day, through the debriefs and check ins on those that had been wounded.
>And you learned more about him as you eavesdropped on that conversation between the Lieutenant and that trio from central.
>Perhaps it was there that your instincts had identified him as a risk for self-harm, and your memories of your brother drove you to act fast before it was too late.
>Then there was the way he appeared from nowhere and saved the lot of you, striking some chord within yourself that resonated on a fanciful note.
>If this was a storybook tale, the wounded hero had to get his... reward~ from the princess right?
>You had managed to talk yourself down from that ludicrous fantasy and settle for just trying your model best to help him using whatever came to mind.
>Even then you couldn't think on why your aggressive approach actually worked, or why you thought it was the correct idea other than it 'feeling right'.
>Once your excitement had petered out and that lust subsided, you were left with that nagging question.
>What even DO you want from this?
>The confusion of the situation and your own anxiety over your mistakes mask the answer from you.
>You're dead certain you at least want to maintain a friendship and camaraderie, But you feel as if something is pulling you in towards him.
>It's not some base lust, even as your instincts ride high due to spring fever.
>Your 'jackal only' gold standard left you a long time ago, and as an outcast you always had an easier time of accepting more taboo things like that particular idea.
>So you hadn't tied yourself up lying to yourself over being attracted to him or not.
>You're fairly sure humans have maintained much more solid species boundaries than your own kind anyhow.
>There was also his phobia to consider, it was lessened around you, a sign of your success in forging a genuine connection. But it was still there, lurking, and keeping you from getting too close.
>You want to help him understand, to try and ease down his fears so something like that incident in the rain doesn't happen again.
>If he would stop distancing himself from you, and if you could practice some restraint as to not harbor a repeat of this morning, you could draw him close to you and give him some true peace.
>But did you want him that close so you can finally have a friend of comparable fortitude to shelter under, or because you want more?
>Already he bore some of your secrets, and he didn't run off on you considering how pathetic you must have looked.
>How pathetic you are, scrambling for attention and care despite your pride. But is it wrong to clamor for someone that would understand you? That can finally look past what you are and instead into who you are.
>Someone who would agree with who you are.
>Whether as a friend or that distant hope of something more. Maybe once you had given him time and space to think, and you had reigned yourself in, you could talk over this and figure yourselves out.
>Once you get out of this alive.
-if-
>It doesn't matter how small that chance of survival is, you'll force it to be higher until you don't have to distract yourself with worry.

>By now your column is far forward of the advancing armor. The captain makes the obvious clear in that the objective is to silence any acid spitters hiding in those gunports before they can get a shot on the armor corp's flank.
>Judging by the murmuring under the hum of the vehicles, not many were happy that they were being sent in to clear out a bunker nest in the center of the field.
>You weren't happy either, but your squad was at least prepared for an eventuality like this.
>Between all seven of you, you had more than enough explosives and automatic firepower to hold your ground even in the short narrows of the bunker's tunnels.
>There was also Duran's flamethrower, which would be more than capable in the choking confines of the complex.
>For now you kept your eyes peeled down towards the town. The steep sides of the hill were hopefully enough to keep the bugs off your flank as you crept out along the path.
>That distant roaring of engines, punctuated by the intermittent drumbeats of big guns, swallows any noise over your shoulder.
>You wonder if they would even hear or see any of the signs of your own struggle within that concrete tomb.
>For all the world cares you may as well just vanish once you step inside.
>You continue stalking forward, keeping your stride short and balanced as you cradle the weight of your big gun.
>You scan every patch of grass and every tree above you on the slope, expecting for a bug to be in any one of them.
>The captain calls a halt, the entry point is within site, but there's bugs.
>A hundred-fifty meters ahead, they seem to scrabble and mill about a dull concrete archway. You count around fifty from this range.
>You wish you had binoculars or some sort of scope to see them more clearly. What shapes do border themselves against their fellows suggests warriors.
>The most common of the swarming bugs, some five hundred pound, hell-spawned crossbreed between a cockroach and a mantis shrimp.
>Awful dumb but they would keep charging unless you tore them into pieces, and those spearing claws were nothing to scoff at if they got close enough.
>One of the first things every grunt learns in basic is to never let them get close.
>Everyone creeps forward to form some manor of disciplined fire ranks before the shots start flying. The sisters get a choice pick, settling their Bofors just to the left of the lead IFV.
>The front runners of the sled rig are folded outwards and the twins break open latches to let the skids hang forward as stabilizing legs. The cats use their boots to softly drive short pins into the dirt.
>The rear of the rig folds into raking claws meant to dig into the earth at the gun's back to counteract the recoil. All in all, it takes them around 15 seconds to set up.
>Obviously they've had a lot of practice at it, and it must take another 3-5 seconds for them to line up the gun with the targets.
>You kneel over a bump in the road and shoulder the mass of your gun, and the training comes back to you.
>Shoulder the weapon, steady your breathing, align the sight picture, choose your target, move the sight picture over the target, and focus.
>You level the sights onto your chosen shape within the mass and press the stock against your shoulder. The forward grip makes it awkward to hold up at a high angle like this, but your kneeling stance helps.
>You keep your breathing measured and mechanical and focus on your target, just waiting for the order.
>The M2 can reach out and touch someone at almost two klicks away, provided you aim right.
>You fold your ears down, so as not to damage one of your sharpest senses with the imminent firefight.
>Captain Lyons walks tentatively along the right side of the road, holding a closed fist upward in the signal to hold fire.
>He's playing that game again. The hill's curvature hides him and the right edge of the path from the bugs as once again he pretends to lead the charge.
>The anticipation from hovering your index over the trigger is driving you up the damn wall.
>Come on idiot, we don't have all day!
>These damn bugs aren't going to stop you now that your rolling closer towards something to live for, the sooner they're gone the better.
>He moves his hand forward in a chopping motion, and before he can even finish the motion you act.
>It's perfect muscle memory at this point, inhale, squeeze, and exhale.
>Your M2 is the first to bark as you watch the bright streak fly, connecting the mg's muzzle to the center mass of a warrior, with a wet burst of gore it screams and retreats behind its broodmates. Your 3 consecutive shots scatter into others within the clumping of targets.
>The rest of the troop cracks off, rifle fire enfilading into the enemy as the Bofors suddenly comes to life to your right.
>The cracking THOOM of the autocannon sounds four times, striking down an equal number of warriors in violent squalls of viscera.
>The violet of their sanguine fluids almost seems to sparkle as high flying droplets are caught in the sun's light.
>Maybe there is still some beauty to be found in these war-torn wastes once the bugs are cut down.

>You breath in again and concentrate on controlling the buck and kick of the .50 cal more as you squeeze into another burst.
>Five rounds this time, three hit their mark in a warrior's center mass, and it crumples. One hits another warrior, and the last round dives into the dirt.
>The AC on the IFV joins in now, the 25mm bushmaster rattles off 8 shots, killing 5.
>More warriors fall to concentrated bursts of rifle and smg fire, a pack this small can't hope to close in on your line without being shredded.
>The Bofors bellows again, eviscerating three and missing a fourth shot. That damn autocannon is making you look bad.
>You didn't get these HEIAP rounds for show, and you focus in on landing a burst into a warrior's core.
>The first shot flies wide, the second hits a warrior square between the eye stalks as it instantly falls dead.
>Acting more on an idea of how to handle such a large weapon, you keep the trigger down and use the kick of the recoil to walk your fire onto a second target.
>the third round flies into the shifting hoard as they try to cover the gaps, the following three strike into the upper body of that same warrior you hit once with an earlier burst, killing it.
>You keep the chain going and walk onto a third, then a fourth, and a fifth. Stopping as you lose count of how many more shots you fired, and because your hair is on end.
>The feeling of this much power in your hands is exhilarating! Maybe this is a taste of what being a pilot is like.
>The AC's bang on again and the bugs turn about and start making back towards the bunker, thinned to about a dozen or so at this point.
>But you aren't going to let them get away that easily, and you aim again on the one that looks the most wounded.
>Noticing the rising wisps of steam snaking off of the barrel, you think to restrain yourself to a short burst.
>You can't afford to over stress the barrel when you are only carrying a single spare.
>Three rounds, three hits, and the retreating warrior falls. Ya still got it. The rest fold in short order to allied fire.
>The discordant orchestrations of automatic fire cease, leaving echoes and local dead air. It would be dead air if it weren't for the dying hisses of a few bugs, but they quickly fade away.
>You keep your aim trained on the dark portal of that scarred concrete entranceway for a short while longer.
>Nothing pokes its head out to get blasted. Either the monsters are getting clever and hiding in there where they have the advantage, or perhaps the dim animals are rightfully terrified of the biting sting of powder and led.
>Regardless, the initial excitement seems to be over.
>You had bagged seven, and at the cost of what you estimated to be around a third of your current belt. If you had stuck with the old carbine, swapping mags would have been a necessity halfway in to the fight.
>It was a quick and dirty engagement, with every advantage handed towards you.
>The range that any EDF rifleman preferred and trained to work with, your overwhelming wall of fire, the enemy only being able to threaten you from a single direction, and all that time you were gifted to get into position.
>Of course, the rest of today can't possibly go that well.
>You raise your ears slowly, nothing ahead seems to be screaming or moving.
>There isn't any obvious sign of how many could be hiding within that concrete maze, and every corner could hold new, life ending surprises.
>You pang for however gets the unenviable position of pointman.
>Feldspar strolls up to your side with a low whistle, well, the best wheezing of air a cat can excuse as a whistle with those lips.
>"Hell sarge, bit of a crack shot aren't chya?" You note the slight drawl that slips in towards the end, but for now you reflect on how right she is.
"It's not like I'm out of practice."
>That much was true. Looking over, the lioness seemed skeptical, she must be testing you. Trying to see how full of yourself you are when riding high on victory.
>"Really now?" she said, arching a brow.
>She definitely thinks your stroking your own ego at this point. So you deflect the credit towards the weapon rather than the talents of its operator.
"With the weight this girl has it's easy to control the kick. From there it's just point and shoot."
>That sounded a bit more high and mighty than you would like, so you pat the lump of metal behind the feed port to append your point.
"She's a good gun."
>Somehow it felt right calling the block of iron a she.
>"She? Are you gonna name it now?"
>...
>That actually sounded like a good idea to you, but what the hell could you even come up with?
>It wasn't important right now anyways, and you could christen your bfg with some clawmarks once your mission was over and you could collapse into the nearest bed.
>You huffed and grinned, deflecting her playful jab.
"Well corporal, can't you appreciate your own weapon?"
>She looks down thoughtfully and seems to agree.
>The armor starts trundling forward again, and the two platoons move up ahead to try and flush out anything that hasn't come out for a fight yet.

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>The entry into the bunker was quiet, you don't like quiet. Quiet means they're plotting something.
>You don't care if the riflemen's primer told you bugs don't have the mental capacity to plot. You just know they fucking do.
>The troopers ahead of you check along every possible corner of the antechamber, and still there's nothing.
>Then they start filing through a stark white blast door, looking to be about a foot thick and probably weighing tons.
>Numerous claw marks furrow into the steel around the edges and locking mechanisms. The bugs had peeled it open.
>The bastards are in here, the increasingly disconcerting question being: where?
>Flashlights dance along the stark grey of the eerily silent corridors as squads file in ahead of yours. No chatter of gunfire or screams of bugs come out as men rush through the ajar blast door.
>Something is wrong here, you can almost feel some charge in the dusty air.
>The atmosphere is chilled and dry within, as it is outside, but somehow it feels more... artificial.
>Could just be the bunker's defunct air recyclers making the air stale, but that slight bitter tinge on the tip of your tongue agitates you.
>The other trooper's lights provide more than enough illumination for now, and you try to spot any halls or convenient grates that haven't been checked yet.
>Troopers sound off clear reports from the other side of the hall you move down. The cramped security desks and locker rooms probably wouldn't shelter a pack of warriors well regardless.
>Both platoons creep forward, sweeping lights and gun barrels along every opening, but still as you advance in nothing jumps out at you.
>If this place is an active nest, you should be getting swarmed with how deep in you're getting. A fact that continues to push at that ever-present fear of the unknown.
>Something is wrong, you don't know what, and that fact is driving you to consider volunteering to secure the entrance where you have an easy way out.
>The mass of troopers around you presses you further, helped by that doubt that doing such a thing would make you appear to be an even bigger coward than Lyons.
>Wisping dust is kicked off the floor by passing boots, dancing in the beams of flashlights like minute moths around a lantern.
>The halls look like they haven't been disturbed since the bunker was sealed, but you know the bugs are here, the door is open, and they had a pack outside.
>What is going on?
>A momentary thought occurs to you: what if you had perished without even noticing and this impossible bunker is your purgatory?
>Cold nips harshly at your back and you shut your eyes, shaking away the momentary spike in fear.
>Things are just... strange. Not impossible.
>It wasn't unheard of for the bugs to move through some place and not really disturb much. The animals didn't have the inhibition to loot and occupy, just kill and make a nest out of the biggest hole in the ground they can find.
>Even if the bugs rarely leave bodies, even they can't go about without disturbing the dust and decay of a facility this old.
>Something is.. different. about this place, and your not keen on finding out what.
>Eventually you file into a far larger chamber, the round sort of cupola splitting off to about 4 different wide hallways, including the one you just emerged from.
>Making your judgments by the half empty stacks of crates and some sort of.. oxygen tanks? this place is some sort of central supply hub.
>From here both platoons seem uncertain of which direction to go, the wing of the bunker you just came in from held nothing.
>The hall to the left must branch off into the gunports and pillboxes dug into the north face of the ridge. This seems like the more obvious way to go judging by the stated objective: clearing acid spitters from their potential hiding spots.
>The corridor opposite must lead in towards the motorpool and the east side SAM sites, but the objective there was more about securing the second entrance for the eastern wing of the advance. And seeing how empty this place seemed, would be an easy solve.
>Then there was a particularly ill lit hall leading off to the right. That one went deeper inside the hill, little doubt held on your thoughts that the command post, barracks facilities, and the potential nest lie that way.
>Don't wanna go that way.

>Studying the circular chamber, you note what looks like tracks embedded into the floor.
>The peculiarity makes little sense to you until you remember what the artillery officer said.
>Hellfire battery
>This place must have an internal rail system to ship ammo to that marvel of overkill from some sort of munitions bunker.
>One you might be standing on.
>You note what frighteningly looks like a shell elevator nestled into the right corner of the hub, and your hair raises on end again.
>Your paranoia starts getting the better of you, and you do NOT want to be standing on top of a live ammo dump when things look increasingly like a trap.
>The mess of other troopers don't seem to recognize the potential danger, and seem to be happy milling about doing nothing of actual substance while everything is nice and quiet.
>You, on the other hand, want to move, and fast, before some marauder planted bomb on the munitions below turns all of you into paste.
>Lyons strides in attempting to look collected and elegant like some old time aristocratic fop.
>You don't have time for this shit.
"Shouldn't we be moving sir? The armor isn't going to wait on us."
>"erm.. uh, quite right sergeant. Bravo!" he blusters. You seemed to have catapulted him off kilter for whatever grandiose bullshitting of pomp and circumstance he was preparing to rally the troops with.
>The tanks WON'T wait on this place to be handled before blundering forward, and Tom is with them, so your reasoning for hurry isn't completely selfish.
>From across the room, you catch Vilka staring at you like you've just sprouted an extra head. And then robbed her of her favorite chew toy.
>It's likely the stress slipping off your restraint but what comes next just feels right.
>You crack off a rather sly grin, and stare dead at her with your head cocked at an angle, ears held low.
>It was quite possibly the smuggest look you could imagine, and you saw wolves do it to eachother all the time.
>You can only imagine the sharper profile of your muzzle enhances the image.
>The way her jaw goes slack is priceless.
>You move to hide your bulk behind other troopers (not easy when you stand head and shoulders over most) and let off a quiet snicker under your breath.
>That small release abates the fear, slightly. It was cathartic to finally be able to torment the wolf a little for all that she put you through.
>While Lyons seems to deliberate over the next course of action, you close your eyes and try to pick out anything that may clue you in towards imminent danger.
>Some bitterant in the air curbs your sense of smell, stinging at the inside of your nose and throwing away any aroma that may be drifting in the stillness. You have to resist that urge to sneeze.
>You concentrate on listening as you breath through your mouth to lessen that sting within your nostrils.
>Tuning your ears away from the murmur of the others, you start to pick out a few things.
>That slight sort of distant heaving of the battle outside as shells shake the ground. The hollow pop of empty pipes settling in their brackets. The faintest hum and tick of ventilators, someone left the environmental systems on. But why?
>Not picking up any sign of the enemy is driving you mad with paranoia. So you measure your breathing and forget the others are even there, concentrating entirely on filtering through what auditory cues your tall ears can pluck from the air.
>You finally get something, some nigh-imperceivable scraping of something gliding on concrete.
>It's extremely distant, and you can barely register it, but it's there, something else is alive deep in the complex.
>Knowing where they are lets you prepare, and reaffirms your decision to avoid the deeper complex like the plague.
>Going forward or to the left would be fine, spitters were easy as long as you caught them out alone, and the path to the motorpool wouldn't take you in towards where the core nest undoubtedly was.

>You breath a short sigh of relief. The odds are two to one in your favor, and Lyons' roleplaying as an old country gentleman tilts the odds further.
>As big as you are, and despite your aversion to being waited on with hand and foot, you are still a woman. And the captain's self-assigned character can't let a woman go in with the dangerous work down below.
>He claps his hands to grab everyone's attention, well almost everyone aside from the grunts assigned to cover the entrances.
>"Right everyone, from here on in we split up to take the objectives. No time to waste with the tanks rolling forward!"
>"Second platoon! you fine ladies will take two squads north to root out those spitters, should be a fine endeavor. And you will send the rest to go and open up the motorpool for our boys advancing from the east."
>A weight slides off your shoulders, thank fuck that the cowardly lion is too much of a back-bent traditionalist to send you into the teeth of the enemy.
>"Miss Vilka, I trust a specimen such as yourself can handle things in my absence."
>The flattery towards a 'specimen' that blatantly doesn't deserve it makes a snicker jump around in your mouth again before you swallow it down.
>As much as you can blame on nerves you don't want to overplay it, and you spend a fair amount of your current time musing over your grenade count.
>"Alpha one, I haven't worked with your group before but you're the best this battalion has to offer. So take the lead on the charge inward!"
>The other platoon with you is from A company, the primarily human slice of the 606. Being Alpha's first platoon, their the hardest worked, and the most deeply scarred. Theirs' is a distinct mixing of grizzled survivors and fresh faces among the predominantly male section.
>But before everyone starts moving a gravelly, barking sort of voice hoarse with age and exertion sounds from within the bulk of first platoon.
>"Sir, shouldn't we be taking the assault squad in with us? Ours is out of action for the next week."
>Your eyes creep wide with worry, they're talking about you!
>"Poor bastards." adds a tenorous english drawl. For all you care he could be talking about both their decimated assault squad, and sympathizing with your own.
>Lyon's seems conflicted as he scans you over. You hope dearly that your physique doesn't betray you in his eyes. As strong as you are, you still flare with the shape of a woman, something a puppet of dead chivalry like the captain swears to protect.
>Your own internal conflict jostles for competition with his dilemma over sending the fairer sex to draw blood, You don't want to be dragged in to the harrowing press deeper into this creeping hovel in the ground. Yet your sense of duty nags sharply at you, were you really so willing to abandon your comrades, how well could they fair without an assault squad?
>Were you really such a coward if you hadn't thrown away your will to live like some tin marionette?
>Now more than ever you want to live, something stirring in you gives you a reason. Him.
>He's kind and willing to understand you, you need to see this through, you can't let yourself die and leave him on his own.
>He needs you.
-you love him-
>it... It's still far too early to say.
>Maybe you really are just a coward.
>A desperate, lonely, coward.
>The captain continues to scan over you, some comparison turning in his head between your feminine side, which he holds to protect, and your strength, which he was trained to utilize.
>Thankfully he can't seem to reach some sort of conclusion.
>"hmmm, well miss Magual you are quite.. capable."
>He seems to be in that crucial moment at making his decision, you want to open with some sort of objection to keep you with your platoon.
>But Vilka speaks first.
>"Captain Lyons sir, second platoon is more than capable without sergeant Magual, first platoon needs all the support they can get."
>Bitch!
>Lyons seems to snap to a conclusion, and you brace yourself.
>"hmmmm, yes. quite. Sergeant! You and I will go into the breach with first platoon. Spirit of endeavor and so forth!"
>Your ears sink and your tail curls. You swallow a pitiful whine that nearly escapes your lips.
>If you were alone you would probably be hugging your tail at this point. Instinct screams that this is the wrong move, you hate the idea of going into a fight headlong, you like to plan and prepare, to turn every advantage you have on the enemy to ensure your own safety.
>Now that layer of security has been ripped away, and you clamor to have that blanket returned to you.
>But the troopers start filing towards their assigned objectives, half of your platoon peels to the left, the other half, and Vilka, goes forward to what is by far the easiest objective.
>You grind your teeth. fluffy coward howler!
>And now you have to march to your death with the other coward in command right behind you. You prepare to lighten your heart.
>For when you have to face the scales.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>Facing the possibility of death is never easy, and you were never one to face such combative problems directly. Not without tipping the circumstances in your favor first, and even then you preferred to attack such problems by surprise.
>You can't surprise a bug in their own nest, and the urgency of the captain's advancing orders refuses to give you the time you need to take to do this the way it needs to be done. Slowly and methodically.
>Your instincts still attempt to shake down what remains of your resolve.
>You're willfully descending into the lair of a larger animal and challenging it inside it's own home, this is wrong.
>The primal urges want you to lure the beast outside and go for the neck while it's unaware.
>But that's not an option.
>You wonder how the hell they do it?
>How do humans fight their instincts in such a tense situation as this?
>Maybe they don't have too, maybe the hairless apes have no instincts.
>...
>No. You don't have to run.
>You aren't helpless in a direct fight.
>You're still a royal jackal, larger and stronger than your smaller cousins.
>You can afford to stand your ground.
>There's also your weapon, which outclasses your old one by magnitudes.
>Your squad is there too, you can bare your teeth with that sort of support at your back.
>You can square your shoulders, don't let them see your doubts. And then you lunge, cutting down anything that challenges you with the securing power of your weapon.
>The 6 squads creep forward in the darkness of the complex, the wide hall moving deeper into the hill is the largest by far.
>You follow the tracks in the center of the hall, behind the bulk of first platoon in order to keep yourself at equal distance from any possible threats.
>More chambers branching off, more nothing.
>Eventually a pair of blast doors come up in a slight bend in the corridor.
>The massive things were left open, seems like no one really bothered sealing any internal doors that didn't directly lead further into the complex.
>Peeking through over the heads of the squad filing through to clear it, you see arrays of computers and devices stacked against the walls. A large map table dominates to lowered center of the room.
>You've reached the command post. Those dim red lights don't bode well.
>You keep yourself to the refuge of the hallway, where you at least have a fair bit of distance in two directions to work with.
>The squads sent in call clear. That call is starting to prompt twitches and spasms to crawl from your back.
>The enemy is in here, but pressing in only not to find them gives the increasing sense that something is wrong.
>At least your far enough away from the munitions bunker at this point to settle that paranoia.
>The platoon continues onward, your squad and first platoon's command squad filed in behind the four rifle squads at the lead.
>Dorms and various quarters line up on both sides of the hall, you were expecting the enemy, they would have nested here.
>More clearing, and still no sign of anyone having been here before you.
>That thought still sends icy needles into your back.
>Something is wrong.
>You keep pressing forward, flashlights scanning every possible entrance or concealment. Something is wrong.
>The brigade halts, there's some murmuring in the front ranks.
>What have they seen, what did they hear?
>You don't know, they're too far ahead.
-something is wrong-
>You stop and kneel, and give the hand signal for your squad to ready for attack. The sisters get to work setting up the Bofors.
>Line up the sight picture, choose a target, focus. The old mantra from basic chatters cyclically in your head.
>You steady your breathing and stare into the darkness from behind the mg's comfortingly large body.
>Choke your breath, concentrate, ignore the frantic beating in your ears.
>Listen.
>Something is there.

>A screeching bounces around the confined acoustics of the bunker hall, everyone readies, scanning for where it's coming from.
>You're already ahead of them on that front, and some beam from a light catches a glimmer off of some dark shine ahead of you in the corridor before it sweeps along, forgetting that it was even there.
>You snap to the spot you last saw it and open fire. The tracers catch something center mass. Keeping the trigger down and concentrating on clamping down hard on the kick of each shot, you continue firing into the darkness ahead which at this point is moving.
>Some bright flood of light dazzles you for a moment, before your pupils shrink back down. The Jorgensons have turned on some sort of floodlight mounted to their stabilizer rig.
>Bugs, lots of them. and they're close.
>Too damn close!
>Curse this fucking bitterant hanging around the air! You should have smelled them before they got this close!
>You have no time to really think of things, they'll be on you in seconds so you keep the trigger down as the Bofors opens up, its thudding report pounding in the confines of the tunnels.
>Every crack and report is magnified as the forward ranks rapidly reorient and open fire on the advancing packs.
>Dancing flashlights and the strobing flash from muzzle fire creates a dazzling chaos of lights from every direction.
>The echoing thrum of every shot fired makes it near-impossible to pick out exactly where the fire is originating from, if only you could smell anything to try and orient yourself on more recent observations.
>No wonder tunnel rats hate their job.
>Something is burning at this point.
>Your shots are starting to stray off target at this point despite your best effort and you lay off the trigger to try and reorient the gun
>You notice as you pull away from the sights that the barrel is glowing, the feint red pools of heat radiating from the muzzle pull you back to your senses.
>SHIT! You had laid on the trigger for too long in your panic and had gone and overheated the barrel.
>You don't even have a solid idea of how much of the belt you used up. Stupid! STUPID!
>The bugs crash forward towards the line, the troopers at the head fire wildly as the ranks behind them take more practiced shots when they can in the confusion. The monsters are getting too close!
>easy girl, easy. Just let the barrel cool off, keep your composure.
>But you can't just stand by and do nothing to help.
>You reach for your hip and take out your sidearm, another one of the hundreds of slide operated 9mm jobs you never learned to distinguish from the rest.
>Honestly speaking the thing is rather small in your hand, which might be why you barely ever used it.
>You let the M2 rest on its stock, using your free hand on the forward grip to keep it off the ground, from there you try to pick out any stand out targets in the swarm.
>The shapes of warriors are overwhelming but something seems off about the way they're moving now that you stop and look.
>Somehow they seem... erratic, directionless.
>Usually they moved with some vague sense of order, like pack hunters, but here they seemed to scramble into eachother like they're just as confused by the chaos as your own side. You had never seen anything like this before.
>Something else seemed to catch your eye in the darkness beyond the lights. Something large.
>The shape evolved as it rumbled forwards, pushing the mass of warriors out of the way.
>No. not here in the tunnels.
>Your dread grew as the light caught on stone-like grey chiten plates bordered by some diseased yellow. Flatheads!
>Rifle shots bounce harmlessly off of the monster's lowered headplate, and already it's too close for comfort as the bulk of warriors prevented it from being sighted earlier.
>Flatheads are some sort of supersized trilobyte beetle, their tops are covered in thick natural armor that they used to advance forward with impunity.
>And now you were in the worst place to face one of them, in the narrow confines of a tunnel, where you can't flank them. Unless.
"Mocha! Minna! Base of fire on that goddamn flathead NOW!"
>Your not sure if your order was heard and you can't make out a reply, but you notice the muzzle of the Bofors swing around.
>The first shell careens into the edge of the bug's headplate, breaking off a sizable chunk of the broad arrowhead but doing no real damage to the soft body below.
>The second and third hit more towards the center mass. The flathead's plates can only do so much against high caliber firepower like that. The beast howls and pauses in its charge forwards as the two grisly wounds on its back sting and burn into it.
>The fourth shot takes the head off in a bursting of dark viscera as the round explodes inside of the beetle's flesh.
>Then the Bofors produces a sort of hollow clang.
>"Out of ammo!" yowls one of the cats. "We need to reload!" adds the other.
>Another large shape charges forward from up the corridor. another flathead.
>SHIT!

>Already the appearance of the first one has forced you to give ground. The forward ranks have pressed back into their fellows to keep out of range of the warriors.
>It's all going wrong!
>Looking over towards the captain, you can almost taste the fear he's radiating. You anticipate the retreat order.
>Not a bad idea considering how close the bugs are pressing in. You need distance, and time for the twins to reload.
"Girls! pack up! we need distance!"
>They seem to pause as they raise the small crescent mag out of the top of the gun, then the captain bellows a retreat order, and they get to work collapsing the gun stand to move it.
>It's rather quick and they start dragging the gun back, you order the grenadiers forward to ready for a bit of a bombardment once the rifles pull away.
>But you realize with growing horror that they aren't fast enough, the warriors are gaining too much ground with the flathead there to soak fire and provide cover.
>The barrel of your weapon has cooled off, the time is now.
>you hike the stock up to your shoulder and stand tall, your height allowing you a clear line of fire over the scramble of retreating troopers.
>picture, target, focus, fire.
>You lay in with concentrated bursts, 3 rounds to kill a warrior, 4 to strike down another.
>A young private trips over himself and spirals onto his back.
>Two warriors scuttle towards him, screeching their terrible song. Raking claws raise, ready to strike.
>In a panic, he pours what remains of his magazine into one, managing to kill it. He screams in terror, the rifle clicks empty as he tries to save himself against the second.
>The claw is coming down, you have to be fast.
>You crack off two rounds, one managing to strike the warrior in its vital point, and it collapses to the side.
>Keep laying fire into whatever warriors rush ahead of the pack, you can still save him.
>The private managed to scramble to his feet, fumbling with his mag as he tries to reload while backing away.
>You loose a growl and cut in towards another warrior with a five round burst.
>Run idiot! just turn and run!
>Your breath quickens, does he not remember the training? Range is the greatest strength you have! why doesn't he open the distance?!
>The urge rises to scream at the rookie, but he can't hear you over the scramble and retreating fire.
>More warriors charge in, you have to try!
>You lay in with more fire, trying to keep the warriors at bay more than kill them, to give the rookie the opening he needs to run.
>He snaps in a new mag, and finally he seems to understand what you've been mentally willing at him the whole time.
>As the flathead charges forward, he runs.
>The flathead misses him completely, careening into the wall, warriors take up the pursuit as the massive bug attempts to reorient itself.
>Just a little longer and he's in the clear.
>You get a good luck at him while he's caught in the glow from all the flashlights.
>A rounded boyish face with a frock of dark hair and bright eyes, turned gaunt and bloodshot by tears and panic. His face sheens slick with tears. He's young, can't really be more than a kid.
>How old is he even? 19? 18?
>More warriors charge out, damn things are fast, two more rounds takes down another with a shot to the nerve cluster.
>You ready to aim on another, your heart is beating furiously. Your composure is slipping and you're letting more of the animal take over.
>Instincts tell you to run but you have to at least hold out to give that kid a chance.
>Now you have the perfect focus on a warrior, aiming straight for the inhuman monster's core as its teeth gnash in anticipation of drawing blood.
>You squeeze the trigger.
*clack*
>No! you're out!
>You weren't paying attention to how many rounds you used!
>You can't find any more reason to fight your instincts, so you start backing away while opening the feed cover to slot in a new belt.
>All you can do now is hope.
>Your hands refuse to stop shaking, were your nerves really this bad without the security of a loaded gun?
>As you try to steady yourself enough to load in a fresh belt from the ones hanging on your shoulders, you look with desperation towards the private.
>He's not running fast enough.
>Feldspar and the two other grenadiers have been lobbing explosives into the approaching hoard, mostly concentrated on taking out the flathead before it can do any real damage, but you aren't paying attention.
>The plight of this kid private, this boy, enraptures your attention. As to why you can't really think on, maternal instincts, reminders of your brother, those embers of your decency and kindness flaring in the hope that he lives.
>You look down and finally manage to slot in your fresh belt, you need more practice at this.
>The feed cover snaps closed and you pin the stock under your arm as you rack the action back.
>You look up just in time to take in his eyes, as he looses a strangled cry, And stumbles.
>Your heart drops, a warrior had gotten too close.
>The monstrosity's spearing claw had raked into the boy's back, crippling his ability to flee.
>Another claw slams down into his shoulder, a bright splash of red explodes into the air. Spattering the floor and black chitin of his killers.
>The boy chokes out a breathless scream. His eyes fade of their vigor as they roll back.
>You can't bear to watch anymore, and you run.

>The retreat back towards the hub is chaotic and unorganized.
>Testament to this is the occasional cries of more troopers caught in the back by charging warriors that weren't cut down before they get too close.
>Trying to pick out how many may have fallen is difficult as more noise arises from those that are panicking.
>You can barely edge out the voice in your head screaming to keep running either.
>Your legs burn but the fear shoves you on every time you falter.
>The thought keeps cycling in your head over and over.
-coward-
>Could you really be blamed for it? Tunnel fighting was antithesis to the way you wanted to enact your duty.
>The animal within you was not some apex predator that snarled at what it doesn't understand. it was an opportunist, a creature of decision that acted when the odds were in it's favor, and fled when they weren't.
>Because of this your instincts had been warning you of this possibility the whole time.
>Don't go in there, we will die.
>We don't have the range required to excel, we won't have enough time.
>Your instincts were right, maybe you were nothing but an animal. Your intellect too, backed up those points with conclusions that you realized, that trying to root out the bugs in their own domain was suicidal.
>But you ignored it, because of your pride, because of your arrogance pushing you to prove something.
>And now you ran. Defeated, humiliated, trying to keep from crying and whimpering as the specter of death and its icy visage bore into your back.
>You didn't even claim victory here as some proof that your pride wasn't in vain.
>Spitting image of Anubis indeed.
>...
>Ahead of you was the collared muzzle of the Bofors, the twins had relocated far back to have enough time to set up a new firing position and reload.
>The command squad and Lyons had posted alongside the AC. Where they had erected crude barriers from crates, spare sandbags, and defunct computer banks pulled from the command post.
>This is where you make your stand. Live or die.
>The captain had just ran as soon as the order was called. And something tugged at you, whispering that he was the real coward here.
>You may have ran, but a hero is brave five minutes longer. You had faced your fear, and despite your wilting resolve you fought, and you tried. Even if you couldn't save anyone.
>A grim resolve filled you as you closed towards the hastily assembled ramparts, you were infuriated with these officers.
>Gilded cowards that demanded everything of you, even your lives! and gave nothing in return!
>If the captain broke to run again, you would shoot him in the back. Desertion in the face of the enemy is a crime worthy of capital punishment after all.
>If you were going to die here, he would at least have the decency to die with you. Whether it was forced on him or not didn't matter.
>You vaulted over the barrier and pressed your back into the upended computer bank.
>Your breath heaved, your ears sagged low, and your tail curled on itself.
>At least try to be collected before the end.
>Inhale, count to four, exhale.
>Royal jackal... you may be scared, but you refuse to die a coward.
>You train your sights forward, resting the weight of the machine gun on your cover.
>There's more trust in the stability of a hastily constructed rampart right now then there is in your own, quivering hands.
>Tunnel fighting definitely isn't for you.
>The other squads rushed in to stack up into this last ditch defensive effort.
>Once they are all filled in, the bugs come, screeching in blind, animalistic fury.
>It's time.

>You tried to recall the same trick you pulled outside the bunker, open on one, walk fire onto the others.
>Your first burst was off target, your nerves are getting to you.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>Second time is the charm it seems, the first shots strike in, cracking open the chest of a warrior, from there you walk onto other warriors in the crowd. They're too close for you to bother with focusing on curbing the recoil.
>Shot-count doesn't matter, not now.
>You've lost count of how many you've ended too, not that such feats will matter since nobody will remember them.
>Grenades explode, rifles bark, the autocannon drums out for war.
>The flathead from before is struck down by the cannon, grenades and frantic fire keep cutting down warriors by the dozen but they just keep coming.
>Two more flatheads emerge, and you can't see an end to the warriors yet... So is this how it ends?
>You hear boots behind you turn heel with a scrape. The captain is getting ready to run.
>Anger flairs in you again, and you ready to fulfill your grim promise. But then something grabs your attention.
>The bugs are... stopping?
>A warrior charges forward, and then seems to scream. It bellows some profane cry as it shudders and spasms, and then retreats.
>Again and again, some invisible line seems to be forcing them back. what the hell?
"They're.. stopping? They're fucking stopping!"
>It's odd as hell but you don't care for the reasoning at the moment, even the captain stops and seems to ponder.
>This strange second chance may not last forever, you order your squad to throw everything they have at them while the bugs seem unwilling to come closer.
>You even cut Duran's leash and badgered her to use the flamethrower.
>The incendiary weapon didn't seem like the prudent choice before, so as to not cause any problems for the advance, but now all bets are off.
>Spirits seem to rise again as what remains of first platoon rallies into this standing counterattack.
>Without a way, or the will, to close the distance the bugs are slaughtered. There is almost some sort of conflict registered on their minute psyches between the drive to attack, and whatever seems to be forcing them away from the core of the complex.
>Everyone fires with the sort of aggressive disregard for resupply stirred on by intense fear or hatred.
>The bass bark of your .50 joins them. You are determined to live this through.
>Even the flatheads can't approach, readying a charge only to stop on their starting strides and back away screeching.
>Warriors are cut down, the flatheads are crippled and killed by grenades, 40mm shells, and fire.
>Duran does her best to make the invisible line holding the bugs back a very real one, manifested with the searing dance of napalm.
>The flames light the corridor in a vigorous autumn glow, the bugs emotionless eyes gleam as they catch the fire's after image.
>You vow to make the bearers of those beady black orbs as dead as their emotionless ocular organs.
>The fire keeps burning, you all keep shooting, it almost feels like hours have passed.
>By the time the flames start dying down and the bullets have stopped flying you've gone through more than half of your new belt.
>The barrel of your weapon, your big girl, glows warmly as white smoke hisses off of the tip.
>A dying warrior mewls weakly as the platoon lieutenant presses a revolver between its eyes and ends it.
>Nothing else moves. Flashlights pan across the hostile gulf of darkness in front of your line and find nothing.
>You... you had actually made it!
>You had actually survived the hell of tunnel fighting.
>Granted you still never wanted to do anything like this again, but you had managed to squeeze out a victory.
>The shaking steadies and you sit yourself down before your legs fall out from under you.
>Those minutes felt like hours, but your self-hype wasn't all bullshit.
>For once you actually feel like you can breath easy today, and you let your proud, tall ears raise to their full height again. A sort of natural signal flag that you were still here.
>Troopers around you seem to alternate between joking celebration and exclamations of victory dragged out with vigor by a collective second wind.
>You pay them no attention right now, a triumphant warmth radiates over you. It heats your core and puts a smile over you.
>Warm elation comes in great waves, dragging out your stress with the tide.
>You can't help it, a happy snicker washes out from you, which swells into a throaty chuckle as your grin grows wider.
>That smile doesn't leave you, even as you feel the captain staring in bewilderment at you, an oddity that flies in the face of his outdated notions. Let him stare!
>Breathing a healthy sigh of relief, the waves continue to pull your tension away as you relax against your cover.
>Your tail wags lazily and you even catch yourself breathing in a way that could be misconstrued as panting.
>This is it, the feeling of victory, it makes you want to keep moving, to do things.
-to find a nice mate and rut him into the floor-
>...
>It's just that old fever talking, don't pay attention.
>All things considered, it might be something more, some longing for more, but you can't really think on it when that itch keeps getting in the way.
>You catch yourself before you slip too far into that bliss, but you refuse to let a little hiccup from your hormones ruin this happy feeling.
>But for now you feel like you could just drop into a heavenly rest, despite the uncaring, featureless cold of your surroundings.
>Presently, you let yourself coast down that river of elation to get just a little closer to that ideal of home, and to reflect in its mirror-like waters.
>That previous jump in desire seemed to jog your memory, and your reasoning for approaching that damaged, angry man you called friend seemed a little clearer now.
>It was another one of those momentary surges after the fight was done, when your wandering state of mind reminded you of your mortality and clamored for you to solve your problems of loneliness before it was too late.
>You were at least thankful you knew enough self-restraint to let something fruitful blossom from that impulse. Rather than just entertaining base urges.

>Can't deny there was that temptation, but it's not like you were unfamiliar with it. You knew how to control it... most of the time.
>For now you were content to stop thinking on that confusing mess that was your potential love life and just catch your breath while you're allowed the time.
>The officers raise no complaint about these minutes of respite, even someone held to such backwards and pedantic ideals of what an officer is, like the captain, can recognize a trooper that isn't given a breather can quickly turn seditious.
>Your breath comes easier, your muscles don't burn with exertion, you guess now it's about time to go back in. But you don't want to press on only to meet a second wave of bugs
>Just five more minutes.
>"Shouldn't we get moving sir?"
>You gave a short grunt of disapproval, expecting to find Feldspar playing up the good soldier shtick, instead you meet the tired eyes of Duran.
>Those hazel orbs seen worn down and desaturated, like the sunfaded paint on an old beater, but you swear you see some ember right in their middles.
>You have to wonder if people see the same looking into yours, or if their so dazzled by that vibrant sapphire they're distracted from looking for it, if it's even there.
>That light that says you still have a reason to go on.
>You also realize it's the first time you've even heard her speak. You had been expecting some ragged harpy's call like she smoked a pack a day. Instead her voice was womanly and melodic, if soft and weary.
>Then there was the way she seemed to just stare straight into you. Plus her ears always seemed to faintly splay as her nose twitched, like she somehow knew.
>Knew just how tired you really are. And that she understood because she's feeling the same thing.
>How much of herself does she see in you? Was that what had earned her respect in you?
>"Well sarge? You said it yourself. We don't have all day." She offered the ghost of a smile and a paw, as well as a faint glow of understanding behind her eyes.
>You huffed through your nose. If someone who wore their worn out mental state on their sleeve could keep on, then why can't you?
"Yeah. I guess so."
>You take her paw and let her help you up. Which doesn't seem to be that much of a help physically, you're heavier and taller, but you guess in this case it's the thought that counts.
>You give her an appreciative grin and the dog returns to her duty. There may be some hope for her yet, hope for you.
>Looking over at Feldspar, the lioness seemed floored. Although her jaw didn't hang open she seemed stunned, and that made you think.
>Was Duran really that bad, that such a small show of understanding was some kind of breakthrough?
>Your mind wandered towards other quandaries, namely what the fuck saved you?
>The way the bugs seemed to spasm in pain as they attempted to cross that nonexistent line was bizarre.
>There was a great many things about the bugs you still don't know or understand, and you doubt many others aside from the brightest minds left on the planet could provide insight into that.
>Reasons as to what exactly was happening there still occurred to you.
>Perhaps some buried psychological trigger had kept the bugs from advancing too far out of some primal fear response, but that relied far too much on convenience.
>The way the bugs reacted almost seemed like they were being electrocuted, but you would have seen obvious signs of that occurring beyond their jolting movements.
>Nothing in the walls themselves suggested some sort of hyper-sonic device or what not to cripple the bugs with incapacitating noise only they can register.
>There could be something more to the munitions bunker under that supply hub.
>Perhaps it didn't just hold hellfire rockets and shells, but there was something more to this place hidden there, the real reason for the complex's recapture.
>It was possible they could have been manufacturing some sort of chemical spoof of the bugs' hivemind control pheromones and the clash of overriding signals forced the bugs back when they pressed you close towards the hub. This could also explain why the pack outside hadn't entered.
>That was how hive insects worked, communicated, and gave orders if you were remembering your biology lessons correctly, chemical signals.
>With the right mix and dosages, chemical reagents could be used to send the bugs into chaos like earlier.
>Any other explanation was either insane or impossible, And you weren't one of those nuts that thought they stored evidence of 'inter-dimensional incursions' or what not in that air-strip at groom lake.
>Obviously anyone that even thought such things were plausible never payed attention to basic physics.

>Your musings over the strange things that could be housed within this bunker holds away anymore stress for the time being as everyone starts advancing back along the ground they previously covered.
>Stepping over the charred and battered pile of bugs offends your nose and sense of blissful ignorance but not much else.
>You were never one to pay much attention to the bugs once they stopped moving, they were usually pretty quick to let you know if they weren't dead.
>The troop shuffled by the command post again, nobody was in much of a hurry to get into a second life or death engagement, and that eerie sense of emptiness settled over the scene like an old blanket left out in the cold.
>Perforated bug corpses helped to make things a bit less... creepy. Reminders that the wave of death you just faced down wasn't a collective hallucination from the start.
>Your own rationalizations of what happened made perfect sense but there was still some discordant air about this place that just refused to sit right with you.
>It only got worse the more the silence dragged on, and you catch yourself wishing for Tom's company. Somehow it's just so easy to strike up conversation with him.
>There's nobody else willing or able to occupy your attention now.
>The troop wiles on and eventually slows.
>The darkened slurry of shredded tissue, chipped chitin, and crawling ichor has given way to darkening reds, pooling around limp forms.
>Mutterings of prayers and wishes for the departed, as squad leaders shakily collect tags.
>A few rookies wrestle with the impulse to vomit, some more seasoned types shed a few tears, grizzled vets just shake their heads and try to hide the way their lip quivers when they find someone they know.
>You just look at it all with a quiet apathy, none of yours are on the floor here.
>Mostly because Lyons kept your squad at the rear. You can sense the quiet blame from that, accusing stares towards both the officer and you for refusing to throw yourself at the bugs like some sacrificial lamb.
>You could understand why they were angry, but it was unfair to expect you to go leaping into battle like some rabid leopard.
>Still, it was accepted legend among humans that the good doctor bred your kind for war.
>The man himself wasn't exactly around to refute that, and he didn't leave a real statement of intent behind to state otherwise.
>They were wondering why the giant jackal woman hadn't leaped in and tore a bug in half with her claws, or swallowed one whole, or whatever ludicrous thing they expected you to do this week.
>Their mental complaints feeding into their delusion that you're supposed to die for them
>And soon those complaints were made verbal.
>They came in hushed whispers between scowling troopers refusing to acknowledge the carnage around them so they can more easily blame their losses on you.
>"giant bitch", "notch-ear", "damn snout", "proud whore". You gave an obvious flick of an ear, a warning that you could hear them.
>The muttering died down, but a few continued their pathetic accusations.
>For all you care they could swallow a bullet, it's not like you didn't try.
>Even if the fruits of your labor amounted to nothing, you stood back at the same place where it had started, the corridor was as dark as ever but nothing moved.
>Lying there at your feet was that kid soldier you had tried to save, the one that bought the farm because you had lost your composure.
>No, you can't take all the blame yourself like that, it's what they would want you to think. The kid was young and panicky, he just didn't know when to cut his losses and run.
-At least it wasn't you-
>Every time you had that thought, when someone else took a fall that could have been meant for you. You had convinced yourself that it wasn't as selfish a conclusion as it seemed. It was just a quiet thanks for your luck and survival.
>He was split open, a deep furrow had smashed into the small of his back, severing both of the stained white plugs you could see, the halves of his spine.
>Blood and fluid had poured out along that canyon cut into him like rivers, pooling to both sides of the body.
>Another deep cut had shattered his shoulder as splinters of bone jutted as rocky hazards inside the red mass of torn muscle and leaking arteries, it must have cut down six inches, another gash of vital life cut out of him by the hand of an alien butcher.
>The claws of a warrior were powerful things, made for smashing and tearing, as evidenced by this. The broken body of a boy that should have just stayed home.
>You suppose remembering him would make you cry out at the thought of a life so young being cut short, but you lost count of how many times you had seen something like this happen. And you couldn't find the energy to care.
>Maybe they were right about 'beasts' like you, you had gotten so used to this idea of death, so worn out that you couldn't make the tears flow. You weren't human.
>...
>You crouch down, reaching around the neck and popping the kid's tags.
>'French, Elliot R.'

>The mental gunshot that sounded after you read off the name shocked you with an electric pulse that raced up your back.
>You whispered out a shuddering breath as you felt your eyes moisten.
>Not sure whether to feel sad over the loss of such a young soul, or thankful that memory had jolted your emotions back into play.
>Shaking yourself out of it, you handed the tags over to the sergeant that had just walked up to your side. And tried to blink away the water before any tears formed.
>You would still hold yourself together, but fuck those racist shitheads! You weren't some emotionless killing machine.
>An anger quietly stirred in you, and you held it down for the bugs, if there are any.
>Everything seemed quiet enough but that was the way it seemed last time, you hoped that pack of warriors and flatheads was the last of them.
>Losing 18 and having a further 5 wounded was more than enough blood from your end, even if you held that some lives may be worth more than others judging by the continued whispered chatter behind your back.
>Looking up you saw Duran holding a slight smile across her muzzle, sated with your display of humanity.
>The troop continued cautiously, even as the enemy refused to make another appearance.
>Still can't smell anything, it's dark, and you can only hear the air moving through the open tunnels, as if this place is softly breathing.
>Much of first platoon is behind you now, matching your tepid pace and not allowing you to fall in among them. You hope dearly that the bugs really are gone
>Eventually you start hearing the chattering of the battle outside again, and there's even the volume of natural light leaking in somewhere ahead.
>Coming closer, the tunnels actually peel away into an open air sort of crater housing the hellfire battery the artillery officer mentioned.
>You guess this is how those bugs got in without going through the supply hub.
>Here, captain Lyons split the platoon in half, the more battered survivors would remain at the battery and see about getting it prepped for firing.
>Your troop was to accompany the idiot further into the hill to check on the rest of the complex.
>Fucking wonderful
>And so you marched back out into the oppressive darkness and continued onward, and then down.
>The hellfire battery and the neighboring chambers were apparently the end of this level of the complex. which then descended down into the earth to loop under itself.
>You expected more bugs, rather actively sweeping the muzzle of your M2 across every opening in the walls, just daring some chittering malcontent to leap out at you.
>Still there was absolutely nothing, and as you stepped in a thin blanket of clinging dust the thought raised up again.
-something is wrong-
>The air seemed even colder down here, the darkness more oppressive as less and less of the light from above could leak in.
>It was all so eerily empty, nothing had been down here. You opened every one of the blast doors expecting something in the shadows to move, some skittering your ears could register, still nothing.
>Which is worse: facing death directly, or expecting an enemy that may never appear, despite the growing sense that something has to be there?
>A question you aren't sure how to answer.
>The air grew colder, and colder still as you pressed forward. Cold and nothingness, as if this bunker was the classical ideal of death.
>Wandering endlessly through dark tunnels only by your own light, shivering against the cold expecting an enemy that is not there.
>If this is what hell feels like, maybe you should be more religious.
>The only thing keeping your rising nerves in check are those constant reminders of the others with you, the scuff of boots, the sounds of breathing and quiet chatter, the other flashlights.
>If you had the sense you were alone in this place you would just turn tail and flee as fast as you were able, because of that maddening sense something is here coupled with the mantra repeating autonomously in your skull.
-something is wrong-
>But ahead you swear you see something, an icy bluish white glowing in the distance, like a portal into the winter taiga.
>A lamp.

>You blink hard but you aren't seeing things. It's a light, the only one still on down here.
>It buzzes softly, occasionally a dim flicker dulls the icy pool of light. Projected around the foot of what has to be the thickest blast door in the facility.
>It's noticeably colder the closer you get towards it, this must be where they store that chemical agent the bugs were confused by.
>Which must mean you are underneath the supply hub.
>The door is sealed tight by numerous hydraulic locks and bars, there's no guessing how thick it is, but the temperatures on the other side must be below freezing judging by the traces of ice clinging around certain spots on the door's mechanical face.
>Some sense of curiosity draws you closer, now that you know there is an end to this maze something yearns to see what it was protecting.
>The cold seems to snake in through the gaps between your clothing and your fur, you shiver slightly.
>Some other part of your mind seems to assess to situation and thinks better of approaching, trying to nudge you back in the other direction.
>But what the hell was it that saved your life down here? You can't know for certain until you lay eyes on whatever laboratory they have behind this door.
>Someone says something but you press on just a little closer, reaching out maybe to find some sort of release on the uneven surface.
>You reach in with an open hand, something is behind this door, you want to know what.
>You lay your hand down.
>COLD!
>An intense cold surges up your fingertips, crawling over your arm as shivering pinpricks dance across your back, you quickly withdraw your hand as the frigid vines even seem to snake into your head.
>The icy gale brings some stabbing pressure on your temples as you grimace and pull away.
>Damn this stings! You want to clutch at your head but you stop yourself as you deliberate and that familiar tune screams into your headspace again.
-something is wrong!-
>What if the captain knows what's down here? Why else would such a coward come this far?
>It could be a secret to kill for! You must not let them know your suspicions!
>"Sergeant Magual?" Lyons is asking for you in a rather authoritative tone, and that seals it.
>You have to come up with some excuse as to your desire for entry...
>Come on think, think!
>The battery! You remember hellfire launchers are notorious for overheating and coolant is often kept on site to avoid permanent damage.
>Spice it with a bit of the good soldier act and you're in the clear.
"Shouldn't we check the coolant storage for bugs sir?"
>"There's nothing in there sergeant, leave it be."
>You avoid showing your disbelief, he knows. He definitely knows what's behind that door, and you aren't going to give him an excuse to suspect you.
"Ya sure sir? I don't think the bugs would mind the cold."
>"It's more than cold enough that they wouldn't survive in there!" he snaps. "Now leave. it. alone."
>You advance back up the hall towards the others, taking one last look at the door in wonderment.
"Yes sir."
>You add flatly.
>The murmur among the other troopers ebbs out, you've definitely undermined the captain's credibility in front of them, and likely they're curious about what's down here too.
>But no one is dumb enough to voice that curiosity around the officers. One of the first lessons a grunt will learn after basic is to never trust anyone above the rank of sergeant.
>Still it echoes around in the back of your head, that icy whisper.
-something is wrong-
>And all signs point to whatever they're hiding behind that door, something that may be gone within hours of this bunker's recapture.
>Central has to keep their little secrets.
>You still keep looking back, the air is cold but you almost feel as if some icy tendrils keep grasping at your back as you leave.
>It's just some artifact from the cold shock from touching the door, it should go away once you've warmed up again.
>You huddle in close with your corporals as you make the ascent back up and share a mutual nod of understanding.
>You're thankful the both of them are sharp enough to realize what's really going on here.
>Back up near the hellfire battery you find a nice crate and sit yourself down, rather lovingly propping your big fuckin' gun against the wall next to your seat.
>You recline against the unfeeling concrete and start the process of winding yourself down. You are DONE with fighting today.
>And if you ever have to do tunnel fighting again, mercy on the stupid bastard that thinks he can send you back into another one of these hellish holes in the ground.
>As you're trying to settle yourself in and get comfortable, one of the first platoon grunts stalks up to you, looking rather pissy.
>"Hey beast! You mind getting off your ass and helping with the-"
>You are not in the mood for this snippy little prick thinking he can order you around. You don't even bother with words, interrupting him with a low warning growl.
>He seems to get the message 'fuck off or get bit'. And you try to settle yourself down to at least let some of the stress float away on a daydream as you close your eyes.
>You must get a good five minutes before the fates see fit to pull your string.
>The ice returns to your spine as a screaming howl peals across the distant air, let inside through the open ceiling of the battery pit.
>Everything tenses as you make ready to run, only to realize you're likely far safer where you already are, but still you lurch sickeningly with worry.
>You know what that sound means.
>Battleframes

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Tom>
>Bug presence in the town was denser than expected but that didn't matter, not to you, the majority of these small fry can't fucking touch you now.
>Between your sub-gunner and the new gear-box, that habit warriors grew of dog piling on a mech's legs until they could slow the machine down enough to sneak between gaps in the armor plates and get at the internals was rendered moot.
>Granted your sub-gunner was still slower than any of the guys from the rumbler unit and refused to stop screaming when you kicked into gear and really stretched your legs.
>You had found every excuse you could think of to test out your newfound mobility, being able to move so freely in the auger was a feeling without compare.
>Like you had been trying to run a marathon in quicksand only to suddenly touch pavement.
>The armor had spread out, clearing out major pockets of resistance as they cropped up, the infantry would sweep away the scraps.
>Currently you were chasing a pack of warriors through the compartmentalized maze of a small suburb.
>The way they skittered away from the crushing footfalls of you and your machine was intoxicating.
>The pack scrambled through the skeleton of a two-story house, chittering and screeching in what you could only imagine as fear. The sub guns picked off stragglers, nipping at their heels.
>That's right, run ya little bastards. Run!
>You followed them and they led you directly towards what you had been looking for, a pocket of spitters nested within an old shell crater.
>The bloated alien ticks took notice of your approach and spat a volley of their caustic bile, which you handily sidestepped thanks to the new gearbox.
>You then deflected the weapon arm outwards and fired up the rotary. With that foghorn roar, the spitters burst like overstuffed pastries.
>The crater smoked with the disgorged mix of acid and blood eating into the rock, but that was another problem taken care of.
>You shot another burst of 30mm shells at the retreating warriors, mulching plenty of the core group before they scattered into hiding in every which direction.
>You had more important things to do than root out a dozen odd bugs hiding in these cramped old houses, the infantry the were now coming in from the east could handle it.
>Pulling up the battlenet map again, you looked around for any obvious troublespots that needed a good stomping.
>You've pretty much been free to act as you see fit ever since the captain disappeared into the bunkers, the markers for A company's first platoon, and Teth'ra's own outfit following him in.
>They had been in there a while, you hope your favorite jackal is okay. You had plenty to talk about with her after all.
>Right now nothing seemed to crop up that the tanks weren't already handling, so you decided to move north and help the main push towards the mouth of the valley.
>As you stomped forward you worried slightly over how your friendly egyptian monster was fairing.
>You were fairly certain she would be okay, she seemed to carry herself with a certain solidarity after her promotion, and when you eyed her through the sensory goggles as you were leaving the base, you noted she had procured what looked like an M2 modified into a rifle.
>Tunnel rats suffered some of the highest casualty rates in the EDF, but despite the superficial resemblance there was a lot less real estate in a bunker for bugs to nest than the winding nightmare that was a proper nest. She would be fine.
>At least in there she was out of the way of the battle at large.
>Things were somewhat calm in your immediate area, and so you tried to listen through the headset.
>The external microphones were picking up... something strange.
>You could barely pick it out over the racket of the armor scrambling around town. A short, pealing sort of buzz, followed by a couple wind like percussions.
>It might just be the acoustics of the area playing tricks on your ears. You bet if you had Teth'ra's ears you would be able to pick up exactly where it was coming from and where it was, and determine if it was just a trick of the valley like you hoped, lucky girl.
>But then a bellowing thrum rolled around the valley, that was definitely something big cooking off, maybe one of the heavies had caught a spitter volley in the flank.
>Then it happened, a screaming howl registered through your headset and ice took over your veins.
>An all-call on the priority channel followed soon after. It was Redenbacher, and he didn't sound so sure of himself this time.
>"This is FC-01. We have silversign! FC-04 is down! I repeat: FC-01, we have silversign! North of the valley closing south, eight units confirmed presently!"
>Silversign, the marauders had shown up with their battle machines. Peacing together what noise you heard and the information from the ace's report, they had deployed fast and already destroyed one of the striders.
>Only one Marauder machine type jumped out at you that could kill that fast, and that blood curdling howl confirmed it.
>Battleframes, eight of them that were soon to enter the valley from the north, and they had already killed one of Redenbacher's squadron, all of the red baron's wingmen were aces.
-what hope do you have?-

>You slowed to a standstill, and listened for further reports and calls, paying close attention to the battlemap to see exactly where they would appear.
-so you know the best way to run-
>Your breath was uneven, and your mental tempo collapsed, memories tugged at you, toying with you.
>That first frame, you had encountered it while it was alone, it was a fluke victory. You barely even remembered the details through the panic.
>"This is FC-01 again. Can we try to split them up?" That sounded like a good plan, counting all the machines around and discounting the downed strider, that left you with ten machines to the marauder's eight.
>Plus the tanks, one of the commanders chimed in now. "Not to worry there mechy, we'll split them right down the middle with all guns blazing"
>The Goliath commander was at least willing to be stupid enough to take on the whole battleframe complement on his own, fucking treadies.
>"This is SC-01 and -02, we will assist where needed." The two Rumblers from the east were moving in.
>Then Vegalta's ever charming voice sang over the line. "DP-01 here, and I can say -02 through -04 are willing to smash whatever we need to."
>That confirmed your hunch over who the thumper unit on the hill was. Hearing how everyone else rallied forward eased your qualms slightly.
>Were you really ready to go head to head against battleframes? The first one was a fluke, you had little experience fighting them otherwise and your still technically on your first sortie with the new machine.
>Then some heated memory shook you. The silence in the absence of your squadron, your friends, your brothers, prompted an enraged thrashing of some deeper vestige.
>You promised, you had made a vow! How were you supposed to uphold that when you acted like such a cowering weakling!
>How were you supposed to fulfill the screaming fire within you that demanded vengeance against that monster when you can't even bring yourself to fight against some common battleframes?
>You would rip the weakness away, it has no place on this path. You have to kill him afterall, the one that took them from you, the one that left you wounded and low, the one that failed to destroy you when he had the chance.
>He won't falter if you can't best some gleaming silver toothpicks. You thought back on those specters of the wind, they were defiant even in the end, that same sense of iron overcame you again.
>You wouldn't let these alien scum win! You have a new machine, new tricks, new lessons learned, and they are nothing but paper tigers.
>You took up the march north again, stomping across the broken sidestreets.
"606-B2R, tell me where I need to go."
>The markers for the battleframes appeared now, just like Redenbacher said they were north of the valley entrance and closing in fast, bug presence was starting to hit a minimum and the creatures seemed more interested in hiding than assisting their masters.
>You had ten machines and an excess of armored backup on your side. But if you played your hand wrong those frames could tear apart the advance here, at one of it's most critical stages.
>Without the crossroads here to shuttle supplies north, you wouldn't be getting very far through the open expanses of the Canadian tundra.
>Various commanders proposed plans and counter plans on how to handle the incoming machines, but something occurred to you.
>Battleframes were proponents of psychological warfare, they relied on fear and reputation to set their opponents off balance. Why else would they give away their position and presence with that howling?
>They expected you to be weak, to be afraid. While you were panicking and dodging feints, they would have the time and space to reel up a knockout blow.
>The answer was simple: if the opponent believes they're psyching you out, they wont expect you to come in low with a shot to the kidney while they're open.
>Or from all directions at once.
>The battleframes were advancing in a tight formation, to give the illusion of unified strength despite how easy a target they would make. A feint of your own against such an overconfident opponent was the perfect answer.

>As various officers deliberated and berated eachother for every hair-brained scheme they came up with, you cut in over the noise.
"This is B2R, The enemy formation is very tight, we can catch them in a crossfire from all sides if we lure them in."
>Another voice took up the dead air left in your wake. "Who the hell do you think you are with this-"
>You did not have the patience to be lectured by someone who's likely never even seen a battleframe before, so you interrupted, as politely as you could manage.
"Look. The enemy believes we're scared, if we act the opposite and press in on them from every direction, we can force them to scatter."
>Once they did scatter, the frames wouldn't be able to support eachother. They were still dangerous but minimizing the enemy's ability to cooperate was the best option.
>Redenbacher cut in. "I agree with this plan of action, divide and conquer should give us more than a chance."
>The negative chatter died down some, if the ace agreed with the plan, it had to be good. You were thankful that the baron wasn't as dense as you first made him out to be.
>There wasn't much time, but a plan was agreed on, they were going with your idea.
>Armor units would reverse and conceal themselves, producing an artificial bubble within your lines that the battleframes would fall into as the path of least resistance. Once they were in, fire would open up from all sides, if they didn't want to get massacred they would have to move through convenient escape routes leading further into town, formed in the cordon that would snap shut behind any loner or pair of frames that moved into those traps.
>Once they scattered, it was divide and conquer as the ace said.
>The gap was opened, and you moved fast towards the east end of the bubble, you would join up with the two Rumblers and then charge in when the shooting started. Most of your weapons were short range anyways.
>Redenbacher and his two remaining wingmen posted at the opposite side, their railguns allowing them to press from a distance.
>Vegalta's troop was too slow to get there in time, but would try their best to level the big guns the Thumpers carried on the target.
>You hid the bulk of your machine behind the remnants of an apartment block, using a few external cameras to maintain a clear sight of the incoming machines.
>The bait was set and now you played the waiting game again. Reigning in that burning core until the right moment.
>Looking around bore a mix of sights. Tanks of all shapes and sizes hid around corners and under barely standing roofs. The two other Rumblers idled quietly behind the ruins of a mall. A few vertical tanks even hunkered down on the ruins of burnt out houses.
>The eastern Rumblers were an oddity. Practically all black paint work with rather fresh unit markings.
>Four digits stood in the clash of white on black '8492'. It has to be a brand new unit, only two machines and a quad digit battalion number.
>You had never heard of the 8492 before today. But you couldn't really think on why these rookies shouldn't be here, you needed every gun on hand to take out these frames.
>At least you wouldn't have to wait terribly long, they would be cresting the valley mouth any second now.
>Glimmering silver strode over the hill, and you locked eyes on your prey.
>Seven of the vaguely humanoid battleframes strode in a tight circle around an eighth machine, the leader by your guess.
>Some people called battleframes elegant, to you they were absolutely hideous.
>Ugly, spindly things that walked on double knee joints using thin, elongated forms with narrow footing.
>They moved in some smooth, disjointed parable of the human form, and it enraged you.
>Narrow, sliding hip joints bolted on to some gaunt impression of a torso, narrow all the way through, but distinctly rail like at its middle.
>The down pointed triangle stretched into overly high shoulder sockets, with no head. The core of the torso was dominated by the machine's optics: three glowing red circle arranged in a triangle, two sat lower than the other that stood out starkly from the mirror-like chrome of the rest of the body.
>Between the machines blade like shoulders sat a rectangular sort of vent offset to a single side, you remembered that as the barrel of the machine's plasma cannon.
>A quartet of skeletal arms sprouted from the high shoulder sockets and from two points at the machines eye level. Distinctly alien, and disgusting.
>These fucking bone arms weren't even efficient in their design, each one could be used to support a weapon of their own but no. The fucking alien idiots give them hands, and no in-built weapons. The fact the machines are still such a threat even as they waste precious materials for their revolting asthetic brings a burning fury to your hands.
>You want to break it, rip those silvery fucking wastes out of their sockets and shatter them, or use them to beat what they were attached to into a fractured silver mess. And then burn it. And then sodomize whatever squirming grub pilots the damn thing with the business end of your GAU-8.
>The arms support a long, needle-like rifle with both of the lower arms and the top right arm. The giant rifle is some sort of laser weapon, shooting thin, lancing beams that melt into armor and cripple critical components. Of course their are countermeasures to disperse the heat from such a weapon, most machines come standard with heat ablative compounds in their plating to help minimize damage.
>In the spare arm, most battleframes carry a shardgun, some anti-infantry weapon shaped like an oversized pistol, or very rarely a melee weapon.

>The machines continue to stalk forward, their chief method of defense: their shield screens, flickering a transparent blue bubble over the frame against incoming cannon rounds.
>You know those screens are not invincible, level enough heavy firepower at them and they will become overwhelmed.
>At that point, when the machine is cooling off the shield generators and recharging, that's the time to kill it. A good shot through the spire-esque exhaust stacks on the frame's back will damage its reactor, causing a meltdown and destroying it.
>You tense and tap your toes, really the only thing you can do without climbing out of the armature and pacing around. The enemy is right there and now you've practically worked yourself into foaming at the mouth to get at them.
>But the rational pieces of your mind keep your feet rooted, the wait won't be long, they need to get into the right spot, THEN you can cut loose.
>You growl softly, letting off some of the mental pressure and biding your time.
>The subgunner shifts nervously at his station, you don't care that he even exists right now, he's useless in a fight like this.
>That circular formation continues closing in to town along the highway, ignorant at their lack of cover.
>A troop of Correlions steadily reverses, firing shots at extreme distance towards the enemy squadron to help lure them in with the idea that their presence alone is forcing a retreat.
>The aliens couldn't be more wrong.
>Just. about. there.
>A little further.
>Wait for the order.
>Slow, easy targets, right about now.
>The flashing streak of a shell flying at impossible speed erupts from the wooded mountainside overlooking the town towards the east.
>It smashes into one of the Battleframe's sheildscreens, prompting a bright cerulean flair. A second round follows, and the translucent blanket flickers, and fails.
>The frame's exhaust stacks breath fire, trying to expel the excess heat worn on the components from the shield failure.
>The machine pauses, seemingly stunned or panicking, and that is its end. A third railgun slug breaks straight into its chest, spraying silver fragments from the entry point and almost immediately the machine explodes. A new-england accented tenor peals off the radio.
>"That's for Langley ya bastard!"
>the commander's voice shoots out now. "All units, open fire!"
>He doesn't need to tell you twice.
>Even as the flaming husk of the destroyed frame crumples towards the ground you are already in motion.
>Finally that vengeful fury can be unshackled, you step out onto the street from behind the ruined apartments and train your guns forward.
>Accuracy isn't key, not yet, you need to pressure them into splitting up so volume of fire is needed.
>To that end you open with shoulder cannons, following with a wide spread of missiles and long bursts from the GAUs.
>The barrage spreads over multiple targets, shields flicker and glow as they absorb the fire.
>Soon other barrages open from practically every direction as the frames scan with their rifles, trying to pick out an exact attacker, and failing.
>Needle thin beams of red pulse out from the rifles as the frames start loosening their formation, realizing that huddling so close together only presents a single, large target.
>Soon you hear the thump of artillery in the distance, every asset on the field must be focusing towards this single point.
>Shells howl in from overhead, the detonations rocking down shattered houses and cratering the road. The frames shields flicker weakly, approaching the verge of failure under the concentrated siege.
>Even as the main artillery unit reloads, more guns fire in the distance, Vegalta's Thumpers providing indirect fire support.
>Finally realizing their mistake the enemy scatters outward, The electric blue glare of their thrusters fire briefly as they dash in every direction before the shells hit.
>Fire pursues them as they duck and weave, many shots missing now as the bombardment narrows onto the spreading targets, Vegtalta's volley misses entirely.
>Still they're refusing to stray too far apart but they're approaching breaking point, the fury of the guns driving them towards flight.
>Just push a little harder and they'll scatter.
>"Rumblers, Goliaths, Heavies, charge, the rest will cover!"
>Exactly what you were thinking.

>You accelerate forward, the engines growl and roar as your pace surges faster. The frames are a good 400 meters ahead, confused and disorganized.
>More plumes of dark smoke denote tanks and mechs throttling forward, you doubt they could take off as quickly as you did.
>You pass one of the black Rumblers shambling through the wreckage of a warehouse as you break into a sprint along the open path of the street.
>You aim again towards two frames sticking close to eachother, the firing computers doing their best to compensate for the motion.
>More shells, more missiles. Most don't hit as the enemy dashes to both sides but the frames seem confused about which way to face.
>One of them makes up its mind and levels it's rifle towards you as it runs to the right.
>You see the black barrel filled with a verdant red light.
-leap now!-
>The sense of free movement urges you to follow. You plant your right foot at an angle as you bring it down and continue your stride.
>But just as the time seems right, and your weight is focused on the right leg, you push out with it violently. The engines give a jittering howl with the sudden increase in power demand.
>The beam finds naught but air, the enemy having adjusted their aim too late.
>Your machine has flown to the left. Your feet actually left the ground completely, and you move to bring your left leg out to steady the landing.
>With a jolting impact you make contact with with ground again, the feet briefly slide, tearing into the land but you arrest your momentum to the side by shunting it forward again, resuming your forward sprint.
>The machine followed all of your movements perfectly, you no longer have to fight against it when you want to move, it's a part of you now.
>You can beat them now, you're fast enough. Just like your coach told you: when the other guy has bigger fists, duck and weave.
>Firing another volley, you catch a machine just after it thrusted, those things must have some sort of cooldown period. To your frustration the shield screen absorbs your fire handily.
>They've had time to recuperate now that they're moving fast enough to evade some of the fire.
>But they've had enough, and now seek to abandon their positions. The plan is working.
>Two machines turn towards you and ready their weapons, As angry as you are they're still too far for you to really bring your full firepower to bear.
>You decide against exposing yourself, the T-junction ahead has good cover, a mostly intact apartment block. You gotta run for it.
>One machine bears it's rifle, the other bears the rifle and warms it's plasma gun.
>The plasma moves slower but is far deadlier than the laser, you would have to dodge that, but at that moment you may be left open for a follow-through with the lasers. And without specialized countermeasures a lucky direct hit in the wrong place can still ignite your fuel, or detonate your ammo stores.
>An intense glow fills the vent, and with a hearty WHUMP, a bright white balls of fibrous plasma shrieks through the air towards you.
>Luck is on your side as that machine seems to have misjudged your speed, the shot is going high.
>Ducking low, it sails over the Rumbler's back, but now you have the rifles to react to, already they're about to fire.
>Using your hunched stride, you push hard against the ground with your right again, launching yourself high to the left.
>The first shot is too low, the second lance strikes your upper arm on the right. You hear the angry humming shriek of melting metal and escaping vapor.
>You're still at a disadvantage so far out.
>Another angry shudder as you land hard in the ruins of a house off the street, crushing whatever is left of it.
>You slide forward to the left, it's difficult to fight inertia with a machine weighing around 500 tons, but you manage to redirect your momentum forward with more footwork.
>Can't stay out in the open so you continue onwards, crashing through the ruins of houses to close to your goal, the refuge of cover provided by the apartment block. You hope the damage to your right arm isn't too severe, automatic damage control systems have already gone off to keep the problem under control.
>The speed allowed by your free sprint enables you to close the distance before the battleframes can fire again.
>But now you need to play the delicate game of slowing down and arresting your momentum without crashing THROUGH your cover, and keeping fast enough to evade the incoming fire.
>Those stageshow faggots that balance plates on sticks don't have shit on this balancing act.
>You think you've struck a good balance, and you stop your pace dead, pushing the clawed feet out to act as brakes.
>It's tricky keeping upright but this isn't the first time you've done something like this.
>The difference here is that the soccer cleats are larger than cars and weaponized, and your probably skating forward at highway speeds.
>Plus you're trying to halt 500 tons of industrial grade death moving at said speeds.
>The apartment building is coming towards you faster than you thought and you dig in with the claws, shuffling your feet forward slightly to try and generate some countering thrust.
>It's getting pretty damn close know, you're slowing down but it may not be fast enough.
"shit shit shit shitshitshitshi-"
>Acting more on instinct you pan the torso sideways and bring your right leg under you, leaning your weight on it to try and give more traction.
>You grind to a halt as the machine 'softly' crashes into the apartments.
>...
>Well you didn't go flying straight through but you took a pretty fair chunk out of the wall, rock dust and rubble bounces off of your top.
>You take a knee. That was a rush!
>And know you need a hot second to catch your breath, and probably let the engines cool off some judging by how high the temp gauge climbed.

>You couldn't help but laugh some in a rush of endorphins overtaking you. You had just survived a madcap charge that would have seen lesser pilots smeared across the ground.
>All because your simian instincts told you to jump. And that fucking marvel of a gearbox allowed to jump so good you flew.
>You continued laughing like a maniac. Yeah, you had snapped. Your ever present vengeance wish had driven you straight off the edge, cackling like a madman.
>Why else would you think charging seven battleframes was a good idea?
-fucking maniac-
>And you threw away your fear in favor of that rage over the loss of what you had out here.
>You calmed your laughter to sit quietly as a toothy grin. Catching your breath was a simple matter of sitting still and exerting your lungs, the compartment wasn't filling with smoke this time.
>That reminded you to check on your arm... The machine's arm.
>With how closely your actions mesh sometimes it gets a little hard to tell the two apart during a continuing adrenaline high.
>Filing through the external cameras got a good view of the damage. You were lucky, the beam had largely only hit the outer edge of the plate protecting the upper arm. It left a nasty streak of molten metal that still smoked and glowed.
>Hydraulic pressure hadn't dropped, none of the power couplings were fried, the mech equivalent of a flesh wound.
>Should you go out for another go? It doesn't exactly sound like a terrible idea... If you can close the distance.
>"Holy shit dude!" Oh... right, your subgunner.
>"What the hell was that?"
>You don't need him panicking because truthfully you're balancing on a dangerous mix of educated guess and intuition.
"Skill, motherfucker!"
>He doesn't raise anymore complaint, and you aren't about to unhook yourself to turn around and have a conversation with the idiot who's probably realizing he isn't cut out for this sort of work.
>Can't help but wonder over how you would be faring if Teth'ra was there instead of him.
>Probably distracted from that slight doubt in your head
-you're gonna die if you pull that again-
>You'll die anyway if you don't move that fast, but going in blind isn't a good idea so you decide to see what your opponents are up too.
>You lean forward just a touch to bring some of the external cameras around the edge of the building your using for cover. The rubble and dust should mask the outline of the Rumbler's nose.
>The battleframes had scattered at this point, either more time passed than you realized or the enemy is even faster than you remember.
>And one is headed almost straight towards you.
>shit
>You don't have many options and the machine is sprinting your way pretty fast, they may still realize that you're here.
>Think quickly, your best option is some sort of ambush but how?
>You don't have much concealment aside from your current cover, and coming out from either direction would just get you hit before you can crack those shields.
>You need some way to sweep in behind the frame, putting you on more even footing.
>Think fast it's almost on top of you!
>The enemy is sweeping in dangerously close, it definitely knows your still here. You have to move now!
>The frame is making ready to pass on the right, the direction the torso is already facing.
>An urge points you in an unexpected direction and you act.
>You heave, launching forward, into the apartment block.

>So there you are, in the middle of a flying leap through an apartment block with a five hundred ton walking battleship. Haloed by an exploding corona of concrete dust, rubble, and miscellaneous pieces of furniture. About to fire all of your highly explosive munitions into the face of a very confused looking marauder Battleframe. You don't know how it looks confused, must be some trick of the light, but that enemy pilot must be wondering how insane the natives are.
>The answer is very. Because you dropped your sense of self-preservation in a ditch somewhere when you vowed to brutalize the frame that stole your sanctity of mind.
>Every trigger clicks down under your hands and everything at your disposal pours into the shield bubble before you land.
>200mm shoulder cannons, the forward missile batteries, the GAUs, the frag cannons, even the flamethrowers.
>Your so damn close your aim doesn't even matter at this point, everything lands on target. And with a bright flickering the shield screen fails as you land.
>You twist to face yourself at the enemy as you slide backwards, you try to fight it but you can't arrest your surge in momentum quickly enough.
>The battleframe's stacks flair, venting fire and trying to cool. You can't close in fast enough for melee, and you just used all of your heavy hitters.
-you made a mistake-
>It turns to face you, stacks still flaring, the rotaries won't be able to chew through the armor quick enough to kill it before it gets a shot on you, the plasma cannon is already warming.
>Something clicks
>The fangs! You hadn't even used those new missiles.
>You remember they have minimal guidance so as your slide backwards starts coming to a stop you pan the torso directly at the enemy to ensure a straight shot.
>Clicking on the trigger, a single fat rocket races out of the tube with a bright flair and thick trail of exhaust smoke.
>Wait just one tube? this is no time to be fucking around you need all four.
>The other three fly, streaking forward at breakneck pace, the enemy has no time to dodge.
>The first rocket impacts into the upper right torso, The machine almost seems to shatter.
>Before the battleframe can even respond or recover to massive chunk of its torso that just exploded into whirling silver fragments and fire, taking one of the arms with it, the other three fang missiles crash into it.
>The frame is absolutely obliterated, each missile carving out a massive chunk of it's body in powerful eruptions of pressure and fire.
>Your slide comes to a halt, and you forget to move for a bit.
>Are you hallucinating? or did you effectively pop that battleframe like a silver balloon?
>Closing your eyes and trying to blink away the delusion doesn't work, the smoking fragments are still there.
>Holy shit!
>You... you fucking did it!
>You killed a battleframe, and not on a fluke this time!
>A second mark for your machine, one you could be proud of. You had earned this with your ingenious tactical thinking.
>Namely just doing whatever crazy shit came to mind on an impulse. The enemy can't know what you're doing if even you don't know what you're doing.
>The new missiles were absolutely brutal, custom designed to frag marauder machines once the shields were down.
>YOU COULD WIN!
"Hell fuckin YEEEAH!"
"Eat it, you spindly marionette!"
>A predatory grin came to you, you want more. hungering for it. You need it.
>You pulled up the battlemap, looking for where the other battleframes had run off too.
>You'd hunt them down and make them scream before blowing them away, those new missiles were the key.
>An isolated frame was cornered by a cordon of heavies and one of the Goliaths towards the south of town, it was by far the most isolated, having wandered very far from it's compatriots.
>Easy prey, and you had the speed to get down there in short order.
>One of the black Rumblers was steadily making way down there while the other 8492 machine moved to assist Vegalta's troop in rooting out a pair of frames that had moved east.
>You didn't mind the backup but that mark was still yours. Vengeance demands it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>Your overland speed at this point must have doubled from what you could get out of the machine previously.
>This proves a great help in closing south towards that lone frame.
>Poor little alien all on its lonesome, you will be the last thing it sees.
>The routine was going to be fairly simple now, pop the shields, then use the fangs.
>Of course you still have to be careful, a return hit in the wrong place could still take you down.
>Which is why you have to move as fast as you are damn well able too.
>Hatred pushed you on as you ran scenarios in your head of how to approach this and close the distance once you got there.
>The south of town was less developed, which meant less cover beyond the hill itself, you would have to employ some fancy maneuvering.
>Battleframes didn't behave like amateur pilots and the one there would likely keep on the backfoot away from your advance, if you got close the advantage became yours.
>Because of the hilariously stupid idea the aliens had where their machine's primary armament wasn't even permanently attached, you could easily disarm the frame of its main weapon once you got in close.
>The problem was going to be getting there in the first place.
>You approached the cordon, the echoing slams of your footfalls more than enough warning for the tankers to move out of your way.
>Somewhere around the ballpark of 500 meters ahead was your target, Maneuvering back and forth dodging tank fire as its shields flickered.
>Evidently the armor was shunting enough shells at the bastard to keep them from getting a good shot. You didn't see any smoking wrecks from burned out heavies.
>But they were sitting at a distance taking potshots, which meant you had to go in and deal with the motherfucker yourself.
>Why is everything always your job?
-because we're awesome at it?-
>...
>You guess so. You made a battleframe disappear into smoke and grey confetti after all.
>Now to pull the same hat trick a second time. Redenbacher's little gamble echoed in your head.
>'See who between us can take down the most marks today.'
>You already took down one, and you growled, remembering that one frame that got hit with the railguns.
>Was the killing shot from Redenbacher? or one of his wingmen?
>Assuming it was him that meant you were one for one.
-he thinks we're weak-
>You'll show him wrong! This damnable world and these despicable, worming monsters have not broken you, and they never will.
>Close in, break the shield, and kill.
>This is your prerogative, you'll take home two marks today for sure. You will reach for three. And you will grab a fourth if given the opportunity.
>Going from a one-mark to an ace inside of one engagement, that's what you're made of.
>You've rumbled over the threshold now, and the frame takes notice of you. An acknowledgement of its opponent.
>A wicked grin came to you as your fury burned to take it down to hell where it belongs.
>If it was expecting honor or fairplay in this duel, you would destroy it for such a foolish assumption.
>CHARGE!

>The enemy raised their rifle, preparing to finally stand still and take aim.
>You threw a volley into their face, the shoulder cannons boomed, the missiles whistled, and the rotaries groaned.
>It saw that you weren't going to play nice, so it started moving as well, Boosting away from you as it's bizarre legs started peddling backwards.
>So it's a chase then. You would have to be smart about this, forcing it into a corner or against an allied force.
>You changed direction and started running to the right, keeping the torso panned on your target. You would turn it around and force the frame towards the Goliath, once the shields had broken it was yours.
>Aggression is key here so you constantly shorten the angle between you and the target, only to jolt back another direction.
>With your movement more confusing and aggressive you could increase that factor of intimidation.
>The frame steadied it's aim and its rifle glowed, you were ready.
>The lancing beam fired and you leapt forward, not expecting the burst of speed, the frame missed completely.
>Now you shifted direction to close straight towards it and fired the shoulder cannons again. Four out of six hit, but the shields refused to fade.
>The distance is starting to shrink, you can move faster forward than it can backward. It bursts with the thrusters again, lurching towards the side as the plasma cannon glowed.
>It fired, a well aimed shot leading you. So you dug in you heels and slowed down. A groan emitted from you as the auger pressured your chest, all this sudden change in momentum was starting to wear on you.
>But the shot screamed across your front harmlessly, and you responded with your missiles now that those thrusters had to cool off.
>The missiles screamed into the shields, and they flickered. Now is your chance.
>You tap the fangs, sending a volley directly towards the bastard, you got the monster dead to rights now.
>The frame raised its rifle, and the lance cut down one of the missiles. There were still three to kill it.
>But then it lunged forwards at an angle, Managing to pull a sort of long jump inside of the missile's tracking curve. And the fangs streaked off into the dirt.
>You snarled, that's your trick!
>This shit sucking worm thinks it can steal your new shtick?! It won't live long enough to regret that!
>The fangs seem to have a phenomenally short reload time, so you jam on the trigger again while it's standing still.
>You spread to salvo slightly towards the direction you think the frame is likely to try and evade, to catch it while it's still venting.
>You slide your legs around to close towards whichever direction it goes. If it dodges left, it catches the missiles. If it dodges right, it gets within range of your frag cannons.
>It leans right and you lurch your momentum that way, fighting the inertia with the traction claws.
>But then it thrusts left, the fangs turn to track but are too slow.
>DAMMIT!
>The shoulder cannons are reloaded, you'll catch him that way.
>But as the report echoes around your hull and the shells fly, the shield screen comes back up, and the volley is stopped short.
>You still aren't close enough to the tanks for them to do anything but give loose suppressing fire. You have to close in, and either chase the bastard into a dead end or get in close enough for CQC.
>Your rage surges onwards, and you give a roar as you lunge forward. You're gonna brutalize this prick!
>Thrash it into the ground, burn the body, and kill the other frames too! No cheap tricks are going to stop you.
>It runs from you, and you see another machine ahead: the black Rumbler.
>With you chasing the frame towards him, he should be able to down its shields for you, then you can pour everything you have into that enemy machine.
>The black machine is not nearly as fast as yours, it must be an older model.
>The frame turns its back to you, trying to sprint forward to open up the gap. The black Rumbler opens with shoulder cannons and missiles as you chase the battleframe with the GAUs, giving it more incentive to flee into your trap.
>It's shields are approaching the failure point again, another good salvo should break them.
>Your forward batteries are still reloading, and the shoulder cannons have to cool. Just a little bit longer.
>But then the frame raises its rifle and you realize with a knotting in your chest. The old Rumblers can't move like yours does, the black machine is in the open, and far too close!
>The plasma cannon gives it's distinctive WHUMP, and the shot shrieks outward, the black machine catches it on the nose, fire bellows from the forward batteries as missiles cook off in their tubes from the heat.
>A follow up laser short lances through the machines side, and hits one of the ammo racks. A thundering explosion sounds as the ammo detonates, throwing twisting shards of the right side back plate into the air and blowing the right arm out of its socket.
>The black machine falls to the side, engulfed in fire, its crew gone.

>The choler of your rage rises fully, this bastard must DIE.
-end it-
>The frag cannons bark as you fire all of them into the back The shield flares, tanking the blast.
>You need more.
>Your hopes are answered as Two fat shells scream in from the side, impacting the shield in bright plumes of fire and smoke, that must be the Goliath.
>The exhaust stacks flare as the machine turns to face you. It never gets the chance to fire on you as four fang missiles tear it into pieces.
>Stomping through the cloud of debris, you try to slow your pace without the clawed braking you had been using before.
>The lurching changes in direction are starting to let their strain be known on your body.
>Sore spots, aches, and bruises adorn those bands of flesh where the auger dug in to you as you fought against the massive inertia of your machine.
>Your heart aches and twists, for multiple reasons, and your breath comes in short heaves.
>You manage to bring yourself to a stop, groaning as the armature presses against your chest again. You were pushing too hard, and your body was yelling at you to stop before you broke something.
>Fury and vengeance took the other side of the debate, clamoring to draw more blood, you had killed two. Why stop there?
>Looking at the gauges you had been hard on the machine too. Your engine temperature was getting near critical. You have to rest, for at least a few minutes to cool your jets.
>You didn't even know who the hell the black Rumblers were, but seeing another machine cut down in front of you enraged your thrashing heart further.
>Why did the frame go for them, and not you? You were the more prominent threat, and you were hot in the enemy's heels. Why didn't it turn to aim for you?
>Maybe this was your fault, maybe you had pushed too hard against the enemy and made them panic, and in their fear they lashed out at the weaker target.
>The answer isn't clear, maybe the son of a bitch just fired at them because they were the more convenient target, you can't know.
>You try to steady your breath, and ignore the growing ache in your temples. Just rest a little bit, you can continue on when you're ready.
>Two battleframes had fallen by your hand today, that's nothing to sniff at, and it put you in the lead of your little bet with the red baron, if such a thing even mattered anymore.
>The loss of that black rumbler tugged at something in you, but it isn't weakness, you refuse to call it that.
>It's your humanity, and you'll never let it go, no matter how much it may hurt and ache, it's what separates you from them.
>Always a reminder, that no matter how far gone you may think you are, you're still human, and that's what matters.
>You're human, and you'll best whatever the enemy can throw at you as a mere human. A man and his machine against the stars.
>A man wanting for a place to belong, and someone to care for him.
>You panged, your heart rattling. Sure she was a beast, but what if Teth'ra thought of you that way?
>To think she's pretty much the only option around you can currently see yourself taking, despite how strange she is.
>You aren't sure if you're just lonely... or if every other choice is just that terrible. She's still a good friend, and a good person despite the snout.
>You can still talk with her after this is over and maybe you've caught some sleep.
>She still does care for you, if not in the way the heart reaches for. How she acted with you was more than enough proof.
>Once that twitch of exertion stops crawling around your torso you can head out and find a third target.
>Just a quick five minutes an-
>"Yo Tom! Battleframe headed your way!" 
>You jolted back upright, Vegalta's voice pulling you up from your battle-exhausted trance.
"Where? Where damnit where?!"
>"He's coming down from the north my way! I couldn't keep up and he slashed my third! Kick his ass for me!"
>Or that third target can come to you. Yet more death while you weren't there to guard against it, one of the Thumpers had been downed.
>You hoped that at least one of the crew managed to get out.
"Don't need to tell me twice!"
>"Good luck brother! I gotta stay up here and deal with the two frames staring at me right now!"

>Scanning towards the north you saw it, a battleframe that had broken away from the eastern side of town and swept south.
>But this one was different, Yellow triangles bordered its trifecta of eyes and the spindly arms seemed to be fused in pairs.
>Each pair supported some yawning metallic sort of rack that seemed to hold lengths of glowing wire in tension.
>You had never heard of something like this before, a Battleframe specialized in melee combat. You still saw that tell tale vent of the plasma cannon so you guess the usual dynamic hasn't been completely flipped on its head.
>The frame seems to be some brand of suicidal as it charges directly for you.
>That glowing cheesewire must be dangerous. You would have to be careful.
>The Goliath fired its twin main guns and the yellow marked frame's shields flickered off... You guess fate could just hand you an easy kill.
>Fang missiles would take care of this joker, and you tapped the trigger with a tired satisfaction that you had secured a third mark, a unique one too.
*click*
"SHIT!"
"WHO'S JOB WAS IT TO RELOAD?! THEY'RE FIRED!!"
>You double tapped the trigger to get a status report, the buzz that sounded in your ear made your heart drop as your adrenaline spiked.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN OUT OF AMMO?! YOU'RE FIRED TOO!!"
>Then something slapped you across the face, the trigger fires one tube at a time. A single missile is likely more than enough to kill a frame, and here you were popping them off in fours.
>Youuu fuckin idiot!
-we have a problem with excessive force don't we?-
>Yeah no shit!
>Time to go back to basics.
>Missiles first, the volley streaks out as yellow closes, he lunges to the left and the volley can't make a tight enough turn to follow.
>Shoulder cannons next, he thrust right just after you fire, another smart bastard using your own maneuvering tricks against you.
>Or maybe you had just stepped into their wheelhouse judging by how that last frame moved.
>He's close! Too fucking close! Frag cannons! Can't dodge these when you're so close ya bastard!
>The cannons roar and the volley catches, and the shield screen flicks up moments before impact.
"Fuck!"
>He's about to strike, you gotta react as now you're playing the game on his terms.
>Yellow lunges forward with an underhand left, reaching up to try and catch your machine under the nose.
>You see it coming and lean hard right to duck aside, a sickening shriek scrapes your ears as the wirefist damages your left weapon arm.
>Can't block, moving to block will just get you fragged, instincts bad.
>Your opponent put too much effort into that swing, likely not expecting you to be able to dodge, and seems to have overstepped.
>Wheeling around, you notice a gout of orange flame hissing out of the tank strapped into the corner of your weapon arm.
>He hit your flamer's fuel tank! It's about to blow, gotta get rid of it.
>Yellow has turned to face you, already attempting to arrest his momentum and charge on you.
"Think fast!"
>You wrench the left arm upwards, thrusting the elbow as you hit the emergency release for the left arm fuel tank.
>It sails outward and explodes in the yellow frame's face, bypassing the shield screen. You doubted that did much damage but you had created a smokescreen, instincts good.
>Time to open the distance and get some breathing room.

>You lunge backwards with a kick, you aren't used to running backwards but now it's a hell of a lot easier than the lurching retreat you made a while ago.
>Yellow comes flying out of the cloud of oily smoke left behind by your impromptu smoke grenade, thrusting forwards, he isn't going to let you get far.
>oh shit.
>You abandon all pretense of attempting to control yourself and just start outright sprinting backwards, hoping you don't smash into something important.
>Everything is reloaded, a good volley should pop the fucker's shields and leave him open to destroying his optics with the rotaries or something else clever.
>Then the fucking Goliath shows up, charging in from the right all guns blazing.
>These fucking idiots seriously think a tank stands a chance in close combat against THAT?!
>"Don't worry mechy, we'll handle this pu-"
"GET BACK YOU IDIOTS!"
>It's already too late, you loose a volley with everything to pop the shield screen and try to give the suicidal tankers a chance.
>The Goliath fires into the screen before your volley arrives, Yellow punches his razorfists right into the Goliath's side, ammo explodes and fuel burns, they're gone.
>The shield screen flickers and breaks as Yellow uses his forward momentum and anchors the fists in the burning Goliath, lifting himself off his feet and twisting out of the way of the rest of the volley.
>The razorfists unhook and the ace? frame kicks the thrusters in short bursts to carry through a front flip and land on its feet.
>damn he's good!
>You can't face this guy up close on their own terms, you have to throw them off balance first.
>Keep running.
>You quickly check the rear cameras to try and get some sort of idea.
>Currently you seem to be careening straight towards a bunch of warehouses that look high enough to just barely squeeze in your machine.
>Of course those corrugated walls aren't going to do shit to stop your opponent but it is concealment.
>A loose plan starts coming to mind but you swap back to the front cameras to watch your doom approaching, he's closing fast, you can't outrun this bastard.
>Gotta flip the tables.
>You open up with the shoulder cannons again and fan a spray of missiles forward to keep him off you, you gotta get to that fucking warehouse.
>He thrusts forward and you buzz him with the GAUs and blast with the frag cannons, His shield flickers and he lessens his pace.
>But he's still keeping the pressure on, you just need a fucking moment to breath!
>The warehouses are coming up fast if you're gonna make this work you need him to open the distance just a touch.
>Creative thinking dammit! Creative thinking!
>You step over something in the road. FUCK IT! It'll do!
>You push your right leg out violently, hooking the object under the Rumbler's clawed foot and flinging it forward as you come down hard on your left and try not to lose your balance.
>The yellow ace battleframe catches an abandoned bus to the face, you swear you actually see the optic lenses cracking.
>Yellow stumbles a bit with the impact, giving you the distance you need.
>You race past a warped crane and dig your heels into the concrete, groaning as the auger seems to crush points on your back.
>Gonna need a chiropractor after this shit.
>With your backwards hurtle slowed enough you scramble into the nearest warehouse, hunching under the ceiling as you prepare for the next phase of your on-the-fly plan.
>Yellow has regained his composure and is closing fast towards the warehouse you've sheltered in. Exactly what you were hoping for.
>You watch him through the roof windows using the cameras, gaging his speed and trying to figure out your timing.
>Only one chance at this... get it right.
>Yellow comes closer and closer, reeling for a right hook. He probably thinks you don't see him and your earlier musings flash back to you.
>They expect you to be scared, act the opposite and you'll take them off guard, this hard charging frame was tantamount to that.
>You squat down, tensing your legs like springs and readying for the right moment.
>The temperature gauge is climbing towards the red, you hope your engines can hold out a little longer without exploding.
>Just gotta wait for the right moment.
>Just about.
>NOW!

>You heave upwards and jump like you've never jumped before, your legs burn, shoulda played more basketball.
>Yellow comes crashing through the wall as you come crashing out of the ceiling, hell you actually gained some height.
>He already swung, but must be confused to find nothing there. You fucking did it you genius!
>You plant your clawed feet into the enemy machine's shoulders crumpling them under your weight and damaging the upper arms.
>You push off, launching Yellow behind you as you land outside the hole in the warehouse wall.
>You turn to face your enemy, you put more force into that kick off than expected as Yellow seems to have stumbled forward.
>He lost his balance and careened through the other wall of the warehouse, falling forward and tumbling into a heap as he scrambled to pick himself back up.
>Now is your chance!
>The engines scream as you sprint towards your quarry, now the fight is on your terms.
>He stands and backs away trying to get ready to intercept your charge.
>You hit the emergency release on the right hand flamer's fuel tank, sending it hurtling towards the enemy ace.
>He has to either blow it up in front of his face or have it blow up directly on him, and he won't recuperate in time to stop you.
>The ace takes the swing and the fuel tanks ruptures, producing a voluminous cloud of fire that fades into an inky black smoke as napalm splashes on the local area.
>Wrong. move. buddy.
>You careen through the inky black smoke to find the yellow frame with a wide open guard, and you strike in hard, aiming low with a right hook.
>The weapon arm crashes into where yellow would have his kidneys if you were in a bar brawl with some faggot named Seamus, But it doesn't seem to matter that your opponent is an alien mech instead of some seedy cigarette salesman that had too much Guinness.
>The frame lurches forward as that silver metal buckles under the impact, you seem to have rattled the pilot.
-finish it now!-
-don't give it a chance!-
>You jam the trigger for the right hand rotary down, and then slip it to the side, engaging what many pilots affectionately call 'ripper mode'
>This adjusts the variable fire parameters on the GAU-8 avenger to 250% of the normal fire rate set for Rumblers.
>It overheats quickly, eats a lot of ammo, but it seems to be the right call at the moment.
>That foghorn groan becomes more of a roaring buzz as tracers start ripping out of the yellow frame's back.
>You drag your fist towards the left, damaging the metal as you go and firing hundreds upon hundreds of 30mm rounds point blank into the enemy's midriff as they rip out the other side.
>Finishing your ballistic chainsawing, you hit the dazed fuckwit point blank in the chest with all six double barreled frag cannons.
>The front of the machine shatters and sparks as numerous systems are outright destroyed, and with a screeching of metal the machine falls into two pieces.
>You had bisected the bastard and now the torso lay splayed in the ground, you raised your foot over the sparking wreck and slammed it down.
>You back away remembering that such a hit must have breached the reactor.
>After taking a few steps back, the machine explodes.
>...
>You did it again.
>Not only had you killed a third battleframe, you had bested what had to be an enemy ace.
>Still one mark short of ace material, but fuck that!
>You want to go home and pass out, everything is aching, or burning, or doesn't want to move now.
>Checking the engine temperature gauge again, you had pushed it into the red and likely did some damage, but you were alive.
>You stand rather blearily, watching the fire from the destroyed machine as it dances and flicks.
>Something about it in entrancing and you're content to just watch for a little while.
>The battle has died away, your guys probably won. You're too tired to really care about that right now, you aren't in danger anymore.
>You could just sit still and watch the flames for a little while. They call to you, reminding you of those chilly nights back home where you had sat around the firepit grilling bratwurst.

>You pang for home again.
>It's been a long time.
>Maybe a month or two longer... depending on how this advance goes.
>Would they even let you leave? if only for a while?
>The licking hearth glows an entrancing orange, you can smell that tangy smoke of brats on the fire.
>You were losing it for sure now, so tired you were developing synesthesia. Or at least just vividly recalling scents based purely on memory.
>Checking the battlemap, all seemed clear, no real enemy presence. There are still a few bugs, your common sense told you, but the infantry could root them out from their hiding spots, and you would be fine as long as you stayed inside your machine.
>Your position is pretty isolated, you're pretty damn far away from anyone else.
-you're on your own-
-in the open-
>Your heart starts spasming, and you look around, every far off tree line, all the little nooks and outcroppings up on the mountains. Looking for any glimmer, any sign or glow.
>No calm down! he isn't here, you would have noticed. Instead the yellow one came here instead, and you're looking at exactly how that went.
>You just need to get out of the auger and lie down a little. Just a few minutes.
>A little rest is what you need right now, to get your strength back and reorient yourself.
>You find the release tabs with your thumbs and with a *cer-clack* the struts and pins encircling your arms hinge open.
>Moving your arms out towards your back met you with a stinging of needles between your shoulder blades.
>Sucking in air you tried your model best to tough through at as you tugged at the torso release tab below your collar.
>The rear of the main armature folded open, and you tried to ignore that pinching at the small of your back as you took up the exertion of supporting yourself.
>You unplugged your goggles from the sensory jack, and reeled back in the connector between the goggles and your headset.
>Reaching up and taking the warm muffs off your ears, you notices just how hot and slick your skin was, your hair wet with heat and sweat. You nested the headset around your neck.
>You slid the goggles off your eyes, however dim and cramped the compartment was, it was still your machine as you scanned it over.
>Computer terminals in front of you hummed with a stark bluish glow, meant for diagnostics and certain other actions interfacing with the machine's systems.
>The unpainted slab that was the front wall, lit dimly from behind by the amber of the two internal lights.
>All of the manual switches and gauges lining the side walls, the engine controls and compartment access at the rear.
>And the subgunner's station directly behind you, you twisted your torso around with a grunt.
>He isn't moving... You watch him closely as you heart tightens, and a rotting smell starts stinging your nostrils. Is he...
>Bony fingers of panic start scrabbling in the back of your head, but you see his back slowly rising and falling and the creeping vines halt their progress.
>He's just passed out, either from the stress of maneuvering, or the fear.
>That smell isn't leaving you, the stench of death, that creeping feeling accompanies you as you wrench at the release tabs near your hips and climb out of the armature.
>You're shaking, and you feel weak, you need to calm down.
>Slow, tepid steps over to the corner, where you slide down the wall and huddle your knees close to you.
>Calm down, just calm down. But you can feel the eyes, watching, judging... hating. Peering from those little flecks of darkness scattered all around you.
>You think of something, anything else.
>a fresh aroma wafts in from your memory, it's calming.
>A scent of spices, peppered with lilac and honeysuckle, it chases away your nightmares, your breath deepens, the heart stills.
>You're thinking of her.

>Suddenly the worry surges all at once, but it drives you to do something. The agony clutches at you.
>Is she okay? Did she make it out? Her platoon marker hadn't moved out of the bunker.
>You pulled one of the terminals, facing the interface out towards you.
>Pulling up the battlenet on the terminal, you checked in on Teth'ra's squad specifically.
>606 Hellhound Rifles: B Company: Second Platoon: E Squad: No casualties.
>You slump to the floor again, all your energy leaking out as you toss your head back and chuckle.
>She's okay.
>A warmth overtakes you as you lay yourself down. she's okay.
>Your chest feels so much lighter now. You can rest.
>Even if only for five minutes, on what's still technically an active battlefield... Fuck it.
>You're behind hundreds of tons of composite armor, you can afford to stare at the ceiling a little while and collect yourself enough to actually walk home.
>The headset starts murmuring something into your neck, you sigh, can't avoid people forever in your walking box it seems.
>Much as you would prefer it that way, with one exception towards a certain jackal.
>You slipped on the headset. "-e you there Tom?... Tom, answer me!"
>It isn't her calling, and you find yourself disappointed. Guess you can at least acknowledge Vegalta.
"You forgot your callsign chief."
>"I'm calling on your channel smartass! Are ya alright? Ya sound out of it."
>"What about that frame that came down there? I don't see his marker anymore. What happened?!"
"I fuhckin' got him."
>"... I guess you did."
>...
"I'm gonna go now."
>"Tom wait!"
>...
>"Look pal... I'm gonna be honest... I'm worried about ya."
>Why should he be worried? The two of you were never very close, and the both of you disagreed on a lot. Piloting fundamentally different machines tends to bring out those differences in people.
>Just shoving him away wouldn't help matters, but you didn't want to bother him with your problems. Those were yours and yours alone.
"I'm fine chief, just catching my breath."
>"I'm jus' concerned is all, I know you've never got along well with anthros and now that you're attached to one of their units."
"It's not that bad, you're worrying over nothing"
>"Really? That one time that Jaguar with the cut lip got near you, you just about went feral yourself." His chiding tone strikes a nerve, and like a well tuned piano, a hammer drops with a roaring response.
"Fuck off!"
>You try to blow off the sudden surge with shuddering breaths whispering through your nose. He's playing a dangerous game questioning the why.
>"Look Tom, I need to know you aren't gonna get yourself court-martialed."
>"You haven't even really gotten settled in with anyone over there. Hell! How I hear it you almost bit your LT's goddamn head off!"
>The boomer captain's accusatory tone had that fire in the pit of your torso breathing again. He makes it sound like you're the villain. And that anger in your core surges outward, life returning to you as you pick yourself off the floor with a growl.
"That air-headed canine whore tried to puppet me into being a fucking sex object! I DON'T CARE WHAT THE FUCK YOU HAVE TO SAY TO THAT!"
"AND AS FOR SETTLING IN WITH ANYBODY, FUCK YOU! I have more than enough on my plate juggling maintenance without a fucking support crew, this clueless blazing faggot that calls himself my subgunner, WHO FUCKING PASSED OUT BY THE WAY! Plus I already do have a friend there, certainly cares about my boundaries more than you fucking do!"
>You pace around the cabin angrily, maybe you had gone too far, but the idiot pressed a button of yours he fucking shouldn't have.
>With nothing to really attack or focus on the rage starts smoldering, and you wait for Vegalta's response, you wouldn't apologize for his mistake, It would make you look like even more of a wreck than you are.

>"... A.. a-uh A friend?.. You made friends with an anthro?"
>You grunted in response. Was it really that hard to believe? Vegalta's white knighting for every woman of every species could drive you up the goddamn wall. He's likely thinking about what sort of bullying and brash tactics you used to force some rabbit or other timid creature under your wing.
>Because you've always been the one with anger problems. The brash new kid with the mouth of a sailor that Willard bought in without asking anybody first.
>Vegalta sighs heavily. "I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds here Tomcat."
"Stop with the nicknames."
>"...But look Tom, We're still 512, we gotta look out for eachother. And Willard ain't there for ya anymore so I just want to know you're not gonna have a psychotic break or nothin'."
>Water had doused your fire somewhat. You suppose he is still trying to look out for you, even if he's doing it wrong.
>You sit yourself against the front wall to the side of the hatch ladder, watching your subgunner who was amazingly still comatose despite all the yelling.
>"So who is she?"
>You forget your anger, remembering your confusion over exploring the real answer to that question. And you felt a tug of sadness remembering how you stumbled into that answer.
"Teth'ra"
>"Wait.. Magual? Teth'ra Magual!? The one that just got promoted?"
"Yup"
>He sounded baffled, like he couldn't figure out how you could possibly befriend such a mountain of a woman. He's ignorant of the soft, warm creature under that rocky shell.
>"You, and one of the most trouble bound troopers I've ever seen?"
"That's not entirely her fault."
>You felt compelled to defend her.
>"That is not a woman you should be hanging around with Tom, she's trouble."
>"Cold too, I could barely get a word in with her round about two months ago"
-because she wouldn't associate with a womanizing creep like you-
>But rather than call out the boomer on his white knighting voyeurism, you focused on defending your companion.
"If she's so uncaring she wouldn't have helped me out when I was considering blowing my own goddamn brains out."
>That should drop a ton of bricks on whatever response he had cooked up.
>"She.. she really did that?"
"You're wrong about her Vegalta. You and everyone else.. She's kind, and caring, she just never gets a chance to show it."
"She helped me. I was on the edge and she pulled me back. I don't think I could even go on if she hadn't been there."
"She's a wonderful woman, and I won't stand by and have ignorant idiots like you talk shit just because she's reserved."
>You finished your small tangent with a huff, you had really unloaded, but she was the only real anchor to sanity you have out here, you can't abide her reputation being even further sullied by circumstance.
>And she deserved your loyalty.
>"Shit Tom... you talk like your in love."
>...
>If you were being honest with yourself.. Maybe you were, just a little. You could never bring yourself to stay mad when you were thinking of her.
>But the last thing you needed was for the same man that painted softcore porn on your shoulder plate to be giving you romantic advice.
>That would crash and burn faster than the fucking Hindenburg and a zippo lighter. Why the fuck did they fill that thing with hydrogen anyways?
>Forget the history, you have to scare Vegalta away from ruining your relationship.
"I'm not sure what the hell you would know about that, but she's the best friend I could have right now."
"And I'm not about to let anything step on that, least of all the shitshow that is your 'romantic' experience."
>You stood yourself up, your energy having rebounded during your heated conversation. You looked at the open auger, it was time to go back to base.
>You clamped yourself back in to the armature's legs, the rest of the kit was unnecessary for a slow walk to camp.
>You didn't want to strap on the rest of the struts anyway, everything was sore and doing so would only agitate the heaving aches that criss crossed over your skin where the struts and straps had been pressed into your flesh by the g-forces of maneuvering like a coked up maniac.
>All the jumping and leaping was a damn good trick for evading frames, but it played hell with you and the landing was very unpleasant.
>You were so slick with sweat you were practically dripping too.
>You found where your camp was after plugging the sensory goggles back in, apparently it was nestled between the highway and the ruins of some hodunk shithole called Ashcroft.
>You wished you could be camped by the river, seeing the waterfront, however small, reminds you of home.
>Then Vegalta saw fit to chime in again, you just wish he would fuck off and let you get your rest.
>"Tom..."
>"If she is like you say she is."
>"Take good care of her."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>The words have been echoing in the back of your head during the slow walk to camp. 'Take good care of her.' Had you not been doing that already?
>His insinuation was that you were somehow not accepting of her, despite how hard you had been fighting yourself to see her in a better light.
>The captain went silent after that, and you didn't really have the vigor or inclination to badger him on just how wrong he was about the both of you.
>You were angry for good reason, and you had been there for her when she was at her lowest.
>Now you worried over how the fight may have affected her, would she need you again, in the same way you needed her?
>Exhaustion weighed on you, your momentum had been pulled away as your anger receded. You just want to collapse into her arms and let her carry you to sleep.
>...
>Shit, you really did sound in love, But you think you had already moved past that point of being just friends, you were close now.
>That sense that the next day could be your last made things like that mature faster.
>You would have to at least shower first before you got yourself tied in a bow wondering over how the stress would make her approach you.
>As you continued trundling forward, you imagined she would either be withdrawn or affectionate, there almost seems to be no real middle ground when she's feeling stressed.
>The mech park comes up into view and your scaffold is open. You note the other machines here, A battered thumper dangling in its scaffold from various chains, most of its right leg is missing and the body is covered in half melted slash marks.
>Guess you know what happened to Vegalta's unit when he mentioned that yellow frame 'got' one of his own.
>Three garishly colored striders lined up in their scaffolds, Redenbacher's unit, minus the strider with the black and brown paint.
>You didn't notice the black Rumbler anywhere. You wonder where they could have gone too, if he had stuck around, you could have let that other pilot know that his lancemates hadn't perished in vain.
>The subgunner still hadn't woken up by the time you had climbed out of the auger for good and shut off the engines, in fact he was quietly snoring.
>You would just leave the hatch open for the idiot when he eventually wakes up, you couldn't care less about playing nice.
>He wasn't much of a help anyway.
>Climbing out of the hatch graced your increasingly worn nerves with two offenses, first was the bite of the chilling evening air on your damp skin, and the second was Redenbacher attempting to prattle at you from across the way.
>You merely raised your hand high and extended three fingers to signify that by your count you had won your bet, and then promptly ignored everything else as you shuffled down the scaffold and attempted to find where the hell they had the shower stalls. Or failing that, the nearest point to go jump in the river.
>Shuffling past some supply dump like a corpse on strings, you almost failed to notice the tenor of a familiar voice pealing behind you. Raising your head as a small sort of second wind blew across your thoughts.
>"Tom!"
>Two burly arms layered in a curtain of silky grey wrapped around your middle and hoisted you firmly but gently off your feet into a familiar embrace as a rich, happy laughter breathed from the smiling muzzle just above your head.
>Evidently she feels affectionate today.
>"You're okay!"
"Hey Teth'ra."
>You squeak out the words. It's not that you don't appreciate the sentiment, you don't even really mind all the hugging anymore and she's keenly aware of her own strength, but the stress of the day's events on your body make the embrace less than comfortable.
>You at least try to hide the pained way you're breathing, she's already worried about you more than enough it seems.

>But a flair from one of your ribs twists you into vocalizing your discomfort, you hold your mouth closed but almost immediately she takes notice.
>Can't hide anything from her, it seems.
>"Shit, are you okay? Did I..?" Poor girl must think she's too strong for her own good.
"No. No, You're okay. I've just.. gotten a bit roughed around the edges out there."
>She sets you back onto your feet but keep her arms crossed down over your chest to keep you near her.
>"I asked if YOU were okay."
>There's that warmth again, she's so damn caring, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
"I'm fine Teth. Honestly I was more worried about you."
>She gives a light scoff and another one of those happy whines you're acquainted with. Then she almost lovingly nuzzles the back of your neck.
>The feeling of The soft plush silk of her fur gliding and pushing against you is ticklish, and you find a smile cracking out of you.
>As much as the attention melts away your worries, you'd rather she hold herself back for a time when you're less filthy and you don't risk being caught.
"Teth'ra!"
>She backs off with the nuzzling and even releases you from her loose embrace before the fluttering in your diaphragm can evolve into laughter.
>"I'm just glad you're okay... Here! We can talk in here."
>She leads you over into the supply dump for some seclusion from the rest of the base. Looking around, nobody seems to take explicit notice of you as you disappear into the assortment of containers and crates.
>Either Teth'ra's size does a good job of concealing you from view when the two of you are so close to eachother, or everyone is just ignoring the jackal that could probably snap their spine with her knee.
>It occurs to you that a reason why no one seems to question what she's doing with you, and the reason she's so alone, is because of that intimidation that comes with her size and strength.
>She's hardly an apex predator, but her mass more than makes up for that, and she carries herself with a quiet, assertive pride that speaks volumes. None of them know her gentler side, how controlled she is... How much love she never had the chance to give.
>But you know, and it puts you at ease, knowing she wouldn't use that strength against you.
>The two of you recline on a pair of small crates left in the 'corridor' formed by two shipping containers.
>"Sooo. How many d'ya get?" Her gorgeous blues hold an expectant gaze.
"I got three marks."
>"Ha! I knew you could do it. That's great!" She's practically lighting up, wearing a grin that on anyone else you'd call doofy, on her it's just infectious.
>You realize she's more happy that you've recovered enough to have the bravery to face combat than about how many kills you've gotten.
>But there's still a hinting of pride that you're holding up so well.
>You crack that smile again.
"So how are you holding up?"
>Her ears tilt quizzically and her beaming grin seems to fade.
>"I. uh.."
"Alright what's wrong"
>You did not have the patience to sit around and watch her get wrapped up in herself.
>"Well. I got along fine with my squad, I think they're opening up to me real nice but..."
>"There was... something down there.. In the bunkers."
>"Something weird, that central wants to keep secret... I'm not sure if I may have gotten too close."
>A look of deep worry crosses her, she's unsure if she'll be punished for stumbling too close to another one of central's pet projects.
>You had been there before, with the rest of your squadron on 'special assignments' protecting a truck hauling mystery cargo, or guarding a technician and his team extracting data from some facility specializing in God knows what that you aren't supposed to talk about.
>And they made it very clear that anyone of you that actually laid eyes on that cargo or data, would be executed for treason.
>It made no sense to you why they were keeping secrets, the entire world has been under a single flag for over 20 years, there's no one to keep secrets from.
>As long as she didn't actually lay eyes on anything or go spouting off guesses and suspicions in public she should be fine, but still her ears fold low and she looks timid.
>A short whine leaks from her lips as she looks up towards you, pleading.

>You give an exaggerated sigh and open up your arms.
"c'mere."
>she huffs happily, tail wagging tepidly as you pull her down into a gentle hug, she's sure to be gentler with you because of your sore.. everything.
"Look, long as you didn't actually see anything conclusive or start rifling off guesses in front of anyone there isn't anything to worry about."
"They can't shoot ya for being curious, so just forget about it alright?"
>"Are ya sure.. I'm not sure if I-"
>You interrupted her by kneading a hand between her shoulders, massaging the taut muscle beneath her silky coat of trim fur.
>She tenses at first but seems to push into the touch, sighing contentedly.
"Teth."
"I've been in that song and dance before, you're fine."
>"I still have to wonder..."
"We all do, just don't go talking about it where there might be ears in the walls."
>You rub her back for a little while, her breathing grows calmer and deeper, she nuzzles gently at your chin before twisting away and sitting at your side.
>You stare down at your legs, trying to think up something to change the mood to be less... dire.
>Your attention is drawn by Teth'ra sniffing the air above you.
"Yeah I know, I reek right now."
>"Yeah, you uhhh.. Ya kinda do."
"I was gonna go hit the showers until you ambushed me."
>"Is that an invitation?" 
>There's that teasing again, you're thankful the mood shifted up so easily.
>You aren't one to be outdone by that toothy smirk though, and you decided to test the water a little.
"And what if I said yes?"
>She flicks through a range of emotions for about five seconds, before settling on something when she realizes your exaggerated quirk of the brow and the way your own smirk draws back the corners of your mouth means you're pulling her leg... mostly.
>She scoffs lightly and bumps the back of her hand against your shoulder, grinning with glee.
>"Please little man, I think I'd break you." She didn't go for the 'don't drop the soap' angle, classy.
>You like classy, and that easy reception to your own counter teasing tells you she isn't scared of intimacy.
>If you are indeed testing the waters, the temperature is to your taste. You're playing a dangerous game, but something about the risk is enticing, and she's enjoying it. You both need a little release.
"If I can handle 500 tons of angry Rumbler, I can handle you."
>You say it staring straight into her eyes with a smirk.
>Almost immediately, your mind flashes over scenarios and images of the two of you enjoying yourselves in the shower. You trying to keep her quiet and hiding her bulk behind those thin canvas privacy screens in those cramped stalls, so close to being discovered but isolated in your own little box too.
>Lathering her up, exploring all the hills and furrows of her carved back, working your way lower and lower to help her get those hard to reach spots.
>The way the water must cascade over her mythical physique as she pulls you close.
>The way she'd whisper into your ear all the terrible things she would do to you as she guides your hands to that perfect spot as you stare into eachother.
>...
>Down boy! Down.

>She doesn't seem to notice the heated way you sucked in air for a bit as you thought out that little flash of eroticism, thankfully.
>Instead she snickers, and it keeps going as her grin goes a mile wide, and it evolves into a hearty laugh.
>She wants to laugh with you, and you're all too happy to oblige. Her rich laughter prompts your own, the two of you must sound like hyenas, but you don't care.
>The way she seems to loosen up around you, that happy spotlight smile, all of the genuine concern and care of a rich friendship that you had been missing.
>You want more of this, with her.
>You probably laugh a lot more than either of you should, but it seems to carry away all of the tension of the day. Forgetting about all those dark things, at least for a while.
>The laughter eventually peters out and the two of are left grinning at eachother like idiots. A gust manages to angle itself through the containers and push the damp weight of your soaked undershirt into you with a chill.
>Right, you were going to clean yourself up.
>"I should probably let you go wash up shouldn't I?"
"... yeah, I reek like a trashfire in a junkyard right now."
>"*snrk* that you do. Hey, uh. You know where we're camped right?"
"Yeah, southeast of the main camp.. by the river right?"
>"No I mean... Where OUR tent is..."
"ohhh..."
>You feel that confused swell under your chest again, she makes it sound like the two of you have made a home together rather than just the convenient sleeping arrangements of the platoon outcasts.
>In a way you have, you certainly feel more at home alone with her than you would with anyone else.
>"Ya know what just... hold on a minute." She fishes around in her pockets and pouches, looking for something. Eventually she finds it.
>A surprisingly well kept notepad and a small ball point pen. She leans forward against one of the containers and holds the cap of the pen gently with her teeth.
>You try not to stare at the way her hips roll as she efficiently scribbles down something.
>She tears away the sheet she was drawing on and hands it to you as she caps the pen and stows everything back in her pockets.
>It's a very simplistic, if well made map pointing towards a tent isolated from a clustering of its fellows. It sits a little north and closer to the river, nestled in a loose clearing of trees.
>"The logistics guys don't exactly question certain arrangements if they get a signature from a scatter brained LT we both know."
>So forgery is included on her ever growing list of talents? As long as she continues using it for a good cause it's fine. Right?
>All in all, it's understandable for something scribbled down inside of 15 seconds, but you still need to wash so you start to move away.
>"Wait!.. uh... before you go."
>You turn back around to find her trying to mouth something but finding herself unsure over her mental drafting of what she's trying to say.
>She timidly taps her claws together as her shoulders have sunk. She swallows and manages to find her voice.
>"Would you uhhh.. would you. like to sleep with me?"
-[program:brain has encountered a problem and must shutdown]-
-...-
-[rebooting]-
"uhhhhhhhhhh"
>Almost immediately her ears flatten and she makes a very pitiable whine as she buries her face into her hands, trying to hide.
>"NEAR ME, NEAR ME!"
>"FUCK! I AM SO SORRY."
>"I-It's just spring is mating season and sometimes I get carried away and say things I don't mean to and I am so sorry!"
>The way she stammers and whines tugs at your heart but also brings a warmth towards your face, manifesting in a genuine smile.
>She is adorable.
>"andit'sjustwithallthesehormonesfloatingaroundandeverythingsometimesIdon'tknowifIcantrustmyselfandIlikeyou Imeannotlikelikenecessarilybutasagoodfriendan-"
"Teth'ra!"
>She stops, and her vivid lakes of blue eye you with a rather genuine internal panic.
"Breath."
>She takes your advice and starts sucking in great lung fulls of air. Her jaw quivers and her eyes are moist, she's on the verge of crying because of a simple mistake of words. She must really think that much of you.
"It's okay you fuzzy idiot."
>She seems to take solace from your warm smile. Although initially you would have questioned and probably freaked out yourself with how forward she was being, the way she seemed to realize what she almost said bought such a bubbling happiness out of you, and you can't pin down exactly why.
>"I just... I sleep better if someone is close to me, I know it must sound stupid but-"
"Teth. You're fine."
>Her eyes shine at you with an appreciative light as relief washes out of her with a huff.
>"I'm not even asking to um. Sleep in the same bed or anything. It's just with our cots pulled closer together..."
"It's alright Teth'ra."
"If that's what you need for a good nights' rest."
>She smiled slightly "Thank you".

>Of course you knew that sleeping habits were only an excuse really.
>You weren't stupid, she was interested in more, and you pondered over this as you washed up.
>She wanted to get closer to you in some measure, but she wasn't sure how.
>She wasn't scared of intimacy, but she seemed to whip herself into a frenzy worrying over everything else. The way she reacted to that freudian slip proved it.
-she must really like you to get that flustered-
-if we can just get her a little closer and-
>Down boy.
>She may not even be looking for that sort of thing in you, you can't be sure.
>She was bizarrely timid in that moment, scared senseless that she would scare you off.
>Admittedly you had no idea how anthros selected their mates, it was all too foreign to you.
>What was clear was that she's intimidated by more of the subtleties surrounding genuine affection, and must worry that she's pressing too hard, among other things.
>And now your previous idea of just asking her what she wanted from you may not be the best call.
>You would have to be patient, and let her come forward on her own terms. All you have to do is keep yourself receptive as she manages to talk enough courage into herself.
>You finish up with scrubbing the grime out of your hair and skin, and manage to make your way out towards your accommodations for tonight.
>The wind blows in, making you shiver as its icy feathers glide briefly over your drying skin. It carries distant sounds of battle with it.
>The offensive is a rolling advance, while your units rest and recuperate, others take up the night fighting, pressing ever onward, a non-stop advance.
>Then it's right back to your rotation when they inevitably hit a roadblock outside of the valley.
>Doesn't matter, you can take on whatever the hell they throw at you.
>Even if you're dog tired and just want to pass out.
>The tent was exactly where Teth'ra's little hand drawn map said it would be, separate from everyone else by a curtaining of trees.
>Stepping in, nobody was around, and exhaustion screamed at you to just curl up and die for the night.
>The place was reorganized from the way the two of you had it before. When she said she wanted to move your cots closer, she really did mean closer, the two of them were paired off with barely a hand-width between them.
>Guess that was a good sign, she didn't psych herself out and start withdrawing. The last thing she needed was to keep holding things in.
>But if you're gonna be of any help to her in figuring herself out, you need your rest.
>You changed into a fresh under uniform rather hurridly, lurched into your cot, pulled up the covers, and fell asleep almost immediately.

<Teth'ra>
>You came back from your little scouting of the river to find Tom fast asleep. Like. really asleep.
>He barely even managed to fit his sleepwear on, he must have been so tired.
>You guess he absolutely has to be judging by the way some of the tankers at base were chattering excitedly about a Rumbler that had been jumping around knocking off battleframes left and right, like some supersized, omnicidal relative of The Rocketeer.
>First it was blitzing down a suburban throughway weaving through a hail of plasma fire, then it was jumping through an apartment building and disintegrating a frame wholesale.
>Then it was closing in and brutalizing a frame in the open, and finally pulling a fast one on an enemy ace. Which they psyched the event up as the enemy shattering in two with a single punch.
>At that point you ditched your squad to go find their bunks while you rushed to go find him, because the mounting worry over him you had been cycling in your head was becoming unbearable.
>He was entirely free of major injury, thank god, but still he was sensitive to the pressure of your embrace, and you had to ease off on that.
>If you had the option you would hug the little smart-assed spitfire as tight as you could without breaking him, just to give him a very solid reminder he has someone to stay alive for now. And you do too.
>The best part was he was actually opening up to you! All of those doubts you had about your awkward morning vanished as soon as he started teasing you about your own little nudges at him.
>And.. shit, you can't believe you actually got away with it.
>You scent marked him, you absolute degenerate.
>Of course it wasn't anything obvious, and most of it probably came out when he washed, but you still did it.
>It didn't scream 'this man is the sole property of Teth'ra Magual and she loves him very much, violators will be eviscerated' but it was a subtle hint to anyone that got close that another dog already had her eyes on him and they should keep a distance.
>You wanted to do more, your heart clamored for more, but you had never really gotten this far with someone that was this accepting of your behaviors.
>You needed to be careful, to restrain yourself, and build his trust in you.
>He still did it, he twitched when you touched his shoulder, and he shrank in on himself when you moved to mark him. He's still scared.
>In the back of his head, those minute but ever present fears still told him you were dangerous.
>That needed to be out of the way, and you were getting better ideas of how to eliminate that bump in the road, then you could show him.
>Just how much his understanding meant to you, how genuinely loved you felt being around him. How much his stalwart friendship, his loyalty to defend you, his willingness to help heal what's broken in you, just made you want to tear his clothes off and go in with the sort of wild frenzy you could have when no one was listening.
>Easy girl... easy. He's not there yet, but at least he's showing feint signs of interest in you.
>He's starting to see you as a woman, and you need to take it slow and let him adjust, to how exotic you must be to him.
>You already get along like best friends, the two of your personalities mesh so well.
>And then there was the way you almost fucked everything up by slipping your composure at the exact wrong syllable.
>Personally, you blame the sweat, you were practically drunk on his scent and it was hard to try and shoo it away from wearing down your self control.
>But he laughed it off, and got you to calm down with that charming smile.
>urrrgh, that just made you want to jump on him again.
>But despite your failing self control, you managed to stammer out what you had intended to say in the first place. And once he was out of sight you immediately went to the river to dip your head in the water and clear your thoughts.
>And now here he was, sleeping sound, so close to you.
>You want to just slide the two cots together and shuffle over, hold him close again.
>Easy girl, take it slow, figure things out. Make sure that this will work before you pounce.
>It's just like hunting, make sure your in a position that can even make the kill, clear a path around obstacles, hold back until the right time, and above all: before your time, take. it. slow.
>You had to answer a lot of those critical questions first, evaluate him as a potential mate, make sure that he will be the one you can be truly happy with.
>You can't fuck up that process, this was the rest of your life you were talking about. You can't rush it, not like you did the approach.
>Thankfully, he seemed to be keeping reserved, and letting you lead. You needed that control, and it was already a point in his favor.
-you can stop staring at him now, you creep-
>Right, only a complete psychopath watches people while they sleep.
>You try to ignore the light feeling in your chest as you settle yourself in for the night.
>These damn cots still make you feel like you're about to fall through them when you put your weight on the noisy things, but somehow they still manage to hold you up.
>You didn't wake him, and you shift yourself towards your side to face him. Having a familiar scent and presence so close DOES help you sleep sounder, but you'd be lying if being able to get him to be okay with sleeping so close together didn't make your heart flutter.
>You want to reach out and just feel the way his hair smooths down towards his skin, but you decide better of it.
>Just take it easy girl.
>Tomorrow should be less of a panic attack waiting to happen, you're starting to move towards more open terrain, where you'll have every advantage in a fight you need.
>And he can watch over you more effectively too, his machine is anchored to your unit after all.
>But above all: no more tunnel fighting.
>If they tried to throw you into another hole in the ground, you were liable to commit treason.
>But for now, you need your rest, you've been tired too.
>The chirp of crickets and the distant burbling of that winding river provide a natural lullaby to carry away your more active thoughts.
>His scent, and the knowledge of his proximity makes sleep slide over just a little easier.
-you love him don't you?-
>... Maybe, you have to find that answer yourself.
>just... take it. slow.

[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]


'The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.'
 
-Ernest Hemingway
 
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Chapter 6: Heart's Memory
 
>You stand trembling despite the warm glow around you, not because of the bite of the cold outside, but because you're anxious.
>You faced down soulless killing machines in droves before. Why were you so scared of the possibilities here?
>Suck it up girl! You can do this... just.. be yourself.
>Damn that's unhelpful, but fuck it! You might as well go all in, it's not like you can turn back on this now.
>You suck in a great breath to push your chest out just that little more, and you let the robe slide off your shoulders.
>You close your eyes and grit your teeth, somehow expecting the judgment to sprout fangs and bite you.
>The doubts play and squabble in the back of your head as you try to ignore them. You're too large. You're too different. You're too timid. No, too aggressive.
>You still have that acne scar on the inside of your right ear, you have split ends at the tip of your tail.
>You can't reach between your shoulder blades with the brush, there are mats in your fur back there.
>Your left index claw has a chip at its tip, and you can swear there's still something in your teeth.
>Eyes take you in, judging, analyzing, seeking every little thing that must be wrong with you.
>Their gaze slowly pans around you at a crawl with careful steps, your ears twitch at each knock against the hardwood.
>The sound moves closely behind you to your left, and pauses. You really should have tried harder to comb out those damn mats.
>But your lips are pried open with a gasp as a hand squeezes your backside with vigor, and you allow your eyes to flutter open.
>You can barely find your breath as confusion flashes briefly across yourself. He.. he actually touched you like that?
>Turning your head to meet his gaze, you watch as he steps around back in front of you, a thin smile dressed on his lips. His eyes are confident and sultry.
>He approves? He isn't disgusted by you? By how different you are?
>You bared yourself to him, expecting the worst, but it seems like you had been worrying over nothing.
>His eyes meet yours, and you can see a light of admiration shining in them as your gazes catch eachother.
>You aren't just something different to him, no. You're something beautiful, exotic, powerful.
>You. Beautiful.
>Your breath deepens, and the embers of desire start fanning within you. You're inclined to let them nurture into flames.
>You utter his name with a pleading sigh, you want this, you want him. Now!
"Tom"
>Moving forward a step to try and close the distance, you halt yourself before you reach out to grab him.
>Although a fire burns between your legs... what if he's still intimidated by you. What if making the first move is a mistake?
>You long for him deeply, and with him this close it enraptures you all the more.
>But you're scared that as soon as you reach out and touch him, the whole thing will shatter like spun glass.
>Those old doubts are surfacing again, and you loose a whine. You're too strong, if you give in to the temptation you could easily hurt him, and despite how he expects you to make the first move, he knows it too.
>You stare at the dull gleam of your claws as you turn your right hand over itself. How much blood had you drawn with these... what if you drew his?
>You would never do it on purpose, but losing control at the wrong moment, or if he flinched in fear at the wrong time... You can't stand that thought.
>Your ears start folding, and you feel ashamed of yourself, how could you fall so hard for someone so fragile, so fearful when you're cursed with the strength and natural weapons to break them.
>But something snakes into your grip, and interlaces with your fingers.
>You clutch back cautiously as you turn back up to meet his eyes.
>You expect him to stop there, but no. He raises a hand to your shoulder, and rests it there as he steps in closer, keeping your right locked with his left.
>"It's okay."
>"I'll show you."
>Your breath swells again as a shudder of passion runs up your core.
>He's not scared.
 
>You slowly turn together as he gazes up at you. He's level with your chest, and he's so, so close.
>He would just have to move his head a little forward and to the side, and he could tease at your sensitive chest. That must be what he's planning, and you rest a paw on his shoulder, wanting to just pull him forward into you.
>But a cocktail of anxiety and curiosity keeps you from moving too aggressively. What is he planning? you're sure you know, your heavy breasts were probably the first thing to catch his eyes.
>He angles his head slightly as you continue your tepid sway in front of the roaring hearth of the fireplace, he's going for it.
>You prepare yourself, angling your shoulders forward a touch to offer those pert nubs to him.
>Your breath intensifies as you hope he likes them, and guiltily hope his tongue would coax just the faintest taste of your milk from their reservoirs.
>It's not just the novelty that brings the flashing heat to your ears, but the confirmation that you're a healthy mate, ready to support a strong family.
>But you feel the soft grip on your shoulder sliding inwards, and you eye him with curiosity. What is he waiting for?
>His hand grooms across your proud shoulders, and heads up along the side of your neck, and your breath surges. Is he really?
>You lean in to the touch with a needing whine and a pant, and his outstretch arm slides upwards, he's really going for it. Oh sweet merciful gods he's going for the ears!
>Your excitement grows in leaps and bounds, those soft, clawless digits massaging that thin velvet. You want his touch. You NEED his touch!
>His fingers gently glide up your proud points, every feathering contact is electric. Now you're just waiting for it, and he folds the tip between his fingers and thumb, and starts sliding back down. Electric currents start casting off of his touch, and a flash of heat rushes over your loins.
>Oh that's the ticket~!
>A soft growl of pleasure breaths from your throat, and he continues slowly massaging your ears.
>At this point your vigorous breaths have started evolving into panting as your growling gets lower.
>You can feel it downstairs, it's growing slick and the fire is roaring like a blast furnace.
>His rolling fingers are going to town on your ears as you tighten your grip, squeezing his other hand firmly.
>Your panting is getting heavier, and heavier, you're ready for this, more than ready.
>Gods, he has you panting and growling like an absolute slut before you've even gotten to the really fun part! But somehow he just knew exactly how to get you riled up.
>You want to bark at him, to order him to take you. Take you right now! But you hold your tongue lest you ruin the moment.
>You're waiting with burning excitement for what he surprises you with next.
>He starts pushing your intertwined hands in towards you... what's he doing now?
>This fucking tease is going to have you leaking before he even undresses, GOD YOU LOVE IT!
>Your hands push up under your right tit, jointly cupping it upwards. He poises his mouth over your left nipple, which is standing in yearning for attention.
>You think you have an idea of what he's going to do, and you slide your left onto his back, ready to shove him forward if he doesn't really get in there and tend to you, you NEED this.
>His tongue darts out and flicks your flesh, the sensation has you pulling for air in brief flashes and you almost jump.
>A few moments pass.. this fucking tease! You want to growl at him to just go full out, to bite down and send you reeling, but damn if you aren't enjoying how he seems to be keeping you right towards the edge. The payoff for this has got to be legendary.
>It's then that he does it again, you jump with that short gasp and a moaning growl.
>You're trembling, for entirely different reasons.~
>Come on! You're ready! What's he waiting on?! What's he doing?! You're dying to know!
-TAKE ME ALREADY YOU SEXY IDIOT!!!-
>He starts sliding your grip downwards, hugging it close to your body as it slowly presses against your core.
>The two of you explore the iron of your physique in tandem as it slowly slides lower.
>Another tease sends shocks spreading from your breasts, your breath comes in nothing but pants and shudders as you twitch, trying to keep yourself from squirming against him.
>Even your legs weaken and tremble, you need it NOW!
>No, you won't allow yourself to break, not yet.
>He's taking it tortuously slow, you aren't sure if it's driving you with anticipation towards climax or if you just want to force him down into the good part.
-do it! make him ours!-
>...You'll give him just a bit more time before you make your move.
>Something about the way he's taken control is enrapturing, he's not scared of you in the slightest, you'll let him play his little game as you think that it may be starting to close.
>Hands entwined, he helps you explore your own body, or maybe this is his way of asking you to lead him in. Your grip slides down towards your stomach, and the wash of his breath pulls away from your teat.
>Still panting and trying to stifle your murmuring growls, you look down and catch eachother's eyes again.
>Something about his gaze tells you all you need to know as your hands press over the first bump of your abs. Your strength and your beauty are one in the same. Who could refuse a woman of such definition?
>Each bump massaged through your slight cushioning has you resisting the urge to squirm as you close in closer and closer towards your ultimate goal.
>You're so close, but now he tries to leave your grip, you won't let him. He's going to know, know how much you want him, how much you've needed him.
>You slide your hands over the last hill of your washboard abs and you push him into unfurling his pointer and index against your own.
>You pull him closer with care, and you start leaning in, opening your lips and greedily taking in air.
>He starts to rise to his toes to meet your muzzle with his lips, and your fingers run the valley between your thighs and your increasingly hungry womanhood.
>You'll kiss him with passion in two senses at once, to show just how much this means to you, how much you need this.
>You close your eyes as you turn your head one way, and he turns the other. Your entwined fingers graze the edge as you prepare to gently lead them in just as your lips make contact.
>Your breaths wash in to themselves, just a little closer.
>yes, yes! YES!
 
>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!"
>Your eyes feel like they've rolled around like billiards, and you force them open with a start.
>You're panting heavily and a fire is burning down under, but where's...
>There's the crossbeam of the tent, no fireplace, and you're laying down in your cot, still starving.
>GODDAMMIT!
>JUST WHEN YOU WERE GETTING TO THE GOOD PART!
>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!"
>That little avian prick!
>You loose a feral snarl as you throw off your covers and rise off the worn in field bedding.
>You march out of the tent, ears scanning for where the sound is coming from.
>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" ...There! towards the river.
>You see a smooth enough looking stone at your feet, so you scrape the dirt with your footclaws and kick the thing up into your hand.
>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" Your low growling makes for a pretty good impression of a radar lock tone as you pitch the 2-4 pound projectile as fast as you possibly can.
>It goes ripping through the foliage at speed.
>"~chick-a-dee-de-"*crack!*
>...
>That shut him up, tittering little bastard. How fucking dare he!
>DAMMIT!... you've been whipped up into a frenzy and now you don't have a release.
>The anger flows away, and your ears fold as your shoulders slump. You whine softly and curl your tail about your waist and hug at it, maybe just to pretend at it for a moment longer.
>All that greets you is darkness and the sinking realization that it wasn't him, not really
>It was a fantasy your hormones cooked up to get you off. His appearance imprinted onto a receptive blank to better entice you.
>The wisping hairs at the tip of your tail brush at your chin, and remind you all too clearly, not an ounce of that was real.
>Would he ever look at you like that? make you feel like that?
>There... there was a chance, but it would never be that easy.
>He was scared, paranoid from something deep inside him. A great unknown that you would have to be careful around.
>One fuck up... and you may throw away what chance you have.
>You opened your eyes tepidly, still clutching at the bundle of fur anchored to your back like it could somehow replace him.
>How pathetic are you? A massive beacon of strength hugging her tail like a child.
>inhale, count to four, exhale.
>...
>You're better than this, you can't just give up hope.
>You've been doing well so far, if you keep working at it maybe you can get somewhere.
>You let your tail unfurl back behind you, and you deflate with a sigh to collect yourself.
>The fire has died down some, but now you've gone and done it. the evidence of your dream has produced a wetspot.
>And now a panic comes to you, what if you woke him up? How are you supposed to explain this?!
>You focus your ears towards the tent as you timidly slink back towards it. You don't hear any movement.
>Peering in with caution, you find he's barely moved from his huddle under those blankets.
>Thank the gods, he's a heavy sleeper.
>You may as well take some more time to pull yourself together and change, and likely wash off the evidence in the river.
>You still can't help but feel a feint longing towards him, and a curiosity over if the real thing would be that magical.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>Another day, another awkward morning.. goddamn your hormones.
>You peek again at the form huddled under about five separate sheets, at least he wasn't awake for it this time.
>You checked yourself over again, everything is in order, no stains, no smells.
>No sticky feeling downstairs, thankfully you weren't quite THAT worked up.
>You looked at him again with a clenching in your heart. That dream wasn't him, it was a blank slate molded to look like him.
>He would have talked more... and it probably would have been a lot more confusing for the both of you.
>...
>He also would have been scared. You keep pleading with yourself to help with that but you have no idea how.
>Every time you think you have something, your size enters the mental picture, and suddenly even the gentler approaches you've come up with seem overbearing without meaning too.
>The best you can do is just be there, but that isn't working, he still subtly flinches if your claws get near him.
>It's an ingrained response, definitely some sort of phobia. You'd have to crack him open and tend to it closer to the roots.
>That could very easily go wrong, especially with... well, with what you are. A jackal outweighing him twice over trying to get in close was probably a good way to set him off, even if he does trust you.
>Maybe you'd have an easier time of this if you were one of those submissive little domestics...
>NO! fuck that! You aren't some timid little mut willing to just follow along and play to every whim and demand.
>You aren't some screwball pack builder like that mange-maned bitch either.
>You're a godsdamned royal, and you're going to act like it! You'll get him comfortable with how much of an exotic item you are. You'll nudge him in the right direction to see how he can appreciate it.
>And when the time is right, you'll make that move, and you will show him flat out that he has nothing to fear from you.
>You just need enough time with a clear head to come up with something good. no, not just good, perfect.
>You'll do this right or not at all. Then you can see if he reciprocates or if your feelings and hunches are in vain... again.
>You look yourself over once more, and hold your arm out across your chest. Even here in your arms alone you're massive compared to the norm, not many would accept you based on that in and of itself.
>Life gave you lemons alright, and for the smartass suggesting you make lemonade, it's a damn shame you're allergic to citrus.
>But it's not impossible, not if you find the right angle to work in with. If you can find it.
>You won't be finding any answers standing here and waiting around until he wakes up, you don't need to seem clingy before anything is even off the ground.
>Your jacket stands draped over one of the tiny folding chairs, the ones you refuse to use out of genuine fear they would break on you.
>The three chevrons of the rank patch almost seem to glint at you with the jog to your memory.
>Right, you have a squad now. Best you worry about them for the time being.
>You throw it on over your undershirt, it fits a lot better than the tiny one you used to have.
>To think that when he got it for you from the supply office, you almost got ahead of yourself in thinking it was some sort of gift of affection, rather than just a restrained suggestion you cover up.
>Of course you pretended to not recognize the undertones, you were well aware how poor of a job your battered tees do of restraining your assets, and of actually covering your rocky abs.
>It's not your fault 'one size fits all' doesn't hold water with someone of your shape.
>Of course it was another attempt at a subtle approach that didn't seem to be doing much.
>You're certain that with enough of a clear head you can come up with something.
>Patience and a clever approach is key. Maybe then you can have an easier time believing such fantasies.
>For now you step out of the tent. He has his own business to attend too, and so do you.
>It would be good to actually get to know your squad more personally, they had more than earned your respect, and it wouldn't hurt to let them see just a little of the real you beneath your iron shell.
 
>It's not that large a camp, and the walk is fairly brisk, helped in part by everyone with half a mind to your presence moving out of your way.
>You imagined Feldspar was the sort to keep everyone within easy reach, even when away from the field. Lionesses were predictable in that regard, usually having to shepherd their laconic males around and keep them out of trouble.
>Neither Pliskin or Matthews struck you as having an independent streak, so you'd likely find them with either corporal, more likely the lion.
>From what little you have on the sisters they seemed content as long as they had eachother's company.
>The sticking point was Duran, there wasn't much to go off of since she barely spoke. Whether it was because she thinks that much over what to say or if something else seals her lips remains to be seen.
>You had marched into the main circling of tents and respectfully asked a gaggle of privates where your corporal may have run off too.
>In their eyes it may have been more like you loomed over them and demanded the whereabouts of your prisoners, but that was all semantics.
>Despite the rocky start, today didn't seem like it would be terrible as long as you didn't dwell on it.
>But of course you had to have the audacity to be born near the figurative citrus grove, so when you rounded a corner and found an ever grating image of a certain silvered vixen, you weren't all that surprised.
>Her pale jade eyes seemed to brighten as she recognized you, and she approached, breaking off her conversation with a reddened and disappointed looking human private. You returned a nasty glower in kind.
>"Ah, Teth'ra! I vas hoping too see you today." This bitch thinks she can use your first name like you're friends? That's just insulting after everything she and Vilka put you through.
"Astroya."
>You panned her last name flatly, the only tone available being obvious irritation.
>You were larger than her, stronger than her, and now on equal footing in terms of rank. No longer would you have to kowtow to her wishes, and maybe if you helped her understand that she would leave you alone.
>"Oh come now! No love for your old sergeant?"
>Damn right, you'd sooner fling yourself off a bridge than listen to the inane prattling of the woman that stifled your progress and confidence for the sake of following the trend.
>You were increasingly convinced that when all her social maneuvering amounted to nothing, Lyudmilla was spineless.
"If mange-mane sent you here to apologize at me, tell the bitch she can do it herself, within easy claw range. Might just sound a bit more sincere then."
"And the least you can do, Astroya, is to stop pretending we're friends. I know I did."
"Of course, I bet you must have things to attend too, so why don't you excuse yourself now?"
>You maintained your hardliner scowl, and voiced your disapproval clearly. you wouldn't be moved by any of her excuses, she would face you directly, or prove your underlying accusation of her cowardice correct.
>Something in her eyes glimmered and her ears descended passively, good acting on her part. Like she would actually be sorry after the shit she helped Vilka pull.
>"Teth'ra.. I didn't come to you on her behalf, I came to you myse-"
"Why? To ask me back under your wing so you can smother me? Or maybe you just want to harass me again because I don't want to whore myself out when the heat comes around."
>you growled lowly.
"Got a lot of nerve even coming near me after Vilka's stunt."
>When you heard in more detail exactly what she tried to do, you about ground your fangs into dust from itching to bury them in her neck!
>It was one thing for the bitch LT to pick on someone like you, but Tom was genuinely instable. And for her to treat him like a goddamned object for her own satisfaction made you beyond furious.
>Jealousy helped to fan your anger even more, and the vixen in front of you was far from innocent in this.
>"Magual, I'm sorry!"
>Your lips fanned back towards a snarl. What the hell was she playing at?! She said the same thing time and time again before, and then went right back to doing the same damn things wrong.
"Like hell you are!"
 
"Remember the first time you said sorry when you passed me over for a private?! I sure as hell did, because I fucking fell for it!"
"Not a month later you go and do it again without so much as a consideration."
>You were snarling some of the syllables, your capped frustration starting to boil over.
>She was starting to shrink away from you, wearing an increasingly disheartened look as the fear and realization set in: you aren't under her anymore, this is your game now.
>"Teth'ra, I didn't me-"
"Didn't what? Didn't mean it? Because I sure as hell recall how much you kept me under your thumb. I suppose you didn't think I was ready, because you never let me take the reigns of the other fireteam."
>You were staring daggers at her, the accusation was perfectly clear.
>She would make her excuses and shrink away from it like she always did.
>"Teth'ra..."
-Go on. Say it! Make an excuse!-
>"What I did to you was wrong."
-wait... what?-
>She... she was actually... sincere?
>The sneer across your muzzle softened somewhat, you were still furious with her for enabling Vilka, but for now you bit your tongue and listened.
>"The truth is Magual.. I felt scared if you veren't at my side, you vere so damn strong... I thought nothing could ever break you."
>She never let you stretch your legs, because she admired your strength. What the hell kind of excuse is that?!
>The corners of your muzzle sagged downwards as you scowled at her, she best have more than that.
>"the first time. I thought you had discipline problems rather than something about the lieutenant agitating you, I should hev tried to look in deeper." Her ears sink as she recounts, you still stand over her in judgment.
>"The second time... I was selfish, and I wrote you up as a risk if you were given autonomous command. Because the more I thought that if you weren't there to draw inspiration from.. I would fail."
>She was weak, she was selfish, but she recognized she was wrong. But this was not some magic turnabout if she was expecting that, she would have to earn your respect.
"You kept me under your thumb, sabotaged my career... because you were scared?"
>You growled the last phrase with disgust, she had more she better apologize for, far more.
>Now to test if she would have more to say, you doubted she would. So your scoffing was entirely genuine as you turned about to go on with your day.
>"Teth'ra wait." She was soft and pleading. A pleasant surprise? Did she really give more thought as to how else she wronged you?
>You stop and cross your arms, turning to look at her over your shoulder.
"What?"
>She seemed to turn something over behind her eyes, but you didn't have all day. If she was debating whether or not you would strike at her for her words and settling towards yes, that was yet another insult.
>"Look, there is more I hev to own up for here.. I am also... So very sorry about Vilka, I. I had no idea what she was actually planning.."
>She's actually serious about this...
>You turn towards her and soften your glare somewhat. You are listening, provided what she says next isn't just some winding dismissal of her responsibility in this.
>She seems to understand your non verbal cue, and despite her wilting and submissive body language she continues.
>"When she came to me about Tom.. I just thought she got stars in her eyes so to say. She had never been very... frivolous when it came to that sort of thing before."
"So you thought you'd help out with her little case of puppy love?"
>"yes."
"And you trusted her around someone that was obviously damaged and would need plenty of careful care and restraint?"
>"...yes"
>She was barely squeaking out that last admission, the real weight of what she helped facilitate settled on her oppressively.
>But she won't get an easy out from you or your sympathy. She would have to work for it, because if this sort of thing happened again, Vilka would catch so much worse than a pathetic little scratch to the cheek.
>You would make sure she learned from this.
 
"And let me guess, you didn't question her on any of this did you? Just accepted that everything would work out fine becuase the LT in all of her myriad fuck ups always knows what she's doing."
>"No... I should hev questioned her more, maybe then I could have seen what she was planning and.."
"And said something right? Because you're always deferring to the nearest authority, because you're so content to just follow the alpha instead of doing anything yourself."
>Her lips pulled back in a frown as you continued dressing her down, careless of anyone watching the two of you.
"Makes for a pretty shitty sergeant if you ask me."
>If you were in Lyudmilla's position you likely would have marched up to the bitch and asked what in her mangy head got knocked loose this week to think someone like her belonged anywhere near Tom, and then throttled her when she tried it anyway.
>"I don't know how many time to say sorry Teth'ra... I-I feel ashamed of myself for-"
"For enabling her like that. This is your fault too, you and the others, because you don't fucking question her. You're all entranced by her pack building garbage."
>She looked like she wanted to say something but you weren't content to let her have her peace yet, she needed to understand just how much wrong she had done, and maybe then she'd learn from it all.
"I was suffering when the old outfit fell apart and you moved in with Vilka. She badgered me endlessly just for trying to get some godsdamned peace, and all of you stood and fucking watched because 'she's a big girl, she can take care of herself'."
"you didn't question her then, and you sure as hell didn't question her now, because you assumed just because I shut up that everything was fine."
>You had gone quiet because you were short on hope and desperate for someone to understand.
"Maybe if you actually fucking spoke to me yourself rather than just deferring to that goddamn howler WHORE!... then you would have seen everything was far from hunky fucking dory."
>She shrunk away as you towered over her snarling, but she wasn't running, that much you respected her for.
"I was one thing, but Tom? You have to be careful with the man Lu! Vilka was sending him closer and closer towards the edge, just like me. But unlike me, he doesn't have anything to land on if he goes over!"
>Her ears flattened, and you saw a genuine glimmer of shock and sadness in her eyes. The realization hit her like an overloaded freight hopper.
>If you hadn't been there that first night, he could have slipped away, if you didn't help him more before that stunt Vilka pulled, he could have slipped away. It fans the heat in your heart all the more, you had taken it upon yourself to look after this broken man and gently help him rebuild himself. NOBODY was going to touch him and undo all of your progress.
>"I-I... I don't know how many times I hev to say sorry Teth'ra. But I mean it, every last one!"
>You stepped closer, forcing her to stare straight up at your looming presence, you locked eyes as you stared back down. Her tail bristled with anxiety, but you would make her understand every word clearly so she understood the consequences if this happened again.
>You growled out the warning with a vengeance. If she stood by and facilitated that BITCH hurting your Tom...
"You had best mean it, and learn from it. Because if this happens again Lu, I will do you so much worse than those pathetic scars across your muzzle. Understand?!"
>She nodded enthusiastically, more out of the fear flashing over her features than anything else. Satisfied, you stepped back.
>That vented some of your frustration, and so you started to take your leave to go about and do what you intended in the first place before being waylaid.
>"Teth'ra please, let me help make it up!"
>the fox is full of surprises today, you stop and face her again, brow quirked even over your disapproving glower.
>"I-I could maybe help you... with Tom. You, erm.. are trying to... fix him so to speak. Yes?"
>Lyudmilla was many things, subtle wasn't one of them. She was selfish, predatory, and voyeuristic. You didn't want her anywhere near Tom, not until she had learned her lesson. And even then, if it wasn't easy for you, it sure as hell wouldn't be easy for anyone else either.
"No, Lu."
>She tried to object but you cut her off swiftly.
"The man has some phobia of anthros. I'm the only one to have broken through that. You would just set him off, because apparently Vilka isn't the only one that fails to control herself."
"Stay. the hell. away from him."
>You didn't care what else she had to say, you were fuming and needed to walk off some of the heat while finding your squad.
>You turned and left.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>A lot of the frustration you carried with you out of bed was gone, so now you could stop bristling your tail like a feral.
>Last thing you needed was for your charges to think you're heartless or over aggressive.
>Once you picked up the scent of lioness, following them was easy. Seems they were all sticking together so tracking the mixed scent was a cake walk even with the other aromas floating in the air.
>When you were close enough, your ears started picking out their voices from one of the mess tents.
>Your nose was picking out something else too, overpowering everything else. The mouthwatering scent of well cooked pork.
>Nose twitching madly, you started drifting towards the source of the smell, which conveniently was also where your squad's voices were coming from.
>It was that delightful scent of crisp bacon overlayed with... oranges? Must be some sort of glaze. Smoked sausage joined the flavors, with a hint of creamy gravy and fresh biscuits.
>The battalion cook was doing his breakfast special, which was usually the biscuits and gravy, the orange glazed bacon must be a new addition, and damn did it smell heavenly.
>Inhaling the aroma like nose candy, you stepped closer to the mess tent, pushing an idling private out of the path between you and your prize. You were starting to salivate, you can almost taste it already.
>You felt a clenching in your middle, and a low grumble went pealing off in your guts. fucking hell you were starving! How did you not notice?!
>Sweet Jesus you need that bacon! the smell alone is making you drool.
>You make your approach in the tent, no one is in front of the cook's counter. You notice your squad out of the corner of your vision, but they can wait for a bit, you're hungry.
>Behind the counter is Martin, the battalion chef, appointed so since he was in culinary school before the draft.
>He's an agreeable enough sort. Although the first time the two of you met, you had to restrain yourself from reaching across the counter and decking him when he made too many comments about your appetite.
>"ah, Magual. Always the highlight of my mornings. The usual right?"
"Yup, biggest ya got, extra bacon if you wouldn't mind. It smells delightful."
>He gave you a knowing raise of the brow, you always explained to the man a body in such a strong shape as yours required a lot of maintenance.
>Your stomach piped up with a growl as if to argue its own point, and you knowingly raised your own brow to append its argument.
>"Alright, alright. Big servings for the big woman." With that he ladled out your servings, wearing that thin grin.
>By this point it became a bit of a game between the both of you.
"Please, I know you like 'em big, but I'm just strong."
>He gave a blowing scoff and looked back to whatever he was attending too previously.
>"Just don't let any of it go to your waist."
"*snrk* as if."
>You worked like hell, you could afford to be a little... affluent and have a hearty meal now and again.
>Now that the source of that appetizing smell was right under your nose you could actually think on settling in with your squad.
>It was a touch late in the morning, so Feldspar and company seemed to have the whole mess relatively to themselves for the moment.
>The lioness and the twins watched you curiously as you maneuvered into the open spot beside the tawny cat and across from Duran and the other two privates, who seemed to be more interested in the food than you.
>You were of like mind with them for now, and were determined to have your fill before you actually started discussing. Well.. you could do both at the same time, no reason not too.
>Feldspar looked down at your plate, wearing a slight smirk at the corner of her mouth.
>"I take it you like the bacon, huh sarge?"
>You popped a strip in your maw to be the judge of that for yourself. The moan of satisfaction you had to suppress into a hearty sigh was almost orgasmic.
>The crisp, fire hardened meat blended wonderfully with the tastefully scaled surge of tang and flavor from the glaze. There was something more to it than just the citrus, some blend of flavors beyond it that melted over your tongue in rich waves of zest.
>You definitely like the bacon.
".. I do."
>Your empty stomach twitched, pleading for more, but you would save the rest of that wonderful taste until after you had cleaned up the rest.
 
>For a short while you were far more interested in the food then the conversation, at least to stifle the rumbling complaints of your body.
>Feldspar had largely cleaned off her plate, so while she mostly watched everyone, her focus seemed to be on you.
>As much as you had gotten along so far, if she insinuated you ate too much you were probably going to have words.
>Once you were far enough long that it felt less straining on your patience to ignore your hunger, you looked around at the others at the table.
>No, not just 'the others' they were your squad, your men.
>Your squad...
>It's still a little troublesome to believe. You can't entirely force out that tiny grain of doubt lodged in the deeper reaches of your psyche. The doubt that inferred this was just another fantasy like the one ripped away from you this morning.
>Any second now you'll wake up and find that they weren't there.
>But you had talked with them, journeyed with them, and fought side by side with them. They were there. Or else, what would all your toiling have been for?
>Maybe one day you can say the same about him.
>Probably the worst part of that pipe dream was how insultingly easy it was to get your hands on him. Without all those hangups, and those little touches of personality, it's just not him, no matter how clearly your subconscious can replicate his appearance.
>And you don't want someone like him. You want Tom.
>But it would never be that fucking easy... son of a bitch!
>Better to just try and drop your cycling mental ramblings over him, that would be a great way to completely fuck up and work yourself into an early heat.
>And you can never place bets on how a human would react to heats.
>And the best way to help distract yourself would be getting to know your men... er. women, whatever.
>Looking around, everyone seemed to be getting to that stage where the food matters slightly less than the world outside, ripe grounds for conversation. You decide to start things off.
"Right, now that everyone's here. Introductions. I'll start."
>You seemed to grab their attention correctly, and you lay a hand above your breast.
"Teth'ra"
>Matthews perks up, and the lizard tries to coagulate the thoughts dancing in her head onto her tongue.
>"t-t... Tev, la?"
>...
>Well this has already started out swimmingly. The lizard seemed to pick up on the way your expression went flat and sheepishly leaned back into her chair.
"Teth. Ra."
>You never had to explain this more than once, apparently parsing out syllables so they don't go smashing into eachother was too hard for some people.
>Come to think on it, the only one in recent memory that seemed to just get it straight off the bat was... Tom.
>Sometimes he even dropped the second syllable, and just called you 'Teth'. To him it was probably just a nickname, but to you... it was a sign that showed how much he cared.
>Why else would he do what he didn't have to, and to be there... when you collapsed in on yourself.
>You know he cares. You touched a warm heart in those intimate moments, but it was buried under all of the pain and fear.
>You're dead set on digging it out, so you know someone cares.
>And there you go doing it again! Thinking about him. You need something to distract yourself, so maybe you can actually think of a good approach instead of running in circles like you have been.
>"Teth'ra?"
 
>The lion's sense of timing is adequate, and you turn your head to look over at the cat.
>She has her elbows propped up on the table, her chin rests on a bridge laced from her fingers.
>"I like it. It's pretty."
>Feldspar. thinking your name is some elegant thing when just yesterday she looked ready to scrap with you over who is 'really' leading the squad. You quirk a brow to show your bemusement.
>She levels a claw at herself."Charlene"
>"Julia." mutters a quiet voice from the canine across the table. The Doberman in question sits staring down boredly at her completely cleaned plate, a hand lazily resting on her cheek.
>"You already know us." chirps one of the twins.
>"Of course she does, we're hard to miss." chides the other cat with a slight giggle.
>It was strenuous telling them apart, but you were starting to remind yourself more to associate Mocha with blue and Minna with green, since their respective eye colors seemed to be about the only thing differing their appearances from eachother.
>You turn to the other two privates. Matthews seems to quietly shy away from your gaze, while Pliskin swallows either another bite of sausage or her fear as the ocelot leans forward.
>"erm. Sam.. like, short for Samantha." She offers a small smile, and you return one of your own.
>The lizard looks down at her feet, maybe in shame for how she butchered your name. It was something that happened with pretty much every new group you had to introduce yourself too, so you're far from eager to hold her to it.
>She jumps slightly as the cat nonchalantly kicks her leg, and she manages to stammer out a response.
>"Alex, just uh.. just Alex." She shies back into her chair.
"Well for what it's worth, I think ya all have fine names."
>You smile warmly as you get back to work on your breakfast, it's about time you let them start seeing you aren't all business.
>Feldspar chuffs, the twins titter approvingly between themselves, Matthews and Pliskin both offer shy grins, and you can see the smallest sign of a smile forming beneath the shroud of Duran's paw.
>You wonder briefly if they were under the jurisdiction of a malicious incompetent like Vilka before they came under you to get them to react like this to some gentle praise.
>Or perhaps you are more of a force of personality than you realize. Either way, they're warming up to you quickly.
>While the rest of your meal is good, it's hard to resist going back to the bacon, something about its flair just agrees entirely with your tastebuds.
>It didn't show up before today, so you would have to ask the cook sometime where he got the recipe from, it was quickly becoming a fast favorite of yours.
>"So um, sarge?..." Charlene called your attention back out. You were questioning her quasi-formality, it's not like you were out on the field.
"Teth'ra is fine."
>"Right, Teth'ra, so where are you from?"
-isolationist hell-
"The Mojave, like most jackals I'm sure."
>It's not that you wouldn't mind sharing something slightly more specific, but anytime you mentioned the state it all devolved into a game of trivia about the local cult. A game that had a habit of dragging out bad memories.
>You don't want to remember again, not now, so soon after that day in the rain when all of them came flooding back when he looked at you.
>Looked at you the same way your attackers did, when you came to after almost killing them.
>"Must be rough for ya being this far north."
"It's not as bad as you think it is."
>It really isn't. Your fur keeps you warm enough during the day with some help from the sun, and your coat was meant for keeping out the dry bite of desert winds, so the occasional wind chill is mostly kept out by the heat trapped against your body.
"I only start feeling it during the night."
>That leeching, ever present chill in the night air has a way of sapping through your fur. You aren't adapted for the persistent, heavy cold, and it shows.
>To the point it becomes difficult to sleep without a thicker blanket or a warm body in the same bed. Of course your thoughts immediately cycle back towards him again, a mental picture of him hairless and freezing.
>You aren't covered in a thick double coat like those arctic leopards, but your heart keeps pushing you to help keep him warm anyway.
>You shoo away the mental cycling and try to keep yourself invested in the conversation.
 
>You tune back in to a murmur of agreement from Duran and even Feldspar. Matthews simply nods with enthusiasm.
>The cold blood probably needs a space heater just to avoid freezing into a torpor.
"And what neck of the woods do you call home?"
>"Montana. Guess you could say I'm a bit of a-"
"A mountain lion yes."
>Staring at her deadpan, you fought the urge to crack a victorious grin, you weren't normally much of a buzz-kill but puns you just can't abide by.
>She looked positively betrayed.
>A choked back chortle came from the other side of the table, and the lioness bristles at it.
>"Jules!"
>The doberman continues her bashful snickering, trying, and failing, to hide a wide, toothy grin.
>"To be honest Cher, I always hated your puns... I like her though."
>It bought out a genuine contentment to hear your squad was adjusting so well to you.
>Although the smile doesn't leave her face, she speaks quietly.
>"I'm from Chicago. Not as nice as you think it is."
>You got the sense that she thought through her words with care, and she would only speak when she wanted too. And so you turned your attention onto the lizard and Ocelot.
>Pliskin spoke with an almost chattering tone.
>"Me and Alex are both from Ohio, not much to do there but get into trouble."
>The pair share a thoughtful look.
>"Well, that and shoot stuff. Trick shot silver medalist in my county for 2 years running... erm, before the draft."
>The lizard manages to have her say.
>"I-uh. I never really got very good at that."
>Sam cuts back in, her spotted tail swishing with visible excitement.
>"Hey! Wanna see my tricks?! I'm uh... I'm, pretty good."
>As tempting as the offer to sit back and watch the diminutive wildcat perform various permutations of spinning her sidearm around one finger was, right now you're still very much hungry.
"Maybe later."
"For now I have to at least eat, and then file reports."
>There was the bad side of the coin denoting your new position, more busywork to cut into your off time by far more than a hair's breadth.
>You hated to sound lazy but lately you really just wanted to have most of a day to kick your feet up and stop worrying, over yourself, over your squad, over the war, and over him.
>That and your stomach was trying to strangle itself again, so you dug in while listening for what the twins would inevitably say.
>It didn't take very long for them to formulate their own response.
>"We're from Norway, small town by the coast."
>"Very cold, but pleasant. Very quiet. Great Fishing."
>Swallowing your current bite of gravy soaked biscuit, you raised a brow and cocked an ear at them. You had no idea they were foreign in that sense.
"Norway? If you two have an accent I can't pick it up."
>One of them titters with a soft giggle before continuing.
>"We studied english while working in our father's little tailor shop."
>"We wanted to tour the world, and make truly beautiful things."
>"Taking a little from everywhere. You know?"
>"The two of us moved to America... just before the draft started."
>"And then... our little dream ended."
>Both cats sigh in resentment. You feel for them, but the other thing dragging you low is your own doubts. You were never so ambitious as to go traveling the world for inspiration.
>The only thing you can really do right is fight. Fight, doubt yourself, and clamor for affection.
>Your hand wandered to another strip of bacon, and the taste helped you shake away the doubts. You have to keep your head up today.
>Looking around the mood was effectively shot, everyone seemed to be reflecting on how the draft tore them away from their lives and brought them into this hell.
>Maybe asking everyone to recount where they were before the war wasn't the best idea to keep a conversation going. At least you had a more solid handle on everyone's personalities.
>Charlene Feldspar: a country gal lioness with a protective streak from the other ass end of the rockies counting the badlands you called home.
>Julia Duran: an inner-city doberman who you can only presume is so quiet because she grew up in a bad neighborhood of one of the largest cities in the world.
>Alex Matthews and Samantha Pliskin: What you guess as childhood friends from rural Ohio, the ocelot being an excitable amateur gunslinger compared to her shy lizard friend.
>The sisters Jorgenson, Mocha and Minna: Inseparable cat twins from a small fishing town in Norway that carried shattered dreams of cosmopolitan culture and the runway.
>And then there was you, the freakishly large royal jackal that had grown up in pain and social isolation. What a merry fucking band you all were.
>At least this bacon is good enough to make you forget about anything but the flavor for a small while. Eventually your plate was cleaned and you finally felt sated.
>The conversation never really picked up again as everyone went back to the food. They invited you to go tend to business with them, but you excused yourself as you had reports to finish.
>Today you were more interested in just hanging out with Tom. If you could stick around him and help him with things like maintenance work, you're sure he'll loosen up around you and you can start working your way closer.
>Maybe once you learn more of who he is under the hostile exterior, you can make a decision easier.
>Because no matter how hard you pressed it out to set it aside, the questions boiled in the back of your mind.
>Why hold affections for this man? What do you even see in him? Would he ever make a good mate? What if you're wrong about him?
>You can find your answers if you move right... after these damnable reports are finished, fucking busywork.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
<Tom>
"MOVE YOU OBSTINATE LITTLE SHIT!!"
>You Struck hard, but no dice.
"I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU, IF YOU DO NOT MOVE, YOU DIMINUTIVE FUCK!!!"
>Again you bought the hammer down with as much force as you could muster in the cramped space, another ringing *tac* sounded as metal hit metal.
>Finally, the wrench handle budged downwards, and you tugged it down some more. It didn't want to move easy but just a little bit harder and a few helping taps from the hammer it finally gave and starting rotating counter clockwise.
"Fucking finally, hope I don't have to drop the wrath of Thor on every one of you little bastards."
>Fucking lugs, these damn things were ratcheted in so damn tight it took the concussive force of Mjolnir itself to get them unscrewed again.
>You groaned in exasperation, wiping the sweat pooling at your brow. This was the third one to catch this badly, a tech should be in here swearing at it, not the machine's own pilot.
>'Work order can't be completed because of priority orders', what a load of shit!
>You were going to have words with the support techs after this, many, many words, many of them four letters. Those lazy assholes think they can shunt major maintenance work onto the Jock?!
>Sure you helped take care of the damn thing all the same, but you could never do all the maintenance by yourself, especially on a post-sortie pass.
"Goddamn fuckin'. Lazy ass techs."
"Busy fanboying over that pretender faggot."
>You had seen them out there beyond your gantry's glare screens, fawning over that fucking over dramatic ape and his lackeys just because their glorified, prancing railgun tugs had fancy paint.
>Half of them weren't even doing their damn jobs, content to play dick handler to 'the red baron' and his inflated ego.
>With a grunt of exertion you finally pried the reaction dyno from its mounting, and then clambered your way out of the leg plate onto the collage of catwalks and ladders reaching out to all of your Rumbler's access panels.
>You set the part down on the work desk, time to pry the fucker open and see exactly what's wrong with it.
>You looked up at the machine's nose plate as you set to work with the screwdriver. There on the chin of the axe-headed bow was proof of your heroics, three fresh marks, THREE.
>That pompous show boater didn't even get one, it was all the work of his wingmen, and yet everyone acted like HE was the big hero.
>YOU proposed the plan of action that saved everyone's asses.
>YOU bagged three fucking markers within an hour.
>YOU took down an enemy ace BY YOURSELF, and yet nobody payed you much attention. You growled as you eyed the standout mark, a triple eyed skull like the others, with small golden triangles bordering the eyes.
>You killed a fucking ace! It should be you out there taking it easy and getting sucked off by gullible support gremlins for your 'brilliant heroics'. Instead you're in here, sweating, covered in grease and motor oil, and coming to a boil.
>Prying open the RD's cover plate, you gawked and then growled. Half the fucking turbo blades were sheared.
"cocksuckers!"
 
>Today was miserable, you woke up to find Teth'ra wasn't there again and you had a hell of a pain in your back. All that activity yesterday must have pinched a nerve, and you spent about a solid twenty minutes writhing on the floor, hammering a fist into the small of your back to fix it.
>God be damned if you were going to stumble hunchbacked over to one of the snouts and ask them to play chiropractor however.
>Once you could fucking walk straight, it was back to the usual routine of choking down coffee rations and avoiding everyone.
>You quickly learned that you didn't feel safe without that giant jackal nearby, especially in the middle of a camp chalked full off snouts.
>Avoiding everyone that even so much as looked at you became priority one, even after your radio called you to the Colonel's command tent to file your after action report. You weren't turning your back to anyone of them, not after that Goddamn bear. That proved even the big ones could sneak up on you.
>After meandering your way around the camp through the low traffic areas you handed in your report to the colonel, and tried to ignore the way the regal old tiger eyed you as you backed out of his field office. And you sure as hell did not want that mint, not when it meant getting that close to those murderously big claws.
>That was a fun exercise to battle with your paranoia again, as it screamed that they were trying to bait you now.
>Teth'ra was making you think twice on these things, but you sure as fuck weren't going to let any one of them get near you or touch you.
>Despite your endless complaints to be made about the support crews ditching your machine's checkup halfway through to go fawn over that failure of an ace, you felt safe in here. Shrouded away from prying eyes by the curtain like glare screens, walkways, and that securing mass of the angry building you called a mech.
>All the swearing and banging just meant a mechanic was at work, and shouldn't be interrupted lest the intruder catch a flying wrench to the dome.
>And nobody out there could likely pick out you were the odd man out so to speak. A potent combined aroma of fuel, motor oil, grease, and cosmoline masked any scent of yours from outside.
>Nobody here but us mech techs, no scared, vulnerable, isolated humans, no sir.
>You were somewhat starting to calm down. Now that you had something to work on that wasn't trying to fight you, you could start thinking on things other than your bubbling rage at the circlejerk outside. Maybe even coax a little tune out of your head.
>You had given the blade wheel a good once over, even the ring piece was cracked, it was destined for the salvage bin, so you tossed it and dug around in the spares to find the right size.
>Reaction Dynos were supposed to syphon off a fraction of the torque from the primary actuators when in motion and keep it revved up, to shunt the inclination of the actuator into a different direction at a moment's notice. Hence the weighted turbine wheels, fights the inertia better with the added punch.
>Without these things helping along the actuators and muscle pistons, your machine couldn't pull half the fancy footwork it did.
-and you'd be dead-
>Not now, ya bastard!
>You find the right size spare and slot it in. looking over the rest of the RD, it seems in passable shape.
>Now just to bolt the cover back on and return it to its mounting.
>Then to the other items on the checklist, and then you can finally get some breakfast, well at this point it'd be lunch.
>How long is this damn list anyw-
>"Mrowl?"
>You jumped slightly and your back briefly tensed, not a pleasant sensation when you had abused it so much yesterday.
>Of course, curious snouts could always go sticking their noses where they don't belong, you're dead certain Teth'ra doesn't meow.
>Deflating from your mild startle, you turned to face the direction of the threat, and found not one, but two pairs of eyes peering at you from the corner of the glare screen.
>The two faces were definitely cat-like, the colors of cream and burnt coffee, and they looked absolutely identical. The only way you could tell them apart at this distance was the eyes, one had blue and the other had green.
>Of course, the most prominent question jumped to your mouth.
"Who the hell are you?"
 
>Wait, why the hell would you care? They're intruding on your angry venting and have no reason to be anywhere near you. The last thing you want is to give them an excuse to let themselves in.
"Nah, ya know what? I don't care. Fuck off."
>You hope they get the message, you don't like the felines, it always seems like they're plotting something. That snow leopard was bizarrely interested in whatever was going on between you and Teth'ra and she wasn't afraid to try and get her claws in you to try and find out.
>And now there are two of these domestic cats, standing there at the corner, trying to look innocent while they stare at you, plotting.
>You pick up the RD and pretend to be inspecting it, going through the motions of turning it over as you watch them from the corner of your eye for any signs of movement.
>The feeling of eyes on you refuses to leave, it's not a welcome feeling, it's the gaze of a predator looking for an opening.
>"Apologies if we're being rude."
>"We need some help with a. Mechanical problem."
>Two voices, the same, but not the same. A shiver runs up your spine, as if this wasn't creepy enough, they're twins.
>You don't want them anywhere near you, not when you're alone. So with an exaggerated pantomime up towards your mech, you offer your excuse.
"Do I look like I have the time? No! I don't. So scat! *pscht* Get outta here."
>That should make it clear, they can go find someone else to bother. You don't want them here, you don't want to 'help' them with whatever petty excuse they came in here with, and they should leave, right now.
>You can't keep up the act of inspecting the RD forever, so you set the part down. When you turn back, your heart briefly leaps into your throat as you almost choke on it.
>The pair of cats has invited themselves in and gotten closer, one of them stands with her arms folded while the other seems to drink in the environment.
-looking for the best way to corner you-
>The one with the blue eyes speaks, you can tell from the agitated twitch of her tail that she's bothered.
>"It would just be a quick fix... I assure you."
>Somehow you doubt that.
-what did we learn from Vilka?-
>All you needed to know, not to trust them even as far as you can throw them.
>They have some motive, some plot you just know it. You need to get them away before they can lure you into a trap.
"There's no such thing as a quick fix, never is. Now would you get the hell out?"
>Both cats flash with some sort of emotion across their faces.
>"I don't understand wh-"
"I don't understand why you have to bother me. Go find someone else. Get out!"
>Your breath came sharper, and razor lines of fear feathered tauntingly at the back of your scalp. But you would hold yourself together to keep your guard up.
>This wouldn't be like last time, you are not playing the game. They will not move you, this ground is yours. Your mech. Your gantry. Your sanctum, you aren't leaving it, not with them waiting out there.
>Who sent them? The fox? That badger? or maybe even the bitch herself?
>"What the hell is going on in here?"
>The hairs on your neck bristle, the voice isn't hers, and you turn to find a third threat revealing itself. A lion.
>You like the big cats even less, but something about her suggests authority over the two smaller ones, but you're cut off at the pass by the cats before you can state your piece.
>"This man is being difficult."
>Maybe if you weren't on your own in this gantry, but you're perfectly within reason to stand your ground.
"These two have no goddamn reason to be in my gantry, get them out of here. I want to be left alone. Go fuck with the techs!"
>You meant every word, you want to be left in peace, and the asshole techs could stand to be yelled at.
>But the lion didn't seem to be getting the hint.
>"Oh it's YOUR gantry now is it?" She started stalking closer, and you stepped back towards the shelter of the maze of crossbeams and pipes holding up the walkways.
 
>She started snarling, and your heart skipped a beat as you laid eyes on the gleaming white fangs moving towards striking range.
>The small lines buried and ensnared deeply, you absolutely cannot let them get close.
>"What right do you have to be harassing my privates here? HUH!" She obviously didn't expect you to have an answer to that question, because it didn't exist.
>You took another step back and tensed, this was quickly turning bad, and your nearest shelter is up in the machine. Your breath deepened as you became more and more aware of all of their movements towards ingress, they're trying to corner you.
"Stay away from me cat!"
>Light filtering in from above catches her teeth, a stark warning, and a reminder.
>...
>The glint of teeth
>The flash of claws
>You're rooted in fear, helpless
>You can't even choke out a scream
>The air cuts with a whisper
>...
>NO!
>You shake it off, you need to stay alert and she is getting too damn close! Where is Teth'ra!?
>"Oh I'm just a cat now huh? An animal, right?"
>She would be if she kept closing in.
>You leveled out a warning tone, if she continued it would be at her own risk in addition to yours.
"Stay the hell away from me."
>The lioness wasn't stopping, you saw some predatory gleam in those yellow eyes, and your heart started hammering.
>"Make me skinjob!"
-them's fighten' words-
>You've had enough. Clearly she intends to do you harm, and the heat in your chest spikes.
>You feel for the weight of your sidearm.
>...
>It's not there!
>WHY THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP FORGETTING IT?!
>Your breath heaves in great swells, your hair stands, and your hand twitches in want for a weapon.
>Asses the situation: lion in front, closing even as you retreat, 2 threats to the side in easy flanking position, exit unavailable, they're trying to corner you.
>More threats possibly outside the glare screens.
>Obtain a weapon, eliminate the threat, find shelter.
>You're on your own, she's nowhere to be found.
>You keep your hand behind you at the hip, feeling for the first tool you can grab when you get near the work bench, the animal continues closing in.
>Those claws are out, and ready to try and spill your guts, you have to do this quickly.
>Gnashing teeth shine as she growls and snarls, some call out originates from the other two, they must be trying to circle around you while the bigger cat has your attention.
>The lion is ranting something but you aren't paying attention to the words, you're watching how it moves, seeking an opening in the pattern.
>You've found it, and as the cat smirks and taunts with those claws, your hand was wandered behind you and found something.
>You heft the cold iron of the handle into your palm, judging by the weight it's the pipe wrench you use for tightening down fluid lines.
>Those claws are guarding low and wide, a fast swing from above towards the head is all you need.
>You give one last warning as the predator preens and gloats at your fearful state.
"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME FERAL!!"
>You hold the wrench up high, coiled and ready to strike, for the first time since it walked in, the animal seems to stop trying to kill you.
>"Tom?!"
>...
>The voice snaps at you, tugging you with a lurch into the daylight. It's not the lionesses voice....
>You blink, and suddenly you're looking at something different. The cat in front of you is frozen in fear and confusion, as if she never expected you to defend yourself.
>The two cats standing off to the side look mortified...
>...That it spiraled out of control so fast. Then it starts falling into place, they must be part of the same squad.
>And the voice was... hers.
>Your gaze slowly creeps off the cat as the furious snarl washes off your countenance. You creep your eyes towards the source of it, the dread tangling in your throat in anticipation of what you will find.
>You lay eyes on her, she looks hurt, betrayed, wounded, And it clicks. Her squad... you were threatening her squad. Threatening her.
>Your heart feels like it's not even there anymore, visions of pain and betrayal flood into the space it left behind.
>You did this to her.
>The only thing you have left, and even now you can't stop yourself from destroying it, from hurting and cutting her with your words.
>Because you can't control yourself. Because you always manage to wound what's close to you.
>Something still droned in your ears as cold gripped at your back. She was your last refuge, and you had just thrown her to the wolves.
 
<Teth'ra>
>The knife in your heart twists.
>'Feral'
>Of all the words you expected to come out of his mouth: that wasn't one of them.
>You swore that you had gotten so used to that word, it lost its taint. They seemed to spout it at any implication, fail to speak like a 'normal person' and let a bit of your wild side out? feral. Do them the injustice of out-sizing them? feral. Show your teeth in the slightest? feral.
>But here you are, feeling the bite of that word like it's the first time all over again.
>You came out here following your squad's scent after you had finally gotten finished and handed in those damnable reports.
>You were puzzling over why they could have possibly come out to the mechanized quarter of the camp, especially the mech park.
>Then it happened, your ears started picking up a drifting argument on the wind, you didn't think much of it at first, techs bicker all the time.
>But your quiet worry only grew as it escalated. Then you recognized one of the voices involved as his, and you started running.
>Then you barged in just in time to have your heart crushed. Of everyone to say that word, somehow his hurt the most.
>You had snapped him out of the middle of another panic attack, and you saw the reason why: Feldspar. The lion was dancing her claws around taunting and ranting, and now she stood shocked.
>As if she didn't expect that practically charging at someone would set them into fight or flight. And you knew for as scared as he was, if he believed escape wasn't an option, Tom would pick fight every time.
>Now he was staring at you, the resolve drained from his face along with its color.
>He drops the wrench, and flees.
"Tom!"
>It's useless, he disappears through one of the glare screens as the lioness finally starts collecting herself.
>Chasing him would only make it worse. He was gone.
>As the tawny cat dusted herself off, you looked towards the twins, both of them stood stunned and astonished, and you started piecing things together.
>The twins had invited themselves in for some reason, and Tom was hostile. Why wouldn't he be? He had never seen your squad before and no one else was in this gantry, he was scared.
>Then Feldspar stepped in to defuse the situation, which you could understand... but why? Why the hell did she approach so aggressively?
>What did this idiot think she was doing?!
>Your countenance hardened and your heart twisted with anger, even as it bled from the cut. Charlene had some sort of bias against humans, you don't know for sure, but it's what makes the most sense.
>Sense as to why she would be such a half cocked moron and set him off, And possibly ruin everything you had worked towards!
>"Guess you scared him off, huh?" She started back towards you wearing a swagger and a cocksure grin. you were going to wipe it off her goddamn snout.
>"Yeah, little skinjob was trying to threaten me! You saw that. Thanks for the save sarge."
>Of all the times to have a fucking speciest in your squad... She stopped in front of you, closing her eyes and grinning her pearled white fangs.
>This half-cocked, self satisfied, inbred bumpkin, bigoted DUMBASS!!
>She failed to hear the way your knuckles cracked as you balled your right hand into a fist, but she sure as hell felt it when you drove it into her gut.
>Immediately she doubled over as her strength was forced out with her breath. The lioness coughed and wheezed as she fell to her knees with a groan.
>She would be feeling that one for a while, a very real reminder of how badly she fucked up. You held back nothing, and despite her own stature suggesting a hardy nature, the force of your fist had welted through her abdominal muscles and caused very real pain.
>The idiot should be thankful that you had aimed for her stomach rather than a kidney, at this rate you would be surprised if she managed to keep her meal down with how much she was sputtering.
 
>"Whu- What the fuuhk?" she wheezed weakly as she clutched at her stomach, keeping herself off the floor with her free hand, even as her arm shook trying to hold her up.
>You loosed one of the most savage growls you had mustered in recent memory, and she shrunk as your gaze bored into her back.
>Then you spoke with a volume that may have surprised even you if you weren't currently clashing with a heat crawling up your throat and trying to breath flames from your muzzle.
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING!!?!"
>She shrank even more, realizing that the mountain of a woman she was kneeling at the feet of wasn't just angry, she was furious.
>If Tom had his gun, or if this idiot had been even more of an over aggressive, inconsiderate dolt for the sake of getting off her little human revenge kink: then one of them could have been killed!
>"I was just trying to-"
"Trying to what!!? Make a joke?!!"
"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING FUNNY!!?!"
>Her ears flattened even her tail wilted, she was rightfully terrified of you.
>Good, if she understands that fear, she won't be so eager to inflict it again.
>"n-n. no ma'm." You weren't done with her, not by a long shot, she would realize exactly what she just did.
"So setting a man into panic obviously isn't an example of a very bad joke to you."
"So WHY did you approach so aggressively?"
>She stayed slumped down on the floor, realizing that challenging you would just dig her hole deeper.
>"I-" You weren't going to be satisfied with anything but the exact truth.
"Look me in the eyes corporal! So I know you aren't lying."
>...
"Look. me. in. the eyes."
>You parsed it in a low monotone through clenched teeth, even as you barely restrained your biting fury, it was the tone of command, and she obeyed.
>Her face was decorated in fear as her pupils had  shrunk to pinpricks, the weight settling on her that if she wasn't expecting any consequences for her shit: she was dead wrong.
"Why?"
>You held her focus completely as she answered, piercing into her soul with the fury burning your vision.
>"I. I don't like humans sir..." Just as you thought. The first one of your squad to start bonding with you was a fucking speciesist.
>Even as you suffered in your childhood, you never held it against humans as a whole, while that state wide cult that excused itself as a religion could burn in hell. You saw no point in bringing your ire against the entire species for the mistakes of a bunch of bad apples.
>But here she was, weak and vindictive. Disgusting!
>"Ma'm I did it bec-"
"I don't give a damn what excuses you have! Do you even understand who you just set off?!"
>"Why is that important? *urgh* do you know that asshole or som-"
>You loosed a short growl and reached down, planting your left on her left shoulder while gripping the back of her head with your right.
>You turned her to face the mech and panned her head upwards to look at the Rumbler's shoulder.
"What does that say corporal?"
>She took a hissing inhale of breath, obviously scared over your claws hovering above her scalp. But she tried to stammer out the numbers anyway.
>"s-six oh six."
"Six-oh-six, that's OUR battalion number isn't it corporal?"
>A rhetorical question, but she would answer it or risk your wrath further.
>"Yes ma'm."
"Congratulations dipshit! You just set off our one and only pilot!!"
 
>You turned her back to face you and then loosed your grip, letting her falter onto the floor.
>She croaks weakly, still clutching at her middle.
>...Maybe you hit her a bit too hard.
>She sucks in air and groans.
>"It isn't a big deal I don't understand." ...yeah, you hit her with what she deserved.
>Growling, you seized her wrist, bringing it up in front of her while pressing down on a spot in her palm to force her to pop her claws.
>You made sure they were dangerously close to her.
"YOU SEE THESE!?! THESE ARE WEAPONS!! YOU DO NOT APPROACH A FRIENDLY WITH THESE BRANDISHED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, AND YOU SURE AS HELL DO NOT GO WAVING THEM AROUND IN THEIR FACE!!!"
>And you drop her again. She hits the floor without any support.
>You may be harsh but it's necessary, not only is her infraction potentially deadly, apparently she failed to even realize that.
"Do you even realize how badly you fucked up? The man has a PHOBIA corporal! He is TERRIFIED of anthros, and I am the only one to have broken through that and gotten him to trust me!"
"Something that you may have just have RUINED!!"
>"but, I-"
"Didn't fucking think! What if he had his sidearm?! What then?!"
>She sank into the realization, but you spelled it out for her anyway.
"If he had his gun, or if you had just been the slightest bit more of the model of a speciest dumbass: THEN ONE OF YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!!"
>"I'm sorry ma'm." Some of the anger left you, and a slight tinge of regret edged in with its absence.
>Did you really have to reduce her to a pained mess on the floor?
>You did, to make her understand the gravitas of her mistake, and to ensure that even if this first bite is the harshest, she NEVER does it again.
>And now for the final nail in the coffin, the disappointment. Because you genuinely expected better from her.
"I was hoping that none of you would be problem children, That I would never have to raise my voice..."
>You huff heavily, the hot gust dragging out some of the heat that had built in your core.
"But you just had to prove me wrong.... I expected so much better from you."
>You adopted a more cold glare, as much as you wanted to scream at her for fucking up everything that you had worked towards, you couldn't hold her responsible for more than just agitating a comrade into a potentially deadly confrontation.
>It was possible your vested personal interest in him made you angrier at her than you should be. Your squad likely wouldn't look at you the same way again after witnessing this. Before you were the woman looking out for them, now you were the woman they didn't want to piss off.
>You turned away from the sputtering heap on the floor that was your corporal and former friend, and started walking out. You need to tend to the other side of this mess.
>"Ma'm please I-" She spoke in a somber and quiet voice, the matter weighing down on her back and keeping her pressed towards the ground, even as your monolithic presence moved away.
>But you weren't interested in her excuses, she could truly apologize after she had time to cool her jets and think on her mistake.
"You can stammer out your excuses now, but you can apologize later."
"Jorgenson!"
>You had stopped and snapped your glare over the cats, both of them jumped as you barked their name.
>You jerked a thumb back towards the lioness.
"Drag her ass to the cooler, she's staying the night at least. I'll decide exactly how long in the morning."
>"y-yes ma'm"
>"yes ma'm"
>You can't tell if they're intimidated by you or if they're just stunned due to everything that happened. The uncertainty plays off your doubts, trying to tug them out of their lairs to harass your clarity of mind.
>The two cats move to help the lioness up and guide her to the cooler. The cooler was the Military Police cells for detaining unruly troopers for numerous reasons, least of which was major infractions like this one.
>In this case it would do Feldspar some good to cool her heels in one of those cold isolation cells, at least for one night.
>Whether or not she stayed any longer than that rode on her. If she didn't shape up then her punishment would only drag on longer.
>If she could show that she genuinely wanted to fix both this fucked situation and herself for the better you were perfectly willing to offer mercy.
>You stepped out into the wider camp, finding the other half of your squad looking between eachother with worry, Duran found her words first.
>"Wasn't that a little harsh?" The anger rose with a wave, it's not her right to say that you went overboard, for something like this you could easily have that cat busted down to private.
"Don't you-..."
>You caught yourself before you could finish that phrase.
>'don't you question me.' Earlier today you chewed out Lyudmilla for failing to question Vilka.
>And you were just about to prove yourself a hypocrite, it was good that she was willing to question your decisions and reasoning.
>You should share your reasoning, present it for her second opinion. Maybe you had been too severe.
>Huffing again to help with the ebb and flow of your emotional tides in their endeavor to drag away the rage, you present your case.
"She needs to learn. I am not tolerating this EVER happening again. I just hope I've nipped this in the ass before it becomes a problem."
>Her hazel eyes scan for something that might tell her more, but she nods subtly and backs down. It seems you were in the right with how you've treated this.
>Pliskin speaks in a timid drawl.
>"What are you going to do now sarge?"
-the obvious-
"I need to go find him, and hope I can fix this mess."
"None of you follow me, you'll just set him off again."
>"yes m'am."
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
>You looked and you looked, for hours you combed the base, trying to follow a scent muddied and faded from all of the oil and filth.
>Your worry climbed in equal measure with the time, it showed in how you called for him in those isolated corners of the camp.
>You even checked outside the perimeter, following your nose wherever it took you through the trees and wildflowers.
>Despite everything and how persistently you scanned for him. You didn't find him. His scent was so heavily masked in the first place, and he seemed to wander with no real direction, leaving trails all around.
-he doesn't want to be found-
>Because he's terrified of you. Everything woven between you could have started unraveling, because that inbred pride slut couldn't restrain her hickland bigotries for five goddamn seconds.
>You did give her a hell of a bruise, hit her exactly where she wouldn't forget it. But you wanted to hit her more, and the shame coursed through you.
>You told yourself you'd be a good superior. Good superiors don't strike their underlings unless absolutely necessary. Good superiors don't let them get into trouble like this in the first place.
>And now you had gone and made yourself the enemy, the gigantic bitch that momentarily crippled their upstart figurehead corporal with a single blow.
>Because you got pissy over a man that was so damaged and frightened it was a miracle he even regarded you as anything but a monster.
>You can't find him, he had gone too far and you didn't have a trail, but there's one last spot that maybe he would show himself in.
>You look there too, that same stack of crates where you had met up yesterday. Your heart plummets further as you find no trace of him here.
>Here, these two unassuming crates. You lifted a spark from behind his tired eyes even as his body ached and fatigued.
>Even as you reflected on the day, your worries over what was behind that frozen door, and your unvoiced railings against yourself for how you handled the bunker.
>You had gotten too wrapped up in yourself, convinced the troopers ahead of you would keep you safe, you failed to notice more than that something was wrong as you retreated into your own head. What if the enemy had come from behind instead of from ahead? You would be gone if that was the case.
>And here you are retreating into your headspace again.
>You sit down on the crate, a tracing of his scent is still here, clinging to the air like the dying leaves of autumn. But he's not here.
>He's off somewhere shaking and afraid, questioning if trusting you was the biggest mistake of his life or not.
>That stupid sand-haired BITCH! Of course he wasn't so perfect himself, the word still dashed and cut at your heart when you pictured it coming out of his mouth.
>'Feral!' Were you even right to approach him, how was this not a mistake on your end? In the throes of passion, you just had to go and get all hot and bothered for a godsdamned racist!
>FUCK YOUR HORMONES!
>What the hell were you even thinking?! Like it would ever work with a human!
"MOTHERFUCKER!"
>You lash out, slamming the side of your fist into the container at your back.
>The structure almost seems to cry out with the sharp clash it emanates as it's hit.
>You keep your fist nestled into the grooving dent it made as a home, and your arm starts to tremble.
>He hurt you! They both did! You let them in close and both of them just had to hurt you! Every damn time!
>Do you ever learn? what... what is wrong with you?
>What the hell is wrong with you?
>Why does it always manage to fall apart...
>Your trust in your squad, your career after coming under the bitch, your chances at finding someone to stick close to you so you won't have to be on your own all the time.
>Your hands are quivering now, and you let your arm fall back to your side. You're trying to fight it, but the waves come too strongly even for you. Because you always hold it back until it explodes.
>You take a whimpering inhale, trying to hold it back, but your dam has broken, and now the river comes again to wash through the breach.
>In a last gambit you curl your tail about your waste and embrace it tight, there is still a faint sense of him here, if you can just focus on that.
>You snap your eyes shut and focus everything on the scent, squeezing tight even as the stinging heat pricks at the corners of your eyes.
>But there's no substance to this thing you're clutching at, no heart, no endeavor and charm. It.. It isn't him, and it never will be.
>Because no matter what you build between you, some other force will always crash in and tear it to pieces.
>Now you're clutching at the wisping remnants of your tail more as a way to lie to yourself that there's anyone there at all.
>Someone you can hold onto, as the tears come again.
 
<Tom>
>It's a bitter sort of feeling, the void left in your heart when you realize someone just left you. You should know, you've felt it enough times.
>So you do like always, and drown it in more bitter swill. The burn of the scotch sliding down your throat is a pain that reminds you too much of what you felt in that moment as you realized: she won't forgive you for this.
>You had stepped too far, that could have been deadly, and in the heat of the moment you wounded her.
>You may not have known she was there, but only a coward uses that as an excuse. A coward like you.
>As soon as you saw the despair crest her eyes, you didn't rush to console her or scream that it didn't mean anything. You ran.
>You ran because your guilt laden heart wanted to flee again. Stupid thing, what the hell good did it ever do you?
>It lurched you this way and that in pursuit of affectionate shadows that never stayed by you. Every one of them was just the latest in a series.
"But I tried, to run. Though I knew it wouldn't help me none."
"Cause I couldn't ever love no one!"
>Too fucking right. The words were slurred as all hell, you didn't care because nobody was out here to hear you, despite how adamantly you screamed the last lyric.
>How many times did that make this? How many times had it all just passed like another withered weed being dragged out of its hole by the wind?
>...
>You lost count.
>Running is useless anyways right? She would find you and beat the shit out of you for what came out of that cesspit you called a mouth.
>She's got a sharp nose, sharp ears, sharp claws, and sharp teeth.
>Might as well try to force yourself to pass out to spare you the other kind of pain.
>No amount of liquor will get rid of the burnt slashes left inside you, just dull it so it won't hurt so much.
>It stings again as you down another swallow, and now the fuckin' bottles' empty. It was down to an eighth when you started.
>You growled and chucked it through the sprouting branches tangled over your head. That was the last of your stash.
>You drew your knees against you and slumped your head there with your hands, guess you can just watch the valley from this little vista. That and mumble to yourself.
"Can't love no one."
>What flavor of it doesn't matter, you wound anyone getting close to you all the same. Friends, family, comrades, and those faintest shots you had at love.
>You always found a way to shatter all the bridges built between you and another person. It's not them that's the problem anymore. It's you.
>Something was approaching, even as the western sun started to descend from its hang over the mountains on your left.
>A tangled clump of legs and spires holding up a crumpled, dark shape. You stared at it, because you got the sense something was watching you, and if it wanted to kill you it was best to just feign ignorance so it can do it quick and clean.
>The thing slowly stomping towards camp started to take more shape, even through the inebriated haze that had settled on you.
>It was a pair of salvage walkers dragging something between them, it looked about the right size to be...
>An auger mech. But nothing about it seems right. It should be walking on its own. Where is the pilot? What happened to that machine?
>The machines pass through the autumn hearth of a break where the sun shines through the peaks. In that brief pass of light, you wish the procession stayed in the shade where funerals belong.
>Hung between the salvage walkers like a limp marionette: is a Rumbler. Or rather the tattered remnants of one.
>Light glimmers through shredded holes in the hull, the nose plate is burned open, gashes and breaches collaging together into a gaping sort of mouth. Almost like the mechanical beast took animate shape, and screamed in agony in its first, and final, moment.
>You know that blast pattern, he was shot from behind.
>everything seizes.
>Dread creeps from the gnarled roots around you, your breath catches in your throat and cold grips at you.
>Something whispers in your ear, so close it's real
>'Listen to me.'
"NO!"
"GOD NO!"
>You thrashed yourself away from it, even as you tumbled off of your balance. You lay in the chilled grass, trying to breath with shuddering lungs.
>Don't look at it. It doesn't exist, you're fine.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>You're fine. It's okay.
>You didn't see anything... you don't remember anything.
>Better just leave, you'd rather risk her wrath by slinking back to the tent.
 
>And so you ran again, as the sun set you ran from an echo of what once was. And you buried that under an avalanche of liquor and worry over different problems.
>Namely how bad Teth'ra would maul you when you stumbled back in to her line of sight.
>It was amazing she either didn't find you earlier or just decided to let you wallow in your misery like you deserve.
>Here you were, running for refuge back to an active danger rather than leave yourself alone to let the ghost ambush you.
>Running was indeed useless, maybe it would have been better to just curl up and let her tell you she was leaving.
>That you were on your lonesome now. Not like you had a problem with that, but she did. The plea calls back in you, almost threatening to jump from your own tongue.
>'don't go'
-you promised-
>...You did.
-you broke that promise-
>You did, what good are you?
>What even are you now? Aside from a miserable sack of shit? You're nobody, a belligerent bastard of an imperfect father and an absent mother.
>you were raised Irish, so you had a drinking problem since you could drive, and a fighting problem even before that.
>It was a miracle you hadn't gotten in enough trouble back in Boston to be left bleeding and broken on a street corner at the strike of 1a.m. after a rough night.
>And you can't really blame anyone for how much of a scumbag you are but yourself.
>You're the one that took your one and only car, the precious gift your father practically built for you with tears in his eyes, and then raced it around dangerous roads in the dead of night for quick cash.
>And you spent that cash on keeping the miserable heap that was your home from falling to pieces, even as your dad bounced in and out of work.
>Your the one that kept lying to your dad about where you spent your nights. Graveyard shifts are a bitch right?
>It only stopped after that knife fight, when you had almost killed a man for bet money.
>And now you went and threw away the one good thing you had out here. She doesn't need to be burdened with keeping you afloat anymore, it's obvious you'll just drag her down.
>Maybe it's the liquor talking, Maybe it's something else, whatever it is it's right.
>You wandered back through the woods as the sun sunk into the horizon, and you stood at the edge of the wood gazing at your tent like an outsider.
>In a way you suppose you are now, you certainly weren't going to be welcome around her anymore.
>Looking around that intimidating giant didn't seem to be around, so you lurched forward like an auger mech with a busted gimball.
>About 30 feet from the flap your drunken trudging failed you as your foot was ripped out from under you by a gnarled old root cresting out of the dusky earth.
>Great, your such a failure even a fucking tree can knock you over... As much as you would like to lay here and die, you have one last purpose on this earth before you go.
>Maybe once you wake up from your stupor you'll find that all of this talk was an artifact of the scotch playing hell with your brain in between taking shots at your liver.
>A drunken slump isn't an unfamiliar feeling, yet another mark against you.
>You stumble up to the flap and brace yourself, ready to have a grey furred fist grab you by the collar and haul you in for your justly deserved beating. Holding your breath you brush the fabric aside, and find nothing.
>"Tom." The tone is flat and brimming with some dark emotion, her voice no longer sounds sweet like rich honey, it sounds terrifying.
>She's behind you, likely just waiting for you to show yourself. Your breath tightens in fear as you hunch your shoulders to shelter your head.
>Can't run, she has longer legs, she'd catch you. So you brace yourself. You fuck up, you get hit. It's as simple as that.
>But no matter how much she bares down at you, the claws never tear into your spine, somehow this feels worse than if she just hit you, or did anything other than stare.
>Even as your heart hammers you sink more into despair, you're not even worth the effort to scream at.
>You slink in to the tent and go about a half cocked slur of your nightly routine. The whole time she says nothing, and never so much as gets near you.
>You can't even look at her, bracing again and again for the strike that never comes. Why won't she do it? Why won't she show that she even cares in the slightest anymore?
>Eventually you climb into your cot and shrink under the covers. You stare at the rough fabric of the tent walls, thinking.
>Maybe you should say something.
"... Teth."
>A low growl silences your meek pleading.
>"Goodnight Tom." She rolls it out through clenched teeth, and you curl into yourself further. After that she settles into her cot with the usual racket, you stay facing away from her.
>In the morning, she'll move herself out, likely go hang out with her perfect little squad.
>So many little toxic feelings mire you as you try to rest, the keep your eyes stuck open for a long time. Exactly how long you don't know, the scotch makes the room move even as you try to make sense of how much time is passing.
>It gets harder and harder to even think, and before you know it, something has taken you down.
>But you don't want to go, some fear grips your heart like no other, but as you force your eyes open just as quickly they ebb closed again as every sort of warmth or energy saps out of you.
>Soon you can't fight it anymore.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
<Teth'ra>
>You stir from your rest with a start, it's nothing major, your lips stay sealed even as your breath jumps through your nose.
>You try to call back on whatever it was you were dreaming about but you get nothing, just that bizarre sense that some parts of your body are more awake than others.
>Chief of these is your heart, you can feel it beating in short tickings, like an engine trying to turn over.
>There's something in the air, some scent lying underneath everything else. You don't know what it is but for some reason it's thoroughly unpleasant to you.
>The gentle tapping of a light rain patters around above you, it's not anywhere as bad as it was back south, but you still growl lowly at the thought of starting another morning in this dreary state.
>But it's not morning, it's the middle of the damn night and you had woken up for seemingly no reason.
>You hear the gentle breathing of movement to your back. Right, he's still here, even if you didn't want to talk to him.
>Was he awake too? What the hell time even is it?
>It's far too early is what it is. Just go back to sleep. It's nice and warm under your sheets and you don't want to deal with the chilling breath of the rain.
>But no matter how hard you clutch at your covers and shut your eyes, you can't get the sands of sleep to envelop you again.
>A panging of guilt and regret is intent to hang you away from your rest. You were being too hard on him.
>It's not like you can't understand why he said it. He was panicking and you weren't there to restrain her.
>But the only thing that will make that cold sting leave is hearing another set of words from him. But it just wouldn't sound genuine if he just said it because it was the right thing to do.
>He mumbles something, the words are so quiet they escape even the iron grip of your ears.
>Is he awake?
>Guilt bites at your ankles like a feral mutt. You saw the way he stumbled in, he couldn't even look at you, and his breath punched your nose like a prize fighter. The scent of alcohol was that powerful.
>He was violently upset, but was it over guilt for hurting you? Or fear that you would hurt him?
>You can't keep letting him dangle just so his apology sounds more genuine to you. Did your upbringing not teach you forgiveness after everything?
>He would crack soon, if his anguish was over the former, you can't keep holding it against him. If it was the latter... then this was never meant to work in the first place.
>At that point you wouldn't be able to stand being around him anymore.
>He mumbles something again as he shifts on his bedding, guilt napes at your neck.
>Alright that's it, you should talk to him.
"Tom."
>...
>You start shifting off your side to at least turn your head to face him, maybe he didn't hear you.
"Tom?"
>He still has his back to you, and he groans lightly, making an incoherent motion with his left arm.
>Just mumblings in his slumber, dammit. Might as well go back to sleep.
>Still you can't drift off, something is touching just the smallest part of your nose that has it ringing up your instincts, reporting that something isn't right.
 
<Master Sergeant McWhicky, Thomas A.>
>Your vision flickers through black and you tap at the side of your head lightly, pushing in on the silver tong between your fingers.
>A few more flickers, then the image stabilizes, and you're staring down and ahead along the cracked roadbed and the verdant green of trees and grass freshly uncovered from the winter snow.
>Out of the corner of your eye, you notice you have strayed a bit close to the machine off your left shoulder, and so you push against the auger, correcting your slow stride back to the right.
>A voice chirps in your headset. "McWhicky, don't wander out of formation."
"Sorry Cap, having trouble with my optics, I think this old plug is corroded."
>"Well we'll just have to get a replacement when we're back at the depot. Now try to keep your feet straight soldier."
"Yes sir."
>You have to admit you had your doubts when you first met the captain, but Willard had proved to be as pleasant a man as he first seemed.
>When you questioned him about his offer to invite you into his unit as a pilot, he talked you through your doubts without forcing you.
>This was still your decision at the end of the day.
>Walking along out in the countryside like this felt very natural now, despite the strain on your legs pushing the big hunk of steel you rode forward.
>To think on your first day in the auger on a training model you almost fell over, the instructor informed you that most trainee pilots actually did fall over.
>Guess that's why the training augers were built like padded trashcans.
>"Aww c'mon Tom, having yet more issues with yer machine there? maybe you shouldn't curse at it so much during maintenance cycles, I don't think it likes you."
"Whoever had this hulk before me is to blame there fuckface."
"Half my systems are on the fritz regularly, and the other half have faulty parts."
"I pulled the primer rod twelve times this morning. Twelve times! And the bastard still wouldn't start."
>"I keep tellin' ya Tom, yer given that machine a bad spirit, it's gonna act up on ya."
"Oh fuck off you clown, You aren't one of those suspicious eastern pagans now are ya?"
>A chattering laughter sounded over the in-squadron channel, Kask always was a joker, you could never hold his spirits down. Even if he entertained bizarre beliefs, however briefly, for the sake of the exotic.
>You rolled your eyes and thumbed off your transmitter even as laughter crept out of you, before the Captain stepped on both of you over the channel.
>"Alright, alright. Cut the chatter you two, remember we're out here looking for bugs."
>Kask cut back in. "Don't see SHIT cap'n."
>Then O'Neill had his say. "I haven't seen anything, Vince probably can't even see his own hands with all those charms he wears."
"Nothing here either."
"But hey, I'm having trouble focusing on my own feet right now, so what do I know?"
>"Tom, you must have the sharpest eyes here compared to us old dogs, don't talk yourself down like that."
>Wise, experienced, and above all supportive. That summed up O'Neill nicely.
>The four of you are a team, there's no one else you'd rather brave the dangers of the cordon with.
>That being said, the rolling pines and pale green grasses in front of you held lots and lots of nothing so far, bugs don't nest in conifers.
>The small tastes of the local air you got through the ventilators carried a verdant, sweet sort of smell. The troop continued the conversation, everyone knowing that there isn't anything out here that could really hope to challenge a full Rumbler squadron.
>"Say Gaius, just how long was that shot Tom pulled off at the range?" Oh boy, they're bringing up this again.
>"I'd say it was around three hundred feet." Replied the captain.
>"You should be proud of that, kid."
>Kask played up his reaction. "three hundred bullseye, with that glitzy magnum?!"
>You always told them
"It was a lucky shot guys, come on."
 
>A bright flash agitated your left eye as your screens flickered again, you smacked at the sensory port at the side of your head. Readjusting the plug and leveling the noise back into the clean image of the road.
>That glitch may have briefly extended to the ventilators too, the flash of cold air across your neck made you shiver slightly.
>Could've sworn you briefly heard something in your headset as well, damn static.
>You rolled your head a bit to make sure the plug wouldn't act up again before turning attention back onto the path.
>Deciding not to bring up your repeated technical issues lest Kask tease you about the static calling your name or whatever quasi-religious experiment he's 'researching' this week, you tune back in to the troop talking about your shot.
>"There wasn't anything lucky about that shot Tom, you have good aim." While you did hit the target, O'Neill was forgetting the other details.
"My grouping isn't up to snuff, if it was, I'd be in the infantry."
>That much was true, not counting that both you and your father were vehemently against you being drafted as a rifle. Luckily your technical skills saved you from being one of the hundreds of tunnel rats that get mulched on the regular.
>All the ones that do die in those dark holes in the ground, it's not your problem but some distant part of you still pains for them.
>You try to forget that for now, it's not like you even know any infantrymen.
>The captain seems determined to get you caught in the idle chatter. "Ha! Our own dirty harry thinks his grouping isn't straight."
>You dislike the comparison, really you do, you were far from a silver screen cowboy, but just because you showed up with a revolver everyone expected you to be a flawless pistol marksman.
>Can't really bring yourself to be angry about it anymore, now you're just tired of it as you loose a weary sigh.
"Cap please, I'm not some action hero."
>"That you aren't kid, most action heroes don't know how to handle a gun."
>Can't help but laugh at that one, Hollywood and the other entertainment sects really have no clue about the actual soldier's life.
"I don't think any of those actors have ever fired a shot in anger in their life."
>"Or ever will." Captain Willard was definitely correct about that. If those liberal stooges jerking themselves off in front of a camera ever learned how to handle a firearm, they wouldn't be so keen on trying to take them all away.
>You laughed at the captain's good natured joking, remembering how different the movies were before the war.
>It seemed like a lot of flicks you saw back then carried thinly veiled political messages against a lot of the rights the republic constitution granted, seeming to hold 'unalienable rights' were suddenly government granted privileges, idiots.
>Then the draft came about and the whole system audibly switched gears, now producing pro-war propaganda by the boatload, you aren't sure which side of the coin is worse.
>You definitely enjoyed the more apolitical films, like the ones starring Eastwood. You were tugged back into the idle chatter as the captain spoke.
>"Say, what the hell was that flick Vegalta picked out for movie night?"
>Kask jumped on this, he loves making light of cheesy garbage. "Ah yeh, that one with the Indiana Jones rip off or whatnot?"
>O'Neill cut in with a sigh. "Yep, that's the one. The gunplay in it was terrible, what the hell was the title even?"
"Michigan Rei and The Curtain of Obsidian."
>Everyone chuckled, remembering the name of the surprisingly high budget, but still B-movie tier knock off.
"Honestly I think half the plot was just some excuse for the *cough* romantic subplot. Obviously that's why Vegalta picked it out."
>There was a general muttering of agreement, the boomer captain had pretty trashy tastes, seems the only thing that mattered was that a romance was front and center during the course of the movie.
>And mostly they were pretty poorly written, the recent flick being a standout example. The male lead was an entirely generic walking trope that had no real character and all of like a dozen lines. The female counterpart wasn't much better.
>They got some sort of scrawny breed of domestic, drenched her in black fur dye and gold glitter makeup, and tried to sell her off as a royal jackal.
>Probably because a real royal jackal would never be seen anywhere near this schlock.
>She was pretty obviously faked, numerous clues gave it away: the camera foreshortening to make her appear taller than the titular 'archaeologist'; the foam ear extensions; the subtle changes in the over designed gold marking patterns between scenes; the way her back hunched due to comically large breast implants, or some uber-stuffed bra; and they couldn't really do much about her short muzzle.
>While she was more of a character than the fridge they glued a hat and whip onto and excused as the protagonist. She spent the majority of the flick following him like a lost puppy because he was 'mysterious'.
>You almost wish a real royal jackal was there, just to see what they would think of their on-a-budget cousin.
>Could've sworn you saw one on base somewhere.
>What grabbed your attention was the 'nazi super robot' that was obviously just a disarmed Rumbler chassis in a costume. Most of the budget seemed to have been thrown at it.
>Kind of a waste considering it was on screen for all of seven and a half minutes of a dragging, generic twenty minute fight scene before being destroyed.
>Afterwards the two disappeared off camera with obvious connotations, Vegalta proclaimed 'that's how you bag 'em'. That drew a chorus of annoyed groans out of everyone, even the boomers.
>Then the plot wandered with absolutely no connotation towards the ancient aliens trope, and you got up and left.
 
>"Hey Tom, Vegalta didn't try to play matchmaker again did he?" Kask's concern calls you back out of your reflecting. You've moved quite a bit further up the road, it's easy to lose track of time when all you're doing is walking and idle chatter.
"... No. Thank fuck, probably would have tried if I hadn't left early."
>Believing he's a master of romance, the boomer captain never failed to try and set you up on dates during the battalion's social outings or really whenever he was bored because you were quote: 'too pent up'.
>And he never failed to get your type wrong. every. damn. time.
>At this point it was safe to assume, if the idiot thinks she's a good match for you, he's wrong.
>He always either got girls that were far too easy, didn't get you in the slightest, or God forbid, anthros.
>Your dumb ass always felt sorry for whatever poor waif thought she would be meeting someone other than the idiot, so you went anyways.
>The easy girls would pretend to have fun, then drag you home and start undressing. You would stand in their door, ask if they wanted anything beyond the sex, they'd take offense to the question, and you'd leave.
>The incompatible girls would complain and moan when you attempted to socialize. You'd ask them what the hell they even came out for if they wouldn't even try to make things work, they'd take offense to the question, and you'd leave.
>The anthros you apologized at from a healthy distance, informed them you just didn't think of anthros like that and to blame the idiot. They'd ask why, and for a change of pace you'd take offense to the question, and you'd leave.
>It was like clockwork.
>Exhausting, grating clockwork.
>Having to reject and be rejected at least once a fucking week made you testy, the others knew this, and gave you your much needed relief and peace of mind.
>Around these guys, just the squadron hanging out, you felt like you could relax. But for now you had a mission.
>That mission was to walk into the cordon for hours on end and find fuck all of interest.
>At least the conversation made the mind numbing tedium of patrol pass by faster, the miles just seemed to melt as the green mountains crept by.
>"How many times has it been now?"
"... I lost count."
>All the two bit voyeurs and the anti socialites expecting you to read their minds just kinda blended together into a slurry of non-commitment and bitchy attitudes. You really only remember the anthros, and even then it's only because you were keeping close tabs on teeth and claws.
>"shit... that's pretty harsh man."
"yep, that's me, forever alone."
>"Aww c'mon, I'm sure someone has gotta be out there for your smart ass."
>Someone who wouldn't mind that you weren't always a fairy tale gentleman or a low key psychic. A girl that wouldn't mind your dry wit, and actually listen to what you have to say.
>The boyish, caring woman you've never seen, and never will. Because you'd sooner catch a bullet than a lucky break.
>A heavy sigh drags out of you in defeat, but you can swear that she's out there, somewhere.
>Maybe even closer than you think.
>"Plenty of fish in the sea kid." Willard says, he's not wrong but with how few must be waiting for a fisherman like you.
"Ya always say that cap, besides you've had more time than me to fish."
>"ah! But I haven't had such a good eye for it kid, you keep batting away the bad catches Vegalta sets up." Willard never had much luck keeping a relationship stable, so you trust his experience as to what a 'bad catch' is.
>That made you feel a bit better about how many you had to turn away because they either didn't agree with your tastes, or wanted nothing more than something momentary.
>You turned your attention back to the rolling green, although you couldn't place it, somehow it felt familiar, like you had been here before.
>Maybe you had just seen this segment of the northwestern wilderness in a photo somewhere.
 
>O'Neill spoke up. "Why haven't you given any anthros a chance, they're... pretty different from other girls, maybe you'd have more luck there."
>Your breath jumped in your throat a little, the idea that you were a beast fucker rose anger deep in you.
>You want to cuss him out, but you bite your tongue. He doesn't know.
"I'm not into anthros Terry, never was, never will be."
>"Why?"
>...
>The glint of teeth
>The flash of claws
>You're rooted in fear, helpless
>You can't even choke out a scream
>The air cuts with a whisper
>The sound cuts short
>A splash of scarlet smears the narrow sky
>The sound will never leave you
>The sound of her screaming
>...
>You blink hard and thrash your head to make the phantom leave. You can't let it out.
>You can never let it out.
>Calming your trembling breaths, you force down the empty cold that had ensnared your spine. And you fan the flames of your anger to force it away.
>You hope that they didn't hear the way you glazed over as the memory resurged.
>You growled out the words, a warning.
"I don't want to talk about it."
>"But-"
>The captain stepped in. "He said he doesn't want to talk about it O'Neill, leave him be."
>"... yes sir."
>Willard kept speaking as O'Neill backed off.
>"You okay kid?"
"... Yeah, just.. bad memories."
>"My door is always open if ya need anything kid."
"mhm"
>You aren't sure if you could ever even share that with someone. Would they ever understand?
>Every time you think on it, creeping doubts always say no, they weren't there, they would never excuse your hangups.
>But Willard always seemed to have all of your best interests at heart... maybe you should reach out to him.
>Looking at it from the outside, there may be a chance that he would understand perfectly.
>Why not give it a go? The man has proven that you're more to him than just a subordinate. He'll watch out for you, even if he may not agree with your reasoning.
"Ya know cap... I may have to take you up on that offer when we get back."
>"Anytime kid. Now let's get back on task."
"Thank you sir."
 
>The idle chatter flowed away as the patrol wound deeper into bug country, the whole journey through the mountainous countryside rendered little beyond the green pines and sharp furrowing slopes.
>The worst you encountered seemed to be lone bugs or small packs, which quickly skittered away when faced with four Rumblers, nesting real-estate must be thin outside of the larger settlements.
>Without the conversation keeping your attention, the hours seemed to melt into minutes.
>More green, more trees, more nothing.
>Good fucking God the northwest was boring.
>Pretty, but boring.
>No wonder people tend to forget Canada was a thing north of Vancouver.
>When you were first briefed on taking a combat patrol up north beyond the cordon, your initial worry was over getting swarmed as soon as you left effective range of friendly guns. Either you or the support convoy trailing behind your path-blazing was bound to be caught out by a small swarm at the wrong moment.
>Now your primary worry was being bored to death as the miles ticked by.
>In technicality, this was still enemy territory, so you can't just talk shit and put on some music while taking the hike, gotta keep an eye out.
>Mind numbing tedium threatens to put you in a waking coma, so you decide to make your own entertainment beyond counting how many times you've seen trees that look similar.
>Making dead certain your transmitter is flipped to the off position, you start humming now that your voice is isolated.
>Don't need a repeat of your first day in a Rumbler after going through the training. You were still getting used to everything and your nerves were riding high, scared that the differing weight distribution and tensions would have you falling over.
>It was in that moment you started quietly singing to yourself, it had always helped your nerves.
>And then promptly stopped when everyone started laughing, you had left the transmitter on like a complete idiot.
>Since then you didn't let your voice be heard by anyone but yourself.
>It's not like you could ever compare anyway. You're entirely self-taught.
>You let the mech's footfalls act as a slow drumming metronome, and you started letting the tune leak out.
>The words flow like a gentle breeze as you quietly mumble the lyrics. staring at the welcoming blue sky.
>There's a lady, who glitters with gold, and sometimes words have two meanings.
>It makes you wonder.
>Your spirit gets a feeling, looking to the west, and the forests will echo with laughter.
>It really makes you wonder.
>And there's always time, to change the road you're on.
>To go down a path that leads you away.
>And if you listen very hard, the truth will come to you at last.
>And maybe then, you'll find home.
>It will always make you wonder.
>You close your eyes, and the melody flows away, sweeping everything with it.
>Now you can just watch the rolling green under your feet, and think about nothing as more miles wind away.
>The patrol has been going for hours, but it doesn't really feel like it.
>The road winds, mechs thump, engines mumble, and by now there's such little evidence of a threat that the support convoy is following the squadron closely, their trailing advance shortened to three hundred meters or so.
>Looking up you see the glint of silvered wingtips dancing through the clouds, another reconnaissance flight checking far ahead of where your patrol will take you.
>Rounding a bend and peering over the flare of a hill, you sight the edge of a small town, nestled under a ridge.
>Your breath pauses for a moment, this place somehow seems...
>Familiar
>...As if. You've been here before.
>You stalk forward on bated breath, falling in with the rest of the squadron. You can't place it, but something about how you almost know this place is wrong.
 
>Another glimmering catches your eye, and you reach to adjust the plug again.
>You push it in.
>The shine in your eye hasn't gone away.
>Your heart plummets, Ice breaths on your back.
>That gleam is sunlight, reflecting off metal.
>The heart seizes, and air races down your throat as needles rake across your skin.
>You thumb the transmitter on in a heartbeat.
"SILVER SIGN!! SCATTER! SCATTER!!"
>And suddenly you aren't about yourself anymore, you're watching.
>Watching through your eyes as you realize why.
>Why you know this place.
>It sinks on you as every voice whispers out of the darkness, creeping cold walking across you.
-this is where they die-
>And it plays, the dance of death. In every inscrutable detail.
>in every agonizing second.
>every. horrid. memory.
>You aren't in control of yourself anymore, you're just along for the show.
>You can't scream, you can't warn them any faster.
>You can't change anything.
>Immediately the squadron moves, splitting in different directions as the call goes out.
>Kask wasn't fast enough.
>From an impossible distance, it reaches out and takes his arm.
>A bright streak of white crashes into the shoulder of his Rumbler.
>It pierces through, steam and glowing red fragments spray from both ends as the armor vaporizes.
>The outer plates buckle and fly apart, and the machine's right arm drops away, control cables snapping. Power couplings sparked and flared as hydraulic and oil lines leaked their vital fluids, smoldering fire clinging to the blasted socket.
>With the drop in mass, Kask lurches to the left, using the momentum to try to run for safety faster.
>"Grah! I'm hit! Right arm is gone!"
>The captain bellows, ordering everyone towards the obvious course of action.
>"Goddamn sniper! Everyone get to cover! Now!"
-it won't save them-
>Kask scrambles, trying to push the Rumbler's legs as hard as he can to place a hollowed apartment building between him and the enemy.
>The offset weight is slowing him down, he has to balance his stride to avoid falling.
>You scream at him to stagger his approach, to throw off the enemy's aim, but there is no air in your lungs.
>You aren't there, you're just watching the memories of that horrid day.
>So you can only watch hopelessly as Vincent scrambles, desperate to cling to life as you scramble for your own cover.
>None of these old machines could move as quickly as that new one can, he isn't fast enough.
>He keeps his torso panned towards the right, towards you, in some attempt to balance the weight correctly.
>He's so close to safety, but it doesn't matter.
>A second bright streak reaches out.
>It punches through his left shoulder, and with a gut punching percussion, the left ammo racks explode.
>Flames and smoke reach high above the left backplate as whirling chunks careen high, the pressure of the detonation forced upwards by the blast plates.
>The machine stumbles, whirling counter clockwise as it crashes into the frame of the shelled apartment.
>The frame buckles and shifts as dust and chunks of rubble fall, but the structure itself manages to stay standing despite the impact.
>Kask's Rumbler is now leaned back into the face of the structure, both arms missing and billowing smoke.
>He screams in agony.
>You remember the blast plate on the compartment side failed, and Vincent was showered with red hot fragments.
 
>The pit in your gut drops as you remember how he dies, and the memory plays in front of you.
>You can't go through this again.
>But it won't let you leave, every way you try to will yourself it's there, never leaving your vision.
"please no."
>It doesn't acknowledge your pleading, the show must go on.
>Even as its actors scream for mercy.
>For release. For ANYTHING!
"no"
"not again."
"please"
>Your voice is a small whisper, overpowered by a wind bloated with chill and pinpricks of fear dancing like electricity over your back.
>It carries no words, but you must watch.
>Watch him die in agony again.
>Watch them all die.
>You had scrambled behind a large brick structure, just across a wide street from Kask's wounded machine.
>You remember every word that belted out of you as you tensed to try and dash.
"Vince!"
>"Don't move kid!"
"Kask is hit sir!"
>"DON'T. MOVE. That sniper is waiting for the first one of us to break cover."
>It's agony, you want to help him, need to help him. But the captain is right.
>You know what's going to happen and the twisting pain of being forced to watch, powerless, is burning you from within.
>Before the captain has a chance too, you reach out to Vince, you won't just abandon your brother in arms.
"Vince. Can you hear me? How ya doing?"
>"Well uh.. I'm uhh, I'm not dead. So that's a thing." He strangles a cry of pain.
>"Kinda roughed up though." You can hear the panic edging into his words, his breath comes quickly as he tries to gasp in air with mixed success.
>For all of his faith, you always knew.
>Kask was terrified of that thought.
>That he would pass into the great unknown, and find nothing.
>He cries again, the burning shrapnel is agony, and he can't keep himself still as his body wants to spasm in pain.
>The captain speaks. "Vincent! listen to me! Keep still, if you move too much the bastard may see you through the windows."
>"I'm trying sir. but... oh shit, that's a lot of blood."
>"Where are you hit soldier?"
>"I... uh."
>"Where are you hit?" The tone was flat and authoritative, Willard attempting to calm him through his training.
>A good soldier always obeys the command tone.
>"I-I got shrapnel. Left side, my arm and leg got it real bad an- ARRRgh, shit! it's still hot!."
>He screams as the pain surges out in a great wave, The machine's legs shift and squirm as the body slides a little ways down against its cover, movement the enemy will notice.
>Another bolt crashes through a mere meter from his side, he screams again in panic, but manages to arrest his movement.
>You move forward to run, you need to help.
>"MCWHICKY! DO. NOT. MOVE!"
"WE NEED TO HELP HIM SIR!"
>"That's what he's waiting on! Don't move!"
"shit! fuck! fuck!! FUCK!!!"
>You couldn't do anything then, you can do even less now.
>Another bolt erupts above Kask's backplate, and he screams in terror again, fighting the urge to run.
"Vince stop moving! he's trying to zero in!"
>You know it's already too late, Kask was dead the moment his left ammo bunker blew, but you have to watch, you have to suffer as he's ripped away again.
>The enemy knows where he is, his pained movements gave him away exactly. The bastard is just toying with all of you by making it slow.
 
>The captain continues to attempt to calm the panicked trooper, but it won't be of any use.
>You know how this ends, and you scream again outside the dream, to make it stop.
>No matter how hard you try to pull away, to disregard it and flee, to try and force yourself awake, nothing happens.
>Your limbs find no purchase, you can barely breath, and your voice is small and unheard despite the aching thunder under your chest.
"not again."
"please"
"make it stop."
>No answer, no escape. You must watch.
>"Son. Listen to me. You're gonna be alright, just stop moving, we'll figure something out soon alright?"
>Despite Willard's words, Kask is terrified.
>"Please sir I-I don't want to die here. I don't want to die, I don't want to die." His will is broken. Voice heavy with tears and fear, Vincent pleads for life.
>"Listen to me son, can you pull out of your auger?"
>Abandoning your machine, the mark that you were truly defeated, that no option presentable could bring you victory or a chance at escape with as large a target as a Rumbler.
>"I-I can Huurgh!... I can try."
>As expensive as the machines are, the pilots are still worth more at the end of the day.
>If there's a chance the pilot can still escape without his machine...
>"Sir I... I-I have a problem." He's on the verge of tears now, you can hear it in his voice.
>"What is it Kask?"
>"The releases... they're broken."
>No escape.
>It's every pilot's worst nightmare, trapped in a damaged auger connected to a crippled machine, in enemy territory. Something like that can lead to a horrible death.
>The emergency release for the armature is located externally, where the pilot can't reach it while strapped in.
>This is because the emergency release destroys the armature and cuts the control cables at the source, if a panicked pilot hit it by mistake or at the wrong time it would easily get him killed.
>Someone has to go in and pull him out since the pilot releases are rendered inoperable by shrapnel.
>You have to do it, and you tensed again to make a mad dash across the road.
>"TOM! DON'T MOVE!"
"GODDAMNIT CAP WE HAVE TO HELP HIM! HE'S DYING!"
>"CATCH YOUR STRIDE SOLDIER!"
>"AIR SUPPORT IS COMING. DO NOT MOVE!"
"WE DON'T HAVE THE FUCKING TIME!"
>You remembered, you didn't have the time, not even the time to pull Vincent out.
>But you had moved back then, defiant of Willard's better reasoning, because you couldn't stand to listen to your brother bleed and die.
>Before you could expose yourself he cut over both you and the captain, screaming.
>"Goddamnit! Both of you stop!... just fucking stop..."
"Vince I'm right across the street! I can-"
>"Tom! The captain is right... I-I can't have anyone getting killed on my account, please!."
"I can't leave you here! If.. If I had just seen him sooner."
>"Oh god... Tom, yo-you always talked about finding home right? Once the war's done?"
"Yeah pal, I did, I did."
>"Wha.. What's home look like?" The tears flowed from your eyes as your chest heaved, you didn't want to lose him. But something urged you... to make his last moments comfortable.
"It's beautiful pal, a nice little state house in a green meadow, and-and there's a garden ya know? All sorts of sweet smells from the flowers."
>"Sounds nice."
"Yeah... and there's this firepit on a nice lawn, and on a little hill there's this.. This little white pavilion with flowering vines all over it."
"a-and... And she's there. A woman, And she just radiates happiness ya know?... And there's laughter, and... and. There's little voices, Vince, There's happy little voices. And they never knew this war."
>"Tom... I want you to find home for me. Okay?"
>"I.. I think I can see it."
"You're gonna see it pal! YOU'RE GONNA SEE IT! You hear me?!"
"I'm gonna get you out, and we're all gonna see it!"
"WE'RE ALL GONNA FIND HOME!"
>Your chest hammered as your heart thrashed in pain, you didn't bother trying to preserve your dignity by stemming the tears.
"I-If I had only seem him sooner."
>"Tom.."
>"Listen to me."
>"It's n-- your fault."
 
>The front of the machine erupts in a spray of molten fragments and fire, the shot had hit him square in the back.
>He's gone.
>...
"no"
"No!"
"NO!!"
>Blood boiling, every thought suppressed by unending rage. You step out into the street and sight the enemy, a gleam of silver on a hill peering over the ridge that shelters the north of the town.
"You want it?! Take it! Die! Die!! DIE!!!"
>You fire everything. Missiles scream, cannons bellow, The engines howl.
>You give your own roar to the chorus as you push forward in a charge, hoping to force him off of his hill.
>The legs refuse to move as fast as you want them, despite the surge of your effort pushing against their resistance.
>He must die, for everything he's done, for every life he's taken.
>But you never got him, more missiles and shells fanned over the hillside and great clouts of smoke and fire as the enemy's shields glared.
>He doesn't move as you continue the plodding surge forward, he won't move until he takes his shot, the shields give him all the time he needs.
>He's too far away, you're too slow, you let your fire rise the smoke over your eyes.
>This is where you should have died.
-it's what you deserved-
>You realized that in the past, and you slowed to try and change direction, only for a surge of momentum to knock you forward.
>A loud crash echoed from the back of the frame as you stumbled right, heading off the road towards more cover.
>The bright lance reached out and struck across your left weapon arm, tearing through the top and destroying the GAU-8. If you hadn't been shoved forward, that shot would have pierced through your left missile batteries, and into the compartment.
>The spray of fragments rattles off the hull like a hellborn hail, you had lost control of yourself and gotten stupid, you should be dead.
>But who shoved you forward?
>You stomp behind an abandoned factory, roughly pushing against your stride to slow down and take cover.
>Twisting your machine to face back towards the road, you find your answer.
>Huddled behind a silo, a Rumbler dressed in chalky white stripes, the nose plate adorned with a face formed from two crescent moons, and a snarling feline maw. 'Lunar Kitten', Willard's machine.
>"What the hell did I tell you about moving!?!"
"Sir, I-I just."
>"You just what?! Kid. You thought running off on a goddamned suicide charge would fucking solve ANYTHING?!"
"Sir I have-"
>"Have to what? To get yourself killed for fuck all?!"
"TO KILL HIM SIR, I HAVE TO KILL THAT FUCKING BASTARD!"
>"Kid, we're all angry right now, BUT JUST WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND!!"
"Sir I-"
>"You will not disobey orders again! The wings will flush him out in a minute, until then DO NOT MOVE!!"
>"I will not lose more pilots today!"
>You had shut up at that, the weight of realization settling on you. If the captain hadn't been there...
>The enemy was perfectly ready to exploit your blind aggression, and you had forced the others to move, endangering the rest of the unit.
>You didn't even think over a plan of attack or evasion, you just moved. The heart still burns for vengeance, but now shame burns your throat.
>A section eight is in your future, discharge by way of failing mental health.
>You were plainly unstable now, something bent with the death of Vincent Kask.
-and now it breaks-
>"Master Sergeant Kask, Vincent P." It echoed from all around you in the black void beyond the memory, Carried by a rasping tenor, shredding the air around it, a deathly parody of his own voice. A rolling thunder shocks your heart as deep bellowing cries howl from all directions. The hollowed din stabbing into you with crying despair as you shudder violently.
>You scream into the void again, for anyone to pull you out.
"Make it stop!"
"Please God, make it stop!"
"Help me!"
>no answer, no escape.
 
>You risk to peer back towards the hillside with one of the external cameras, he's disappeared.
>The sniper moved, to find a spot to torture his next target. The whole time Willard and O'Neill were arguing over air support, Willard was sure the wings would arrive in minutes to either bombard the target into submission or drive him away.
>O'Neill was the one calling in the firing mission, and he was increasingly convinced of the opposite. Barking that the bombers would not arrive in time, and any fighters or ground attackers in the local area were useless against a battleframe.
>You sat in silence, scanning every furrow and hide where the enemy could appear, and trying to assuage the doubts dragging you down.
>Too aggressive, too passionate, you would be killed, because you don't think.
>O'Neill stated that the fire mission was approved, and the bombers wouldn't be here anytime soon, he was right.
>They would never arrive in time.
>With the enemy nowhere in site and air support too far away, Willard ordered a cautious cover to cover advance, trying to bait the sniper into taking bad shots and revealing himself.
>You and the captain moved in the lower town, While O'Neill pushed hard along the ridge.
>If only you had stopped to try and get a better read on the situation, if you had taken a moment to try and think clearly you may have realized.
>He was flanking you.
>"Shit. I fucking see him! GAAAGH-"
>Another white streak had flown over your heads into the ridge. The captain responded immediately, fanning unaimed fire towards the direction it came from, you followed.
>Of course, you hit nothing, you remembered that.
>"O'Neill! Status report!"
>You were starting to hear it in his voice, the stress of trying to keep it together.
>O'Neill grunted in pain before making his report. "Bastard fucking legged me, Spun into a warehouse, not sure about other damages, trying to get my bearings here."
>Terry would have to abandon his machine, a destroyed leg meant the thing was immobile now.
>Something seemed off to you about where the shot may have originated from, towards the southwest. The frame was fast and had repositioned that far just to get a cleaner shot on O'Neill?
>Then it clicked.
"Cap, he's going for the support convoy!"
>Willard took a moment, then the conclusion hit him as well. He started scrambling over the radio to bring the convoy forward under the protection of your guns.
-you were too late-
>You didn't hear him over the general channel as you were busy checking in on O'Neill, dreading you would lose another one of your brothers today.
"O'Neill.. O'Neill! Can you hear me?"
>"Yeah... I can hear ya." His breathing is shallow and labored, and your worry edges in from everywhere, he took a nasty fall and likely has a pretty severe head injury. You have to keep him talking.
"Hey. How are the both of ya doing?"
>"I... I can't see Fairgraves, damn... I feel kinda... tired."
>You remembered, Fairgraves had died on impact, O'Neill's subgunner was gone.
>Kask's own subgunner was back in the convoy, and you didn't ride today with the mouthy trainee that was yours.
>Both of them would be gone soon, the order to bring the convoy forward was too late. By the time they got into cover under your guns in town, over half of the convoy was gone.
>But you didn't know that back then, so you kept yourself busy trying to keep Terry from slipping away.
"Stay with me pal, I know you feel tired but you can't let yourself go ya lazy bastard."
>"McWhicky, I don't feel so good..."
 
>More and more his strength faded, more and more your heart sank.
>You kept him talking, in that vain hope.
"Keep your head up soldier. Cap wouldn't like it if you took a nap on the job."
>"I suppose not.. I'm just so tired."
>"I want to go home."
>His response continues to weaken, you can only imagine his breath is growing slower, more shallow.
"What's the sky like?"
>"hm?"
"What's the sky like? over home?"
>"It's beautiful, can see Orion's belt clear as day."
>O'Neill was a skygazer in his spare time, he loved to talk about the stars.
>You got caught up in his old time romanticism some days.
"Think we'll ever get out there?"
"Out into the black, to reach up and grab hold of Orion's belt?"
>"Actually going out there huh? Cities under distant stars, seems impossible thinking of it now... damn bugs."
>His voice is trailing away, sinking towards the grasping shore of the abyss.
>Once he touched those black sands, they would pull him in and the tide would take him, and he wouldn't be coming back.
>Just a little longer, just a few more minutes you have to keep his head above the water.
"Well, we can always just rip at the thing and pants the celestial fucker. Right?"
>He chuckles weakly, his life ebbing out of him as the trauma shuts him down.
>More and more, the only ones you're talking to over the line are phantoms.
-you knew aid wouldn't arrive in time, why did you try?-
>...
"Don't you quit on me pal, You need to see a night sky that isn't threatening to fall on us."
>His next words come so weak, so distant, you can barely hear them.
>"I'm not quiting..."
>"I... Just..."
>"Gotta take a break......"
>"Wake me up when the war's over......"
>Like the mist of the green mountain,
>Gone forever.
>The echo haunts you. And it comes again, rolling into you from the air itself.
>You clutch at your head, trying to block it out, but it only makes the sound that much clearer.
>"Master Sergeant O'Neill, Terry C." whispers a hollowed wraith, its pathetically weak breath spirited away with a sigh. It was once his voice.
>Then it crashes into you again as the barking call strangles your heart, your knees buckle and you fall in on yourself.
>The sinking despair ties loops around your feet and plunges you down.
>You're past fighting it, you can't win, you plead and cry. Maybe if the cruel thing is satisfied it will let you fall away.
>You call again weakly, drowning.
"Please God... just stop it."
"Make it go away."
"Anything... please, make it stop."
>no answer
>no escape
 
>You meekly turn your head, trying to hide your eyes but the vision refuses to leave.
>The captain has finished relaying orders, and checks back in on you.
>"Kid, how's O'Neill doing?"
"He's gone cap.. it's just us now."
>The captain rattles off a short string of curses, you can tell the stress is breaking him.
>From there the memory starts phasing through what happens next, like some demented deity fast forwarding to the good part.
>It skips over how Willard managed to talk you into fighting on just a little longer.
>It disregards how you managed to shelter what remains of the convoy away from immediate danger.
>You and Willard had made tandem charges at just the right times to force the enemy to move, to throw off his shots just enough as he moved in from the south in pursuit of the convoy.
>You forced him away with delaying fights and wild fire. Willard figured that the sniper would react to gain distance if you got too close.
>He was right.
>So you steered him east, to open up the south again for the impending retreat, you remembered that you felt a dim glimmer of hope in that moment. Hope that everyone still standing would go home alive again.
>The memory glossed over it, it didn't want you to feel even a shaving of that glimmer, or any courage from how you fought on.
>It wanted you to suffer, and you can't escape it, even as you quake and shudder knowing what comes next.
>You had chased the enemy away towards the north eastern corner of the town, still he skirted along in the hills and furrows outside.
>It was there under the ridge, charging shoulder to shoulder up a broad thoroughfare, staggering your fire in close coordination with Willard to keep the pressure on.
>A mistake had to happen sooner or later.
>At the wrong moment a shot went wide, and a white streak crashed through Willard's nose plate, punching a burning wound through its snarling countenance.
>He stumbled as he screamed in fury. That scream was good, it meant he was still alive.
>You didn't think on it much as you shoved him towards the side into cover, of course, that meant you weren't keeping the fire up.
>Another streak of white fire burned through one of your engines, but you pushed hard, and managed to squeeze both yourself and the captain into cover behind an office complex.
>There was just enough space for the both of your machines, you were nose to nose, and you saw up close the hit that had burned through.
>Melted slag bled in creeping waves, still glowing red with smoke and embers. Maybe at a certain angle you could peer into the compartment and see the captain, but you didn't want to look, the close pass no doubt had him hideously burned.
>But you screamed at him anyways, because then you were so desperate not to lose anyone else.
"Willard! Cap! Answer me!"
>He took a hissing inhale of breath as he swallowed his complaints.
>"I'm still kicking kid, he ju- hng. He just missed me. The bastard got Felix though."
>Another one gone, another one you failed.
"GODDAMNIT!"
>"Kid, listen to me. I'm not long for this world.. so-I."
"no, no, NO, NO NO. DON'T YOU GIVE THAT 'GOOD SOLDIER' BULLSHIT!!"
>It all came at once as you tried to fend off the realization that this is where he dies.
>You completely lost control of yourself, wallowing in a mire of despair and anger, it came out in great wails as your face grew slick.
"WE'RE GOING HOME GODDAMNIT! I'M NOT LOSING ANYONE ELSE!"
>You pleaded, as your fire died.
"we-we're all going h-ho.. home."
>"Kid, I know how you feel, god I know. but listen."
"Don't do this to me cap.. don't fucking do this, don't make me choose."
>"Tom listen to-"
"No! you listen to me!"
"You're. You're like a second father to me cap... I-I can't lose you."
>"And what kind of father wouldn't protect his sons?" You had no argument, and you were too weak to think of anything to stop him, so you listened.
>"now listen to me..."
>There was no anger in his voice, no command tone, you remember every word as the desolation around you seemed to fade away, just leaving you and Willard.
>You gazed into the scarred visage of his machine, seeming to meet his eyes through the plating, an intense gaze of a man taking on his final mission.
>"I'm going to distract that bastard for as long as I can."
>"I already have the convoy ready to move, Once I move, I want you to head the opposite direction, lead the convoy away from here."
>"Go south! you hear me? Don't take the roads, don't expose yourselves in the open for more than a second. Go south as fast as you damn well can."
>"Do you understand?"
"... captain."
>"Do you understand?"
"Yeah.. I understand."
>"Kid, you got a good head on your shoulders. You'll make a fine officer one day."
>"But your heart's too damn big."
>He planted his machine's arms into your front, and the world around you snapped into silence.
>These were the words that finally broke you.
>"Run Kid"
 
>With a sudden surge of sensation, Willard shoved your machine outwards as he pushed back himself, and you both broke from cover at the same time.
>The white stripes of 'Lunar Kitten' gleamed under the light of the sun overhead, once they looked so fearsome. Now the markings were sullied and scarred, a wounded animal, cornered and fighting to the last.
>Willard turned to face his opponent, perched at the top of the ridge like an extant carrion bird.
>It gleamed with silver, and held a long pike of a rifle among its four arms. Pinned to its right shoulder and draped down to its left side in some sort of alien metallic tint: A crimson sash.
>The captain charged, and you ran.
>You ran because you had no hope.
>You ran because all that you knew and loved among this twisting madness of the war was dying.
>You ran because your captain told you to, and you had no idea what to do.
-you ran because you were always a coward-
>Dashing through desolate streets, the three live engines screaming in tandem with your own wayward cries.
>A shell of a man possessed by a final order, everything swam by in a tear fogged haze of empty shells and broken openings.
>You kept going, no stopping, he told you to run.
>Surviving elements of the convoy rolled out of warehouses and factory floors where they had hid from the deadly gaze of the red sash.
>They gunned their engines and followed you as you led them to escape.
>You screamed in one last surge of purpose, driving the auger hard to move as fast as the old machine can take you.
>You can still get them out, you can still save them.
>Every earth-shaking step is in sync with the pained convulsions of your own heart, but you can't stop.
>If you stop, you're dead.
>Crumbling buildings fly by on both sides as the murmur of engines in chorus trails closely behind you.
>Still you hear the whining shriek of the red monster's rifle, and the countering roar and thrash of Willard's guns.
>You dare to look back.
>'Lunar Kitten' charges forward, great volumes of flash and smoke bark from its barrels as it cracks open the shield screen, both machines are wounded.
>But the red sash is in better shape, and dashes off to the side as Willard pans to keep track of him.
>The monster arrests its momentum with an alien grace, and levels the rifle.
>Willard readies to fire everything he has left into the exposed machine.
>A flash of crimson.
>That's the last thing you saw.
>A flash of crimson.
>...
>And he was gone.
>You continued running, he had bought you time, and the red sash disappeared from view as you continued on.
>Hugging the ridge, you just needed to break across into the foothills, then you could turn south and lead what little you have left home.
>A great plume of smoke rose from a section of town on the ridge above you, a fire started by O'Neill's machine.
>Something had sparked a fuel leak, and then all at once, it went wrong.
>Noise, light, confusion.
>A welting concussion rolled up from the top of the ridge with deafening thunder.
>O'Neill's machine had burned down inside of an ammo dump, and it all went up at once.
>The ground fractured, and flowed like water, crashing over you, and crushing what remained of the convoy.
>You scrambled to unhook yourself from your auger, then you collapsed, and all faded to black until you woke up choking on smoke who knows how long later.
>And now it comes again.
>"Captain Willard, Gaius D."
>...
>It's his voice, carried perfectly, sounding angry and disappointed. The wordless shadows whispered intention, because you failed him.
-Failed all of them-
>The thunder shocks your heart and tries to crush it, as you curl in on yourself more.
>You've relived it, what more could it possibly want?
>Why won't it leave? Make it stop!
>More names echo around you, more sins drenching your name in blood.
>The eyes! The goddamned eyes! they're everywhere, staring at you.
>It's there with each barking report crushing your weakening heart that they call through the gaunt silence with unheard words.
>To join them, to burn with them, to die.
>The hollow things want your soul, to drag it into the deep, where it will spin away into nothing.
>You can't take it anymore, and you pour all of your strength into one last bid.
>All of the air, as you scream out in agony for your last refuge.
"TETH'RA!!!!"
>...
>Something reaches down, and pulls you up.
>You snap awake, screaming.
 
"AAAAAAAAaaaaa!"
>Your lungs are empty so you heave for air, it's dark and you're shaking. A clawed hand has arrested your shoulder, another is at your side.
>Briefly your breath jitters in panic, and then a gnashing in your heart overrides it as you feel like your chest is about to tear itself to shreds.
>A voice rings in your ears, a voice you would never think you would be so desperate to hear again.
>"TOM! TOM WAKE UP! COME BACK TO ME!" Your heart is writhing in agony as it tears its wounds open and bleeds like it never bled before.
>It crushes you from behind with a vivid gripping that washes everything with an overpowering despair. They're gone, they're gone and she's the only thing you have left.
>You treated her unfairly, lashed and bit and burdened her. But you can't let her leave!
>Everything screamed, and you screamed, screamed the words every shred of your heart was begging you to as you turned about and crashed into her.
"I'M SORRY!! I'M SORRY TETH! God I'm so sorry!"
>Your own mental resistances had failed, it all came in too great a volume too quickly. Your own damn had broken.
>The last thing you wanted was for her to abandon you, so you clasped your arms around her as you wailed bitterly into her collar.
>You shook and jumped as powering sobs rocked you. You were just bracing for her to pry you off of her. So you pleaded more, ignorant of your pride.
"Please Teth'ra I'm so sorry, I fucked up! Okay?! Are you happy to hear it?! I fucked up! I'm Terrible! I'm a goddamn burden, BUT I'M SORRY!!"
"pleahse, *gasp* please god, I'm sorry, DON'T LEAVE ME!"
>You choked and whined as the tears flowed, sullying her soft fur as you screamed into her in some desperate attempt to speak straight to her heart.
"Don't leave... I'm sorry."
>You wept bitterly, she had come to you so soon you failed to appreciate that she was EVERYTHING you had left. Clinging to her meant clinging to your life.
>Something crossed your back but you failed to tense because your agony had you thrashing for air just to keep your head above water.
>It pulls you in closer towards her... was, was she actually accepting you? She isn't mad? Why isn't she mad? She should be furious with you!
"I'm Sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry."
>Her other arm embraces you, the burly things are so damn comforting for some reason, to be embraced by that sort of strength tells you you're sheltered from the world, insulated by her size.
>No one has to know, has to see as your soul spills all your sorrows at once in a flood.
>"p-please Tom. Stop! This isn't like you, it's okay. It's okay. shhhhh shhh shhhhhhhhhh. It's going to be okay."
>How does it always sound so genuine coming from her? It sounds so real, but you know that somehow it doesn't work.
>If it was okay you wouldn't be languishing in this hell. If it was okay they would still be here.
>She's just trying to calm you down enough to apply a more gentle method of prying you off, so you clutch at her, burying deeper into the mountains of her body.
>She tenses slightly as you clutch at the fur along her back, it ruffles and cushions like a bed of fine ash. Her tension sinks back however as you manage to gather your breath enough to plead again.
"It's not okay! I treated you like garbage! I'm a complete fucking bastard."
>Suddenly it feels like she's pulling away and your heart goes as light as a feather, but you realize her powerful arms are still keeping you locked to her. She's reclining back into her cot and lying down with you.
"You saved me, and all I can do is hurt you..."
>She kept you in the embrace, dragging you out of your cot to share hers, your body falling along her side as the embrace pulled you forward to rest your chest above hers.
>You feel a soft silk pushing gently against your head, prodding you to move, you hold on tighter. It gently lets off, and hovers inches over your ear, washing a dry warmth over your neck. It comes in a gentle breath of spring like serenity, honeyed with care and emotion.
>"I forgive you."
 
>Your breath jumps as your confused heart jitters and lurches. How the hell is she not furious with you? Why? You don't deserve this.
-You don't deserve her-
>You never did. You deserved a burial under that landslide with the rest of your troop, because you failed them, you failed everyone.
>The tears surge anew as you wail pitifully into her fur. You can't even hold yourself together anymore.
>And it makes you even more guilty, you're ruining her fur, staining and matting it with your pathetic crying.
>Why does she tolerate you? Why does she forgive you? Why help a broken bastard like you?
"Why?!"
>You breath leaves you as the waves wash over in drowning despair. You manage to force yourself to find it again even as your ribs protest the jumping spasming of your lungs.
"All I can do is hurt people..."
>And just like that it's stolen from you as your sobs jump in and out of your throat, there's no point in trying to restrain them now.
>You've already thrown away your dignity and pride.
>The force on your back shifts and you hold on for dear life, convinced she's finally dropping the facade and is about to plant hands onto your side and lift you off.
>But you hear gliding movement all around you as she seems to make a point of roughly pulling the blankets from both cots over the two of you.
>The question still echoes everywhere in your head 'why?'. The warm weight settles over you, and her muzzle returns to your ear, still prodding gently at your hair.
>"That's not true... You were there for me, even when you were scared that I may have lashed out at you. I never had to ask you for help.
>"You care. You really do care, I can tell." You swear you can somehow feel the shreds of your heart stitching back together, how the hell does she keep doing this?
>But that taunting malice isn't going to make it easy for you to collect yourself, and it mentally sounds off in your other ear despite being so many miles away
>'your heart's too damn big.'
>And it starts again, everytime you try to keep your distance you hurt someone. And if you get close and get attached, either you hurt them or they hurt you, it's always hurting.
>Why can't it stop? Why won't the tears end? How long does your own river of sorrow stretch on for?
>Even as you struggle to keep from being swept away completely an answer comes to you, it may never end.
>'It's --- your fault.'
"Oh god!! Make it stop! M-make it stop."
>She whines, and it pulls at you more, are you going to drag her down? So far she's held strong at your back, an obstinate boulder in the rapids.
>"shhhhhh. I'm here for you. You can tell me what's wrong. I won't hurt you."
>You weep, your back jumps under her arms. You try to collect yourself enough to spill out the things haunting you. You can't hold them in anymore, in that fear that you'll be forced to relive them again.
>But can you really load her with that sort of pain? You have little choice, already your confession starts to trail from your lips.
"They're gone Teth. They're all fucking gone. AND IT'S BECAUSE OF ME! I failed them!..."
>and now you ask for your promise in return as she tenses under you, you bury your head just under her neck, pleading like she did.
"Don't go."
>She pulls you in tighter against her side, and rests her muzzle over your head, sheltering you.
"Kask"
>A desperate plea, dead in flames
"O'Neill"
>A wizened journey, stolen away by a lack of breath
"Willard"
>A defiant stand, amounting to nothing
"I failed them. They're gone because I didn't see him in time. They were everything to me, my family out here!"
"AND HE FUCKING TOOK THEM!!"
 
>Your heart still hangs in tatters, bleeding sorrow across everything. How the hell can she even put you back together?
"It's just not right. I live alongside that monster..."
>The guilt twists the hanging shreds of your core, your final mission was a failure, you deserve less than nothing.
"It's not right. I should have died back there, it's what I deserve."
>Suddenly her grip on you is almost crushing and you feel a paw snaking under your neck, cradling your chin and wrenching your skull upwards.
>Almost nose to nose, you're caught by her eyes striking through you. The cool radiant blue magnetizes your focus like the first time all over again.
>And you notice that the fur beneath them is sullied and damp, even now tears gather at the edges to those majestic pools.
>Her face is twisted in pain as her ears hang low, her mouth twisted in a waining snarl caught between melancholy and fury.
>"Don't say that! Don't you ever say that!.
>"You have everything to live for! Their memory, your family, your home! Ending this goddamned war!"
>"And you have ME!" She whimpers as a few more tears stain her grey fur.
"Teth'ra."
>"Don't you dare forget! Even if there's no one else.. I care."
>"Stop blaming yourself! There isn't anything you could do, you were lucky to get out of there... and I was lucky to find you."
>"Do you know how close I was to just... doing something stupid before you showed up? I was considering desertion!"
>She... She's right. You did everything in your power, you just didn't have the time, or knowledge, or equipment.
>None of you could have seen him soon enough, but your heart still twists, the red sash is out there somewhere, and you HAVE to kill him.
>You would end that monstrosity, before it enacted anymore tragedies.
>She was pulling you out, and the tide of tears stemmed. Your heart was recollecting itself like a broken machine set to self repair.
>You lowered your head back under her neck, and she covered you again with her snout. The vibrations of her voice surrounded you.
>"What I saw was a broken man with a fruitful heart, that just needed someone to help him. I saw my own despair, my own loneliness reflected in a human of all things. So I reached out, in my own stupid way, disbelieving it even worked as well as it did. And I found someone on the edge, someone that nobody would help but me. I found someone that still cares."
>The tatters of your heart are coming back together, Knitting around themselves on an updraft of warm feelings.
>"I care, Tom. I care, because I know how much you care too. Don't ever forget that."
>Soothing, caring feelings wash over you. And you realize how exhausted you feel, you can barely move. But that's okay.
>Because you're in her arms. Your breath calms, your eyes wish to shut instead of burn themselves out.
>You can swear she really is what's best for you, somehow. Still you feel like you somehow must be burdening her.
"Teth'ra.. I'm sorry. It must be so hard setting me straight, some days... I feel like I don't deserve you."
>"You aren't a burden. I'm happy to help you walk. You just need a little help, and I'll fix you, I promise."
>"It's going to be okay. Just go to sleep, I'll be here for you." It feels like it really is going to be okay.
>A sound soothes over you as your eyes weigh heavy, some winding wind of comfort that lifts away your doubts and musings.
>She's singing.
>You can't parse out the words, but her quiet melody is beautiful, swelling and diving through the air in a sonorous dance.
>The tune swells into your own breath, and you find yourself blearily humming along as darkness creeps over you.
>It carries you off, on a bed of gentle song.
>You catch one last thing before you slip under.
>"Good night Tom."
 
<Teth'ra>
>'I love you'
>The phrase almost coasted out of your mouth, that would be a handy way to make things awkward. You had almost said it out of habit from those heart breaking nights cradling your frail brother.
>Of course there was the obvious second reason as to why, but it wasn't the time. He was vulnerable and had finally broken apart himself.
>As much as you were expecting a tearful apology in the morning, you hadn't expected his restless mumbling to turn into strangled cries and pleading.
>The way he called for you, the way he launched into you as soon as you finally managed to shake him awake, denoted that he had been in agony.
>A gripping despair, over what you could only guess as him helplessly reliving the last moments of his unit. You had worried over him holding this in, and for good reason, it took that much for him to finally get it off his chest, and even then he was determined to blame himself.
>You could never stand that, he only had a single kill mark back then, a bright eyed rookie. How was he expected to fight on equal footing with an opponent that made such short work out of a full squadron?
>He had apologized and more, must have worried himself sick over how he hurt you, that's the sign of someone you can count on.
>Someone you could trust, the way he was trusting you, lulled to sleep in your arms. You had missed this, holding someone this close.
>Having another person trust you so much with all of your strength to just hold them securely while they're at their most vulnerable. It coursed a warmth around your chest to know that your gentler side hadn't failed to be seen.
>Most people look at you with masked fear and only see the giant to break their backs, not him. He sees past that to your better side, and he wants to stick close to you for it.
>And you want to draw him just a little closer. It's finally happening. The fear is starting to subside, and he's confessed his burdens to you. You're fixing him.
>You KNOW that once all of that is out of the way, you'll find that you like who he is underneath. You've grown a good sense of people, and with how much time you've spent around him, you are dead certain you have a grasp of who he is.
-not good enough to sniff out Feldspar-
>For some reason you were never good with cats, and most of your squad are felines. That may cause more problems in the future if the lioness isn't an outlying case like you hope she is.
>Even now you still hold anger for her and your opinions had soured, she drove Tom into this desperate state, and the less reasonable parts in your head chanted with the crash of wardrums.
>That dark part of you wanted to hold your fangs over her throat to make her understand that unabated terror she leveled at your Tom.
>But as furious as you were with her, a night in the box should at least bring her to her senses. You would make it clear she just tore down what friendship she built up with you though.
>Montana was an anthro majority state, and so few people lived up there anyway. What validity she had for her bigotry was thin in that sort of environment.
>You had every reason to despise your (mostly) hairless fellows, having grown up alone among the worst of them.
>However you didn't hate the species, you hated that damn cult that excused itself as a proper religion, all you could see were drones, content and brainwashed under a puritanical system.
>A system that excused the things it did to you, as an obstinate outsider that refused to convert.
>His last name and fiery temperament pointed towards an upbringing among immigrants, he had to come from somewhere along the east coast, likely one of the old colonial cities.
>To be honest with yourself, you liked the idea of such a hotheaded companion, the idea of someone smaller than you getting riled up to defend your honor was charming, and adorable.
>You could always step in to keep him from getting into any real trouble.
-you're staring at him again-
>You know, it's just flattering to see him resting so peacefully in your embrace. You are tired yourself, and you can already see tomorrow being a challenge.
>For one thing you have to browbeat Feldspar into dropping her discriminations and you have to coax Tom towards being less scared of everyone that isn't you. You'll have to think on exactly how to go about that in the morning.
>Finally deciding to rest, you plant your head back into your pillow, somehow the feeling of your arms braced protectively over another body lets the sleep drift in faster.
>One thing seems to query you as you fall into rest. You can't be sure but.. was he humming along as you quietly sang?
>Your mother had always soothed both of her pups with that melody, even when you both thought you were too old for it, and it seemed to work on him just fine.
>But you have to wonder: what does he sound like if he were to sing? Could his voice harmonize with yours?
>Does he even sing? Maybe your tired mind is just prattling off wishful thinking again, better just go to sleep. Tomorrow hopefully won't be as much of a mess.
 
[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]


'Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom.'

-George S. Patton

>-.-. .- -. / -.-- --- ..- / - . .-.. .-.. / ..- ... / -- --- .-. .

>-. --- - / ... ..- .-. . / .-- .... .- - / .-- . / -.-. .- -. / ... .- -.--
>.-- . / .-- .- - -.-. .... . -.. / ..-. .-. --- -- / .- ..-. .- .-.
>.. - ... / ... .... .- .--. . / .-- .- ...
>.-- .-. --- -. --.

>.... --- .-- / ... ---

>.-- . / .- .-. . -. - / ... ..- .-. . / .... --- .-- / - --- / ... .- -.-- / .. -
>.- .-.. .-.. / .-- . / ... .- .-- / .- --. .- .. -. ... - / - .... . / ..-. .. .-. . ... / ..-. .-. --- -- / .-.. --- -. -.. --- -.
>.-- .- ... / ... --- -- . / .... . .-.. .-.. / --- -. / . .- .-. - ....
>.. - / -.. .. ... .- .--. .--. . .- .-. . -.. / .. -. - --- / - .... . / ... -- --- -.- . / .- -. -.. / .... .. .-.. .-.. ...
>-.-. .-. --- .-- -. / -.-. ..- - / - .... . .. .-. / - .-. .- -. ... -- .. - - . .-. ...
>.--. .-.. . .- -.. .. -. --. / - .... .- - / .. - / .-- .- ... / .-.. .. ... - . -. .. -. --.
>.- / ..-. . .-- / ... - .- - .. --- -. ... / -.- . .--. - / -... .-. --- .- -.. -.-. .- ... - .. -. --.
>--- ..- .-. / --- .-- -. / -.-. .-. . .-- ... / .--. .. -.-. -.- . -.. / ..- .--. / - .... . .. .-. / .-.. .- ... - / ... .. --. -. .- .-.. ...
>- .... . -.-- .-. . / -.. . .- -.. / -. --- .--
>- .... . / ... -.-. .-. . .- -- .. -. --.
>- .... . -.-- / ... .- .. -.. / - .... . / ... -.-. .-. . .- -- .. -. --. / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. -. - / ... - --- .--.


Chapter 7: 100 Miles More

>You felt a rolling of sensation bringing you back out of the lazing comfort of sleep, but you avoided moving, something was braced against you.
>The luminous gold of the morning hour fingered through the paint spot shade of trees outside, painting a collage of cool dusk and honeyed dawn across the eastern face of your humble fabric abode.
>The air carried a sweet pine smell as you gently alerted yourself. You craned your neck forward. You found him draped off to your side, his head nestled high on your chest, just short of your neck. Neither you or him had moved an iota, and his long breaths coasted through him under the guard of your arms.
>Content and pleasantly cool emotions crested your own horizon, all of last night was real. You hadn't been imagining any of it, the proof was right there.
>In a word, it was serene. You had managed a miraculous recovery of his trust, if only through... regrettable circumstance.
>It broke your heart to think this is what it took to snap him back towards you. You would keep your embrace over him locked, and hold him against you as long as needed. You care about nothing else at this point.
>You can't leave him on his own, in case he relapses into another flashback.
>Your nose picked up something in the air when you woke up last night, just as he was starting to stir in his sleep, and you realized. You can smell them coming, picking out the scent of distress on him.
>If only you knew what you were picking up before he slipped into it... you could have spared him from that agony.
>Your heart bleeds, and a soft whine creeps in your throat. You can't help but feel just a little responsible for letting him get like this.
>You WILL make up for it. You can heal him, it just needs the right approach, and you think you've narrowed onto the correct path.
>Stay around his scent, and you can pick out anymore signs of trouble and stamp them out. So he doesn't have to suffer like this again.
>But you have to be close for that to work, so you'll stick by him, at least for today. You have to fix him.
>You were making progress, how he ran to you for refuge proved it, but how could you know if he was actually improving?
>Sure he trusted you, very completely judging by how he fell asleep practically on top of you, but so far it had only been you.
>You can't stand over him all the time, you need to try and root out his fear, or at least dampen it so he can function on his own.
>Having him be latched onto your hip out of paranoia is no way to go about this. If you allow him to grow too dependent on you, then you can never know for sure if he sticks by you out of desperation or affection.
>You want to build him back up, not chain him to you.
>But for now you'll shelter him without relent, he still has to make a recovery from the hell he must have been put through last night.
>You would watch his face for any sign of distress, but it's a bit too close to pan down towards without risking accidentally waking him with an errant brush of your snout.
>Watching his back, his breathing seems healthy, and you aren't picking up anything unusual off his scent.
>Nothing seems to be wrong, let him get his rest. You recline your head back into your pillow and watch the collage of morning lights dance on the tent as the wind shifts the trees.
>The combined scents of the verdant life outside and the receiver of your affections was comforting. For a moment it's like you could just slip into thinking that it's just the two of you out here, and nothing else could possibly go wrong.
>No war, no screaming, no death and despair, wouldn't that be just perfect?
>You mentally roll eyes at yourself for your fanciful idealism, pretending the war isn't happening is the idiot's solution.
>You're almost dozing off as you feel him brushing against your side with a shifting, and you remember not to be willfully ignorant of him.
>He needs you to support him right now. Even if you managed to lull him back into sleep last night, you aren't letting him go until he can shrug this burden off of his back.
>He's starting to wake up, and you brace yourself for how ever much more he will need to get off his chest.
>You might very well be the only refuge he has left in his eyes, so you can't disappoint.

<Tom>
>Slowly everything crawled back to you, and your eyes slotted open like the firing slats of a pillbox, hesitant to let in the morning eyesore.
>From your blurred reconnoiter of the nearest wall, you can confidently say that the morning sun has an awfully garish way of painting camo.
>You steadily realize one side of your head is far warmer than the other, and you have your arms wrapped around a wide mass of muscle and fur.
>Right, you fell asleep on top of her as she kept you from falling apart.
>Your heart is being carried along on a diet of duct tape and slap dash riveting, even now every quiver threatens to shake it apart again.
>Her very presence seems to be helping with that, that flowery smell radiating from her fur keeps you lashed to the present. Her enormous arms are an extra chain locked over your back to keep you from slipping off.
>You would have at least recovered control of your arms if your hands weren't pinned under her back, realizing you had slept like this was kind of.. embarrassing.
>Who the hell likes sleeping in a girl's embrace right? It's supposed to be the other way around, but... she's different.
>Here was a woman that could kick your ass in too many ways to count, but she was gentle and sheltering. Somehow the fact she was so strong made it mean so much more.
>She used that power to shield you, to hold you together. To try and fix you, despite how hopeless that may end up being
>You had reached to her in a mad gambit to pull yourself back together, and it warmed you to think that she was willing to help.
>Still, Even remembering traces of last night have your heart bending in pain, and you find what little strength you have focused on stopping it from breaking.
>As much as you would like to walk under your own power so to speak, you can't do that. You have to rely on her, and cross your fingers that she will hold you together.
>You Tepidly start raising your head, expecting to find her staring with a disapproving glare for how thoroughly you revealed your soft, broken self.
>A cold spot nested into the side of your head and pushed it upwards, and you came face to face with her as her snout retreated a few inches.
>Her gorgeous cobalt lakes wore unmasked concern as they scanned over you, narrowing in towards anything wrong.
>"Hey"
>She speaks in a gentle whisper, even her voice is restrained for your care now.
>"You alright?" Would she pick up and leave if you said yes? The thought of being left alone is terrifying, and prompts a longing to find a way to bury into her deeper.
>Your throat felt as if it was choking on nothing, and the uncertainty over the question plucked at a sensitive chord.
"I... I-I. I don't-"
>You try to meter your breath as your gaze turns downwards. You don't think you can even will yourself to leave her embrace right now.
>"Shhhh. Take all the time you need."
>She raises slightly, and with the pressure on your hands abated, you slide your embrace upwards. You push upwards and bring your head into the side of her neck as your frail heart jumps.
"Thank you... Thank you so much."
>Your breath comes sporadically as you shield yourself from memory, and she does her model best to keep you rooted to the spot.
>There is a slight rise in her breath, and you feel her muzzle crossing the back of your head as she tightens her hold over you.
>Just to be held like this, it's stirring something in you, something you haven't known for a long time, security.
>You can stay here, she won't let you down. You can stay.
>"I never got to say thank you for what you did for me... That.. time in the rain, and standing against Vilka. So, thank you too."
>"I never had to ask you." That she didn't. She saved your life, and you saved hers. She was something more than just an anthro, and you cursed at yourself for not seeing that.
>She held true to her word, and she didn't budge an inch as you rested against her, slowly collecting yourself and steadying your breath.
>You have no care for the time or what else the day may call for you to do, you're content to just have her hold you close.

>You don't bother with even keeping count anymore, it's good just to rest and let yourself be propped up by this mass of fur and warmth.
>The breathing silence of the breeze is quaint, for a while. Your heart is starting to tug you towards speaking with her as it knits itself back into a complete object.
>What can you even say to her that you haven't already? But your heart isn't content with that option, and the lurching thing under your chest prods at you like her muzzle. It's time to get this off your chest, you have to talk.
"Teth'ra..."
>Just the thought of bringing it up again prompts a broiling of emotion to swell beneath you, an ocean of misery prime to swallow you.
>It shows in the quaver of your voice, you're too weak to hide it.
>Her response is almost immediate. With a soft whine she tightens her embrace over you, reminding you that you aren't alone.
>A paw gently glides up and down your back, a soothing touch to keep you grounded. You aren't sure if you should press on, even with her here, remembering may send you into another fit of hysterics. Just how pathetic are you?
>"What's wrong?"
>You can't keep going on just holding this in, it will tear you apart. You have to talk, but you feel regret over loading her down with this burden.
"You wouldn't want to know it... I just can't burden anyone else with this."
"But I can't just keep it in either."
>Tears well in your eyes yet again, and you clutch at her fur to keep them at bay.
"I don't know what to do."
>"This isn't a burden, it's a toxin. Let me help you.." She slides her hand up your back, gliding it around your neck and prying you away from her neck.
>She raises your head, and soon you're staring right down the barrel of her muzzle as her eyes catch you with that feverish magnetism.
>She pleads softly, and it breaths into your heart. "Let me in."
>The heart jitters. How does she keep doing this?
>It's coming together, and it pushes you to confess. You need someone, someone to understand, someone to sympathize, and someone to share that pain with.
>She's that someone, for what you are she has been so accepting. It's all coming back, the trust, the reliance, and the wish to do right by her.
>You clamor to return to that companionship, because now your legs are shot out from under you and you need someone to carry you for a change.
>To help you walk.
>You refuse to fall behind, you will pull as much of your weight as you can manage, to ease the weight on her.
-you're staring at her-
>Right, sustained eye contact is probably pushing it, but it's all too easy to become lost in those shimmering azure gems.
>You manage to peel away your gaze and start to rise on your own, her grip loosens, but never stops supporting you.
>It's a nice gesture, but you at least want to start coasting out under your own steam before you inevitably hit a mine and sink. So you manage to pull away from her grip and swing your legs out, settling onto the side of the cot with her behind you.
>A heavy sigh drags out, trailing a procession of barbed words to scrape your throat not far behind it.
>Briefly you find your support falling from out under you, and in a stir you latch onto the rail of the cot. Looking about yourself you find that it's just Teth'ra stirring upwards into a sitting position while throwing off her covers, as if the very land under you had moved.
>Sometimes it's easy to forget how big she is.
>The cot itself seems intent to ruin what little remains of the tranquility, seeming to shriek as Teth'ra crosses her legs over themselves and settles in at your back.
>You can feel her watching as she sits at your back, scrutinizing you for... something. You honestly can't guess at what it is she's looking for, but you hope she's looking over you for any more signs of distress.
>Today is already a terrible morning.

>The pull under the chest leads you on again like your sense of self is tied to some emotional chain. It's time to talk.
"My unit... meant everything to me."
>It comes again in an angry swell, trying to mire you in despair. Like the thing that haunted you in the dream is alive.
>You're ready for it's approach and you brace as the reality hits you again, they're dead.
"Why? Why did they have to be taken from me?"
"It was just a simple patrol.... how did it go so wrong?"
>Your chest jumps, and you fight back against the hammering on your ribs. The pain is still fresh.
>A paw lands gently on your shoulder, and you tense. She seems so much like a sapient dog at times, so ready to help quell your emotions with a soft touch.
>She sighs with the undertone of a gentle whine, and you expect the inevitable apology, because nobody ever wants to get personally involved in your loss.
>You heard it more than enough times after gravecall, every figure looking down at your sullen face and simply saying it over and over, 'Sorry for your loss'. Every time they said it in passing, feigning sympathy. They never knew them, and were too cowardly to try and understand why it all threatened to drown you.
>"Who were they?" It catches you off balance, and what little resolve you were standing on crumbles.
>It hammers your ribs with a powering sob, and the tears flow as they spring from a fresh leak in your eyes.
>So much for moving under your own power.
>It squeezes on your lungs as you take great shuddering gasps, trying to keep from crying out, immediately she responds.
>She shifts, and you fall back into her as she locks her arms over your chest.
>You've fallen back into the rapids, still rushing after your dam was split open. Once again she's at your back, keeping you from being swept away.
>She pulls you in close to her, and like the sweetest clockwork, she does it again.
>"shhhh. It's okay... Let it out." It's beyond your control as you fail to see any reason not to follow her words.
>It makes more and more sense, maybe you should just let it out. Let the pain fly free even if it tears open your chest, she'll put it back together.
>Let those barbed confessions scrape up your throat, her sweet words will heal your cuts.
>Let the great sorrow rush out all at once so it no longer plagues you in the future, she's your net to keep you from being swept off the edge.
>The clear crystalline heat of your tears rolls over your cheeks, as your sanguine core wheels around its chains like a beast possessed.
>And so you cry, you cry out for those lost, because you remember who they are, you remember they meant so much more to you.
"th-they were my family!"
"And that bastard stole them!"
>What little is left in your lungs surges out as you cry out, in some vain hope that they could hear you, that they were here, to somehow comfort you from the eternal night.
>It starts coming back as the levee upstream shatters, and you brace against the wave, to ease the burden on her.
>But it crashes over you, threatening to knock you off what little footing you have left. It comes in memories.
>A smiling face with gentle eyes and a shock of hazel hair. Echoing laughter and an empathetic soul. He wanted to make people happy.
>Crisp days where you could find him on the limb of an old oak, curled up with history, religion, culture, and comedy.
>He would even lend you pieces from his collection sometimes as the two of you dozed in the shade with naught but conversation and a good book.
>Because he wanted you to forget, to find joy.
>He always so curious how people find ways to continue on, and his own story had been closed, whisked away on a scream and hellfire.
"Vincent!"
>...
"h... H-he just. He wanted everyone's spirits up. He was so scared! I couldn't save him!"
>a distant barking crash threatens to have your heart flying apart again. The haunting memories won't leave you, because the accusations stare from the shadows, again and again.
>'it's --- your fault.'
>'your fault.'
>'YOUR FAULT!'
"I didn't see that bastard in time! He took him apart, PIECE BY FUCKING PIECE!"

"...I couldn't save him."
"He got caught in the arm, and then his left ammo rack blew."
>The memory is still painfully fresh, recalled in perfect clarity from your terror last night.
"Pinned in to his auger by shrapnel... h-he was screaming and crying, trying to keep himself still."
"But he ju-j... He just couldn't keep himself still, the bastard zeroed in on him, and he took his sweet fucking time torturing him through a fucking scope."
>Kask's cries and screams were so childish and pleading, a voice to the terror gripping at all of you that day. He was reduced to a child crying for home.
"The motherfucker was trying to bait us.. and-and it fucking worked. He pleaded and pleaded, the captain was yelling at me not to go but I was going to rush out anyway."
>When he finally found his courage, to hold on a little longer, to make you stop and think before throwing your life away. It shattered your heart.
>Somehow you knew then, both of you knew, he was going to die. You tried so hard to deny it.
"He called out to me. And I stopped... Vince. h-he.. He asked me, what home looks like. I swear He knew!"
"He knew he was going to die, so.. so he just. He wanted me to talk to him, because I know h-he just wanted me to be able to move on!"
"... So I told him, I told him what I wanted... What would have made me happy."
"To try and make his last moments comfortable."
>That idyllic little picture of home, a stupid little dream that was just that, a dream. A heartache that pulled at you with the impossibility of it.
>It was a fantasy, a place where the war doesn't exist... a place of peace.
>"What did you tell him?" Her concerned voice comes from above you and you feel her core briefly tense at your back. As your sadness made you shrink into yourself, she had curled around you. You barely even noticed.
>Your huddled self was framed against her middle. Her enormous legs had raised up, and entangled with yours to shield you against her. Her strong arms had locked close over you, even her chest seemed to pitch in with isolating you from the outside world.
>You were thankful for this more than anything, nobody could see past her at just how pathetic you are, as you scream for comfort and weep like a child. No one is here to hear you except for her, she's the only one you would trust to see you at your lowest.
>Her words call back to you, and you remember... one of the last things you got to say.
"I told him to find home."
"And then the shot came in through his back... AND HE WAS GONE!"
>You wept bitterly for him, your body withdrawing into itself in some confused response to try and protect you. However it tried, the hurt was on the inside.
>Even as you choked on your salted sorrow, a silk touch started gliding up and down, slowly, rhythmically... soothingly. Your dry rasping gasps start to smooth over.
>Turning your head inward, you feel the flush warmth of her core on your cheek. A softness is here, hiding in plain sight, the trim plush of her fur hides just the slightest amount of give backed by an iron strength. A blanket of comfort over a protective heart.
>Her gentle petting provides a stem to the flow, to meter it out so as not to overtake you.
>You listened, trying to find something to time your breathing, to help calm yourself, and you found it, in her.
>The steady beat of a strong heart. It sounds just as you imagined it, strong but gentle, just like her.
>"Is this how you're going to remember him?" The words stir at you like a biting serpent. What is that supposed to mean?
>Her voice is gentle and pleading, but the phrase carried a lilt of accusation. She speaks again as her voice breathes in from above you.
>"You said it yourself, he would have wanted you to be happy, to move on." How can you move on? You failed him, you failed all of them.
"But he's gone, my optics were on the fritz... If I had just seen the bastard sooner."
-'Listen to me'-
-'I-
>"It's NOT your fault." A wash of emotion fans over you, the words made manifest into a wave that pulls something out of you.
>You feel some pressure has been lifted off your bleeding heart, and she's the one holding it away from you. Is this what she meant when she mentioned a toxin?
>How does she keep doing this?

>"I know you. you would have done everything you could to save them." The pull on your chest seems to solidify, you can't find the words to speak.
>"When I lost my brother, I spent years mired in the thought that I somehow failed him, that I didn't do enough."
>"I gave my all trying to help him, but there was just too much working against me. I tried, and I did as best I could."
>"And even though he's gone. I know he would understand, that there was just no saving him."
>She gently pushes you upright, sprawling out of her cradling embrace. She pins a hand to your shoulder, and as she sits you upright, she catches your eyes in her own.
>"They would understand, you just had too much working against you." You feel like you've been hit in the chest, it's that tension of something being pulled from you snapping as the cords are cut. And it brings realization, she's right.
>Shame pulls your head low and weighs down on your wounded heart, holding this in had done you no favors. You never gave yourself time to grieve.
>And because you were too damn stubborn to address it, you hurt her, and you burdened her.
"You're too good for me."
>"hm?"
"I'm a complete fucking mess... and you just swoop in from nowhere and fix me, or at least try."
>"I think it's safe to say I'm a bit of a mess too. I didn't have to ask you for help, you just did it. That's why I stick around you, Tom. Because I know that there's a good person buried under all of this pain. I'm trying to help you out of it."
>Looking back up at her, her eyes betray a sadness and empathy, but her warm smile leaks pleasant feelings into you.
>Half the time she doesn't need words to help, and she demonstrates the other half, leaning down and pulling you in to a hug.
>Feeling her against you like this brings some stirring warmth inside you, she capitalizes on her therapeutic affection by gently rubbing along your spine.
>The touch drags out more of your sorrow, the tide is finally coming to a stop. She gives a few reaffirming pats high towards your shoulder, and just holds you close from there.
>Your heart leaps high to return her generous affection, so you thread your arms under her and wrap them about her body. It's a bit of a stretch to clasp your hands on her back, but somehow her size makes you feel safer.
>Your jaw settles onto her collar, and the feeling prompting you to share had you speaking from the heart.
"Thank you."
>You're recalled to that first night as a light whine leaks out of her throat, she's making no effort to hide it.
>"Seems all we end up doing is crying at eachother. I understand what you're going through, I really do, but this is no way to live."
>"I need you to help me.. So I can help you."
>"Take your time when it's quiet, you need to grieve. I won't ask for any specifics, but you have to understand I'm willing to help."
>Her chest rises under you as she breathes deep.
"I'm sorry, I'll try to do right by you."
>You wanted to make up for it, because some logical connection had you worried that you were wearing thin on her patience.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Teth'ra>
>You finished lacing your boots as you sat on the edge of your cot. Tom had managed to piece himself into a workable shape with your help, but something pulls at you.
>You watch as he meanders his way through the morning routine, and the tug at the back of your head jogs at you more and more.
>Watching his movements tells you that as collected as he is right now, he's still harboring that fear.
>That fear that so railed against you and your efforts, that saddened you to think he may not see you in the light you desire him to.
>Sure, he was kind and functional when you were around him, but that was the problem, it was ONLY you.
>Every other anthro he seemed to mistrust and panic around, and that reminder of the incident yesterday placed a sting under your breast.
>You had harbored such bitter resentments for the rest of the platoon that you had kept him in isolation like some prized token.
>You took on that responsibility of his integration and eventual recovery on your own since you didn't believe any of the others would be of help, they certainly weren't of help to you.
-But look what happened when you weren't there-
>You can't be everywhere at once, you had failed him, yourself, and your squad.
>...
>This isn't working.
>Keeping him like this would just reinforce his loyalty to you without solving the root of his most predominant problem.
>And then how many times would something like yesterday happen again and again? Continuing on like this would only hurt the both of you.
>At this point the worry bit at you harshly, what if he's not even salvageable? As genuine as he is around you, if he can't set aside that damnable poison coloring his perceptions, then he's just going to drag you down.
>The guilt nipped at you as your thoughts turned to your other responsibilities, a rift was forming between yourself and your squad.
>You had snapped at them for a mistake they didn't know they were making, because you didn't tell them about him. Because you were so insistent keeping him alone with you was the best course of action.
>And you expected them to act in accordance with your wishes and his mental health. And then raged at them for an honest mistake.
>You weren't acting like the leader you told yourself you would be, you were acting like Vilka.
>What a model NCO you turned out to be...
>He inspected himself in a pocket mirror as you ran a brush between your ears. The beginnings of a mane were there, it had been a while since you trimmed.
>And now you paused with a soft sigh, pulling the brush around and looking at the noticeably longer hairs. A mane was a statement that you're the alpha.
>But do you deserve it?
>Your ears sink, and a heavy weight weighs your decision towards no. You had always told yourself that you would let your mane grow out when you had finally gotten yourself into a better position, when you had made yourself into a better person than that mange-maned cunt.
>Thinking back and placing yourself in the footpaws of the twins or even Julia greeted you with the overlaying question. How would you feel if Lyudmilla had someone like Tom hidden away that she never told you about?
-jealous-
>No, that was your personal standing do to your maddeningly one-directional affections.
>You would feel confused, bitter, and angry. What faith you had in your new sergeant would be shaken. You would be asking why she decided to keep this problematic man's existence off the table until you ran face first into a confrontation.
>Above all you would be resentful she considered some racist wreck more important than the cohesion of her squad, which would widen the fractures running between you.
>That word mentally sounded off in you, prompting a soft shudder 'feral'
>You NEVER wanted to hear that word out of his mouth again.
>You're going to fix this.
>You looked back up to see him continuing his grooming. That odd patch of fur clinging around his jaw, a.. 'beard' you think it's called if you're remembering right, is being rather carefully tended to with a straight razor.
>The thing made him look strangely palatable to you, but you were thankful he saw fit to keep it short, the thought of a human with long fur made you want to giggle.
>Now you mentally compared his face fur to his problem, both of them would grow out of control without some trimming towards the roots.
>You needed a suitable razor to trim away the more extant and wild flares of his bad side, you couldn't do it on your own.
>Your squad was now discordant with you, and he was becoming inexcusable, but you think you're rounding on a method to bite both problems in the bud at once.
>You run the brush back over the startings of your mane roughly, you would decide if you would let it grow or trim it off again depending on how this goes.
>Throwing the brush back into your open footlocker and kicking the lid shut, you're pretty much ready to wander around the base.
>You stand as he inspects his handy work in the mirror. Looking closely, what few wild problem hairs had risen above the rest had been smoothly cut off, leaving him with a cleaner, sharper trimming of that delightfully odd face fur.
>That seals it, you're going to do some trimming of your own and get his more wild compulsions curbed before they ever raise a problem again.
>He's coming with you, and he's going to apologize. If he doesn't want to, doesn't see how much he could hurt you and others with this, then he's beyond repair.

>Guilt presses on you with how you're about to do this, but this is the best option for him. He looks so small, even as your hunched over to keep from hitting your head.
"Ya done?"
>"erm. Yeah, what's.. uh, going on?"
>This was going to seem awfully spur of the moment, but you keep to your new conviction. This is what's best for everyone, including him.
"Come on."
>You nail both of your hands onto his shoulders and urge him out of the tent, the fresh air greets you as you step out with a ruffling of your fur.
>At first he's hesitant to move but he goes along as you gently reminded him of your strength, but you have to swallow a worry creeping up your throat, you may be scaring him with how sudden this is.
>No, this.. This is what's best. You can't hide him away, and you can't neglect your squad, you have to make up for yesterday, you can't let yourself be like her.
>You continue shuttling him along at your side, even as he sputters in confusion. For now, you've settled for pushing him along with a single hand at the base of his neck, but he doesn't seem very happy with your lack of explanation.
>"Teth'ra? Where are we going?" The concern is evident in the quaver of his voice, it pulls at you to stop, but maybe you should scare him, just a little, to help prompt him into coming with you.
>But it would be cruel to just leave him in the dark, and your heart pushes the words out to help illuminate the situation for him, so he understands and just comes with you rather than continue being difficult.
"We're going to apologize."
>"For what?!" The punch of the statement punches you, and you caught something building under your breast. Were you seriously about to growl at him?
>You hold your snout in the other direction as you walk, trying to reign in your frustration, and hoping he doesn't notice the agitated bristling of your tail.
>Every sentence you're trying to form at the moment starts with an expletive or some accusing question. You don't want to curse him out, you want him to understand.
>"Teth! You're scaring me!"
-This isn't working, stop!-
>You stop, forcing him into this wouldn't make it genuine or right, but those words seem to cut at you.
>It pulls at you deeply. How can he say that?! You've had him in your arms with the utmost trust. He let you carry him, you had never felt so complete, so trusted, so... accepted.
>No! Get a hold of yourself girl! He's not entirely at fault here, that idiot cat set him off, but it's so damn frustrating to think that you had been doing this wrong the whole time.
>But despite the tearing at your heart, you have to let him know he's done wrong, make him understand.
>You turn him to face you and finally withdraw your paws from his shoulders. You square your shoulders, and fight off any doubt in your eyes.
>Inhale, count to four, exhale
>You have to put your foot down.
"I want you to come with me. To apologize to my squad."
>He raised a brow and one of the corners of his mouth dragged down, your ear twitched as you hoped dearly he wasn't going to challenge you on this.
>"What do I have to say sorry for? They intruded on me!"
"Because I didn't tell them about you. They didn't know better!"
>He scowls, and your heart sinks further as you start questioning if you were wrong about him.
>"That fucking pride flower was more than keen to try and attack me anyway!"
>As disappointed as you were with Feldspar, you don't believe she would just attack unprovoked like that. She would have stains on her record that you would have been notified of immediately were that the case, it just didn't make sense. But his paranoia didn't have him seeing reason.
"She was just some speciest dumbass that decided to go scare the skinjob for laughs!"
"And do you even think that I didn't see her in the wrong too?! I gave her a bruise on the stomach that's likely going to have her eating cautiously for a week!"
>The beating under your chest pleads with you to make him understand why his fear is just going to hurt him, and you. Because you know now that not everyone is going to keep their distance.
"Why do you even think she targeted you in the first place? You were being combative with the twins, she saw a speciest idiot, and that gave her all the excuse she needed!"
>His face flashes briefly in a sneer, he looks taken aback. The perceived insult to him has you wondering: where's the man you bonded with? The man that refused to leave you when you were splitting yourself open over your torturous younger days, where is he?
>This isn't him!
>"Combative?! I just wanted them the hell out of my gantry!" How can he not see it? something in you stirs up and snarls with a heat gripping under your chest.
"TOM, You're fear makes you a TARGET!"
>He pauses, shrinking back, and you gaze into his eyes. They're fearful.
>Your heart plummets thinking that you did this to him, and you finally let you resolve soften.
>As mad as you are with his refusal to acknowledge his wrong doing, you're still his friend, you just want to help.
>You just need a sign that the friend you grew infatuated with is still in there, and you can dig him back out. Not just for yourself either, but for his own sake too.

"I don't want you to be scared anymore..."
>He seem to take pause, eyes flicking downward. A frown purses your muzzle as you try to explain your reasoning.
"There is no possible way for me to be in easy reach all the time. I'll HAVE to leave you on your own sometimes, and I can't accept you acting like this when I do."
>The idea that he could be sent into another panic attack when you're nowhere nearby to help is terrifying, and it almost happened yesterday.
>The possibility had you pleading with urgency, both to yourself to fix him, and to him to make him understand.
"What if I wasn't there to snap you out of it? What if it got violent? I don't want a repeat of this because every time it happens someone could get hurt!"
>He blows a hearty sigh, then turns himself back upwards to look up at you, the collage of shadow from the trees painting odd patterns across the scowl he wore.
>"Well it's damn obvious that me and them don't get along, so maybe you should just tell them to stay away from me."
"How?"
>"How am I supposed to know? Order them or something."
>His once charming inflection is wearing on you, it sounds more sardonic rather than witty right now.
>Ordering them away was the exact sort of thing Vilka tried to do with you, and it would only make things worse.
>Surely he can see how unhelpful that would be, but your heated tongue pushes to remind him that you can't work miracles.
"Okay. So I give them this asinine order to keep away from you, and they follow it. But someone else decides to fuck with you because you stare at everyone like they're going to murder you. What then?"
>He seems to freeze halfway between anger and surprise, and you take advantage of his lapsed concentration to reinforce your point.
"I don't have jurisdiction over everyone Tom! I can't safeguard you all the time!"
>His frown deepens and his brow lowers, as he quickly pulls in breath before you can think up anything to maybe placate him.
>"I don't see why any of them have to bother me! I'll keep to myself, and they can keep to their own."
>Now it was your turn to scoff, your lips stood parted in brief astonishment, but he continued before you could speak.
>"We've been doing absolutely fine, so what's even the point? Long as they leave me alone I can stay out of trouble. I'm not some walking hotspot!"
>Your voice is raised in ire, he needs to see that you've made a mistake, that this isn't what's better for him.
>Your heart twists as the anxiety starts flooding from your jaw.
"What do you think I've been doing?! All this isolation... It's only been making you worse! This isn't working! I know I didn't have the best of company to choose from before, but I've been trying!"
>Gods know you've been trying...
"Let me help you by helping me... I've only wanted to help."
>Your heart starts to climb from your throat as you bare it for him to see in the shade of these trees. Being completely honest with this seems to be the best way you can think of to reach a solution, to communicate and let your heartaches be known.
"We both fucked up yesterday, we have to own up to that. And right now I'm questioning if I was wrong about you."
>He stares as his breath catches midway up his throat, and you let your saddened gaze pierce through his own eyes, goaded on by some primal instinct to share your pain.
>His shoulders sink as he seems to struggle with finding something to say, but your heart still twists, and the words bleed from it like a wet rag sheds water.
"I know that there's a good person in you, somewhere under all of the fear and misery there's someone I would want to call friend. I've been trying to dig you out but my approach so far is only scratching into the surface."
>Your own frown deepens as your eyes burn with sadness, grief drags down your ears. You can't continue on like this or he'll just end up hurting you again and again, whether he means to or not.
>Something has to change.

"That's why I'm trying to get you to finally open up and trust someone other than me, I'm not asking you to stick around Vilka or any of the idiots that hang around her. I'm asking you to treat my squad right."
>Your earlier anger has given way to disappointment and worry, and it infects your voice as it quivers.
"I know that I saw someone in there.. The same someone I bonded with, the man that stuck by me when I had finally been pushed too far."
"I didn't even have to ask for anything, that man was just there for me."
>His grimace has melted away, softened into a more despairing expression. Tasting the air bought you one intensifying scent underpinning his normal aroma, regret.
>He stared up at you as his breath slowed, and just like those first meetings all over again, you pinned your gaze straight into his eyes, catching them in a lock.
>The concern and heartache continued to wring words from you.
>It breathed out in a voice straight from the heart.
"Where are you?"
>...
>"Teth..." You're finally breaking through to help him understand, and now more than ever the twisting knot under your breast urges you fiercely to air your feelings.
"I want to believe what I saw wasn't a lie, but I need a sign!"
"I just need some signal that the man I called friend is still in there, that I'm not wasting my time and I can dig you out."
>It was all you needed, what you desperately needed to ensure all of your wonderful memories weren't based on a lie.
"So show me! Give me a sign..."
"Because I don't want to believe what I saw was a lie! If it was... If I can't fix you... Then I just can't keep you close anymore, because you'll just end up hurting me."
>His eyes have lost their edge, his face is painted with a sunken palor of regret.
>You hate to do this to him, you practically have to tear at your own heart to do so, but you just can't abide the faintest chance of this happening again, of this wounding the both of you. If he can't learn, if he can't own up to it that his fear is unfair and wrong, it would happen again.
>If that was the case, then he was doomed from the start. Just like your brother.
>This was the crucible moment, even thinking of the ultimatum prompts a tearing pain in your core, but you force the words anyway, despite the quiver of your voice, and the desperate pleading of your tone.
"...So you can either come with me and apologize... Or we can say our goodbyes..."
>And with that, you finally force yourself to turn away, breaking your immediate link to eachother.
>It was his choice, and you continued on even as your heart screamed to pull you back in the other direction.
>That hope comes dearly, that he wouldn't call your bluff, because then you may be left with no other choice but to follow through.
>The heat starts to gather at the corners of your eyes, as your breath starts choking into shallow heaving, but you hold it back as best you can. Just keep walking.
>The seconds seem to stretch on into agonizing minutes as you move. Just keep walking.
>You swallow a sob trying to tear its way out through your teeth, the thought that he was beyond repair was rattling your heart into a mess. Just keep walking.
>"TETH'RA!"
>Immediately your ears flick back, and your breath catches. You hear the stamp of his boots on the hard earth jogging to catch up with you.
>"Wait!.. I.. I'll uh... come with you."
>You slow your pace as a cool wave cascades over you, dragging out all the air in your lungs in one great huff. Sweet relief.
>The last thing you wanted to do was leave him on his own, and sever your connection to the very person you couldn't help but feel you needed right now.
>You keep yourself in the lead ahead of him so he can't see the grin crawling over your muzzle, but you do let a slice of your happiness decorate your voice.
"Come on. Let's go."
>He's not beyond repair.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You decided to settle this where it started, that damn gantry. By now the proper mechanized units had vacated the mechpark to join the mainline in the north, so you saw no reason not to have your squad meet you there.
>You ordered them to pull Feldspar out of the cooler too, hopefully if she was shaping up you could excuse her from a second night in there.
>Tom trailed behind you, looking quietly worried and shrinking in on himself.
>Something occurred to you as you finished chattering into the radio to get your squad moving, how unfavorably would they view your treatment of him?
>You sure as hell gave that cat a welt to give her pause if she ever thought about pulling a stunt like that again, but for Tom, you were comparatively lenient.
>The thought of ever striking him tugged hard against your heart, but you can't deny he did wrong too.
>The practical reasons run in opposition as well, he technically outranks you, so you can't throw him in the chiller as if that was ever an option in the first place. But from their point of view, that might not even matter.
>You hold a very real sway over him, and they would expect you to use that to punish him.
>But the last thing you want to do is reinforce his fear, you'll have to push for something more productive.
>The worry is lashing a noose over your core. Can you trust your squad to show the same sort of restraint you do? Will they even understand?
>You don't know them well enough yet to say, but they're miles above whoever else you could even remotely think of turning to in this outfit.
>Playing a balancing act between his neurosis and your squad's already fractured cohesion is going to be tough.
>Soon you came upon those same towering girders where your heart had been wounded just the day before.
>The dancing shadows of the rising light flurried their way across a massive silhouette standing motionless at the gantry's center.
>It always amazed you how massive that machine was up close, and to think it was piloted by someone that only comes up to your chest.
>Someone so vulnerable, but combative.
>Someone so abrasive, but warm...
>A heavy sigh leaks from your lips as you inspect the machine by the shadow it casts on the plastic screens.
>He's in there somewhere, the man you grew close with, the man you've recently started to think towards the possibility of being more than a friend.
>You have to brush away the quills and barbs, and coax him out again, and not just for yourself this time.
>You had a responsibility to shed away his fears, and you failed.
>You had a responsibility to get him use to the idea of other anthros being around him, an integration and acceptance, and you failed.
>You had been entrusted by your squad not to hide something like this from them, and you failed them.
>It's time to make things right.
>Can't have your squad losing their reasons to follow you, you had proven your mettle in that clash for that podunk town and the bunker hidden in the hill.
>You saw something in Duran's eyes that told you that you had been someone she could trust, someone she could count on.
>You wanted to say the same about them, so you had to fix your mistake.
>You have to fix Tom, you can't dote and wait on him anymore, and you have to regain that feeling of camaraderie with your troop.
>Even if it feels like your staring down a challenge on par with that machine, you aren't backing down.
>Square your shoulders and stand high.
>you can hear them now, already inside and quietly conversing. Stopping with a turn to your back, you see Tom still following you.
>He's paused and his face is pulled down in a look of worry, he hears them too. He's looking around in what you can only imagine as a search for escape.
>He stops when he meets your glare, you softly shake your muzzle in disapproval and motion with a claw for him to come closer.
>It drags you low again to think how difficult it might be to get him to give them a fair chance, to give you a chance.
>You bend your legs to get down towards his eye level, and you catch his eyes again.
>He has enormous trust in your eyes, your words carry great weight when you're like this, so you choose them with care.
"I won't let them hurt you, but you have to understand this is to help you."
>His brow creeps down somewhat as you seem to be coaxing away his immediate fear where it can disperse in the open air.
>You know he can be very empathetic, you just have to urge him towards seeing your charges beyond the teeth and claws.
"Just give them a chance. Like you did me."
>He nods unsteadily as you rise back to your height and gently push him ahead of you with a paw.
>His back briefly jumps as you make contact, and you fight off the urge to whine like a pup, his flinching has gotten worse.
>You had telegraphed it clearly, and now even the announced touches from the hand he so trusted before have him jumping on instinct.
>One step forward, and you don't know how many steps back.
>As the two of you clear the screens, the conversation stops.

>The first muzzle to snap in your direction is Duran, she wears a doubtful expression as her hazel eyes snap from you down to Tom, and then over to Feldspar. You follow her gaze.
>The cat sits on a supply crate like the smaller canine, but seems to be visibly separated from everyone else. All of the privates have taken seating to Duran's side.
>This is... an unexpected development, and it may be a good sign. On the other hand the doberman could be as angry with you as she seems to be with the lioness, if her glaring is anything to judge by.
>For her part, Feldspar doesn't look happy either, her expression reads as equal parts contentious and miserable.
>The twins share looks of quiet concern as the corporals stare eachother down, and the kid grenadiers look like they just walked in on their parents having a fight.
>The privates alternate between staring at you, and looking on with some sort of quiet worry towards the two corporals.
>The gentle resistance against your hand has stiffened immensely as you try to step forward. You look down, he's locked up.
>His breath is visibly erratic and his arm twitches, you can smell the fear coming to a boil. You consider your options in helping to abate it.
>The old you would have shuttled him away and cooed reassurances into his ear, but that's the exact sort of thing you did before, which wasn't working.
>Just shoving him forward into this confrontation, especially when even you yourself are unsure how the others will respond, is also the wrong move.
>At the same time, your squad could easily see everything you're doing, you have to handle this in a way that isn't unfair to them either.
>There is no easy answer. Prioritize Tom and your other responsibilities may take that as coddling your favorite. Prioritize your squad and Tom will feel abandoned and threatened.
>Your immediate issue is coaxing Tom into even approaching them, you follow his fear frosted gaze and he seems to be staring most at Feldspar.
>Your heart manages to twist itself into a knot as you see him twitching an unaware finger towards his thankfully empty holster.
>You at least made sure to grab him before he remembered his sidearm, him forgetting it like this had actually been a good thing.
>Both incidents would have been magnified into disasters if he had been armed.
>Of course, the one time he did remember it, he walked in on you in the middle of exposing yourself.
>The amusement to be gleamed from that extra stint of awkwardness a little while ago relieved some of the mounting stress like a sleight of hand.
>Wait, exposure... That was it!
>Like what humans do when sunbathing to try and improve their skin, controlled exposure, enough to bronze the flesh, but metered as to not burn it.
>It's the best option beyond theoretical nonsense that you can think up, and more importantly, act on right now.
>Calming him first takes immediate priority, you can't have him talking at them from across the gantry.
>Gently, you rest your other hand on his shoulder and squeeze at the base of his neck, a silent reaffirmation that you're still here, and you'll keep him out of harm's way.
>His breath steadies and he lets you lead him forward, at least he still trusts you that far.
>You decide to sit opposite Duran in the circling of crates that your squad has taken up, putting the privates to your left side between you and the corporal.
>You make sure to keep an eye on Feldspar and you prompt Tom to sit behind you to your right, physically placing yourself between him and the others, but not so much that he's obscured from their view.
>At least in your eyes, the message is clear, you'll protect him, but you won't hide him.
>Controlled exposure.

>"So... The hyped up wet neck shows himself. Pheh!" Feldspar's voice is more bitter than your 'chocolate' rations, and your tepid frown turns over to a scowl.
>She rolls her eyes as she continues. "I've seen fruitflies more intimidating."
>"Shove it up your tail pipe, pride flower! Fucking savage, you belong in a cage." Tom's voice carries an almost growling malt to it, and for a split second you could swear you were hearing your father shouting at the neighbors again.
>Your ears lower as that tightness in your chest returns, already this isn't starting well. Tom feels pressed to attack when threatened, and the lioness won't be one to back down easily.
>Feldspar snarls as she leers hatefully towards him, a shot of heat flares under your collar, already you have to step in and mediate.
"I would remind you to control yourself corporal."
>She sneers as she bears her shoulder against you, tail flicking in anger.
>"Oh, look! Sarge got a favorite. I suppose he slapped a collar on you too." The words snap at something deep in you, something that stirs with a thrashing.
>This inbred she-mane thinks you're fucking COLLARED?!!
>The fire starts flaring, you can feel it stinging your nostrils as you growl and bear your teeth.
>"Oh shut the fuck up Sher!" The bile climbing up your throat is cut off at the pass when you find the words aren't coming from your mouth, but Julia's
>The dog displays a grim vitriol in her eyes, and the unexpected verbal push has both you and the cat off balance.
>"I thought I knew you. But here you are acting like any other brain dead speciest. The fuck is wrong with you!?"
>A gust of air escapes from her, and her prowling gaze looks over to your side of the gathering.
>"And what's the deal with you two? Why didn't you tell us about him?"
>You had no satisfactory answer, you certainly knew your reasons, but to try and excuse yourself based on your lack of suitable company was a waste of breath.
>Already, you were fuming at your problematic corporal, but you hold your venom.
>You had already chewed out the lioness yesterday, and an encore performance wasn't something she had prompted, so far she had sat still, away from him.
>Allowing the steam under your collar to vent, you considered how to word your story to them, how to explain the bizarre little adventure that was your relationship with this human half your size.
>But moments of peace are rare to be had out here, Tom's voice brushed away the still air. "That's none of your business."
>A small inkling of satisfaction dropped into a pond of disappointment. He still refused to see, but his tone was more of a neutral warning than something combative. Maybe he was learning, but if it was improvement, it was just a drop in the bucket.
>Twisting yourself back, you stretched an arm to gently bar his chest with an open palm, and you spoke a gentle warning.
"Stop. It IS their business now."
>He looses a small sigh an takes to staring at the floor for the time being, you turn back just in time to see Duran's lips move.
>"So, what? Is he your secret lover or something?"
>You about swallow your next breath. Does she know? Can she smell you on him? Shit! That scent mark was very faint! but...
>Uh, shit, you're stammering, say something before she catches on!
"Uh. what?! No! I-i-uhh. It's complicated. It's VERY complicated."
-smooth-
>Oh Gods, she knows!
>You need to reword this, you can still salvage it.
"No. What I meant to say was..."
>...
>And there goes your attempt. Ah shit, think, FUCKING THINK!
>Every excuse aludes you, and the dead silence is making you look increasingly guilty, best just spill the facts.
"*sigh* Tom and I... W-We saved eachother's lives, back before I was even promoted. I trust him with my life, and I know he trusts me with his, despite the fact that... well."
>You flick an ear to append your point.

>You already know the question that's coming.
-why didn't you tell them?-
>So you head her off to defuse the situation some.
"Before you say anything. I know, I didn't say anything before, I didn't tell you. I fucked up, and I'm sorry."
"I should have told you to try and avoid this in the first place. The other officers in the platoon are such unreliable fuckups that I..."
>You had slipped into offering an excuse automatically. You should have just left it at an apology, because now you look like you're trying to shift the blame to where it doesn't belong.
>You should at least finish, so maybe they can have insight into why.
"I didn't believe I had anyone else to help me with his fear. So I kept him to myself... Until now."
"And that was the wrong move, because if anything... It just made him worse."
>The shame crawls over you, heated points of marching footprints dotting all over your cheeks and the insides of your ears.
>'Look at what you did' it said, you had practically broken your squad into thirds, and you and Feldspar were in the minority camps.
>The remorse prompts at you to allow your form some humility, so you let it pull your ears down as you gently breath out the last of your reasoning.
>Looks like you'll be trimming your mane back down again this evening, and it floats out of you, some last drawling plea before they inevitably pass judgment on you.
"I'm sorry. Someone could have gotten hurt... and I let it happen by keeping you in the dark."
>Your heart makes a sharp dive, the depths pressuring and gripping it. The whole time she scrutinizes you, and you can't bring yourself to keep up the unbreakable image you had going for you before.
>You don't want this.
>It never should have happened.
>And so much of it is your fault.
>"You're actually broken up about this, aren't you?" A small pluck raises your heart a bit.
>She isn't as mad as you thought she would be.
>You had expected vitriol and fury, some rant about yet another failure of a sergeant
>You look back up, practically wearing the question.
"...I-. I expected you to be furious with me... Wh-Why aren't you..."
>"Mad?" She continues as you look with dawning confusion into her eyes. "Oh I'm mad as hell, believe me, but I can put that behind me."
>"What I was expecting, was for you to swagger in here full of piss and vinegar and bark at us about how you did nothing wrong. Not for your first addressing of me to be an apology."
>The twins then cut over your thoughts before you have a pause to form them.
>"Our previous sergeant was..."
>"An absolute bastard!" The sisters truly were in tune with eachother, hearing them finish eachother's thoughts was almost unnerving.
>Both of them huffed in unison, shared a look, and returned to the conversation.
>"We had a long string of bad luck."
>"We were passed around from NCO to NCO."
>"All of them terrible, incompetant.."
>"Or very quickly dead."
>You took a mental step back to absorb what they were telling you.
>A history of being shuffled between outfits. Abusive, unfit, or just plain unlucky commanding NCO's. 'long string of bad luck'.
>And when you were promoted... They didn't round up a green squad for you as with most fresh sergeants, they gave you a preexisting, understrength group.
>A hex squad.

>It was a little horror story you once overheard Baker using to scare Cherbrie almost immediately after the rodent was promoted.
>At least, you thought it was a story.
>Squads that found hard times everywhere they went, usually cut down to almost half their number or fewer, but whoever was left had the devil's luck.
>A luck they stole from whoever was leading them.
>They would be shuffled around from outfit to outfit, passed from sergeant to sergeant, and every new assignment would come to some sort of bad end.
>The NCO could of course be a raging incompetent in terms of handling that particular unit, or they could be killed almost immediately on the first outing with their new charges.
>You thought it stupid superstition, but the pieces were aligned right in front of you.
>Maybe you should start wearing that ankh charm again... just for good luck.
>...
>What are you doing? Getting yourself worked up over something that probably originated as ramblings from some idiot hopped up on stims.
>Your first sortie was a tough scrape, but you weren't dead, that much was certain.
>And as for the other points, the doberman said it herself, you apologized for your mistake yesterday, and you weren't nearly entrenched enough to develop the sort of power complex to excuse treating them like Vilka treated you.
>If there was some jinx, any truth whatsoever to that tale of paranoia beyond coincidence, you broke it.
>You were lucky with Tom, why would that same luck not apply here?
>If there is any truth to the superstition, maybe you'll have to thank your mother for your lucky stripe.
>You congeal your thoughts towards some sort of response as you rub at your chin, feathering the gold fur of that lucky marking.
"So you guys were expecting me to chew you out for my mistake?"
>A bobbing of heads rather enthusiastically point towards the answer being yes, even Feldspar grudgingly gives an affirmative grunt.
>The lioness follows her grunt with more verbal complaints.
>"Yeah, YOUR mistake." In response, the doberman reaches across, slugging the cat across the shoulder to get her attention.
>"Yours too, dipshit! Don't act like you're innocent!"
>The cat fires back. "What the hell Jules? I thought we were friends!"
>The dog's ears flatten in response. "I didn't realize you were a speciest, and a violent one at that. All you had to do was the exact opposite of the shit you pulled."
>"I thought we were friends too..." A tremor in her voice betrays her lament, and for once, Feldspar wears remorse instead of a scowl.
>How much had these two been through together? And how hard was it for that quiet dog to take a stand?
>The implication whispered at you with echoes of your own heartache from coercing Tom to even be here.
>She takes a moment to collect herself, then looks over towards you and Tom directly.
>"So what's your story?" You realize her gaze has slipped past you and landed directly on Tom, and you can hear him shifting with unease.
>It's inevitable that he'll have to converse, but a small panic pinches your throat. What if he starts panicking again from being engaged so directly?
-controlled exposure-
"You already know, he has a phobia."
>You lean forward a fair bit to both shield him and draw Duran's attention to you, for his own sake, this has to be a slow burn.
>Her brow gives an incredulous raise as her muzzle twists.
>"Don't speak for him sarge, I want to know why."
>You take umbrage with the idea that you're speaking for him, but with how scared he is, you need the shield him from the brunt of this, to keep him calm so when he does speak, so he can voice himself without a misunderstanding.
>But the rumble of his voice from behind you sets you off kilter, he seems to be braver than you thought.
>"I had a cat in my face trying to eviscerate me. I defended myself, nothing more!"

"Does that include agitating the twins and shouting racial epithets?"
>You turned back to look at him with a stern expression, to let him know your disappointment.
>His own face seemed to soften some, and he couldn't find the words to continue.
>He shrank away, avoiding your eyes. Your heart strangled itself, you have to wonder if he's learning, if he can see enough to come forward and recognize his mistakes.
>He certainly wants to do right by you, but you have to hold your breath and hope that the same kindness could extend to anyone else.
>"Why?" Duran's annoyed tone breaks through your thin veneer of concentration, and your pulled back in and you feel yourself being pulled two ways at once.
>Do you tell her to back off and let him breath? Or do you reinforce her question? Which by now was one that had been plaguing you.
>He had been more up to the challenge than you initially thought, but you could still smell the noxious ambrosia of stress and fear coiling about the air around him.
>A million times you had repeated your motivations to yourself, but his fear was always pushing back against it, but you can't let one or the other win the struggle.
>If his fear wins, you can't keep him by you anymore, but the pressure could send him towards another panic attack.
>Above it all was the matter of why, the root of it all, you had suspicions, but nothing entirely solid. Your most prominent hunch pointed towards some sort of violence, somewhere in his past, but you had no idea as to who, what, where, or why.
>Curiosity urges you towards using Duran's blunt questioning to get even the briefest of looks through the gnarled thickets of his phobia, to see the root, so you can better kill it and free him from its toxic embrace.
>He's holding up well enough so far, maybe because you put yourself between him and the others, so curiosity wins.
>You speak gently, so as not to add on to the pressure, and use your connection to help him reveal himself.
"Look, I'm interested to know myself. Why ARE you scared?"
>His shoulders hike up defensively, and the scent of some fresh shot of pain briefly jumps off of him. You imagine if he had fur it would be bristling.
>"I don't want to talk about it."
>You expected this, but you still sour a little, it's hard to say what progress he's making even as he continues being difficult around certain areas.
>Julia's voice picks back up over your shoulder. "Seriously?! The hell is with you?!"
>You can understand that frustration, you're feeling it too, but she's speaking too aggressively.
>You hold an open palm out behind you towards the dog, an obvious signal to back off. But you don't know if she took it well as the split of your attention is directed more towards him at this point.
>Some faint tremor is visible through his clothes as he takes a hissing inhale.
>"I-I CAN'T talk about it."
>You're smelling it again, that same scent from last night, it's only a ghost of what you picked up previously, but it's there under the stress.
>That fire in the pit of your gut starts stirring again, but you keep the flames low by blowing out the heated air.
>He's staunchly against speaking about it, and you can't blame him, because you've been there before.
>You're still pushed to try and reconnoiter that dark root of fear, but you hold yourself back. If anywhere, he would only be willing to speak of it when alone with you.
>Right now it's better to let that line of questioning fall away. You can't allow him to be pushed too far.
>But you should at least coax something conclusive out of him, to bury this issue before it evolves into more of a pain in your tail.
"*sigh* You should at least apologize."
>His concerned face turns back up into your view, and you can see that jumping spark of anxiety in his eye.
>It hurts seeing that thing taunt you, knowing that it would be the wrong move to be rid of it right now.
>You have to get Feldspar to learn to button up before she gets out of control too.
>To that end, you turn about and stare her dead in the eyes, catching her as she was looking on at what you were doing with Tom.
>That first meeting between the two of you must have flashed across her mind, because she freezes with that same look on her face.
"You too!"

>"I already said sorry!"
"Not to him you haven't!"
>You hardened your expression into a scowl, you wouldn't tolerate her getting smart.
>"Alright... fine, I'm sorry about your little pal." She glares directly at Tom, and you can practically hear his hair standing on end.
>"Hear that? I'M SORRY."
>But before you can rebuke her for being an insincere ass, Duran makes a repeat performance of doing it for you.
>You know what the sound of one hand clapping makes, and to your amusement, that sound is of an open-palmed canine paw crashing into the back of a speciest's head.
>Her ears flatten, and she covers her head with a paw, whirling about to spit noise at her increasingly belligerent counterpart corporal.
>"What the f-"
>Before she can complain, Duran cuts over her on a power note, the volume of her voice surprises everybody, even you and the up till now silent pair of Matthews and Pliskin, who both give startled peeps.
>"BE SINCERE ASSHOLE!!!" Tension visibly extrudes from her as she breathes sharply to continue. "What the hell is with you?!"
>"I have NEVER seen you like this before!" She takes a shuddering inhale, a breeze leaks through, ruffling the brushy fur atop her head.
>Her scent is carried towards you, and you immediately pick out a gripping sadness clinging to it.
>Your own heart lurches in sympathy, like you felt Tom was becoming someone else, someone distant, you could almost feel those next words before they even finished leaving her lips. Because it was the same vein of thought you struggled with him over.
>"I feel like I don't even know you right now! Like you're a different person!"
>She almost gasps attempting to catch her breath, and then scent of sorrow touches you again, she's trying to hold herself together so she doesn't tear up.
>"Jules..."
>The lioness' anger is spirited away as she tries to reach out to the dog, only for her paw to be pushed away.
>"Don't!" The cat seems to sink, her own stubbornness had worked against her. It had left her open for her emotions to bite her.
>The whole exchange has echoes of your own argument playing back in your head, 'Where are you?'. You pray that he's here.
>You have to wonder how long your corporals have known eachother, how deep their connection runs, how hard it is on Duran as Feldspar frays that wire.
>They don't share anything like what you hope to have with Tom, but you still see the lines between Charlene and him running parallel.
>The twins look on, reaffirming eachother with a short spell of eye contact, and speak.
>"We have to agree with Julia."
>"You behave like an entirely different person now."
>"We had never seen this sort of thing out of you."
>"It's shocking, and disgusting."
>The two of them shake their heads, almost in unison. You were starting to get more used to how in sync they were, testament to how close the sisters were, but little moments where they almost looked like mirror reflections of eachother like that still gave just a nip of frost at the tip of your tail.
>One of the privates manages to find their voice, and you hear from the slight chirrup before she speaks, it's Pliskin speaking.
>"You weren't exactly the nicest person in the world, but... Mocha and Minna are right. I feel like I don't know you anymore.
>Matthews joins in. "Same here..."
>Some realization dawns across the lion, and suddenly all of her rough and tumble spirit is blown away, her whiskers droop, and her tail falls limp.
>You can see the processes turning over themselves behind her eyes, and you can confidently guess at the conclusion.
>You hold your breath.

>"h-Have I really been that... bad?"
>The area briefly uproars in agreement, everyone of the squad voicing themselves in their own ways.
>The small choir of affirmatives wounds her, and so her shoulders sag and she stares at the floor.
>You decide to chip in, to see how willing she is to turn this around.
"I haven't known you for long, Feldspar, but what I've seen from yesterday puts a lot of doubt on whatever faith or favor you accrued on the field."
"I would like to just put this behind us, so maybe you can show me you aren't some seditious, speciest, shithead like you're currently giving the impression of. But that's on you."
>She breaths out a heavy sigh, and goes about weighing her options, even though you know she can't hear you, you mentally plead with her to do the right thing.
>This animosity has worn out its welcome, and every further moment it hangs around the air grates against your nerves with a metallic shriek.
>The lion raises her head, and pauses. Here it comes.
>"... What can I do to make it up?"
>The heat that comes rocketing out of you gives way to a profound relief. If both of them have been shepherded away from being stubborn by empathy, this shouldn't be difficult.
>"Shake on it." The words barrel out of Duran's mouth with barely enough pause between her and Feldspar for the single beat of a drum.
>And just like that, this might be difficult again, pressing the two of them that close, especially with how severe Tom can get, does NOT sound like a good idea.
>You try to mull over what words to chain together in order to swat that suggestion out of the air before potential disaster strikes, but you're interrupted by another crescendo of mutual agreement from the rest of the squad. You listen to the hushed gliding of cloth across a hard surface as Tom shrinks behind you.
>Shit
>So many things pull you back towards him at once, and there's reasons to go along with it, so you tune out of the conversation picking up at the other end of the exchange and lend your focus to Tom. If you don't he might get flighty.
>He's wide-eyed and fearful, his breathing is picking up as you read tension winding around his body.
>Your eyes meet, and once again you give thanks towards whatever force enchants him in your eyes as he starts calming, but tension still jostles in the back of his voice as he speaks.
>"D-Do I really have to-..." His back shudders as he shivers, as if caught in a storm. "Get near that... bitch?"
"Look, I know it's not going to be easy, but we really don't have much of a choice here."
>Judging by the mask of fear coating the air around him, it won't be easy at all. You need a plan
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>Controlled exposure.
"Look, if you can't even approach another anthro, then how will you ever be rid of this?"
>"I-I'm not sure about this." His voice quivers with fear, do you still press on?
>He is holding up better than you expected, and it's in both of your interests to press him into something like this, even if you'd prefer more time to ease him in.
>There's also your squad, and showing your 'favorite' was driven far more by fear and paranoia than malice should soften them as he recognizes his mistakes.
>You've narrowed onto going forward with this.
"I'm trying to help, I really am. All you have to do is shake her hand and show you're sorry, not just to me, but to them"
>"But-"
"I'll be right there, anything happens, I'll put myself between you two. You don't have to worry."

>You crack a patient smile, to reaffirm and support. He manges to find a precarious solace in it and your eyes.
>Tuning an ear back in to the other side of the gathering, they sound like they're wrapping up.
>You close your lips and breath deep, tasting the ambrosia of emotion and scent swirling around. One thing carries above everything else, anxiety, you aren't alone in that gripping anticipation about your chest.
>His next breath is a swell as he rises with you, trying to combat his tension.
>True to your word, you keep yourself in front of him on the approach, while also making sure he's actually following you.
>You meet Feldspar in the middle, feeling like the three of you are being propped up on a stage, something that ain't helping your own quiet tumult of worry.
>You Loom over both of them, and are sure to keep an eye on both of them as you put them in front of you, but still close so you can insert yourself should something happen.
>A crackling tension dances across the air, you can feel it arcing along your fur as they stand off at arm's length from eachother, and you.
>Tom looks to you with worry tugging his brow upward. With locked eyes, you share a slight smile and a subtle nod, if necessary, you will step in and separate them to protect him. You keep your word
>He closes his eyes, inhales, pauses, and exhales.
>Wait, does he know that trick too?
>He braces out a hand, and your surprise only grows as he speaks.
>"I... apologize, for how I acted."
>Some warm thing grows wings inside of you and tries to flutter out, it's a fight to hold it in, and you can feel your pride swelling in conjunction.
>It's working!
>"It was wrong of me to... assume all of you were IMMEDIATE threats."
>His words are strained and the sideline accusation against the lion is clear, but you can excuse that based on the steps forward he's taken.
>You were expecting, and dreading, so much worse, but this willingness to dare, a product of your presence or no, is starting to stir a joyful feeling.
-your tail is starting to wag-
>down girl! You still have to see the other side of this get resolved.
>He fights against small tremors in his arm as he waits for the lioness to forward her end of the apology, you note that his gaze seems intently focused on his outstretched hand, and nothing else.
>You look over to find confusion and uncertainty dawning her, like it didn't occur to her that he might be the bigger person and apologize first.
>You affix her with a meaningful glare, and cock a brow to get across the unspoken question: 'why aren't you showing me you're better than this?'
>As if in response, she speaks softly, but clearly. "I was out of line with how I approached you. And how I carried myself..."
>She reaches, and you track her movements with deadly focus, any errant twitch of the paw denoting those claws coming out, and you will step in.
>Tom's hand twitches as the lion's paw glides closer, fighting a want to withdraw and seek shelter.
>Your breath halts at they get down to a hair's breadth, and she takes his hand in a loose clasp.
>"I.. should not have acted that way, I made a bad situation worse. I-I-uh... I-..."
>"*sigh* I'm sorry." With that, she looses her grip, Tom immediately steps back, moving to place you directly in between him and the lion.
>You can't blame him, the tension radiating off of him getting this far was enough to even get you wound up.
>The principle things you feel now are a radiant happiness starting to lift your chest, and relief, above all, relief.
>You can definitely fix him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Tom>
>The days crawled by in torment, your nights were plagued by terror, but thankfully you weren't mired in your own head again.
>She always seemed to either wake you in the middle of the night, or the storm of your dreams calmed into something more tepid before the damage could become lasting.
>The most important thing for a Trooper is his sleep, and your subconscious seemed determined to disrupt your regular eight hours.
>Your productivity suffered, you barely did any self maintenance on your Rumbler as during most of those hours, you would find a quiet place to squirrel away to and nap, just so you weren't a nervous wreck when the time did come to turn your guns about.
>The techs may bitch and moan, but they could languish while being chained to a grind wheel for all you could care. They ignored your repairs in favor of a living propaganda caricature, and they were too busy kicking back in a flatbed with micro-brew and a dog-eared issue of Playboy to so much as drop a motherfucking bug.
>They certainly didn't hold a candle to the old outfit.
>Even visiting aces had to take second ticket to in-battalion repair and refurbishments back in the 512, they always kept your mechs together.
>That gaggle of old guard mech techs had a talent for even battlefield repair.
>You remember Vinny, the chief engine mechanic, once came roaring out in the cupola of a light tank with a pintle mounted 20mm when O'Neill's machine blew a hip actuator and two of her engines caught fire.
>They dodged around ahead of a flatbed carrying the spare parts and a crew of very pissed and heavily armed mechanics.
>O'Neill's warhorse was back in the fight within an hour.
>They reasoned that you pilots took the brunt of the action, so it was only fair they share some of the life risking once in a blue moon.
>Vinny would brag constantly about how he would build a hotrod when he finally got to go home.
>But he never did get to go home...
>Probably the best support crew you could ask for, while they lasted.
>Of course, mistakes still happened, and the machine you inherited was a notorious problem child.
>Three previous pilots, and the oldest service life out of all the machines in the battalion, the mechanics, in a mix of affection and incandescent hatred, called it 'the bucket'.
>The colonel and Willard put in a joint order for a factory fresh Rumbler to finally retire the old heap.
>You can rightfully say that order came as the machine you rode now.
>She was young, brash, and full of life. A last gift.
>But she needed a name.
>You're sure you can come up with something, something the machine can wear with pride. And as a fitting tribute, so you can finally put this behind you, so it stops haunting you without relent.
>But a name can only be given to a machine that has proven itself, a machine ridden by an ace.
>One kill shy, and trying to fight off the stress inbetween long bouts of being bored to death, you cursed and railed as a worthy marker refused to show itself.
>As the 606 followed the advance north along the highway, there were engagements aplenty to be had once the battalion joined the spear of the thrust.
>Problem was every engagement was minor, routine, nothing worth a kill marker, let alone dwelling on.
>After you passed the smoking ruin of a cleared out little villa by the name of Clinton, the mountains distanced from eachother like lovers in a spat, and the terrain opened up into rolling, densely wooded hills. Logging country.
>A pack of bugs would come charging out of the thickets of trees towards the road, get chewed into paste by the crossfire of the lead elements before they ever got close, and then things would continue on as normal until the next pack decided to impale themselves on the tip of the spear.
>Mile after mile, passing and clearing hamlet after hamlet, nothing bigger than the rare Stag, no Marauders. Your machine would be lacking a name for some time.
>A fact that prancing showman Redenbacher never failed to wave in your face, inadvertently or not.
>Gatherings of eager rookie troopers clumped around him like blades of grass, paying rapt attention to every syllable lazing out of his mouth in that ridiculous accent, like it was sweet, dewed honey dripping from a faucet for the attendance of wayward moths.
>At least that's how the rambling idiot would word it in between cooing about his machine, his precious 'Frau Emile'.
>A flowery name for a flowery pretender. For the sake of your patience you just avoided him at every opportunity.

>Your days saw you sheltering behind Teth'ra after she coaxed you out of your stupor to make nice with her little slice of the zoo.
>She always said it was for your own good.
>So you went, and you hid yourself behind her and shied away from any stares or lures for you to join in on the conversation.
>You didn't have anything to say, especially not to that fucking lion.
>But you went anyway, attended all of the mealtimes, hung around at the little functions as they talked and went about their routine.
>All because Teth'ra wanted you to, and trying to back out of it would land you in hot water with her, a position you fervently wanted to stay out of.
>While your opinion of the lioness would stay rooted in stone for all time, the others... They didn't seem hostile, at least not outwardly.
>Maybe you had been a little panicky in the past. Watching how the jackal interacted with them cast flickering shadows of your own unit.
>And it cast shadows of doubt over you, that constriction around your core refused to entirely go away, not helped by your own grief.
>She gave you plenty of time alone to address yourself over it, but never too much time. She'd always come find you when the pressure was vented but you no longer wanted to be alone with yourself.
>But she didn't say much to you either, and you worried whatever bond carried between you was starting to stutter and die.
>So you wondered why she kept up her uncanny vigilance over you. Was it just in her best interest to make sure the battalion pilot was functional? Or were all those times you muttered sorry actually keeping her here to see if you could redeem yourself in her eyes?
>Sorry was all you could say, the constricting knot around your heart was very slow to loose its grip, and no other words really came to mind while it was there.
>The world wasn't going to pause no matter who's gone, or who's mourning in their absence, the advance continued north for miles.
>It had been five days.
>The last evening greeted you with a sight as the long march neared a clustering of villages along what was Canadian route 97.
>In the shadow of the clouds overhead, a mass of flying bugs balled defensively in a roaring buzz as they were harried without relent by airborne hunters.
>Darting in undulate swoops from the clouds, a wing of swift arrowheads plucked at the broiling mass like seabirds, fighters.
>Again and again they'd dive, ascend, and vanish, shaping the swarm's errant tendrils and punishing the hazy fingers it stretched to engulf a pack of orbiting gunships with frenzied flurries of gunfire.
>Uncontested, the fat, armored tiltjets bit in retaliation by casting wads of flak into the buzzing swarm, clipping wings, and shredding bodies. The bloodied husks fell like hail into the forest below.
>Watching the airforce perform its kinetic dance was something else, a hawkish predator picking apart its prey, all within half an hour.
>But all was not well.
>That night your sleep was haunted again.
>On your back in a field under a colorless sky, you couldn't feel anything but the stones pressing into your lungs.
>Painfully slow in breath, you could only gaze dryly upwards as a murder of black birds whirled over your head.
>The gaunt shapes of corvids glinted through the gnarling fingers of a dead tree, life bled from you as the hungry birds descended lower and lower.
>As your breath shallowed and stung, growing slower, and thinner, you realized: they weren't here for you, not initially.
>Gradually, you came to the sense of another body lying in bled stillness to your side.
>A body larger than your own.
>Your heart came slower and weaker, the drum beat creeping towards a stop.
>As the wind screamed through the dessicated field around you, your head started falling limply towards your side.
>But before you could lay eyes on what was beside you, you were jerked awake by a furred hand.
>Another nightmare she saved you from. In a tired voice, she asked if you were okay.
>Reading the concern across her face finally loosened the death grip your heart was under, she wasn't doing this out of self interest.
>She still cares.
>The following day saw you roving into the hamlet reaching for small town named 100 Mile House and driving out the bugs with prodigious fire.
>The battalion was then halted and told the village would be your base of operations for the next day or so.
>Finally, some rest.
>So far you had been starting to feel above the weather today, and then this had to happen.
>You had been told that you and the rest of the platoon would be clearing houses.
>Teth'ra at least had the courtesy to take you along with her as everyone was paired off into two man teams to go through the wheeling spikes of suburbs peeling off of the center of town to check and clear every abandoned home of bugs one by one.
>Still, you were irritated, and very much aware of every facet of your surroundings because all you had to your name right now was the .44 in your hands and the broken assurance that as a pilot, you would never have to go tunnel diving. So the obvious question has to be asked.
"Why the hell am I here again?"

>"Hilarious mismanagement?"
>That grin cresting the corner of her muzzle as she tilted her head over her shoulder told you the question was already answered.
>You had been trailing behind her stride for the past hour or so in nervous silence as you cleared dead homes and tried not to think of how many bugs could be hiding in the trees. Something that to your chagrin, she didn't seem to be taking seriously.
"I mean why the hell am I HERE? On the ground. I'm a pilot, not a fucking rifleman. I shouldn't be doing this bitch work."
>'bitch work' Wait, shit. Was that something she'd take offense to? Maybe you should just shut up.
>She blew a short huff as she looked ahead, continuing the conversation as you strolled up the street.
>"Bitch work it is, but I think as far as the old men are concerned, if you're part of the infantry outfit, you do infantry work. Even out of the mech."
>She panned her muzzle over her shoulder again and gave you that same smirk. Right, mismanagement.
>Why expect things to make sense in a military kitbashed from the armies of every power of note on the planet?
>After all, they did send you to an anthro dominated unit. Even if it accidentally introduced you to Teth'ra, it was an outright retarded decision.
>Still, something plucked at you to ask her why she decided to take you along on this suburban expedition.
"No, I mean... Why take me with you? Aren't I supposed to be making friends with your little crew?"
>"Yer with me because you're such a fragile little flower, and who better to keep you unshattered than the biggest bitch in the regiment?"
>You soured a bit at the mention of your fragility, but the tone of her voice was mischievous rather than malicious, the girl is just having a bit of fun with you.
>The two of you were walking down a cracked suburban street, overgrown lawns and creaking pines brushed out of the ground to both sides, attempting to obscure the abandoned homes that may have once been referred to as quaint.
>Past the thinner trees on the right, lay the sparkling waters of a small lake, if you remembered the maps correctly, it was called Horse Lake.
>The two of you were tasked with clearing unexplored buildings sequentially on the right side of the road, and you would go however far was necessary up this little slice of americana on the lake's northern shore until you either found trouble or met up with another team going the opposite way.
>So far you passed eight of the decrepit residential structures, one was collapsed, five were already cleared as denoted by the red markers painted by the doors, and the two of you had cleared as many domiciles and found nothing so far.
>But you swallowed nervously as you eyed the upcoming house, devoid of the red door marker.
>Third time's the charm.
>You kept yourself behind her as she sauntered forward, entirely uncaring of the overgrown grass and weeds, it came up to your waist, but to her it wasn't even an inconvenience.
>She kept that hulk of a gun at her hip, locking it forwards as the ammo belts lazily hanging off her shoulders clattered against themselves.
>You had no damn idea they could practically rip an M2 off of one of your secondary turrets, and slap a rifle stock and grip on it like that.
>It was loud, boisterous, and unique. A natural fit for her if ever there was one.
>Her presence was setting you slightly more towards ease, after all, she could use a crew served weapon like a rifle, and if push came to shove, could maybe tear a bug apart bare handed.
>Being behind this walking arsenal of a woman at least made your chances look better.
>The house squats in front of you as you keep the gun in your grip level with your chest, ready to snap upwards should you spy any movement through the windows.
>Truthfully, you have little idea what you're doing. You're used to surveying the battlefield from over 50 feet in the air, with the power to flatten buildings arrayed at the tips of your fingers, not nervously prowling through overgrown grass towards a tiny lakefront property that may or may not contain a bug or two.
>At least you have Teth'ra's expertise to guide you, you'll follow her lead.

>Suddenly, there's a crash somewhere to your right.
>You hear a violent skittering of something darting through the grass.
>The hammer is already cocked on instinct, you whirl to the right, snapping the silver mass upwards.
>Draw a bead.
>Align the sight picture.
>Shoot to kill.
>...
>Nothing
>You check left, you check right, but if something was in the grass, it's either long gone, or was too small to see in the first place.
>You don't have anything beyond eyesight to track it, but she does.
"THE FUCK WAS THAT?!! WHERE THE HELL DID IT GO?!"
>Looking to her for any clues, she had already panned right towards the noise. She stood like a totem against the breeze, motionless aside from the panning of her eyes and the twitching of her ears.
>She breaths out the lung-full she was holding. "It's gone, calm down."
>You wheeled around to check your flanks, just to be sure, all the while trying to calm the thundering under your chest.
>Was it even a bug? Whatever it was couldn't have been very large if you lost it in the grass. It could be out there, waiting to bite your damn ankles off.
"Yeah, but. But what the hell was that?!"
>She takes pause, before panning her nose skywards and sampling the air.
>That small grin returns to her as she lightly shakes her head before starting forward again.
>"Alley cats, nothing to worry about." How did that make any sense? how do they survive out here?
>"Skittish animals tend to find a place to hide when the bugs come through, they can survive for a long time on whatever is left behind."
>So now you had feral cats running around to contend with, flea-bitten vermin that were likely to cause trouble trying to get into supplies, not to even mention what sort of diseases they could be carrying.
>You suppressed a shudder towards the thought of, of all things, being laid low by an infected cut from some dead housewife's impassive room decoration.
"Great, so now I gotta worry about catching rabies too."
>"They aren't aggressive, you have nothing to worry about... It's a pain keeping the little bastards away from the supplies though. Gods know I've been saddled with that shit more than enough times."
"What about the damn bugs? Could be anywhere in those trees..."
>"Oh come on, if there was a bug out here, I'd smell it. We're trained to pick up their scent, and in this air, if one was anywhere near us, I'd know."
>She couldn't be lying, she was a canine, that nose must be highly acute.
>She would let you know if she picked up something.
>The two of you conclude the short jaunt to the squatting single story, stacking up on the door, you take note of just how large she really is.
>Her frame is almost taller than the door itself, and counting her ears, she is taller.
>The thought of her trying to move around without bumping in to everything is a little amusing, relieving a slight amount of the tension.
>She tries the handle... it's locked. Taking a step back, she braces a shoulder towards the door, and you connect what she's doing.
>The jackal is about to make a hell of a lot of noise.
"Woah! Wait."
>"How else am I supposed to get through this?" She has a brow raised curiously, waiting for your flash of genius.
"I don't know. Try to find a spare key under the doormat or something..."
>A flash that was more of a fizzle, she scoffs bemusedly.
>"Look, just like the last two times, I go in first, you follow and watch my back. Nothing should be taking us by surprise, but I doubt there even are any bugs around here."
>"We go on three. Okay?" You return a nod.
>"One. Two. THREE!"

>She ducks her head low, boots pounding hard against the concrete porch as she charges forward with her shoulder.
>You don't have a solid handle on how much she would weigh, but it's more than enough to crash through the door in one go.
>It flies off its hinges, shattering into splinters around the point of impact with a loud crack and following crash.
>Before the debris even hits the floor, her weapon is raised, rapidly scanning around the room for anything bug shaped.
>You check the sides of the house one more time before following her in, looking along her flanks for any movement.
>Nothing jumps at you, but that entry was loud.
"Christ. Are we trying to alert the whole zipcode?"
>"Shh!" You note that she is taking advantage of the silence to use her ears to try and pick out anything, if there was a bug in here, the entry should have alerted it into moving.
>You hear absolutely nothing beyond the air moving and the occasional sounds from Teth'ra's kit. If you were a less paranoid man, you could tentatively guess this house is clear.
>But you've only checked this front foyer/living room, a hallway peels off to the right just in front of a kitchenette shuffled into the corner of the room.
>She advances with solid purpose, head low and ears folded as she produces a knife edge focus down the barrel of her shouldered... HMG? Rifle? You just follow as best you can.
>She walks the muzzle through an open door into a small bathroom, rapidly scanning as you watch her back by pointing your gun down the hall.
>"Clear!"
>Leaning back in, Teth'ra continues her focused advance forward, surprisingly agile in the confined space, even as her ears glide just under the low ceiling.
>The jackal kicks a door open, snapping her rifle up towards one side, across, and then down the other before moving into the room.
>It's some office space or something, she makes wide, fast sweeps across the space.
>Watching this, you get a feeling like the woman you know is being piloted by a machine. Her movements are tight, mechanical, and almost entirely free of any personal touch.
>"Clear!"
>Little touches that are undeniably Teth'ra still show through, it is her voice calling out the clear signal, no matter how flat and robotic the tone is.
>The way she ducks her large body through the doors reminds you of the almost clumsy way she'd hunch into the tent, however stark the difference is between her precise movements here and the awkward ones there.
>As stiffened and bristled as her tail is, it still possesses a laconic mind of its own, lazing this way and that in contrast with her short, practiced steps.
>You sort in behind her as she ducks back out of the home office, continuing down the hall and thrusting open another door.
>A dusty bedroom, furnished and decorated for a child, she dwells on nothing as she sweeps before ducking back in to the hallway.
>"Clear!"
>How many times had she seen a sad sight like this? You struggle to keep away any intruding musings on who must have lived here before the bugs came, and if they survived.
>Bugs don't leave bodies.
>You can't really see past her in the hallway, but you know from memory there are two doors left up ahead.
>They're almost right next to eachother, and she chooses the door at the end of the hall that you can only assume by its lighter looking composition and lack of insulation it leads into the master bedroom.
>The sergeant strides in, wheeling her weapon across her left, over top of a queen sized bed, and briefly threatening herself in a dresser mirror.
>Her heavy boots make dull thuds against the carpet as she moves forward, circling around the bed for the bathroom door, you stay near the door to the hall, training your weapon at the venetian doors of the closet as she checks the bathroom.
>"Clear!"
>You didn't even hear her open the door, it's hard to keep up with her, she moves so damn fast.
>She circles round the bed again, quickly jerking open one of the closet doors.
>Nothing, and just like that, she moves again.
>You're almost shoved out of the way as you back off to let her through, certain that her next goal is the garage door.
>If there's anywhere in this tiny home where a bug would choose to nest, it would be the garage.
>Teth'ra rests a hand on your shoulder, maneuvering you out of her way as she ducks back in to the hallway.
>For once, she pauses upon reaching the door. You can see her back rise slightly under that bulky armor vest.
>You catch your own breath, despite the small strings of guilt pulling at you. You're getting in her way, you aren't watching every angle, you can't keep up with her.
>A bug might be in that garage, where it could be on either of you in a heartbeat if you don't engage it immediately. It's clear she can take care of herself, she just needs you to watch her back.
>You find her blues looking over you for an answer as you steel yourself. They're asking that unspoken question, 'you ready?'
>This could be simple, you've been in close with bugs before... 3 times... when they were alone and in the open.
-You're goi-
>No! It's not like you're diving into the heart of a tunnel network, you can do this. You give her a nod, and she returns one of her own.
>She reaches, and the door slides open.

>It opens into a dark and humid little hovel, and she stomps in, training her weapon into the dim light in search of a target.
>You keep your sights trained past her, watching her flanks as she sweeps the room.
>Whatever was kept in here is gone, cleaned out when the evacuation order came.
>She switches sides, prowling in the other direction now, but no bug comes screaming out of the darkness, no death fated by your inexperience.
>An audible rush of air comes out of her, as she serenely reports. "Clear."
>You let go of what you had been holding too, deflating as you lower your weapon.
>The visage of the trained killer falls away as she relaxes, her ears start standing proud again, and that tail starts slowly swinging as a thin, satisfied smile dresses the end of her snout.
>"That wasn't so bad... I was expecting..."
"Sudden death?"
>She halts before starting to say something, and thinks over it briefly. "Hmm, Yeah, actually.. It's just with all the other places so barren, I was expecting SOMETHING in here."
>"'spose there's no use worrying about it now, let's mark the door and move on."
"Mhm"
>She finds the latch for the segmented door and effortlessly slides it upwards with a clatter, the renewed flood of natural light is harsh and you hiss slightly as you blink to adjust.
>Although last you heard the engineers were working on setting up a generator, the whole town's grid is currently dark. Not making your job any easier.
>It's something else to be reminded of how often human endeavor can fail without someone around to keep an eye on it.
>You listen to the gravel driveway crunch under your boots as you follow her out.
>She produces a can of aerosol paint and sprays the clear marker next to the open space where the front door used to be.
>"Third time's the charm. Eh?"
"That's what I was worried about."
>She gives a small grin, and with a turn of her free hand, she motions for you to follow.
>You feel less comfined now that you're not rooting around in a dimly let hovel and out in the light.
>After all, she can smell them coming out here.
>The return to the road is short as you make your way back through the grass, something rustles and yowls before taking off.
>You briefly spot a thin bundle of fur about the size of a football skittering around the corner of a fence.
>Alley cats, just like Teth'ra said, but you still aren't entirely okay with this.
>Something has been bothering you since you started today, scratching along the inside of your ribs and whispering in your ear.
>You aren't trained for this, you're slowing her down, and if there is a bug out there that somehow evades her senses, it could get her killed.
>Come on, you have to fucking say SOMETHING...
"... Sorry."
>Her ear twitches as her pace slows. She seems torn between stopping to turn and look at you or just continuing on with the business at present.
>"Fo- For what?"
"I just... I'm not trained for this. I'm slowing you down... I could get you killed."
>"*psch* I'm a big girl! I can take care of myself. As long as you watch my back I'll be fine. If there's anything I'm more worried about. It's you."
>"I already heard tell the idiots in charge don't know the difference between a rifleman and a pilot. So when this bullshit came around, I knew I wanted to keep you where you were safest in this mess: By me."
>"I don't want anything to happen to you. You uh... You mean quite a lot to me. So don't apologize for something that's not your fault. Okay?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
>It warmed you to think she still cares that much.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You make your way past five more homes, three of which are collapsed or otherwise in shambles, and two more already cleared.
>Seems fate decided to take it easy on you today.
>The whole time you take a more relaxed pace behind Teth'ra, she's not in a hurry to get into more trouble either so the walk is thankfully slow.
>The brass points of her ears occasionally swivel to and fro, her way of keeping an eye open inbetween tasting the air for signs of bugs.
>It's a major plus of having her around, it becomes very difficult for anything to sneak up on you with those sharp predator senses on your side.
>You've been thinking more on this exotic fusion of woman and beast you call friend, namely that bipolar contrast between who she is, and what she is.
>Who she is, is one of the kindest and most genuine souls you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. A lonely sort overflowing with sympathy and earnest affection.
>What she is, is a massive trained killer, bred for war and hardened into an unflinching tool to be brandished at the enemy. She could snap you in half if she so wanted.
>You should be running from her, but you feel so much safer at her side.
>The jackal has managed to be both the worst thing for your fear, and the best person to help you.
>Half the time you swear the recounting of your life since that fateful night almost three weeks ago reads like a fever dream.
>It was really the eyes, wasn't it? The reason you allowed her approach, the reason you somehow trusted her even before she approached.
>Not much of an opportunity to see that enchanting blue glimmer had appeared in the past week, so you defaulted to the eye catching points at the tips of her gently notched ears.
>It's Strange seeing how they track around, snapping to attention should something move around you.
>Your eyes trail down, seeing the slight ruff adorning the back of her head. Did she have more of a mane once?
>Bands of golden fur elegantly frame her shoulders almost like a gift of jewelry from her own genes.
>Your eyes go lower still, attracted to the sway of motion below, her tail swaying with a pendulous rhythm like a grandfather clock, precisely synchronized with the roll of her wide hips.
>The shrouded pillars of her legs carry her forward with the sort of grace born from restrained strength, you can almost count the seconds by the timing of her steps.
>The sway is enticing, and you're growing more and more convinced nothing is on this street aside from the two of you, so it doesn't seem like it would hurt to investigate it.
>She steps, the fabric ruffles, and then smooths handily into a curve that was already there.
>The movement repeats on the other side, and you realize that she fills out even more of those loose pants than you first thought.
>Hips like that could kill a man.
>An errant thought rises to the surface. What would she look like unobstructed by the baggy confines of the battle dress uniform?
>You had already gotten firm looks under her jacket at her heaving bust, barely contained by a series of defeated shirts.
>Just once, maybe she'd wear something that wasn't so loose, so you can get a better read on her landscape.
>If it lines up anything like your mental picture, those legs could blow away any of the withering banshees you used to know.
>Maybe anthros have their perks.
>"Hey."
>...
>shit, did she catch you staring? Act natural!
"uhh-u-eh what? Yeah?"
-smooth-
>son of a bitch
>"You okay?"
"I- Okay how?"
>"We just haven't talked much over the week, I want to know how you're holding up."
>Maybe she didn't notice your earlier leering. That concern is still there, you have been starting to look up, but you still aren't sure of yourself.
"Just been trying to find my feet."
>Both of her ears are focused intently in your direction, almost giving you the feeling she's looking at you even though her eyes aren't visible.
>"I am trying to help, it's best for you to resolve this. I've been giving you space, but... I'd like to know how you're doing. I worry about you."
"This isn't something that just magically goes away, Teth'ra. I have been pulling up some, but I can't just forget it."
>"I'll be here... If you need me."
>The depressive malt in her voice tugs at you, you had been avoiding most everyone, but this was a burden you had to shoulder yourself. It would be unfair to expect her to carry it with you.

>The rest of the walk up the street was quiet, and you bit at yourself to stop leering at her ass. From there you took the next best option, counting trees and marveling at the lake whenever it was in view.
>It was all you were doing to keep yourself occupied out of respect for her and that nervous inkling that the next uncleared structure you would have to step into would be a deathtrap.
>Said deathtrap reared its ugly mug pretty quickly.
>A wide two-story with a two-car garage sitting in an artificial meadow of young pines. Yet another pretentious lake front property that's no different from the average dime a dozen pre-fab home aside from the boat house in the backyard.
>The march up to it is much the same as last time, overgrown grass, some feral house pet dashes away from scrounging in the garbage, but this time you're far more nervous about the actual entry due to the size of the place.
>Far more to clear, far more places to hide and ambush from.
>Like before, Teth'ra readies to crash through the door, but your anxiety spikes with the possibility of immediately alerting your quarry.
"Wait! Hold up a second."
>She lulls out of her stance and flashes a bemused smirk with a sharply raised brow.
>"Okay genius, what's your brilliant plan this time?"
"Not alerting the whole fucking house when you crash in there. Aren't you worried there could be more than one bug?"
>"Of course I'm worried, but this is the only easy way in, and like hell am I going throw myself through a window."
"Look, just.. gimme a second. I think I can do something with my tools."
>You have an alan wrench and a wire clip that should be small enough to fit in the lock and manipulate the tumblers.
>She's suspicious of this working, you can tell by her reserved curiosity, but she has relaxed to allow you to work.
>This ain't your first rodeo, you can feel the weights in the lock, you just have to test them right until you hear that telltale click.
>A huff comes from the giant as you concentrate on working the mechanism. You try not to smirk at her impatience.
>"You really think that's going to work? It's just a cheap trick in movies when someone can just magically-"
>At that point, a dull click reached the ear you had hovered over the lock, you turn your tools sideways and slide the lock open.
"Ha! Still got it."
>Domestic locks are easy.
>"... Well I'll be damned."
>A self congratulating smirk worked its way onto your lips, if there's one thing you had learned from observing Teth'ra and her squad, it's that anthros struggle with pinpoint dexterity due to the claws. Something like lockpicking must seem like quite a sight to her.
>Of course, you aren't one to be particularly gracious in victory. So with an exaggerated show of the hands, you make a grand gesture out of your simple task.
"See! Subtlety! Isn't that nice?"
>"*snrk* Says the man who pilots a fucking building."
>You're already testing the deadbolt, it's just a matter of finding that same angle that worked on the other lock, but the extra weight of the mechanism makes the process of turning it more finicky. But while you're at it, you aren't going to take that little slight lying down.
"Aw come on, that's not the only trick in my bag."
>"No. It's just your second biggest."
"Oh har har h-.. Wait. Second biggest? The hell would my first be then?"
>"The trick you satisfy the girls with, of course."
>...
>Did you hear that right?
>You cock a brow and stare deadpan at her. She looks like she's either hoping you play along with it, or just realized that her delivery completely failed to connect.
>"Aheh.. Bad joke. Sorry."
>Satisfying a woman, now there was something you hadn't thought about in a long while, largely because none of them satisfied you.
>You've always had a bubbling disgust seasoned with experience for your past attempts at finding someone to complete you.
>Teth'ra knows you well enough, so it doesn't seem harmful to let some of it drip as you futz with the deadbolt.
"Oh believe me- Little satisfaction to be found there."
>"What, Really?!"
>That response was... a little eager, might just be the impatience of wanting to get in and take control coloring her speech.
>Still, you pause in your work and quirk a brow at her again.
>"I meaaannnnn. I'm not asking for specifics or anything, buuut."
>The specifics didn't matter, all of them blended into a mess of 'me, me, me!' anyways. It was never about what you wanted, and more of that toxic ichor leaks out of you with a growling huff.
"Let's just say. The pools I dipped into turned out to be shallow and well used."
>"Eugh"
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
>That telltale click sounded again, and carefully you turned the bolt aside.
"Annd there's the deadbolt."
>Rising off your knee, you turn the knob and slide the door open while stepping out of the way.
>She makes a half-strength effort of hiding the charmed grin wearing into her muzzle while settling her gun into an easier position.
>"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Now step aside, short stuff. And stay behind me!"
"Yes mooom."
>"*tsch* Smartass."

>As opposed to last time, Teth'ra seems to be trying her best to be relatively quiet this time around, no thundering march of an almost 8 foot tall jackal with a howitzer tucked under her arm.
>Watching the towering woman taking slow, creeping steps while her tail hovers in various positions to help her balance is almost amusing, knowing how loud and borderline klutzy she is normally.
>You have far less issue stalking around, your equipment doesn't make nearly as much noise, and you're probably half her weight.
>Of course, she told you to stay behind her, and you aren't inclined to go striking out on your own outside of your metal warlord. So you settle for quietly checking her flanks as she takes the lead.
>As she carefully lurches around the front foyer leading into the living room, you skitter around panning over closets, doorways, and any and all dark corners.
>Everything plays out like a slower, more methodical repeat of the previous rush, at least for the ground floor.
>Whenever one of you makes an errant noise, more often Teth'ra than you, you freeze and listen, but nothing creeps out of the silence.
>The air is deathly still, and you almost wish for the thumping rush of the usual fare, at least there you wouldn't have time to think on your death, should it happen.
>You make a slow circling of the ground floor, checking every nook large enough to shelter something deadly.
>The two of you have just finished checking the dining room, when something catches your attention, or rather, her attention.
>Her voice grabs you with a harsh hiss as she grates out an urgent whisper, pausing you in your tread.
>"Shhh!... You hear that?"
>Holding back your breath, you stop and focus, but try as you might, you aren't hearing anything.
"I don-"
>"Shhh!..."
>Turning your attention to her, you see that she's completely frozen aside from the mad twitching of her ears.
>She has picked up on something too distant and muffled to register with you. Those eloping, triangular ears are something else.
>"I hear something moving. Sounds like... claws."
"Where?"
>"Up. It's too faint to pick out exactly where, but it's above us somewhere."
>Before you can offer protest and suggest calling for assistance, she's already moving.
>She's hesitant now to drop the sneaking around, so while she's moving quicker, her hunter's instincts are reinforcing your subtle methodology.
>You're glad that at least something of your suggestions have gotten through to her, you feel less like you're just along for the ride when she's taking it slow.
>The two of you circle around to the stairwell at the front of the house, but something comes to mind as she mounts the first step.
>Trying to keep silent when sneaking up stairs isn't an issue if you're allowed to use your hands, but both of you have to keep your guns pointed up, and that sort of awkward gait could be difficult to balance right.
>With how ungainly large she looks in these close quarters, the possibility of her losing her balance and tumbling backwards looks more like an inevitability.
>She takes a few more steps of this awkward crab walk when one of her knees wobble and she halts to steady herself.
>You are now keenly aware that if she looses balance completely, she'll tumble backwards into you, and you don't want to find out the hard way how much she weighs.
"Teth! Hold up a second."
>"What?"
"Let me go ahead of you."
>"Why?"
"I don't want you tumbling into me if you lose your balance."
>"I don't want you tumbling into me either. Besides, I have the armor, and the bigger gun, I go first."
>With that, she resumes her huddle up the stairs, legs coiling as she carefully stalks up. It's difficult not to stare as the fabric of her pants gets clingy with her backside.
>More pressing matters help your vision not to get caught in the trap of enticement, namely the possibility of bugs scrabbling around upstairs and the fact that if she does fall backwards the impact and subsequent landing would probably collapse your ribs.
>Just as you're resolved to sticking behind her and making headway up the stairs yourself, she misplaces a foot and her more forward leg slides out from under her.
>Your heart skips a beat.

>As she starts teetering backwards into the inevitable fumble, her left arm braces outward, grasping onto the wooden handrail and gripping it hard, attempting to hang her weight off of it to arrest her fall.
>It seems to have worked, as with a clinking and a slight squeek of varnished wood sliding against skin, she's able to hold herself up in a secure, but awkward looking position.
>Both of you let your lungs air out in relief, and then you paused again as the mutual worry surfaced over if the bugs heard that.
>You don't hear anything, and the direction less tracking of the jackal's ears tells you she doesn't hear anything either.
"You see why I should go first? If I fall into you, no harm done, you're built like a tank. If you fall into me, you could crush me."
>She's turned her head to look back down at you, her face splayed is a bewildered stare. And she continues the hiss of your whispering exchange.
>"Are you calling me fat?!"
>...
"Is now really the fucking time for that!?!"
>"...no. Sorry."
>"Shit! Okay, you're right, just, shuffle on ahead of me. I gotta figure out how to regain my balance here."
>For now, she doesn't move, careful to let you by before she does anything that could potentially result in her falling.
>There's just one issue.
>She's taking up most of the stairwell.
>If she could maybe just shuffle her right leg in a bit, even if most of her weight is leaned on it now as she pulls this hanging half-squat since her left leg shot out from under her and is currently outstretched, then maybe you can safely squeeze by her.
>But at present, you don't see how that would be feasible.
>"Well? What are you waiting for?"
"For you to fuckin' move."
>"I am not falling over myself just so you have an easier time of it, you have space, just shove your way through."
"You're taking up most of the damn stairwell."
>"I'm also trying not to injure my back sprawling over myself on the way down. Shut up and deal."
>It's ridiculous, while the right side doesn't have a handrail to complicate things, there isn't enough space to move past her without issue even if you flatten against the wall.
>You're going to have to push against her and those titanic legs.
>Might as well not keep her waiting. You flatten against the wall and suck in your stomach, trying to thin yourself out as much as possible to squeeze past her.
>You feel the press against your legs as you move in, it's awkward having to sidle past her while still attempting to keep low and slow so as not to alert the enemy that could be just around the corner for all you know.
>Soon the smooth give stops giving, you've pressed past her cushioning and hit the solid wall of flexed muscle beneath.
>This is quickly going to get difficult, you need more leverage to force past if you don't want to get pinned.
>"I don't have all day! I'm gonna get a hell of a cramp like this."
"I'm trying woman!"
>You tense and throw your hips to the side trying to slide through, but the space available is getting tighter as you move aside the bulk of her hips.
>You think you've found a good point to help you out, the point where her leg forms a crease against her torso at the top of her hip. Pushing against it should give you the leverage you need to make this go by faster. You lay hands on the top of her hip and ready to push off.
>"W-What are you doing?"
"Getting a good push off point so this goes faster, now shut up and deal."
>She briefly looks like she wants to offer rebuttal, but closes her maw as her own logic meets her.
>With a restrained grunt, you manage to scrape forward, the pressure on your leading side letting off.
>You shimmy a bit more, and mange to work your way out, and quickly you make the trek up the rest of the stairs.
>Immediately you hear her start to move as you crouch at the corner to the hallway going off to the left. It doesn't take long for her to join you.
>"See anything?" You make a short survey of the space around the corner, seeing 4 open doors and the dim shade only lifted by light from the windows, no bugs to be seen.
"Nothing. So if you heard them, where the hell are they?"
>"shhh... It's still above us."
>How the hell could you miss a bug on the roof? No, no, that can't be it, maybe there's some sort of attic.
>You let your gaze coast along the ceiling, until you sight a square divot cut into the plaster of the ceiling.
>The most prominent question raises to mind as you mentally measure the size of the trap door: would a bug even fit up there?
"In the attic? How the hell did it even get up there?"
>"How should I know? I'm not a xenobiologist, I just shoot the fuckers."
>Neither of you had an answer, but you have to clear this fucking place, and the attic is part of it.
>If you find more than a handful of bugs you can just book it and call for backup, or maybe Teth'ra can just toss a grenade through the door.

>The two of you move into the hall, taking particular care to make as little noise as possible.
>Much to your relief, the hallways is double-wide, not nearly as narrow as the stairwell, so you can comfortably move past Teth'ra and vice versa.
>Rubbing up against eachother in a tight space is not something you want to have a repeat performance of when potential death is looming right over your head.
-but maybe later~-
>Down, you little bastard!
>Why are you even thinking like this? She's an anthro! She may be the best friend you could ask for out here, but at the end of the day you can't quite picture yourself with a woman of tooth and fur, no matter how... sculpted her body is.
>It's not easy, something pulls you towards her, but you're entirely unsure if she would ever want to go further than what you already have.
>The two of you are different species, she doesn't think of you that way, so you won't think of her that way.
>For now, you're happy to just keep what you have, despite that empty piece clamoring to go looking for something more.
>You've learned to stuff it down and quiet it, and more current matters are on your mind, matters that you can't afford to be distracted from.
>The two of you creep under the attic door, you eye that dangling cord like the trigger to a bomb.
>"Okay... I still hear something up there. I'll watch the opening, and you yank down that cord when I say go. Understand?"
"Yeah. Just uh... Let's try to be careful, aight?"
>She gives a short nod, and shoulders her weapon, training it upwards at the door, the moment of truth is about here.
>"Alright, go!"
>You pull down hard on the cord, and the door drops away, sliding out a ladder with a loud clatter. You expected a bug to drop out, but instead you're met with some sort of flickering light filtering from the opening.
>You're about to consider maybe peering around and checking it in further detail when something cracks through the air just above your head, and the report of a small detonation rings out.
"SHIT!"
>You dive into the floor, hoping like hell you weren't hit by...
>Wait, that was a gunshot! That means people! You just stumbled onto a survivor!
>Of course, he still shot at you.
"FRIENDLY!!! FRIENDLY!!! WE'RE HUMAN!! Stop shooting you fucking idiot!"
>Your breath heaves, and your nervous heart stutters, but you pick yourself off the floor feeling bizarrely elated, you had found someone alive.
>Then you heard another sound, a small, shrill cry punctuated by a gentle shushing. Are there are children up there?
>a hoarse voice calls out from the attic, a male, weak and likely exhausted.
>"Are-are you... Really here?"
>The man is likely delirious and exhausted, you have to speak softly and talk him into putting down his weapon.
"Yes sir. We're with the EDF, we're here to help. Now can I ask you to put the gun down?"
>"I.. how do I know you're not.. looters? I'm not leavin'... my family."
>For all you know, his family could be gone, or almost gone, that crying from earlier was heavily leaning you towards a kid being up there with him.
>You want to help, but your inexperience dealing with this sort of thing has you guessing circles around yourself.
>Think, think! What the hell would your moral philosophy teacher do here?
>Probably spout some shit about empathy, but it's the best you got, he's scared, tired, and likely fairly close to death from months of isolation, you need to appeal to his humanity.
"Look, I'm not hear to hurt you, I know you're scared, tired, and probably think this is too good to be true."
"But we're here, and it's real, you probably heard a lot of noise a while ago, that was us running the bugs out of town. There's no need for violence now sir, you're safe."
>As you wait for a response, you check towards Teth'ra for any help. Currently she's quietly speaking into her handset about something that you can't really pay attention to at the moment. You guess that she must be getting someone to send medical personnel over here.

>Something pulls at you to help this man, and you aren't certain why.
>Perhaps just because it is the right thing to do, and his weary raspings sound so distraught and pathetic, somewhat like Teth'ra's overpowering bawling that night in the rain.
>"How-How I'm I 'sposed to know... yah, yah could be... uh..."
"I don't mean you any harm sir. It's going to be okay."
>"If it was okay, those damn monsters wouldn't have ever fallen from the sky. They- They wouldn't have... oh god."
>His words are burdened with a heavy tone of pain and horror, this things he must have seen when he was left behind with the bugs.
-the people he must have lost-
"It's been hard, I know. No one has had an easy time. But it's over now, you're safe."
>"That's what they said the first time... we-we're not safe, we're never safe!"
>The months following the fall of Anchorage saw defensive effort after defensive effort overrun, it only ended with a valiant defense mounted from fort Sumter just north of Vancouver, supported by an intensive bombing campaign from the airforce.
>Towns were razed into ashes from above, no care was given to the possibility of survivors deep in the cordon, but here they were.
>Tired, scared, and suffering, not unlike you were. Maybe this is how Teth'ra felt when you first met, and like her, you don't just have to say you're here to help, you have to show them.
>The jackal seems intent on continuing an increasingly active discussion over the radio, but she pauses immediately as you place a boot on the first step of the ladder.
>"What the hell are you doing?" She mouths.
>You hiss back in a whisper.
"Helping!"
>"He's scared and has a gun, stay put."
"I can talk to him!"
>"You can also get SHOT!... don't you-"
>You turn away from her pleading mouthing, placing another foot up the ladder. You wheel your revolver in your grip, turning it upside down and holding it lightly by the handle.
>What was she trying to teach you if not to listen more to your empathy? Even with the danger.
>Her silent pleas become more vocal now, with a choked whisper.
>"Tom!... TOM!... SHIT!"
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>You just have to ease him down enough that you can at least make him give up the weapon.
>Don't present yourself as a threat.
>You announce yourself loudly.
"Alright, I'm coming up sir."
>"H-How do I know you're not gonna-"
"I'm unarmed. See?"
>You hold your hands just high enough that they should be peeking over the ladder into the opening where he's aiming.
"Human too, just like I said. This isn't a trick. There's no need for the gun, I'm harmless."
>Course, you were lying through your teeth at that last bit, you chose the flipped grip because it would be extremely quick to just flick the gun back upright and fire. Something a civvy scared out of his mind wouldn't be thinking about.
>Best to have a precaution, just in case.
>"A-Alright, but don't do anything sudden now."
>If he thinks he can order you around, he's in for a big surprise, but you have to calm him down enough that he won't be attacking the medics when they get here.
>The rickety wooden ladder groans softly as you work your way up, Your head emerges into a humid space bathed in the glow of a single flickering candle.
>Adjusting to the dancing light, you lay eyes forward towards the gaunt husk of a man, sitting on his haunches in front of an overturned dresser. A beaten in polymer handgun shakes in his loose grip. His wild, mangy fur clings to a tired, twitching visage.

<Teth'ra>
>shit
>Shit!
>SHIT!!!
>He's up there in immediate danger! A civvy with a gun is unpredictable, a scared one doubly so.
>Idiot! You should have just gone with your instincts and pulled him away as soon as he tried to start with that shit, even if it did scare him.
>Your breath starts coming in rapidly as you feel a gripping anxiety coursing over everything. What would you even do with yourself if you lost him?!
>You can't do this again! You can't lose someone that means so much to you.
>He's currently standing halfway up the ladder up into the attic, frozen. That bastard must be pointing the gun at him!
>That consideration comes up to pull him down out of the way, but you can't beat a bullet for speed, the sudden movement would set off that nervous wreck up there.
>Oh Gods! All you can do is sit helpless and watch. Nothing in your training covered what the hell you were supposed to do here.
>One thing is clear, approaching survivors more than one at a time is asking for trouble, so now that he's gone ahead, you can't move.
>The original plan was to wait on the medics getting here, they're far more readily trained for something like this.
>"Sergeant Magual?... Magual? Is everything okay?" The radio chirps with the jumping tin of static. Remembering yourself briefly, you thumb the transmit button.
"You better get those medics here, NOW."
>"Understood, sergeant."
>Now you had nothing to do but wait on shuddering breath. Damn, you're almost hyperventilating. Just calm down girl, calm down!
>He can handle himself, maybe he'll be put together enough to talk the nervous idiot down. Maybe that gun is out of ammo now.
>But if that civvy hurts your Tom, you don't care if the ladder would shatter under you, you're coming up there and squeezing the life from him.
>You hate this feeling, this feeling has taken so much of what you loved most from you. The feeling of being powerless.

<Tom>
>You freeze.
>Small, twitching ears sit atop an unkempt mess of matted hazel fur. The snowy white adorning his face almost forms into some sort of inhuman facial hair.
>It's a lynx, and it has a loaded weapon leveled right at you.
>This isn't good.
-take action-
>You consider your options.
>It would be a simple matter to just wheel your gun about and fire, but would you be fast enough?
>His shaky aim doesn't matter this close, and the slightest errant move could set off those murderous instincts.
>He isn't approaching you either, just... staring. It's a stand off.
>This isn't some spaghetti western, there's no way you're fast enough, the better options are looking less... confrontational.
>No words are coming to mind right now, so you slide your gaze around trying to find something to prompt you towards a better option.
>Your eyes slide off his disheveled clothing onto a darker caramel shade behind him. It belongs to a figure quivering almost out of sight behind the overturned dresser.
>A thin, waifish figure, wearing a pastel dress.
>The crying from earlier comes rushing back, this isn't some isolated bundle of nerves.
>Your eyes slide back up, and you meet the weathered amber sitting in his head. You don't see intent or cunning in them.
>You see a raw, unfiltered terror. This isn't an animal, an animal would snarl and hiss and bite. This is a man trying his hardest to keep something safe.
>A man trying to protect his family. The female behind him is curled protectively over something hidden from view, it must be their children.
>You were seriously considering firing on a man just trying to keep his family behind him... because he was an anthro.
>All those little things Teth'ra had been trying to tell you snap in the back of your head.
>What the hell were you doing? How the hell did you get like this?
>You aren't just hiding from them anymore, you're threatening them.
>And they're scared. You're the aggressor now. How disappointed in you would she be if she knew what you were thinking, how betrayed would she feel?
>Maybe she was right, something has to change.
>Your glare softens, and you find your voice.
"Teth'ra?"
>"Wha-! What?" Some intense worry clings to her voice, her initial vocalization almost sounded like some sort of alarm bark.
>Guilt coils around your chest, the things you must be putting her through right now, but you can at least share the good news.
"Teth, there's a whole family up here."
>...You can't hear anything else from her aside from some indeterminate shuffle in the area underneath you. You hope she's doing something to help.
>For now you just have to talk the lynx down. The best option you can think of is appealing towards a common ground, the fear of losing someone close.
"Those your kids back there sir?"
>For once he takes his eyes off you, twitching his head back to check on the woman before snapping back towards you.
>"Yeah, w-what about it?"
"How long have they been up here?"
>His eyes dart low, and you read a glimmer of thought dancing around them as he reflects.
>"I-I couldn't count the days... We scavenged food for 'em when we could but..."
>Although this place is one of the less torn up settlements within the cordon, they would have been trapped here for months.
>With so little opportunity to move freely to find food and shelter, they were hanging to life by threads. His disheveled appearance was proof of that, and looking back, that crying earlier was a very small fuss for a small child to make over the noise from a discharged firearm.
"They're not very active? Not vocalizing much?"
>"How did you?"
"They've been up here for a long time without much food, haven't they?"
>He nods slowly, and you offer the olive branch.
"The medics are on the way, we can get them help. Just put down the gun."
"Trust me."
>The glimmer of tears starts forming at his eyes, and he gently lowers the weapon, dropping it on the scuffed hardwood.
>"Please."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You looked on at the scratchy figures being tended to by three troopers wearing the red cross on their sleeves.
>To think, a family of five trapped in the cordon for who knows how long. How were they still alive?
>You guess that old by-word for survivors, 'miracles', still applies. You can only hope they don't slide into the other side of the coin: 'tragedies'.
>After he dropped the gun, the father managed to coax his wife out of the corner despite the tears slicking his face.
>She was a thin rail of a woman, sheltering a pair of almost ghoulish children at knee height, and a swaddle of blankets clutched against her chest.
>The medics had been swarming the little tikes for the past half hour. If you were in their position, you'd do the same thing.
>Teth'ra was leaned on the wall next to you. The sense of tension from her was contagious, every new development in the crowding of medics had her ear flicking and her back hovering slightly further off the wall, she was coiled like a spring.
>Your attempts at providing practical knowledge on dogs to sooth her were pushed away, seems she's not in the mood for neck scratches.
>Sure, you did get the sense that touching her like you would a pet is vaguely insulting, but you really have no idea what to do otherwise, especially when she responded so well to that same sort of touch before.
>Everything about her is just... different.
>Watching the red crosses scuttle in and out has you worried, all of them looked so very fragile, and you can't be sure any of them will survive.
>They may be anthros, but no one deserves something like this, least of all the children.
>After a while of waiting on baited breath, one of the medics made their report. They were reasonably stable for now, if exhausted and starved.
>A transport was waiting outside to ship them off to a field hospital for better treatment, but for now, they just needed a little while and some food before they moved.
>The medics took their leave. Letting the two of you finally breath easy, and giving the family some time to themselves.
>You turned your head into the wintery glow from the curtains, through a gap, you could already see various figures gathering outside including officers and a few figures with cameras.
>Journalists, a bunch of buzzards drawn to tragedy like flies. You always had a distaste for the pushy beatniks, they can never just leave people to mourn.
>That was the one small blessing, they never came to you all this time. Either the story of your soul survivor status wasn't public, or perhaps the hounds grew a sense of integrity and left you alone out of respect.
>Guess you just take cover in here until your rescues are ready to leave.
>Both of the parents were looking more alert and awake, and the kittens are starting to move on their own, the mother still protectively clutches at her youngest kit despite the shaking in her legs.
>The father steadily supports her as she moves towards the both of you.
>"My wife an-... We both have something to say... To the both of you."
>The woman steps forward, quivering gently like a leaf in a spring breeze.
>"Thank you. We were... so scared for so long. When they came, we couldn't get on any of the convoys out. The soldiers looked so scared, but they told those of us that were left to hide."
>The man lowers his voice, so his children behind him in the kitchen can't overhear.
>"We ran... Came back here to our old home and hid away in the attic. And the screaming, oh God the screaming..."
>"Days later, the bombs came, everything shook... and we just had to pray it wasn't us that would be hit."
>"I would sneak away when we couldn't hear anything from the bugs to scavenge something for the little ones."
>His breath has grown jittery, and tears roll off his nose.
>"There were so many times that I thought this might be the end... I... I always made sure to keep five bullets in that gun..."
>"O-One for each of us..."
>"We spent so long just trying to scrape by, I-I didn't believe either of you were real."

>His voice has degraded into a jagged whisper as the cat breaks down.
>"Thank you, thank you so much! I never thought we'd see rescue!"
>The wildcat takes jaunting steps forward with his arms wide and you tense. He falls into you, clasping his arms over your back and wracking his frail body with a powering sob.
>You didn't feel much against your chest, the anemic cat barely weighs anything.
-what is this? why isn't he agressive?-
>You don't know.
>"I'm sorry for threatening you, both of you. You've done so much!"
>All you did was stumble into the attic, stare at him, and ask him to put his gun away so the medics could tend to his absolutely decimated family. It wasn't much.
>And here you are being praised like Atlas for holding up the world. Almost familiar, from looking back on what you had done for Teth'ra.
>The woman finds tears in her own eyes, and her strength fades her as she teeters forward. The jackal is quick to catch her by the shoulders before she falls.
>"Are you okay ma'am?"
>"I-I can't seem to hold myself up, can I?" She offers the bundle up to Teth'ra. "I just need to rest, it's been so long. H-here, take him."
>The jackal is stunned, gentle shock has fallen over her, and she crawls her hands forward to accept.
>"Do you know how?"
>The woman's gentle voice prompts a flick of the ears, calling the jackal back out of her trance. Teth'ra manages to find her wits and respond. You try to ignore the bereaved wreck clinging onto you to spectate this strange occurrence.
>"Oh, uh. Of course, I know how to hold him."
>The mother gently passes the tiny bundle towards the jackal, her massive arms cradle under the microscopic life like the seabed shifting to welcome a lost ship.
>Her eyes are alight with some deep wonder as the tiny kit is lowered to her, she shelters it with a featherweight care in the crux of her arm.
>Watching something so large care so gently for something so small is like watching a comet pass. You can't stop staring in case it never happens again in your lifetime.
>She rises gently, cradling the little bundle of fur against her bosom, it's a hammer taken to a pin, but she's so gentle the difference doesn't seem to matter. The tiny thing hardly stirs.
>Your breath has calmed somewhat watching her, but your musing over what this simple act means to the jackal is interrupted as the lynx steps over, embracing you and her still sorrowful husband.
>"And as for you, thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Because of you, our children have a future."
>Her rasping cries bury into both you and the other furry mass hanging off of you, her own weight barely adds anything onto your load.
>It's starting to become a habit of having hysterical anthros hanging off your shoulders.
>You don't get this, how can they be so...
-human-
>...
>Just had to hit the nail on the head, didn't we?
-...-
>Having two sets of foreign claws near you isn't exactly setting you at ease. With how malnourished and desperate they are, they hardly seem a threat anymore, but sharp bits are sharp bits.
>You look to the jackal for maybe some help or reassurance, she looks up from the bundle cradled in her arms and mouths something.
>"They need this."
>What fantastic help she is... But you can't level any blame at her.
>Carefully, you lower your arms around the pair hanging off you as they cry at eachother. You still aren't sure what to make of this.

>The two cats are starting to calm, but their vocal sides have given way to soft, if incoherent blubbering.
>By your best guess, just being there for the civilians is enough to placate them, so for now you quietly deal with the emotional weathering.
>Teth'ra continues to cradle the kitten like it's irreplaceable, some fay light glimmers in her eyes. A light you've only seen a few times before.
>That time you first met, and when you stood by her during her confession in the rain, that light was a bright and deep joy.
>She coos at the kit gently, using a single finger to gently trace its fur. The picture of serenity has come to her by way of a slight smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.
-look at her, she wants one of her own-
>Even if you thought of her like that, it's not like you could ever give her any. Just more reason for you to stay out of her romantic affairs.
>It was confusing before, but it seems as deeply as she cares for you, you're more like a best friend or beloved sibling.
-there was those passes from before-
>Passes?... They were more like quips, joking teases just to prod you into a more energetic conversation.
>She's a jackal, you're human, those lines just don't cross. Especially dealing with a subspecies as rare and fastidious about self image as royals.
>Better to just move along and keep looking for 'the one' to show her face again.
>Still, watching Teth'ra fawn over the tiny thing tugs at something in the pit of your heart, and you breath deep to shoo it away.
>The parents have fallen towards collecting themselves as their hysterics have mellowed out into sniffling and light tears.
>They mutter a few borderline unintelligible thank yous and finally peel themselves away from you to tend to their other two children.
>Finally you can breath free, and you return to your nonchalant lean against the wall.
>"Feels good to help, doesn't it?"
>You have to raise a brow at the jackal, although your inner peace keeper kept telling you this was the right thing, you just didn't get that light fluttering feeling they describe in the movies.
>This didn't feel elative or wonderful, it just felt a little depressive. These people are likely traumatized, to be haunted the rest of their lives by this, and it's doubtful if they'll ever truly return home.
>You can't help but remember the crater that was once the town hall, practically just down the road. How many survivors may have been hiding in the murky basements down there, only to be obliterated by allied airpower.
>This family was likely the only survivors in this town, and even that was a stroke of luck.
"I guess."
>"What do you mean'I guess'?"
>She's moved closer towards you now, her smile has been shied away by the concern dressing her face.
"I just... I don't know. They've been through hell, so many died. What difference have we even made?"
>She steps forward, leaning down and almost presenting her cradled arms to you.
>"This is the difference. Because of us, because of you, he has a future."
>Swaddled in a bundle of sky blue cotton is a puff of roasted hazel fur with a cherubic face. Triangular ears the size of thimbles sit atop its head.
>The tiny form breaths gently, taking in spoonfuls of air with the occasional yawn from a finger-width mouth.
>It flies in the face of all the fears plaguing you about their kind, he's so peaceful. Maybe you're wrong.
>"Go ahead, touch him."
>Something about this minuscule lynx actually has you dragging your hand upwards towards the jackal's gentle hold.
>He looks the very picture of calm, you almost hate to bring yourself near it. Like your very breath could upset it all, warping the mirror-still image of a pond.
>It all looks so fragile, so you feather the touch with only a single finger, tussling the fluff of cottony fur.
>It reaches up with its little toothpick of an arm, and seizes a grip around your finger.

>His grip is surprisingly firm for such a small being. To be so small, so frail, but still persist through this.
>It crosses your mind, a vision of a white flower standing untrampled in a shell churned field. Life goes on, and it's hard to snuff every last facet.
>"I think he likes you."
>You look up to see her almost boring a hole into you, the air seems charged as your eyes meet.
>You swear those eyes are shining like diamonds at this point.
"What?"
>"Nothing."
>Your breath pauses, she's still staring, transfixed into your eyes with an almost gleeful grin. What is she...
"What?!"
>"Nothing!"
>...
"Riiight."
>She finally breaks the contact with a turn of her head and a gentle laugh, guess holding the kid has really set her mood high.
>"I just... These people finally have a chance to live free of this hell because of us."
>You gently pet the bundle with your finger as it trills happily. This kitten, this baby, wouldn't even be alive if the two of you weren't here today.
>That little something does bring a smile creeping up the corners of your lips.
"Yeah, I guess it does feel good."
>You pull away from the kit and let Teth take him back to his parents, the mother probably wants to hold on as tight as she can to the little thing as long as she can.
>Soon they're rested enough to at least take the walk out to the transport, Teth'ra keeps her hands on the woman's shoulders in case her legs fail her again.
>The father and the other two kids stay more towards the jackal's side as you walk ahead.
>You can already see through the curtains the number of figures cluttered outside, many of them with the boxy silhouettes of cameras hung about their necks.
>The glorified paparazzi that is the typical preening war journalist. The good ones are rarer than diamonds in a grit pile.
-these vultures need to leave-
>You rest a hand on the door handle, and take one last look back at the place, somehow it seems to be aired in a different light than when you snuck in here.
>The entire family looks haggard, but happy to be alive, except for the kitten, he looks just plain content. You suppose he's too young to even remember any of this through the innocence of youth.
>How you envy to have a life that simple again.
>You slide the door open, and the light outside is almost blinding to your sensitive eyes, before you can shut them fully, the flash of a camera sneaks in and sets you over the edge into a void of bleached white. Fucking paparazzi parasites, you swear that was on purpose.
>With a groan of frustration you squint your eyes and try to rub away the blindness. You can hear over the clatter of photo-shutters and flash bulbs that your charges are already being mobbed with questions.
>There's a scuffling of boots ahead, no doubt keeping the leeches away from the fresh blood. One pair seems to thunder above the others, you can hazard a guess at who that is.
>Color starts bleaching back into your vision. You see a wake of coats in an array of dirty colors advancing with caution behind a large form crested with grey and gold, protectively lording over the anemic shades of hazel under her.
>An engine starts, and a pair of doors slam shut. You shut your eyes and try to shake yourself back into being able to see shapes clearly.
>You find yourself standing dazed on the concrete doorstep. Teth'ra makes her way back to you as the crowd of journalists trails after the leaving truck like wild dogs.
>Before you can really get your bearings again, something warm ensnares your hand. Your shoulders jump in surprise and you find your hand in an unwilling shake with some raven-haired dame wearing one of the most ridiculous petticoats you've ever seen, the whole fucking thing is a neon shade of scarlet.

>"Esmeralda, Esmeralda Reaver, Capital Press."
>Goddamnit.
>"So You're the one responsible for rescuing the hundred mile miracles? Hmmm, quite the hero aren't you? Misterrrr..."
>Hundred mile miracles? Hero? The hell is this woman on about? She probably just wants your name for the official report before it inevitably goes to editing and gets hacked into pieces.
"Tom.. er- McWhicky, Master Sergeant McWhicky."
>You stare down at the bewildering little woman, her mouth runs a mile a minute and she's dressed like a cartoon. Is she even real?
>"Tom huh? Rustic, but charming. I like it~."
-is she coming on to us?-
>What the fu-
>"So how do you want to be credited? Savior? Defender of the free world? Hero to the downtrodden? Oh! How about a dashing rouge? Ladies *love* that."
>She is getting too damn close, too damn fast. You practically have whiplash just from speaking with her, and this overeager manic nature is setting you off ease.
"Look, I don't-"
>"I know, high nerves, just got through with the rescue, coasting through the fame, probably just need a chance to uh... relax."
>She makes in her coat for a clipboard and pen, the top few buttons of her coat are undone, and her arms squeeze her cleavage together as she rummages.
>That was on purpose.
>"You can find me in that little bar they're setting up uptown, we can have a few drinks. Your treat~. Now before I go, care to make a statement hot stuff?"
>She gives a sly wink, and you do all you can not to visibly cringe.
-this is either a honeypot or the easiest lay we've had in years-
>Your instincts are screaming that this is a giant chunk of bait being waved right in front of you, this has gone way too fast.
"No comment."
>"ooooh, come on. I-"
>*MH-HEM*
>She was interrupted by a forcibly loud throat clearing just off to the right, the source of it being a rather displeased jackal.
-oh thank God!-
>Teth'ra scowled at the upstart, who looked like a child compared to the giant. The reporter barely came up to Teth's stomach.
>"Oh... Well... You're a big woman."
>Her voice was markedly slower now, colored by a malt of fear over the angry tower looming over her. The jackal smirked intently, and the scarlet voyeur made an attempt at ducking into her coat.
>"And you're a very small one." She grabs firm hold of the smaller woman's hand, seemingly offered out of habit. "Sergeant Magual."
>"*Very* pleased to meet you."
>The tiny woman's hand is completely swallowed in Teth'ra's grey fist, and you swear you can hear popping from how hard she's squeezing the reporter's limp fish.
>An undeniable venom hung in the air from her voice, thankfully she doesn't appreciate this horny scourge either.
>She releases the be-coated villain from her grip and goes back to crossing her arms under her bust and glowering at her.
>The beacon of restraint and integrity that is this crackpot journalist manages to squeek out a little something extra.
>"Well uh.. n-nice to meet you. And,uh. Tom, if you uh... wouldn't mind me giving you my n-nuh-"
>She was stopped cold as Teth'ra blew an angry huff and nailed her hands to her shoulders. The woman's entire body jolts as she's led away.
>"You heard the man: No comment! Now. GET."
>And with a gentle shove (as gentle as over 7 feet of muscle and quietly restrained anger can manage) she's off, speed walking along the chipped sidewalk and visibly intimidated.
>She turns back to try and get a word in only to be greeted by an agitated rumble brewing in the jackal's throat, and goes right back to walking away.
>Teth really wants her gone, and you're fine with that, you got the sense that woman was trouble.
>Soon she's out of earshot.
>"Hmph, withering little skank."

"The hell was that about?"
>You had an inkling why. There's no damn way she approached like that clean of an ulterior motive.
"A whore! Willing to sleep around for the big scoop for the propanda presses. I got no respect for these leeches."
>Glad to see your friend is on the same uptake, the more you thought it over, the more her point made sense.
>Most of the media these days were just racing eachother for what made the best propaganda. Pleasing central with easily digestible fallacies of victory on the front lines was the name of the game now.
>Gone were the days of reporting on what was actually going on in the war.
>It disgusted you to think on how many might be enlisting into this hell out of a false image of the war.
"Yeah, I don't like their type either."
>You watch the journalist disappear out of view, and just like that the excitement bleeds away. It's just you and Teth again now.
>You turn your gaze to the right, and the long row of houses of in that direction greets you with dread.
>There is another team coming from the opposite way in the street, you can see two figure in the distance approaching one of the homes.
>They can handle it, you don't have to do more of this yourself... right?
>Teth'ra said that if you found something than it was mission accomplished and another team would take over from there. So your work should be done here.
>Can't hurt to double check though.
"So. That's that then. No more house clearing... right?"
-please say we're done-
>"Yeah, we're done. The medics told me we are officially relieved from duty for tonight. Nothing more to do."
>A night off, after the miasma of this past week it sounds like a welcome change.
>Kicking your feet up, maybe scavenging some alcohol from the local liquor cabinets to refill your stash, and having NOTHING to do otherwise.
>Maybe once the power to town is back on you can even catch some cable tv, and just for a night, pretend you're home.
>It would be nice to just forget the war for a precious few hours.
>Wait... There is that bar in town, it's likely just some ratty little affair of a still setup in a statehouse, and you do have to pay for the liquor rather than ransack it from the nearest cabinet, but you could find some friends to make.
>But that damn reporter could take it as a sign you're anything but weirded out, and last thing you need tonight is fending off a drunk idiot instead of enjoying yourself.
>There is Teth'ra, but lately she had been around her squad constantly, and you can't bring yourself to relax around them.
"Yup... nothing to do."
>Looks like your night is going to be spent on a chair in a cleared house made barracks being bored.
>Then again, how hard could it be to check out the bar and avoid one woman in an obnoxiously red coat? They could even serve Guinness that didn't taste like warm pig swill.
>Between everything related to Vilka, minimizing interaction with anthros in general, and dodging Vegelta whenever he came looking for you to play matchmaker, you had become an expert in avoiding people.
>But, if they didn't have any good liquor then what was the point?
>"You aren't seriously considering going with her. Are you?"
>You look up to find her with her tumb hooked in her pocket and a look of quiet worry over her.
>That begs the question: what the hell would you even do if not go to the bar? There really isn't anything else, but you would be putting yourself within striking range of that woman...
>You don't even know what that still spits out, and you could probably find better just by raiding the liquor cabinet under whatever roof your bunked under tonight.
"...no."
>"Good, then you won't mind hanging out with me tonight."
>Well there's a new option. You have to wonder if 'me' includes the connotation of her squad too, she had been awfully insistent on exposing you to them for the past five days.
"uhhh yeah, but your squad?"
>"*sigh* I could honestly use a break from them at this point. It's been a non-stop back and forth between Feldspar and Duran, I'm sick of it."
"They seemed quiet when I was around."
>"Yeah! Because they know if they set you off, they answer to me. The twins are content to play neutral party, and as for the other two, they're just kids really. And I can't step inbetween them and settle it myself or they'll accuse me of playing favorites. Again!"
>She had sheltered you away from everything, she did more for you than you ever saw her do for that bunch.
"I mean, you kinda did with me."
>"That's different!!... uh. You're just... a special case. I can't be expected to treat you the same as everyone else. But enough of that. Just you and me, a night to relax, and maybe a few beers. Whaddya say?"
>Sounds better than any of your ideas. What harm could there be? She seems like she could use the de-stressing, her ears have been doing some odd dance for a little while and you've been catching her tail twisting in all sorts of directions.
"Ya know what? Sure."
>A broad smile comes to her, and her ears twitch again.
>"Great. I'll find us a house for the night, I'll radio you with where we're staying... We should probably go before those reporters get bored of ambulance chasing, shouldn't we?"
"Yeah we probably should. I gotta check in on my machine anyway... Guess I'll see you tonight."
>"Yeah"

<Teth'ra>
>Oh sweet merciful Gods he said yes!
>That wasn't so hard, you were expecting more resistance. Even if at times it was more than a little stressful, today was turning out great!
>You probably impressed him with your training, you rescued a family, you were healing him since he didn't freak out at the fact they were anthros, you chased off some scent-blind tramp trying to move in on your territory, and you got him to agree to a date.
>Hell, you were making more progress on assuaging his fears than you hoped. Your heart rate spiked a little when the civvy went in for an unannounced embrace, but for as nervous as he looked, Tom was remarkably calm about it.
>Tom even went as far as to offer the olive branch when you first encountered them, for the sake of their children. Heartwarming.
>The mother even let you hold her youngest. That adorable bundle of fur had you thinking over things, and the way Tom seemed charmed by the kitten had you thinking more.
>To think of a home of your own one day, the pattering of little feet and gleeful little voices at play.
>If you can be free of this miserable war, if you can fight hard enough to secure a future, you can have pups of your own.
>You want them, because some deeper warmth in you stirred when you were holding that little one. How much more complete would it feel if you were holding one from your own self? That product of undying love for the one you would spend the rest of your life with.
>You had to wonder what your pups would look like with him. The genetic distance between your species isn't too dire, there should be a chance.
-you're getting carried away-
>Right... It's not REALLY a date, is it? Just a casual hangout with a few drinks, maybe.
>It still is a chance for you to try to make some sort of move, he was coming out of his depression recently and now seemed like the right time to advance, especially with that itch of spring fever finally over.
>The sticking point was he either wasn't picking up your signals, or wasn't immediately interested. But you didn't get a 'no'.
>It might be your soaring heart talking, but you're sure that if you make things just a little more clear with the right push, he may start reciprocating your affections.
-...-
>Right. Casual night. Couple beers. Nothing to get too excited about.
>If only you could stop your tail from wagging so much.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Tom>
>The rest of the evening went by without remark, and now you were just ready to kick your feet up.
>No war, no house clearing, no stress, no reporters, no worries, not for tonight.
>You had shown up at the cleared out little slice of suburb Teth had commandeered for the two of you tonight.
>You have to wonder how she can get away with bunking only two people in a two-story house.
>Now you're at the door, and you have to wonder if you should just step inside or knock first.
>Might as well pretend at the civilian life more and show a little courtesy. You rap 'shave and a haircut' against the door with your knuckles.
>Immediately, her voice picks up from somewhere inside as you reach for the handle.
>"You don't have to knock ya know! Come in!"
>Stepping inside, the atmosphere is surprisingly homely, warm beige walls, rich carpet and plush furniture in the room ahead, and the smell!
>You can't really place anything specific, but the mixture of scents in the air is resulting in something refreshing, but calm.
>You set the dufflebag and foot locker you had hiked on your shoulders the way here at the foot of the stairs. You aren't sure of the sleeping plans yet.
>You had already taken the liberty of changing out of uniform into something looser. A pair of old track pants and a tee was what struck you as the most comfortable if you were just hanging around and drinking.
>It's not like this is a date or anything.
-she was kind of excited when you agreed-
>She's just eager to take a break from her squad. Speaking of, where is she? There's a cushy leather couch set up in front of a tv and a coffee table, but no jackal.
"Teth'ra?!"
>"I'll be down in a minute!"
>What even was there to do up there? You don't get dolled up for a casual night. Soon you heard the tell tale signs of her moving, her jaunt down the stairs was enthusiastic, and loud.
>She strolled in and you had to catch your eyes before they wandered. She also decided to wear something loose tonight, but loose doesn't actually work on her.
>You weren't imagining things those times her pants starting clinging to her. Forget being able to kill a man, those legs could crush bears.
>Those pt shorts really didn't leave much of anything to the imagination, and that white tanktop was squeezed and battered so hard it was more like a sports bra, leaving her midriff to the open air.
>Is her chest moving more than usual?
>NO BAD
>Stop staring! Eyes low.
>She's discarded any footwear for more comfort, and there are those ankle bands she told you about.
-does she have any other bands? ones that she hasn't told you about?-
>Oh Christ.
>Concentrate idiot! Casual night, she just can't find anything comfortable that fits better, stop staring.
>You're gonna need some alcohol to help with this.
>While she sets herself down on the couch, you depart to the kitchen to home in on the liquor cabinet.
>When you find it, there's barely anything in there aside from two measly bottles of some sort of whiskey, fuck it, it'll do.
>You have to beat yourself back down before you say or do anything around her you might regret, you have no idea why seeing her like this caused such a stir in you.
>Whoever was here last left the bottle opener on the counter, and one of the caps levers off with a glassy hiss.
>You take a swig, and have to bite a little as the burning liquid slides down your throat. Tastes faintly of woodchips and... apple?
>At least you've drowned the fluttering in your chest so you can actually think and unwind like you're supposed too.
>"I smell liquid fun."

>She sounds content and happy, casual. Just a casual night, just a few drinks, you're just friends, calm down idiot.
>You already have that sense she wants some.
-you can say that another wa-
>Down boy! The single bottle should do the trick of settling your aberrant mind into a less provocative state, so might as well hand her the other bottle.
>Maybe if she was a little dulled that would help in not making things awkward, so you strolled over to the couch with booze in hand.
>"Pass it here."
>You handed the other bottle to the open hand passed over back of the coach and considered nursing your own as you stepped around and fell back into the stuffed leather.
>It's comfortably cool and soft, and you press your back into the furnishings with a groan. It feels good just to stop moving for once.
>Wait, you didn't open that other bottle. You're about to offer her the bottle opener, but find her with the tip of the bottle wedged in her canines.
>You can only look on in quiet dread as you hear a hissing pop as she levers the bottle down... and then spits out the cap.
>You had no idea those teeth were so... utilitarian.
>She proceeds to take a long sip, peeling the bottle from her lips with a slight quiver of her jaw.
>"Hooh... That is, strong."... "What?" You've been staring at her quizzically, hoping for an explanation. "I got teeth, I'll use 'em."
"...I had the bottle opener right here."
>"*snrk* Whatever! Tonight's supposed to be relaxing, kick off your shoes. The power's back on so we should be able to watch something."
>Wait what? The tv in the room was untouched, but how the hell was any of the infrastructure to actually get a picture not in pieces?
"The tv actually works?"
>"Cable box, bugs didn't dig up any of the lines"
>Even the bugs can't kill cable tv, amazing. She tosses a battered remote your way and smirks.
>"Well? Pick something. Those damn things are too small for me anyways."
>The jackal gives a large yawn and then reclines into her side of the couch, swinging her feet up to rest on the coffee table.
>You follow suit after relieving yourself of your shoes, and try to find the power button on the remote. Using the abstract hunk of plastic feels like relearning how to ride a bike.
>The newfound glare from the idiot box bathes the living room in a soft cerulean glow, it's already tuned to some dead channel showing nothing but static.
>You quickly find the buttons to start flipping through channels to find something to at least hold your attention. The first result is a talking head in a suit behind a desk. An image of the globe whirls around on the screen over his shoulder as ticker tape messages of current events pan at the bottom of the screen.
>"In other news today, an explosion at the Airmed bioculture labs is believe t-"
>The news caster is drowned out by a deep growl from the jackal.
>"I want to FORGET about the media today, no more of this fucking fear mongering. Next!"
>You had had more than enough of current events, the reporter from earlier still left a bad taste in your mouth, so you left the newscaster to talk to nothing as you flipped through more channels.
>Some movie trailer, no. Informercials, no. Some documentary on the prison system, you want to turn off your brain and get drunk, not be bored to death. Some offensive saxophone yodeling, pass. A rerun of Seinfeld, may-
>"Wait, go back!"
>You pause and shuffle your thumb back over the -channel button as Jerry prattles off another groaner on stage.
>You dearly hope she isn't a documentary girl, you knew a documentary girl, the malaise of boredom surrounding her was life draining.
>You switch back to the wailing saxophone and look towards her with worry. If she's after that soul sucking documentary you're no longer friends.
>"Stop. Here's good. I thought that sounded familiar."
>A sitcom then, not the worst thing in the world, but you might need more booze before the night is through. To get a head start, you set down the remote and burn down a swig.

>You can bring yourself to pay more attention to what's actually happening on screen. The camera is doing a slow panning zoom through a metropolitan alleyway onto a five story double wide apartment block, cheesy sax wailing the whole while.
>Judging by the overtly cheery, easy listening tone of the lead instrument and the excessively emotive silhouettes appearing as lights flick on in the windows, you're summary of cheap sitcom was right on the mark.
>You're about to suggest maybe flipping further through the channels and maybe catch a rerun of a good movie only to find Teth almost entranced as she leans ahead, tuning her attention sharply towards the screen.
>"I know this... This is. Packed in."
>She looks back to you with a small grin across her curious features. You can only return a raised brow.
>"I used to watch this show all the time when I was a kid."
"Really? A sitcom?"
>"Hey! I was twelve, I didn't exactly have a refined sense of taste yet."
"You. Refinement. The day I see you being formal is the day I spontaneously combust."
>"Ah shaddup."
"The hell is this about anyway?"
>"An apartment complex stuffed with canid families, mostly wolves and dogs. Toss in sitcom formula and you have yourself a recipe for... I dunno how many seasons."
>You turn your attention back to the screen as the camera has made the traverse to the building's main doors. They swing open to an array of muzzles wearing plastic smiles as the embossed cursive title fades in: Packed In.
>At least your ears are free of that saxophone.
>A fade to black crawls over and within seconds a short sax riff fades you in to an establishing shot of a hilariously outdated looking corner diner.
>The shot cuts in to an array of colorful characters that remind you of what your dad had on the tv in his spare time.
>Credits fade in and out as a bunch of leather jackets make conversation and a rotund short order cook stands in the back.
"Okay I thought this show was about an apartment complex. So why are we watching the cast of Happy Days here?"
>"This is just the corner diner down the block a few of the characters work at. A lot of episodes waving around the 'those damn kids' angle start here."
"A shtick as old and tired as the written word."
>She snickers a little before going back to the show. The credits continue fading by as the kitchen door slams open to reveal a rather spunky looking coyote, but on closer inspection it seems her pattern is a little off, heavy black accenting clings to the tan of her shoulders, and her muzzle looks sharper than your current frame of reference for 'yotes: Dylan.
>You think that might actually be a black backed jackal. She trots out with the chef hot on her heels, exchanging a rolling cadre of eye rolling 'banter' the whole time.
>The chef blusteringly orders the server back into the kitchen before she turns her nose up at an angle and gives the most overacted 'harumph' you've seen since Lyudmilla. No doubt about it with that haughty attitude, she's a jackal, but Teth didn't mention anything about jackal characters in the show.
"Okay so who's that? They got jackals in this show too?"
>"*sigh* Yes. Regrettably."
"What's wrong with them?"
>"Most of the characters on the show are wolves or dogs. And you can tell this fucking show was put together by pack builders because there is only one jackal family, and they are made out like such fucking stereotypes. They aren't even characters! Just a collection of asinine jackal tropes rolled up into a script. It's insulting!"
>Her ears fall low as she empties the last of her lungs, and she looks to you apologetically.
>"...Sorry. I'm just tired of these idiot wolves demonizing us just because we don't. Clump up, the way they do. We're more solitary, and there's a lot more to us than some tired ass stereotypes."
"You aren't really one to present yourself as a stereotype if that's what you're worried over."
>"Oh please, I'm a high and mighty loner with a proud streak, anything further need not apply."
>You can't have her dragging herself down, if anybody is going to be dragging themselves down, it's gonna be you, goddamnit.
"You're a very worried loner that just wants some honest company, and the most caring person I've met out here. Anyone else would have left me to rot."

>"Uhhhhhhm... thanks."
>The tone of her voice is small and fluttering to match her smile, and her ears are doing that odd swivel again. You can't be sure, but when you catch site of the insides of her ears, the normally peach flesh is stained a flourishing red.
>Is that how she blushes? It's not like you could read her cheeks through the fur.
>"Can we uh... Get back to the show now? W-We're supposed to be relaxing, ya know?"
>You give her a short nod, and she swallows a quick swig of her bottle.
>Turning back towards the show, the jackal has departed from the tacky diner as the camera follows her up the street. Those damn credits are still going, how many people worked on this fucking show!?
>And why are you supposed to care about this girl?
"Okay but really. Who is she?"
>"Sarah, middle daughter of the jackal family, aside from the hand waving non traditional name (like the rest of the family), she's a complete bleeding heart that thinks that everybody can get along. Idealistic little shit."
"Sounds like fun already."
>"Hmph."
>The credits peter out, and something resembling a title card fades across the corner of the screen: Skinship.
>The hell kind of episode title was that?
>"Ohhh- I remember this. Ah, you're gonna groan at this one."
"Why?"
>"This is 'the human episode'. A dude pretty much stumbles into the complex and basically goes down a checklist for 'human shit', it's ridiculous... And uh. And also one of my favorites."
>This was either going to be very good or very bad, depending on how easily you can pick it apart with your wit.
>Shortly after the title card fades away, the black backed, Sarah, is stopped dead in her tracks by a greasy calico in vintage leather.
>"ayyy darlehn' where ya goin'?"
>Christ, it's like a bad audio rip from Grease.
>"Home, Shane! And you can take your 'Dah-Lin' back to China creep! I told you we're outsville 'daddi-o'."
"Mmmmm, Mother of God. They call THAT delivery?"
>Teth gives a short chuckle and keeps in with the pace. "Oh trust me, it gets worse. Been a while since I've seen it though, so maybe it's better than what I remember."
"Good God, just kill me now."
>"Oh come now, if you keel over: who am I gonna keep warm at night?"
>'Warm'. Cute, she's making digs at you because you have no fur.
"Harr, harr. Make fun of the hairless ape, I get it."
>You hear her inhale to say something, but she stays quiet. In the meantime you've thankfully distracted yourself from more of the cringy back and forth between Sarah and Shane.
>At this point the jackal has backed off facing Shane, only to stop as her back hits against the trashcan at the corner of an alley.
>Four more cats creep out of the shade, all of them wearing leather jackets 40 years out of date and headfur slicked into various ridiculous styles with enough gel to submerge a small dog. All of them looked like a budget Fonzie, if The Fonz was an anthro.
>The paced out with a lurch in rhythm with their boss, well this looks familiar.
"Gee, all that's missing is the rhythmic snapping."
>She breaks into a wheezing laughter for a bit. It occurs to you that a subtle floating sort of feeling has been creeping up and lifting the corners of your mouth as you watch her beaming smile while she attempts to catch her breath.
>Guess you are having a good time.
>All this biting sarcasm is taking the poison from the pits of your guts and turning it towards something harmless, and fun.
>The cats have advanced on the jackal and look ready to corner her, but then something catches all of their attention.
>"Hey!" The bark that excused itself as a challenge came from a lug in ratty jeans and a wife beater with a brick for a head.
>He stood at the edge of the sidewalk with his back towards the street, and if not for the cue ball shine of his bald head, you would say he was the most generic looking son of a bitch you ever laid eyes on. The cats didn't look happy, and answered in turn.
>"I think you got the wrong alley man, the gym is two blocks down."
>"Hey! F--- you." The timing on that car horn...
>A round of snapping clicks echoed from the gang's side of the screen, and all of them have produced switchblades.

>Wait. Why the hell would they be using knives when they have claws? The real reason is likely regarding the safety of the actors, but the stretch of show logic is a bit far.
"Hmmm. We have these things on our hands perfected by natural evolution to kill fleshy things. Let's use these dull old pocket knives instead."
>"Phhahahaheheh! I'm sure full sets of prop claw caps are more expensive than prop knives, blame budget cuts."
>Predictably, things escalated into a scuffle from there, and since this whole script was probably the result of a weekend's pcp bender, Cueball was winning without effort.
>One goon got his knife stuck in a trashcan before Cueball chopped him across the neck with all the impact of a whiffle bat. The actor for the cat made a good pratfall for a hit that was about five times worse than what just happened.
>Canned laughter prattled off with all the timing of a broken interrupter gear as Goon 1 stumbled backwards and toppled over a guardrail into a stairwell.
>Goon 2 had the reactions of a coked out sloth and kept swinging where Cueball was about an epoch after he moved away from that spot.
>He was solved quickly when Cueball slammed him over the head with a trashcan. To their credit, that stunt actually looked like it hurt, the canned laughter on top was just cruel.
>Goons 3 and 4 wisely decided to team up, but forgot they were in a sitcom script. That inevitably meant they foiled eachother as Cueball ducks out of the way from mirrored thrusts that end up parrying both of the goons' knives away from them.
>The untouchable meathead then knocked the goons' domes together and both of them decided the floor was a cooler place to hang out than in frame.
>Now it was just Cueball vs. Shane, who was going to win was obvious. Shane opened up with some of the widest, sloppiest swings you've ever seen.
>If it was you in Cueball's place you'd probably just step inside Shane's guard in the century he was open and stab him in the kidneys. Couldn't really picture yourself defending your own friendly jackal though, Teth'ra could and would defend herself.
>Cueball found a nearby trashcan lid to cosplay as a homeless Captain America, parried Shane once, and then discarded his shield in favor of grabbing the cat by the wrist.
>The struggle was laughable as Shane could easily ditch the knife and go straight for Cueball's eyes, but seemed intent to let this pitiful attempt at an army style disarmament ride out. It was less like a disarmament, and more like the actor finally spotted the cue card telling him to drop the knife to make Cueball look even remotely competent in a fight.
>Then Shane wheeled back into the alley before Cueball even shoved him, just in time to meet up with his four goons picking themselves up off the floor without any visible injury. The crew shared looks between themselves, and then unilaterally decided to run off into the alley, presumably because they read the script.
>A chuckle came from your right and you smiled, knowing Teth'ra was about to join in on the riffing.
>"Oh shit! It's five to one in our favor and we're armed! Better run!"
>She has a point, if this confrontation was played out for anything but laughs, the bald bastard would be on the ground, a fact that has your ribs feeling ticklish.
>Course you aren't laughing with the show, more you're laughing at it.
>The black backed acted far more like a piece of furniture than an active part of the scene for the duration of the 'fight', but now she manages to stammer out something.
>"Wow! You really did save me! Thanks misterrr..."
>"John, John Doe." Are they fucking really? "Those guys were real jerks right? Calico punk was your ex right?"
>"Yes!" The camera pans towards her frantically wagging tail, and you get the sense something fantastically stupid is about to happen.
>"So think you can take me to your place? A dinner would be nice for almost getting my rear kicked. You're cute, we should get real close."
>annnd it just got worse. Teth'ra lets out a groan like she just swallowed something spoiled, you follow in turn.
>"I beat up your ex, you owe me coitus."
"Hell of a way to introduce a character we're supposed to like."
>"Oh please! I can beat up my exes myself, thank you very much. What a fucking tool."
>This bald motherfucker acts like a crude gorilla, Teth sure was right about you groaning at this one, and he wasn't even introduced to the rest of the cast yet.
>Least you have a buddy to riff it with.

>If it wasn't for the strictly PG trimmings of the situation, you're sure that exchange would be more of the meathead demanding sex as payment for rescue rather than the cutesy euphemisms for dating.
>Who the hell just charges in at the tail end of an adrenaline high prowling for sex? Is basic human decency really that hard to figure out?
>Eh. It's not like you can judge, you did think Teth'ra was going to pounce on you when you first met.
>Maybe the Sarah character is just more trusting, or naive, probably naive.
>Somehow she says yes and the two start meandering to her home, the complex where presumably most of the show happens.
>They are getting friendly with eachother awfully quick, but then again... something of yours holds a mirror up and makes the point the same could be said of you and the jackal sitting right next to you.
>You should have been scrambling away from her in terror, but the drugs kept you in place, and her eyes worked some sort of spell on you.
>"Man, they are already hanging off of eachother."
>How fast did you build up your repertoire with a woman anathema to your fear? Was something wrong with you for moving this quickly? What was wrong with you for not even being that scared of her?
"We're not like that, are we?"
>"Uhhhhhh. I... uh. I don't think so... exactly."
>You turned to find her ears standing at rapt attention, and bright red. That's definitely how she blushes, and with a start you realize you must have come off making like the two of you are an item.
"I mean, not like THAT. but... Are we moving too fast? I mean, we became friends pretty damn quickly. No offense but, I should be scared of you."
>She takes a moment to consider, and her ears swivel so as to not face you directly again.
>"Why should you be scared of me? What?"
>the concern leveled through her voice plucks at chords of guilt. Could you really tell her to her face that you should be screaming in terror from her size and strength: things she can't really help anymore? Could you say that your trust in her had you doubting your sanity since you were still so frightened of other anthros?
"I-uh... I don't know."
>"I know I'm not the most approachable, Gods above I do, but why are you doubting yourself?"
"We just... I was never that scared of you, but I'm terrified of everyone else. Those civvies didn't set me off because they looked so... meek and pathetic, but you should be absolutely terrifying!... What is wrong with me?"
>"You know what I think happened? I think when you were on death's door in that wreck, your fear was so distant that you were in a moment of clarity."
>You look on her wearing the turmoil across your brow, and you find her eyes again. That blue always seemed so welcoming.
>"You were in your last moments of consciousness when I opened that hatch, and the way you looked at me... like I was beautiful. A-and you said something to me that made my heart stir, staring into my eyes the whole time. You were dying, and you didn't see me as an animal or a threat. You saw me as human, you saw me as what I was to you."
"My angel."
>It's like a recall straight back, and you see a glimmer of light in those lovely sapphires. The same warm and soothing sincerity that made those lake so welcoming rushes back as you're dragged in again.
>"T-They say eyes are the windows to the soul. I think you saw something of mine."
>Is that what you were seeing? Her beautiful soul, dancing and breathing a completeness you had been looking for in the glimmering waters of her most precious twin lakes?
>"I don't think you're scared of me, because you saw me not just as another anthro. You saw me as a person, the woman that saved your life, the woman that tried her damnedest to fix you. I'm not just some beast to you, I'm..."
"Teth'ra"
>"And you looked in my eyes, for the longest time, and you saw someone you could trust. There's nothing wrong with you for that."
>You can feel a quickening beat under your chest, and a flighty warmth circling around you. Where is all this even coming from? You should calm down and think, it's a casual night after all, not a date. Those lines don't cross.
"T-thanks *ehm-hm* Maybe uh. Back to the show now?"
>"o-oh, yeah... right."

>You missed a fairly large chunk of the proceedings while you were staring at eachother, The pair on screen had shuffled into the complex and were currently in a chat with a bunch of arctic wolves near the front desk.
>Describing the pack as curious would be an understatement, soon as they heard the words 'gang' and 'savior' from Sarah's mouth, they were all over the two.
>The five or so pups of the family were asking rapid fire questions, the father was grilling Baldy for any sort of malicious intent, and the mother was giving out way too enthusiastic hugs, all quirks played for yet more canned laughter.
>You couldn't think on anything witty for now, just trying to settle back down from that awkward little staring contest.
>you reach again for the bottle and take a swig, noticing Teth'ra doing the same out of the corner of your eye.
>"Ya know I uh, I really don't mind."
>Mind what? had you offended her in someway? Committed a taboo?
"What?"
>"All the uh... eye contact. Usually it's a way of contesting dominance between canines, but from you it's... kind of... welcoming."
>Well that's a bit of a relief, at least she doesn't mind, or at least not enough to raise a fuss about it.
>Best take another swig to calm down, just to be safe.
>You press yourself back into the couch to try and take a more reclined posture to help relax, she seems to be doing the same, if her crossing her left leg over her right is any indication.
>The show seems to melt more into a warm blur of hit and miss delivery and awkward moments between Sarah and... Mr. Doe (fuck's sake), rather than go anywhere immediately interesting.
>You think you might have something to settle back into riffing as Sarah drags him around to be introduced to the tenants, and he acts like a wide-eyed child at each and every one.
>Your moment comes as he's invited into an apartment decorated like knock-off Wonka, the resident being a rather neurotic red wolf. Chrome Dome insists on stumbling around in blind awe like he just walked into wonderland.
"He's a bit new, isn't he?"
>"*snrk* New? Try born yesterday. He's astounded at whimsical decoration like it's the great pyramids."
>You definitely see her point, right now he's going boggle eyed at a lawn gnome holding a small board full of holes.
>"It's a cheese grater chief, not the Necronomicon. Stop looking for your toupee in there."
>Her words hook on something and reel a rich laughter out of your throat. You hear a rhythmic thumping coming from her side of the coach, it's her tail slapping softly against the back cushion.
>"Aheh, has a mind of it's own sometimes." You don't believe her in this instance, since she's wearing a warm, energetic grin. She seems to display that image of a dog smiling with a seasoning touch of a human element.
>In this light, those pearly whites look pretty, even the rounded daggers of her canines, they remind you of better days at home, when you had so much less to worry about. Even the wagging of her brushy tail recalls you towards memories of your canine companion, and you never fail to find that sort of thing endearing.
"That's actually kinda cute."
>"Oh stop!"
>She says stop, but her face says she appreciates it. Her grin has widened into flashing more teeth and the thumping of her tail has quickened its tempo.
>Obviously she's daring you to go on, so you'll feign ignorance just to make her ask for it more directly. You aren't going to fall in with whatever tease she has planned so easily.
"Alright then."
>With that you promptly return to looking at the tv, trying not to crack a smile at the little whine you hear from the right.
>You've missed more of the plot but you don't really mind. The red wolf is taking the pair around his apartment, pointing out and explaining everything in his collection like it's some sort of accomplishment in hoarding all of this trashy decorum.
>Thankfully Sarah drags the replicant out before Red can get to gushing over a pile of odd looking pillows stacked up to overflowing in a closet.

>The two of them jaunt into the hallway as Red stammers out an awkward goodbye.
>"I'm uh, still here."
"I know. You're hard to miss."
>You can play this game for a little while, especially as the other tenants Sarah drags the bald brick to go gawk at really aren't coming up with any good fodder for a snappy joke.
>"You uh, you'd probably miss me if I wasn't here. Right?"
"Oh just absolutely devastated."
>Such Dry sarcasm is leaving your throat parched, so you down another swig.
>How much of this bottle is even left? You hold it up to find you're down to a quarter, not that you were keeping track of how much you drank.
>You glance over to see her shifting, her titanic legs grinding against eachother as she wrings her hands.
>"I uh. I know I act pretty... dog like sometimes... Isn't that something?"
>You turn to her, stare deadpan, and raise a brow. Her lip quivers a little as she tries to stammer before you turn away back to the tv.
>"Oh come on! At least one more? Please?"
>You look over and are hit with a wall of guilt. She's pulling the look, the same one your dog used to when begging for affection.
"Alright fine."
>The arms length distance between the two of you is easily covered as you lean in and gently extend a finger, landing it on the black pad of her nose.
>Her eyes focus in on the end of her muzzle as confusion washes across her features.
"Yer little button nose is cute."
>Maybe it's just the alcohol settling that warm blanket feeling over you, or it could be her companionship, either way you feel content, and lift your finger off the damp button of her nose and return towards trying to find nits to pick at the tv.
>You want more of that warm feeling, and it doesn't seem of any harm to guzzle down the last quarter of the bottle to get it, it's not like you're seeing double.
>You hear that happy whine again and the brushing of her tail gliding over the leather, cute.
>Watching the introductions towards more of the wolves is actually pretty tolerable, even enjoyable. A lot of the new characters are pleasant and provide the sort of more mellow humor that stays out of the way. Teth'ra even laughs along to a few of the jokes.
>Guess you're getting an idea of why this episode is one of her favorites, even with the rocky start.
>She settles in more as you largely look on in a laconic daze, while it's pleasant, it hasn't really pulled you in, and you have no more to drink.
>A fairly large chunk of the episode lazes by, and you actually find yourself laughing along to a few examples of actually good timing and delivery, it's not all bad.
>Eventually the pair arrives at the last door down the second floor hallway, and you hear a sad sigh from Teth.
>Looking over, you note her own bottle has been emptied.
"What's wrong?"
>"We're about to meet her family..."
"Oh."
>That warm smile and those tittering little laughs have vanished.
>The first thing heard upon opening the door is an angry, controlling shouting. A tall jackal with fur flecked between brass and pepper shades stands admonishing a younger pup like a drill sergeant.
>His over the top blustering is played for laughs, but Teth'ra is depressingly silent. He turns to acknowledge the opening door, and the pup immediately slinks away.
>Immediately you can see the one note type casting she was talking about, the father is a prideful, arrogant sort that demands control. The mother is reserved and distant, and the pup from earlier is a wild hellion.
>Sarah herself is inoffensive, but you've noticed the pattern. The wolf families often play their comedic roles by harmless misunderstanding and amiable quirks, they're always social and friendly.
>The jackals meanwhile are painted as a pack of dysfunctional, isolationist neurotics with a communal temper problem.
>The family dynamic is played off as borderline abusive, yet the canned laughter is more intense than ever.

>It sinks your heart, because Teth'ra might be reading this flanderization as some sort of attack on her, and her way of life.
>"This is what pack builders think we are, a bunch of squabbling loners so far up our own asses we can't see the sun."
"Maybe it's not intentional."
>A short growl rumbles off of her.
>"Oh it's intentional alright! Howlers always think they now what's best for us. So they include this as some shallow narrative that the traditional family is meant to self destruct. They think something must be wrong with us just because we'd rather be left alone."
>"The father is the typical above it all slave driver, the mother is the reserved, loveless lump of pride, and all the kids are varying levels of dysfunctioning mess, all meant to stereotype and deride us. Just because we live differently."
>Her frown deepens, and a distance grows in her eyes.
>"And to top it all off, I probably sound like a speciest cunt because I hate them for trying to tell us how to live."
>... poor girl.
"Teth. I can see where you're coming from, their dynamic is pretty... mean spirited."
>"Yeah well, we're supposed to be having fun right? I fucked that up. Can't even remember why I liked this one."
>Maybe it's the alcohol talking, but the idea that comes to you doesn't seem that bad. You reach over across the narrow gap between the two of you and bury your hand into the ruff of fur along her neck.
>"What are you-?"
>Her shoulders gently hike as you start scratching, the plush silk ruffles between your fingers as you bunch up the fur and scratch along her neck.
>This time she reacts positively to the petting, you sneak lower and scratch at a spot right between her shoulder blades, earning you a small moan of satisfaction.
>You can see the tension in other parts of her body uncoil, it's curious how much she overlaps with a dog sometimes.
"Feeling better?"
>"mmmmm, yes-"
>You withdrew your hand and rested it on the back of the coach. She gave you a curious look before turning back towards the tv.
"Now then, how about we pick this motherfucker apart for our own amusement?"
>"Hmph. Sounds good."
>Immediately the screen obliged your request, as you saw a rather bratty looking black-backed step out in what could only be described as an outfit a few dangerous steps away from a crop top and booty shorts, like the hookers in Cambridge would wear.
>"hff, look at this disaster. Of course you have to have the little free love rebel. Go back to Woodstock! And stop pretending to be one of us!"
>Teth'ra is eager on the attack, you can see her venting her anger at the screen, you gotta prod it further. Some good snark rips out the stress after all.
>But you are curious, she herself did mention that in her teenage years she got deep into trouble.
"Didn't you have a whole 'bad bitch' phase too?"
>"Oh that was different! For one I was more interested in getting into fights, two, I never dressed like THAT, and finally, I never went around spreading my legs at strange men for my amusement like that wolf in fur dye. No matter who you are, if you're a jackal, you take mating seriously."
>Now you were curious, might be stupid to ask, but you're drunk.
"Really now? What's that about?"
>"Uhhhhm... Well. Jackals uh... We mate for life. My mother always told me, that the ideal was a single mate that you could settle down with and carve out your own little territory... maybe have a litter or two. It's not like we can only ever have one, but we're very... picky about it."
>It only made sense, you heard jackals were very particular and strictly monogamous.
>You do have to wonder what sort of specimen would catch her particular taste, probably not an idiot like you.
>Best to get back into picking apart the show to help her get the led out, so you give her a curt nod before focusing back on the screen.

>The fake jackal has had a rather painful diatribe with her mother before what you can only assume as the eldest daughter marches out screeching, "I'm going down to the club, and there's nothing you can do to keep me down, man!"
>Reminded you of some free love types you knew in school.
"Don't harsh my bud man."
>"hehehe heh he heh, yeah she would be a complete hippy. Little slut has daddy issues."
"I think that might be the least of her problems, give a few years."
>"Phahehe hah hah ha, god you're terrible."
>The festivities continued, regrettably the mother was so emotionless there was nothing to latch onto to attack.
>Cueball was then shown around the apartment by his fling, being occasionally harassed by the youngest kid who would run off and come back again.
>At least the antics of the little worm were less depressing than the emotionally dead mother or her dictator of a husband.
>Looking over the slight smile your favorite jackal wore, you could still tell there was a little something wrong. You need a heavier hit, something to really take her off guard so she can laugh the stress away.
>Maybe something will show itself as Doe is introduced to Sarah's older brother, it's just a matter of timing.
>The two walk into something halfway between a bedroom and an art closet.
>A lot of half baked impressionist pieces line the wall on cheap canvas stretched over bent frames, jeez this kid likes his impressionist shit.
>A rather tall golden jackal stood with his back turned towards the door, not noticing the intruding pair until his sister spoke.
>"Hey Herman."
>Almost immediately you had to swallow down a little laughter, that was the name of the biggest dweeb you ever knew.
"Herman?! Really!?"
>"iiiit's a name."
>Still had to shake your head at that. You looked back just in time for the kid to finish leaping out of his skin and facing about in record time, you notice his paw wandering to shove something slowly back into a sleeve of other canvases.
>"Oh! Hey! Sarah! Care for a courtesy knock next time? Ah-heh-hehh."
>Now that you were getting a good look at it, he was hiding a painting from his sister, but not the camera, you're sure you spy a feminine feline face with bare orange shoulders.
>Kid's got a pair, oil painting cheesecake in the family home. At least it's not soup cans.
"Is that what I think it is?"
>You glance over to see her with a rather disdainful look on her face, like she just caught someone rooting through her personal items.
>"Ugh, of course. He's a golden so he HAS to have a fetish for tigers. Typical."
>Something in an undercurrent of her voice tells you she may be speaking for more than just her disgust for a stereotype.
"You jealous or something?"
>Her lips shrink is surprise, but she bounces back into a consideration before continuing.
>"I may have had a bit of a crush on him when I was younger."
>The bemused smirk on your lips couldn't get any bigger.
>"Don't look at me like that!... He's the only functional member of the family."
>The conversation this time around actually sounded like the sort of thing said between siblings, and the man who had no wig entertained himself by peering around at whatever in the room happened to serve the purpose of modeling, eventually settling on a collection of bright rounded shapes in a bowl.
>He seemed oddly entranced by the objects, enraptured, utterly absorbed in the essence of this non perishable substitute for perishables.
>The camera zooms in intently on the quizzical visage of a man utterly obsessed, with a bowl of wax fruits.
>Your time is now, to step forward and voice this quiet genius' inner most dialogue. The crucible question he must be asking himself right now.

"How many of these can I use as a sex aid?"
>The eruption of laughter from off to your side tells you that you nailed it.
>She tries to speak in between great gasps but can't calm her rich laughter, she curls in on herself with ecstatic joy as her middle shakes.
>Her lips have curled back to display those sharp whites to full effect, somehow they don't seem threatening with her doubling over in mirth.
>You can't help but get a sense of warmth from her joy, it cracks a smile out of you, and your laughter joins hers.
>It leaps out of your chest powerfully, a series of shocks to your chest that can't help but bring you joy.
>Teth'ra manages to collect her breath just enough to wheeze out something intelligible.
>"Ha ha heeah, H-holy shit! Euh-ha ha ha!"
>For long minutes you both find yourselves unable to speak with any sort of level tone.
>Eventually you do manage to calm yourselves.
>"Alright, I uh-heh, I really do feel better now."
"That's-heh. That's good."
>You stared into each other for a brief moment as you reflected your own manic grins.
>You're both just a couple of idiots working off stress, but there's no idiot you'd rather do it with than her.
>Drunk, irreverent, uncaring of whatever may happen out in the wide world, and above all happy. You missed this feeling.
>"This is nice. Ya know? I don't think I've had a night like this in a long time."
"Ah come on, couple drinks and a show is easy."
>"I'm not talking about the entertainment."
"Then what are ya talking about?"
>Her lips close and her ears swivel away again.
>"I'm talking about... the company."
>A legible sincerity adorns her eyes, and it raises many questions. Was she really as lonely as she was letting on?
>Wait... did she mean company in a more romantic light? You're probably just reading something wrong, those lines do-.
>"Uhhhhm." She stares, her attention caught undivided by something on screen.
>You push your confusion to the side to see what's piqued her interest.
"Okay, what are you staring at n-."
>Dominating the screen is an image of the jackal and human messily kissing in the privacy of her room, her subtle lips interwoven with his as they waver back and forth.
-what if it was you and Teth'ra?-
>Those lines do not cross. This is just some liberal script writer inserting a message promoting interspecies relationships. This sort of thing doesn't actually happen... right?
-she's been sending signals tonight-
>No, that... That's just her getting chummy, both of you are pretty heavily buzzed.
-it's numbing her restraint, she's saying what she really feels-
>Okay, you've had enough of this. Your throat feels clammy, and you despair as you remember that the bottle is dry.
>You can't tear your eyes away from the sight on screen either, they're really going! It's odd seeing a muzzle sensually sucking face, but you can tell that she's not only achieving a seal, she's also putting up a hell of a fight judging by the stifled moans.
>You can't help but remark in astonishment of this bizarre sight.
"Huh, so that's how you kiss something with a muzzle."
>"M-Mhm. uhhh, t-that's uh. quite a thing... isn't it?"
>She doesn't expect you to provide any sort of answer, the shaking in her voice tells you that she has no idea what to make of this either.
>It's almost like watching a crash, a vocal, intimate crash. You start feeling a heat stinging your cheeks as temptations are whispered in your ear.
>How would her lips feel on yours? That soft silk against your touch, her breath washing in with yours, her voice pleading your name in wanting.
>You're both so tired and lonely, give yourself away, let her under your skin, you need that human touch. She can give it, you've seen the way she's been acting, she's open to it.
>The heat comes flashing to your face, and you feel your heart thrashing against the walls of its cage. You should talk just to try and fan this away.
"Man, they're still going at it."
>I-I-uhh... I don't think that's acting..."
>It seems she's right, the tongue wrestling is getting fierce, and their hands have started exploring eachother, it's looking like this relationship actually has something off the screen. So much for those lines not crossing.
>Finally they break away, and you find a breath coasting out of your throat that you didn't even realize you were holding.

>You keep getting whispers urging you in a dangerous direction, so you shuffle into your seat and look away, trying to regain your bearings.
>That little display still doesn't exclude the existence of the barriers between the two of you. Relationships like that must be very rare, and it's not like she's showing any real, deeper interest. Different species, different standards.
>You certainly think of her as more... exotic, but how could you even be attractive to her?
>That heat still clings to you, and your heart is attempting to run a circuit, you need to clear the smoke and think.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>Just think this over rationally.
>You're a violent, selfish, angry ball of fear and broken psyche. Who the hell would want you as a partner? Sure she tries to fix you out of kindness, but she isn't one to hold ulterior motives.
>She grew up in isolation, so of course she would act a little strange, and jackals in particular are supposed to be real choosy about who they're interested in, so that throws you out of the running.
>This is just confusion, booze, and some very bad timing.
>"So... uhhm."
>Warmth still clings to your cheeks, and you try to still your heart, you can't look at her right now in case she reads something about your flustered state incorrectly.
>Don't want to give the wrong impression in case that makes things worse, but you're giving a bit of a cold shoulder, you should at least engage with her.
"That was... certainly something."
>"Mhm..."
>The wall sure is a nice color, the pastel tan is charmed by the stark blue of the tv glow.
>...
>Oh who the fuck are you kidding? It looks like every other shade of suburbanite puke.
>You sneak a peek back at the tv, just to check if the coast is clear. Thankfully Cueball is leaving the apartment on his own while the varied shades of dysfunction wave goodbye, and the show fades in to credits. It's over.
>Now you just have commercials and nothing to excuse you ignoring her. shit.
>"You uh... You want to talk, get our minds off of that?"
"uhhhh-"
>A soft whimper peals from her, how are you supposed to refuse that?
"-Alright, what is it?"
>"First crush, go!"
"I-eh-wha?"
>By now your face doesn't feel like you're facing an oven, so you at least turn to display your confusion.
>She's segueing out of an awkward moment over an interspecies kiss, to talk about dating? Where's the logic on that one?
>"I-I-I-uhh, I figured if we're busy groaning over stupid shit we used to do, then we can forget about... that."
"So you think the best place to get away from that is talking about trying to get into someone else's pants?"
>Her jaw hangs open as she avoids your gaze. You catch a brief glimpse of her inner ear, it's almost blood red.
>"You have a better idea?!"
>Nothing is coming to you.
"no..."
>"*sigh* Well I'm not coming up with anything else, so... First crush?"
>If she was talking about what hollow pursuit your dumb ass first lusted after, that was easy, but she could just as well be talking about whoever made your heart first flutter, which was a different answer entirely.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
>"uhh, ya know, puppy love. Just whoever you first thought was someone special."
>Your thoughts turn back the clock, to when you were so young lying seemed like a mortal sin.
>"Well?"
"Just give me a minute!"
>A month ago you didn't know her, and you're already talking dating history, she sure is different.

"Okay... First crush, that would be in the third grade."
>The memory is vague, you can't recall every detail, aside from most of what you felt.
"Her name was Maggie, and she had the prettiest blue eyes. She came and played with me when I was on my own, and I was just so enamored with her curly blonde hair."
>That was just the start of it, she was a little sweetheart that asked so earnestly why you were sad. She didn't like seeing people be sad, and her playing with you in that lonely corner of the playground made your young heart want to keep her around.
"She started becoming my best friend, even if I did think she had cooties. So I said to myself: I'm gonna do something nice for her on valentine's day. Because I just thought she was the coolest, and that we should be absolutely inseparable."
>The innocence of being that young, your worries were small, and your feelings were true. You were more sincere.
>You smile a little, remembering what you tried to throw together for little Maggie.
"I had this idea, this stupid idea, but by God I was going to act on it. So after school, I started digging up posies from the flower garden. Mom was pissed, but somehow I managed to talk her out of beating my ass. I guess I was just so excited to do something for the girl."
>Honestly you can't remember exactly why she let you get away with it, maybe some input from your father was responsible.
"So I get into the garage with this wad of dirt and flowers... and I find a box of zip-ties. So I- *hehehe* -I start wrapping this piece of shit in zip-ties I chained together, and I make this shitty little flower basket that looks about ready to fall apart. All because I wanted to do something nice for Maggie, and girls like flowers right?"
>Somehow the words you breath take a tension with them, you're getting more at ease now.
>Looking over, you find Teth'ra wearing a warm smile as her ears are splayed at curious angles, the flesh under the puffy tufts of fur along the insides of her ears still faintly red.
>But more importantly, her tail is giving a slow wag, and you can read adoration in her eyes.
>"Awwww, That's adorable!"
>...Guess it was kind of cute, in a certain light.
>"Sooo? How'd it go?"
>If it went the way you wanted it to, maybe you and Maggie would have grown up together so tightly knit that you would be complete, but that never happened.
>Your smile has faded now.
"Next day at school, I try to present my little gift... and I'm ignored. Turns out Robert fucking Worcester's rich ass mom bought a designer's bouquet... for an eight year old girl. My shitty little basket is shoved off onto the back table, and at the end of the day, it got knocked off and broke into a mess on the ground. So I couldn't even drag anything home for mom..."
>Your frail little heart was shattered, it was the first time you felt the sting of rejection.
"And then I went home and cried about it like a bitch."
>"Oohhhhh. And you sounded so sincere too."
>The real loss was suddenly she was enamored with that little asshole Robert, a boy that never stopped bullying you just because he had two inches on you. Your little best friend was nothing but a fling.
"She never really hung out with me after that."
>Teth wears a saddened expression, with a malingering hint of hope that maybe things ended on a better note, you hate to disappoint.
>"Well, where is she now?"
>You remember hearing about it from one of the deadbeats you hung out with, somehow you weren't really broken up about it.
"A few months after graduation, there was a big party, she and Robert got into the drinks, and they hopped behind the wheel of Rob's convertible..."
>You had to wonder if you were broken, because when you heard the news, you could only shrug your shoulders and offer condolences. You felt nothing for her ever since middle school, you had moved on.
"He wrapped them around a tree going eighty, she was killed instantly."
>She takes a hissing inhale, and shakes her head.
>"Eeesh... That got dark fast."
"eh, I'm not broken up about it. Hadn't talked to her since the fifth grade."
>"I hope all of your stories don't end this depressingly."
>You can't recall any of your other paramours dying in a car crash.
"Eh, believe me. She's the only one that ends that badly... Guess the first note kinda ruined it, huh?"
>"It's not fair if I don't share too. Besides, I never even knew her, and it's not like there's anything to be done."

>It was a long time ago, and even now you really don't feel anything, it's just like reflecting on the news of a distant relative dying. Sure, you may have met them once or twice, but you never knew them enough to shed tears for them.
>You are curious what Teth's more literal 'puppy love' is however.
"Well, I did mine, you do yours?"
>"Yeah, I could stand to go somewhere a little less depressing anyway."
>You kick your feet back on the table and shift a little to face towards her as she tells her tale, the tv murmurs ads for whatever and whoever in the background.
>Her lips purse in thought as she recalls, and her ears adopt a more neutral stance.
>"Okay, so mine was... I don't know how long ago, I can't even remember what grade it was, but, I do remember what happened there."
>"So I was just a little rascal, right? Yet to get into too much trouble or do anything but be excited. I was very young, very impressionable, and very earnest. I'm out to make friends, and of course none of the little human brats will have me because I'm the weird one."
"Cue exception, enter stage left."
>A small smirk comes to her as she laughs lightly at your quipping.
>"Hehehe hah. No, actually. It was another anthro."
>The question springs up of how that happened since her home wasn't so anthro friendly, you would have figured she would be the only anthro in the class.
"I thought Utah was a state notoriously unfriendly to your sort?"
>"Well yes, nothing about what I told you before is untrue, but this was the only other anthro I had seen in state."
>"Immediately, he was another outcast like me, I figured with another 'weird kid' that we could start hanging out. I was just excited to have someone else to play with."
>The mental image of a knee height jackal pup roughhousing with another little ball of fluff brings a charmed smile to you, and has you thinking over the kitten she cradled so gently in those massive arms. Do all anthro kids look so fluffy?
>Then again, you can't even be sure the other kid in question was a mammal.
"So who was this oddball?"
>One of her ears flicks as she adopts a nostalgic face, smiling gently as she recounts.
>"He was actually a wolf. Can't remember what type, but... He was black with these icy white streaks in his fur and pale blue eyes, I just remember thinking he was so damn pretty, it was the first thing I said to him."
>"So I ask him his name, and he gives me Davion, pretty name for a pretty boy right? From there we hit it off, because none of the other kids really liked to come near us. I sit by him every day and wag my little tail because I had some company at school."
>The way she describes it warms your heart, and you find the jackal to be cast in a more youthful, endearing light.
>Course, she never mentioned this kid before, so you can only assume they didn't stay friends forever.
"Almost sounds too good to be true, given the circumstances."
>"*huff* Tell me about it. I get near him every day I can and he decides that he's not interested in playing with me, and I don't get why he's doing this. As far as I was concerned, we were pretty much the same, his ears were just different."
>"So I go and run to mom to ask what to do, because I really want to keep an anthro friend, even if he's a howler and I don't know it yet. She tells me that my best option is impressing this little dweeb. So for WEEKS, I try doing this to win him over to me."
"Well you certainly went the extra mile."
>She scoffs lightly and rolls her eyes.
>"I was young, stupid, and brimming with energy, of course I went the extra mile. Not like that did shit anyway."
>"Now at this point, Davion is starting to get more interested in playing with the other kids. He plays this game with the brats where one kid chases the others as 'the wolf' for a little bit before the other kids all grab sticks and chase the wolf until someone hits him."
>Wolf kid playing as the big bad wolf before the villagers hunt down and pelt him... That doesn't exactly sound... correct.
"That game sounds a bit..."
>"Racist? Oh believe me, the second I wanted to stop being the wolf, no one wanted to play with me anymore and it was right back to being ignored, teased, and bullied. It was a load of speciest shit, but that didn't matter to him. He wanted to snuggle up with the rest of the shitheads while leaving me on my own, but I didn't know that back then."

>"So young, stupid me believes I can win him over to my side, and one day I get my chance."
>Her expression has gradually changed to be more bitter at this point.
>"So I find him out in the park trying to howl, and of course, he can't do it because his voice hasn't really come in yet. And I'm just so excited to show him what I got. So I march over, stand next to him, and start belting out my weedy little howl. And I'm putting my heart and soul into it. I swear that was the only time that teacher ever referred to me as cute."
"That sounds just precious... So how does this one go wrong?"
>She gives a half hearted sort of groaning growl, and her expression sinks further.
>"The next day, he suddenly doesn't want to have anything to do with me... because I showed him up. He runs off into the human cliques, abandoning me. This continues all the way up through middle school, every time some asshole is there waving around some speciest comment because it's in to pick on the jackal girl, he's right there behind them, following the crowd. Because he wants to be approved of, because he can't think for himself!"
>This kid sounds like a complete tool, and the more you think on it, the more Teth'ra's fierce independent streak makes sense. This helped cultivate her hatred for crowd pleasers and trend followers like Vilka. Hence all the spit and vinegar for 'pack-builders'.
>"Then in the 8th grade, he comes up to me, and tells me his family is moving out of state."
>You don't have a pleasant feeling about what she has to say next, you're thinking that whatever he must have said had a major formative impact on her opinions, and entrenched her further into her loner nature.
>Maybe this story has at least a little light for her at the end...
"So this is where he says sorry?"
>"Nope! Instead he asks me for a kiss because he's never gonna see me again. I gave him a kiss alright, right on his fucking nose!"
>She slams her fist into an open palm, miming the strike with a loud smack. Her ears are pinned back and she bears her teeth angrily.
>You have to shrink back a little at her anger, but she pauses and collects herself with a deep breath. You recognize that timing.
>It seems as though both of your first, earnest affections ended badly, but she did say hers didn't end on as depressive a note, so you have to ask.
"So where is he now?"
>"Don't know, don't care. The thing is... I was waisting my time from the start, turns out he's gay."
>That's gotta wound the pride. Her solemn expression confirms it.
"Ouch"
>"It's always the pretty ones... godsdammit."
>Yours ended in blood, hers ended with regret. If you wanted to constantly unwind, this was the wrong way to go about it.
"You know we really suck at this whole, relaxing, thing."
>"We kind of killed the mood..."
>... Where are you supposed to go for an upward discussion from here?
>Wait, you're sure you can talk about stupid mistakes in your respective dating histories, nothing to do like laugh at innocent failures.
"Okay. Let's get this on an uptick yeah? What kind of idiocy did you have on your first real date? I'll go first."
>This seems to pique the jackal's interest, and you try to remember the cliff notes of the disaster that was your first attempt.
>It was junior year, she was a bit of a stick in the mud, and you chose the exact wrong place to take her.
"So I met this girl Suzie in high school, complete buzzkill, I don't know what the hell I saw in her beyond her tits. But we agree to go to a movie, my choice. Issue was, she was a bleeding heart democrat that liked moral grandstanding, and I took her to see Sudden Impact."
>That ride home was hell, but you certainly grabbed Teth'ra's attention. She dons something halfway between intrigue and cheeky.
>"Ohhhh? Mixing a strong, masculine authority figure with a waifish, opinionated little shrew. How did that turn out?"
>The question is obviously rhetorical, but you can't help but quip back.
"As bad as you think it did. The whole ride to her place, it's 'fascist!' this, and 'police brutality!' that. She dumped me as soon as I pulled up on the curb."
>"Ha ha ha ha, what a bitch! Just because you picked a movie she didn't agree with? Did she even say anything about that?"
"Nope. I did throw some mud on her dress pulling away though, so two for two."
>"*snrk* Ha ha ha! Well she sounds petty. I suppose it's my turn now?"
>You merely shoot her a nod and try not to stare at the way her laughter makes her chest move.

>It doesn't take her too long to come up with something.
>"Alright, so to start off with my dating situation is already hell, I have to drive all the way up to fucking RENO, just to see another anthro."
>How does that situation work?
"Okay wait. Reno?! How the hell did you get something that long distance organized for a date?"
>"I uh... I hung out in chatrooms on that network deal, was slow as sin but thankfully there were a lot of prospects on the Nevada border willing to take the drive to Reno, because it was much shorter for them than it was for me."
>That explains it, you remember a public computer network being raised around North America and most of Europe around the early eighties. You never had a computer to check it out, but what few times you did see it, it seemed to be bare bones and very slow, really only useful for sending text messages and very small images.
>"Anyway, first guy I got on the hook... I tell him I'm a royal jackal, and immediately he gets interested. I'm talking immediately, which was a relief to me at the time, but come to find out, I should have taken it as a bad sign."
>She gets that same happy recounting in her eyes again, you smile yourself in anticipation of what fresh hell she's about to get into.
>"I show up, a bit cranky from a three hour drive, and there's this unkempt mess of a golden jackal just fucking staring at me slack jawed. Turns out we both left out a few key details about what we looked like."
>Your mind flashes towards some sort of cross between a mangy coyote and a fat jobber in need of a shave.
"Oh this is rich."
>"I forgot to mention I'm built like a tank, largely out of my own innocent ignorance. He outright lied about what he looks like, I expect a proper, trim jackal, and instead I get an overweight man-child. So of course I slip my temper a little and ask him what he's trying to pull. He fires back about me being a man and I almost bit his damn head off, so I head home absolutely steamed and make a new hole in the wall."
"How the hell could anyone confuse you for a man? Given uh... ya know... THOSE."
>You pantomime lifting two orbs in front of your chest and try to fight off a heat creeping around your cheeks.
>"Oh... uhm... Well these were still filling out at the time. I honestly have no idea how they got so big. Just the wonders of charging through puberty I guess."
>She idly cups her hand under one and lifts slightly, and you avert your eyes because judging by the amount of jello like quivering when she sets it back down, she isn't wearing a bra.
>But that does bring up the point of how rough it must be to live with melons like that.
"Aren't those uh... rough on your back? They're a bit heavy, no?"
>"I've never had back problems, guess it's all the core workouts."
"Well ya know, some people, get reductions."
>Her head jumps back a step as her lips part in a sneer, you freeze, expecting her to chew you out for such an offense.
>"*scoff* Reductions!?! I'm proud of these girls!... *sigh*. Besides, I need them to feed any litters I have. Reductions, hmph!"
>... She hold her muzzle aloft at an angle you can only read as shrewd, but her eyes wander and her lips waver. She returns to a more neutral expression.
>"...sorry. I've just been teased a lot over my size, but I hold that they're just jealous. So. uh, more stories?"
>Picking over more of that warm blur of past relationships while under the affects of a travel bottle of some whiskey you didn't even read the proof label of... Would she settle for cliff notes.
"Look, I'm not gonna remember all of them, a lot of 'em just sort of fade into the background. That first outing actually established a bit of a pattern that I can easily shorthand."
>"Well, I still want to hear it. Even if nothing stands out."
>All of it felt the same after a certain point.
"Most of my dates from there fell into two pitfalls. Either we'd break up immediately because it's all about what she wants. Or we'd break up far later because I'm just not satisfied."
>You can see the question coming from her face even before she asks it.
>"Unsatisfied? How?"
"*sigh* I don't know how, but I just kept getting in with the shallow ones. She had a dick and someone to dupe into buying her useless crap. I just got another wet hole. She sure jerks off my dick, but she never jerks off my heart."

>The eruption of laughter to your side is grating, and you sour as you glare at her.
>"Heheheh... sorry, I just never heard it referred too like that... It's a shame you never felt any connection though."
>You see her nervously tapping her claws together.
>"iiiss there anyone you DID feel a connection with?... I mean, not to pry! but..."
>She's pretty insistent on figuring you out, guess it's just the booze making her more adventurous. It's not like she's only taking without giving, fair trade and all.
"There was one girl... but you have to share your own history too, deal?"
>She gives a nob, a bit more enthusiastically than she probably meant. You can see she's completely forgotten about keeping her tail under control too. "Deal!"
>Now if you can only remember without getting yourself depressed as hell. That charming little laugh, the pristine auburn hair, that bitter pit carved in you when she vanished.
"...Her name was Carmen, and once I thought I would spend the rest of my life with that woman. I met her shortly after graduation, and so much just clicked. We had rocky patches near that start but, I started feeling something."
>Something you thought you wouldn't be feeling again, until she showed up.
>Was it some deeper love? The last time you felt this, it ended in heartbreak, because you were so invested in a feeling.
"I thought it would work, for so long I thought this would work in the long run. That maybe one day I could give this girl a ring. We had more trouble spots, I didn't get why she didn't want to go the extra step, but she kept telling me that she was saving herself for that perfect moment."
>Teth sits with rapt attention, she's rightfully anticipating something heart wrenching.
"Somehow she kept me there, and we went back and forth for... hell, something like 14 months. We were talking about finally moving in together... And then one week she goes quiet. I look high and low for her, and I was getting so damn worried. The streets aren't safe at night. I-I thought something happened."
>You stare towards the corner of the wall, you can feel a creeping feeling nearing around your eyes.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>It was a long time ago.
>She had her reasons.
>You shouldn't dwell on it.
>"Oh Gods... I'm sorry."
>Maybe if something did happen it would have been easier on you back then.
"No, after a week of searching for her, I get a call from a friend. Her family was helping move her across the country, she had known about it for a month, and said nothing about it to me... She just, left, without a word. That was the last fling I had before I got drafted. At least I still got to leave Boston."
>Everything after that made you feel such a bitter swill of regret, you and little Carmen had been so good together. What did you do wrong?
>What made you deserve her just disappearing? You just don't know.
>You hear a low rumble from the jackal, and your heart tightens a little. What did you do to piss her off?
>"THAT'S DISGUSTING!!! THAT FUCKING CUNT!!!"
>Her volume is startling, and you shuffle backwards as her muzzle is splayed in an image of fury, but she doesn't move. She gives a growling huff, you can't help but voice your concern at this sudden flash of zeal.
"Teth?"
>"How does she get off abandoning you like that?!!"
>She's not angry at you, she's furious on your behalf. You could never bring yourself to anger over Carmen, just tears that you spent weeks drowning in drink and shallow pursuits.
>Your dream was getting out of that rat's nest of a city with her, maybe building a house and starting a family. And now you doubted if you could ever find a home with anyone else.
>Last thing you want is for the jackal to drag herself down dealing with your problems again.

"It's not a big de-"
>"NO! She leads you on for damn well over a year, giving so little while you wanted to have everything with her, and then she just vanishes! That is absolutely despicable! If you ever see that whore again, I'll do you the favor and kick her ass!!"
>She growls and huffs when she's not speaking, by the grit in her teeth she's gotten her blood boiling, so you back off to let her vent.
>"I know you probably think I'm going over board but- *RRRRRRR* Loyalty means everything! You NEVER just abandon a potential mate like that. Even with the ones that don't work out, you always make your peace!"
>She really has a focus on devotion.
>"You know what I think happened? I think you were getting played! She sussed you out as a trophy! And then she abandons you and makes you worry just so she can get railed with all the exotic men and adventure she could ask for! And when she comes back... there you are, lonely and accepting to let her back in!"
>You can't remember anything about Carmen that suggested that, the jackal is angry and spitting her venom without restraint.
"Teth'ra, that's enough."
>She nails her eyes straight into yours, you can read so much anger, but also something shy just behind it, pleading and pushing as her lips close into a frown.
>"Nobody should be lead on and treated like that!... You deserve better... You deserve someone that won't just abandon you. I know you're better than that."
>She breaks away, emptying her lungs.
>"That sort of thing just means a lot to me, you know? So many of those dates after the first one? They would just up and disappear after I showed up. It's a terrible feeling! Nobody like you should go through that."
>The whole thing was a far stronger reaction than you were expecting, maybe you should just stop talking about this subject.
"Maybe we should just let this topic go."
>Her chest swells and deflates as she attempts to steady the boil of her emotions, she looks back up to you with a noticeably saddened expression.
>"I guess I killed the mood again, huh? Damn... I just hate hearing about that sort of thing, reminds me too much of my last... boyfriend. Bastard kept leading me on, end result was nothing. He was lying to me the whole time."
"And how'd that one end?"
>"I had known him for six months. I was so convinced that he was going to be the one, so I was excited when he called me out to meet him for a 'special night' at Monument Valley. I wanted so badly to share something more with him. But then he stops, and tells me that he would like me to join a godsdamned breeding club. He tells me I could make such strong children, as if that makes up for lying to my face for half a year!"
>Her frown deepens, you read frustration and pain in her blues.
>"I should have listened when mom warned me he was trouble. I threatened to turn him in to the cops for running a eugenics ring, and he tried to get violent. I hit him so hard he lost an eye... And that's what landed me on the conscription list."
>She sighs deeply, and you consider turning to the tv to find something to excuse sitting in silence, or at least taking the conversation in a different direction.
>You turn to find the screen displaying nothing but static, so much for cable being unkillable.
>Now what the hell are you going to do?
>"When did that go out?"
>You could only shrug, and you call back on her own hardships in finding someone special. You should at least offer sympathy.
"I don't know... and, uh, sorry. About that last guy you mentioned."
>"Don't be, That's done and over with, as mad as the thought of him or people like him makes me... Let's just try to talk about something not quite as serious, yeah?"
"We really suck at this."
>Looking over, she looks more calm now, although you can still read a faint tension as she lightly shrugs her shoulders.
"The fuck are we supposed to do with the tv out?"

>You have no clear ideas, and nothing you do come up with sounds uplifting since you're lowered into that chop of vague sadness again.
>Whatever she decides upon, the hiss and harsh glow of static isn't accepting of your attempts to settle into your bearings. You turn it off, and are almost immediately plunged into darkness.
>You didn't realize that the sun had gone down and now you had no source of light, the nearest window was shrouded behind heavy curtains somewhere off to the right.
>Now you're in the dark with a pent up jackal.
-...-
>Don't you even start!
>You hear a huff and a large shape over off to your right starts rising.
>"I'll get it."
"Can you even see?"
>"Asking the twilight hunter if she can see in the dark... Of course I can."
>You hear some shuffling around, before a dull thump and a certain voice swearing.
>"Son of a bitch!"
"uh-huh"
>"Before you even start, I know. I'm sorry most places aren't built to handle someone of my size... now then... which one of these is it?"
>With a soft click the hard glow of a light over your head flicks on, handily illuminating the room.
>"Down in front."
>You shift yourself off your back onto your legs instead in order to pull your feet off the table and let her pass instead of bumping in to something again.
>Her Wide hips shuffle by, and those p.t. shorts are clinging to her curves like shrink wrap. You try not to stare, operative word being 'try'.
>She lowers back onto her side of the coach, and makes a show of turning further towards you while resting one titanic leg atop the other.
>"Okay, so unless you have any ideas. I got something stupid we could do."
>You throw your head back to nest it in the leather. Throwing out a deep exhale as you attempt to blow away the foggy ambrosia of alcohol and torrid emotion swimming around you.
>It's not like you have any better ideas than to go along with whatever she came up with.
"Shoot."
>"Truth or dare."
>...
>You roll your head back upright and cock a lazy brow at her.
"What? Are we in college now?"
>"Oh come on! I'll let you go first... It's not like I'm in any shape to think of anything better right now."
>She makes a vague looping motion near her head to indicate the whiskey settling over her higher functions about as softly as a led blanket. She caps it off by staring at you with that pitiable begging look again.
>"Please-."
>Why does she have to remind you so much of your dog sometimes?
"Alright fine. You overgrown puppy."
>"Hey! I'm of reasonable size for my frame, it just happens to be a large one."
-she can say that again, those curves belong on a race track-
>They kind of do, don't they?
>"Now then. Truth."
>Your eyes trace her outline up her shoulder into the fluff of her neck, that silky ruffing of grey looks so immaculately groomed, you can't help but compare it to the matted curls of another canid you know.
"Does Vilka ever brush herself?"
>"hnhnhnhaha ha ha ha. No, I've never seen her brushing. Honestly, mange-mane would look wrong if her fur was actually in order."
>The laughter is infectious again and you find your smile reappearing. Damn your mood is swingy when you're this buzzed, but that's all the more incentive to keep the high up there.

>"You're also supposed to ask personal questions, but now it's my turn. Truth or Dare? Pick one."
>She's being coy, but you can have a hunch she already has a question loaded for you, so you decide to throw her off guard a little.
"Dare."
>Like clockwork an ear tilts, and that quizzical twist follows. You're getting good at reading those things, it's not that different from your old girl back home.
>"Alright then..." The twist gives way to a sly grin and scheming eyes. "Come in close."
>What is she up to?
>"You can either scoot in by me... oooor. You can answer the question~. It's not like I'll hurt you, but if you're too scared."
"Don't you taunt me."
>She grins while holding her head at an angle towards you that you can only describe as obscenely smug. She opens her left arm, moving that particular python out of the way to invite you into her side. When she said close, she really meant close.
-don't let her lord this over you, since when have you backed down from a challenge?-
>Never.
>You narrow your eyes and start sliding along the couch, maybe you should be feeling more of an air of fear getting this close to an anthro so large, but if it's supposed to be there, the alcohol smothered it.
>That is until she leans over and hooks her arm around your back, forcibly pulling you in as you freeze and attempt to hide your neck.
>"Come here you!"
>You feel the weight of her presence to your right as her arm bars over your shoulder before she lazily allows her forearm to hang crossed over your chest.
>Her hold is lazy and for her own comfort, no claws are in your soft bits, and it's noticeably warm here right next to her.
>Guess you were flinching at nothing again. Feeling that warm wall of fur hemming in your right isn't actually all that bad.
>"See? I won't hurt ya. Now then, I believe it's back to me. Truth."
>Her voice sooths from above you with a gentle, if drawling tone. She's comfortable, friendly, and mildly drunk, as attested by that slight hint of alcohol you can pick out in her immediate vicinity, overlayed by her own rich scent of spices, lilac, and honeysuckle, with just a hinting of gunpowder.
>You can also feel her core shift against your side as she parses out the words, reminding you that the wall of silky fur against your side is alive.
>It all makes you wonder how you don't feel threatened here, instead you feel... secure. How odd is that?
"How many of your previous dates thought you were gonna kill them?"
>"Are you saying that just because I wanted you close to me?"
>You crane your neck up to look at the source of her voice to find her looming down at you over her shoulder, reinforcing the point of just how big she is. You try for your best poker face.
"No."
>"...suuure, but alright. It was about half and half. I learned to start warning them that I'm large and intimidating, but that's not enough for some people. The other half got one look at my heritage and started devolving into a complete mess, I cannot tell you how tired I am of random Egyptology trivia, especially when they get half of the facts wrong. Now for you."
"Truth."
>A thin smile creeps across her, and then it grows warm, and then mirthful.
>"What do you think of me?"
>So that's what she was up to. Well, she wants the truth, but it catches a little in your throat as you reach into your heart to pull it out.
"I... Think you are... The most caring woman I've ever known. You saved my life, you're the best friend I could ask for... and I... I feel... safe near you."
>You turn away and go back to looking ahead, the fire is returning to your cheeks. How does she do this to you?
>"You're sweet, ya know? I choose... Truth."
>You can't help but feel an urge to reciprocate.
"What do you think of me?"

>"Uhhm, huh. Well... You're violent, angry, and scared, but I think that's just from something eating at you. I've seen the way you are under the pain. Hard headed, witty, sympathetic, and I think you're just looking for help. And maybe... a little something more."
>"You're a charming, rambunctious smartass, with a sense of loyalty, and a heart of gold."
>Christ, it's getting worse, you can feel your heart stirring at her praises. Does she really think that much of you?
>"Your turn."
>You feel her bearing down on you, pick truth and she'll probably find a way to slip straight through your mental walls. Something nips at the inside of your head to play defensively.
"Dare."
>"hmmm..."
>Shit, what are you getting all revved up for? Just calm down.
>"Wrestle me."
-RED ALERT-
>This half naked giant, wrestling, when you're both off balance thanks to material spirits...
>Hopefully you just misheard.
"Come again?"
>"You heard me. Try to take me down. If you beat me, the game's over."
>She must weigh twice as much as you! How are you supposed to accomplish that herculean feat outside of an auger frame?
"I think this bet is rigged."
>"Awww, yer just scared. heheh heh... So here's the question I pose to you instead, if you insist on being a pansy: Have you ever had thoughts about me that were more... risqué?"
-put us between a rock and a hard place why don't you?-
>The answer to that question is yes, but like hell you're going to admit that. She would never let you hear the end of it.
>Your choices are thus: embarrassment intense enough to cause you to spontaneously combust, or getting your ass handed to you by a woman far above your weight class.
>Your fear broils at the second option, and you'd surely lose unless you get really clever with it, but you don't want her lording those errant musings over you with the first option, and in your inebriated state you've already learned that you can't get away with lying.
>"I'm waiting shrimp. hnhnhn" That chuckling is not putting your chances under a good light, she's confident in a victory.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>You'd rather deal with the temporary ass beating than the character assassination, she's one of the good ones, she won't hurt you, maybe you can even have fun with this.
"Fuck it! You're on."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You stand considering your options against the opponent in front of you, almost eight feet of muscle and woman wearing a cocky grin and a steadily wagging tail, probably weighing somewhere in the neighborhood of roughly one bug warrior.
>That would be nearly a quarter of a ton, but it's not like any part of her is fat, aside from her chest... and maybe those hips.
>The principle strategy is clear, try not to let her grab or pin you, an obvious tactic, but the alcohol fugue circling in your head only allows you to recall some hack mantra of a leaf on the wind, whatever in the fresh hell that's supposed to mean.
>If you were a leaf being carried by a breeze you would be an erratic, imprecise bundle of schizophrenia and dying cells being moved completely out of your own power by an outside force, and what little impact you had wouldn't even make a difference.
>If you were going to go at this, you would do it the way a pilot would try to face off against a superior machine: stay mobile, go for where they're weak.
>Her ears would be brushing the ceiling if she didn't keep them pinned down while standing at her full height, she would likely prefer not to move too much because of that.
>Her stance was low and wide, a defensive gait to lower her center of gravity in an effort to keep her balanced.
>You've seen a few older pilots display something similar, a tactic for bracing when one expects an enemy machine to ram them.
>She's banking a lot on those legs, if you could drive in low enough to knock one of them out from under her, her weight would do the rest of the work and carry her onto the floor. There was no way you would knock her down going for her directly, even if she feigns a top heavy weakness by bending over to hang her breasts off of her frame. You specifically remember that comment about her lack of back pain.
>The more you size her up, the more daunting the challenge looks, she's twice your weight, has a longer reach, and is eager to go.
>"Come on ya pup! Hit me!"
>There was also the fact she was throwing playful taunts your way.
>That damn smile was disarming, infectious, luring you into a false sense of security. So you stay on the opposite side of the room.
>The couch and table had been shuffled out of the way to clear more of a ring for your bout, and the two of you squared off at opposing ends.
>You took a far more mobile stance than her, ready to break either way if she charges you.
>"Come oooon-! I'm right here!"
>That smile hasn't vanished, neither has the rather furious tail thrashing, but her voice has taken on a tone that goes beyond just pleading, it's a distinctly needy whine.
"Why are you so insistent?"
>"It's fun! Come on, it's been forever since I've done this."
>Was this sort of thing common with her? You had to wonder if this is something nostalgic to her childhood.
"So you do this often?"
>"Yeah! Doesn't everybody?"
>A bright smile splits her muzzle, and her sapphires shine with a childish glee, she's really loosing a lot of her restraints tonight.
>Look at that face! You just don't have the heart to tell her most kids don't pounce on eachother when they're young, and far fewer still do it well into adulthood.
>So far she hasn't made any moves, just stood there ready and bantering at you, she only faces herself to keep track of you as you stalk around.
>That light of glee gives way to mischief as she 'innocently' brushes an arm against one of her breasts, conveniently angled with the cleavage window straight towards you.
>"You could always just answer the question. Don't make me come over there."
-this cheeky bitch-
>She gives that characteristic smirk and narrows her eyes, and the second she looks away from you, you take the chance and charge.
>You close the distance quickly as you hunch low and throw your arms out to go for her leg, you're sure that in your stupor lack of balance you're going to fall over, but if anything it will help you aim lower before you hit the ground.
>Which makes it all the more of a surprise when you hit something wider than your intended target, and judging by the core of iron past the plushness your head and shoulder are pushing into, and the looming sense of something large just above you: You've ran headfirst into her stomach.
>She gives a hearty grunt, and barely even moves. Before you can remove your clasp over her back and scuttle away, her burly arms brace over your stomach and lock you into her.
>"Nice try pipsqueak!"
"Oh shIT!"
>You feel her lifting you off the ground by your stomach as everything goes topside down, she allows herself to fall backwards while throwing you over her shoulder and using the fulcrum of that movement to carry you with her.

>Both of you hit the carpet, the impact isn't damaging due to the roll of your hunched back, but it knocks the wind out of your lungs.
>"HA HA hah ha ha!"
>She certainly sounds like she's having the time of her life, but what about you?
>With a mental check over, you find nothing is damaged, or at least not enough to raise an alarm, you're just winded.
>You have to commend the girl, she baited you perfectly, she must have squatted lower before you hit to catch you with her middle where she's strongest. And you fell for it like a complete idiot. Still, She could have absolutely thrown you around, but went for a softer side instead.
>You're starting to see the appeal of this, a low exhilaration comparable to a fight, with almost none of the danger.
>You feel her grapple has slid upwards onto your chest, less of a grapple now, more of her crossed hands just resting on your chest.
>Taking the opportunity to break away, you grab both of her wrists and lever her hands upward by pressing your thumb into the back of her wrist and using your pointer and middle against her palm, levering them backwards as you scoot down across the floor to gain distance.
>"aaaAAH-TCH."
>Probably not the most comfortable for her, but it slips you away from her reach over her head enough that you can sit yourself up.
>Looking back, you find Teth'ra starting to pick herself up with one hand pushing the floor and the other hanging resting by an upraised knee.
>She's slower to pick herself up, and you press in with the advantage to attack from behind.
>You snake your left arm under her chin and pull it back against her throat while bracing your forearm in a lock with your right elbow, putting her in a chokehold.
>No matter how large she is, she still needs air, you just have to keep locked over her until she gives the signal that you win.
>Your hope that she's not that obstinate is quickly turned to concern as she continues rising, clasping her hands around your arm and tugging hard at it.
"Come on, just because I'm small doesn't mean I can't beat you, say uncle!"
>She gives a low growl as she continues rising, and her back hunches under your chest. You do not need to go through this again.
"Give!"
>She's not listening, and with a sickeningly familiar lurch similar to the one you felt during your first crash, she tucks forward into a duck, throwing you off as your hold breaks.
"Fuuuuuck!"
>You land on your back again, seems it's starting to become a theme with her.
-hmmmm-
>Don't you start!
>While you aren't hating this, being thrown around twice now isn't exactly fun. Your lungs got knocked out again, so you take a second to breathe.
>"Ha! Nice try!"
>Between the struggle to fully catch your breath again, the blood rushing from the tumble, and her tone, you can't tell if she's just being facetious.
"Don't you patronize me woman!"
>"Nah- Ya gave a good shot, I'm just better."
>You relinquish your squint to try and offer a retort, but freeze cold at the shock awaiting your eyes.
>Two heaving breasts hang just inches above your face, squeezed together in the loose binding of a white tanktop about 4 sizes too small before it was stretched to hell like a sports bra. Two pointy nubs show themselves clear as day through the fabric, she definitely isn't wearing a bra.
>You can feel a buzzing starting down below, and you pour smoke on it even as your face erupts into shameful flame. They wobble as she crawls over you, and you get an eyeful of the cushioned hills of her softened stone stomach as she moves further forward.

>The pillars of her legs look absolutely monolithic from this angle, and you can't avoid staring upward along the herculean swell of her thighs.
>She pauses as her hips stand above you, and you realize with a snap that she's planning to lock your head in with her legs.
>You rush in a deep breath and pull your legs into you before you're out of time, you can already see her starting to lower towards a position where her thighs can snap shut around your head. You did not want to be thrusted in so close to those mountains on her terms right now.
>You would never hear the end of it.
>"Now, just lie still and- hooumph"
>You have just enough space to press your feet into her middle, and you strain your legs hard to raise her off of you.
>It seems she wasn't expecting you to be this flexible, and she does little other than offer strained groans as you manage to press your legs further outwards, raising her thighs away from the beartrap position they almost had on you.
>You can feel her abdomen shifting against your footing as she continues belting out stout grunts to voice her obvious discomfort and astonishment.
>You finally manage to pivot her forward and push yourself back with the strength in your arms, dropping your support of her completely a little ways off the floor.
>She impacts with a hearty thud and a loud grunt, flopping flat onto her stomach. At least she has impact protection.
>You pause again to catch your breath, lifting that much woman off of you was straining, but you felt like you accomplished something in turning the tables on Teth'ra twice now.
>You could see her tail lazily wag even as she gathered her bearings, she really does think of this like a game, and is absolutely determined to still have fun with it.
>The mood is infectious, as despite yourself, you find a smile creeping across your skin.
"Heh hehehehaha hah ha ha! Not so high and mighty now, are ya?"
>"Hnhnhn hah hah ha. Tricky bastard, I am gonna getchya good for that."
"Bring it-"
>You feel something clamp around your calves, and look down to see you're not exactly clear of her legs.
>Interlocking your calves with hers, she rolls to the left before you can get your bearings and manages to turn you about onto your front.
>Just as quickly she releases you, and you realize that she's using the opportunity to get back on her feet. You scramble forward to try and beat her to the punch.
>Managing to regain your feet under yourself and not falling over, you whirl about to find Teth'ra wearing a wide grin and a still wagging tail.
>You're back at square one again, but as long as she's not throwing you, you're actually kind of having fun with this. Maybe it's the liquor talking.
>So you turned the tables twice, and got a more than graceful look at her ample body. A few things did seems to occur as oddities to you, even with the booze.
>Why did she crawl over you for the leglock? Was that little show on purpose?
>There was also some odd smell you picked up for a second just before you managed to lift her off you, but for all you know it's just that whiskey playing tricks on you.
>Her teasing (if it is teasing) persists regardless, as her eyes shine with a salacious gleam.
>"Come on, I know we're both drunk, but maybe you can pull another fast one on me. Don't be scared. Come a little closer~"
>The whiskey is settling onto her heavily, and the giggling that comes after her little taunt still paints the picture of a friendly, if teasing, bout.
>You can't be sure of things yourself, as that stuff seems to be kicking your ass harder than you remember.

>This time, Teth'ra decides to make the more aggressive move, she steps towards you to test your reflexes as you scuttle a step or two in response.
>You're just waiting for the step that turns into a lunge.
>That doesn't mean you can't fuck with her a little in revenge for those throws.
"You wanna say something, angel? Or are you too scared?"
>Consideration dons her muzzle as she seems to stop and try to recall on something.
>"Uhhhh... I, uhm."
>She seems to distracted to keep track of her ears, they turn fully towards you and you read what visible flesh is there as redder than marker lights.
>That is definitely how she blushes, a fact you are more than willing to wave in front of her to set her off balance.
"Hnhnhn ha ha ha ha!"
>"W-what?"
"I figured out how you blush."
>She stares, waiting for some sort of confirmation to append her anxiety.
>You smear the cockiest grin you can manage across your face, and tap at your ear three times.
"Come at me with those christmas lights of yours."
>The look in her eyes turns intent, and a growl that seems playful in tone rumbles out of her throat.
>Now you're baiting her, and you plan to try and muddy her footwork and get in behind her again, as it's obvious you won't last in a head on clash.
>Better option might just be dodging out of her way and trying to curtail that momentum into working against her.
>But maybe you can somehow blend both options into one...
>"Ooooh, you think you're funny, huh?"
"Out-fuckin-rageous, fruitcake."
-and there she goes-
>That did the trick!
>The jackal barrels at you with all of the hard charging prowess of a linebacker, and your instincts to the related sport kick in.
>You fake her towards adjusting one way and then move the other, this time with an extra twist. You grab near her shoulder into the warm plush of her fur, and stamp your foot into the floor, rotating on your heel and pulling against her to change her direction.
>"Gaaaeah! *gasp*"
>She's too off guard to resist, at the apex of your pivot, you lunge backwards, tugging her hard to offset her balance just as you let go.
>"*Yip!*"
>With a shrill alarm bark, she stumbles out of your swing, but admirably manages to avoid falling over by catching herself a few times despite how dicey her footing looks.
>She stands to catch her breath a second, but she still visibly leans off kilter, dizzy from the erratic swing in direction.
>If you can bait her into trying to move for you again, you can probably set her further off balance, leaving her open for someway you could come up with to restrain her and claim victory.
>Gotta love it when a plan comes together. You try to get her going for another pass by goading at her pride.
"Awww, whatsamatter? Does little 'ol me have you off balance?"
>"S-Smartass!"
>"You just don't want to admit yer gonna lose to a humie half your size."
>She gives a boasting growl and thumps her fists on her waist, here she comes again.
>You did not give her enough time to think that this is exactly what you wanted. This time you actually forgo the fake out, and she changes direction opposite you like she was expecting it again. You take advantage to grapple her again, this time your hands land on her front, and you grip hard to wheel her about again.
>"Nghaaah~!"

>You let her wheel away with another tug, and have to wonder at those noises she's making after you let go.
>"Ahn~!"
-wait a second-
>...Is that what you thought it was?
>Teth'ra skids to a halt, stumbling and wavering, her knees shake and her mouth hangs open as she visibly pants. You can see minor shivering elsewhere on her body, and her tail is going all sorts of places now.
>Thinking back on it, your left hand found purchase on something unusually soft that last time, and you squeezed it hard as your hand just seemed intent to bury into it.
>...
>You grabbed her tit.
-nice-
>She might beg to differ, especially judging by how shaken up she looks, but the noises... was she enjoying it?
>You-you actually, grabbed her breast... and the damn thing felt like heated velvet.
>You hope you didn't hurt her tugging on her teat like that.
-maybe there's a wetspot now~-
>Down!
"Teth?... Ya alright?"
>You pause a bit as she beams you with a stare, something more glints in her eyes, but that warm smile makes it seem like she's okay.
>"Heh! I'm fine, just a lil' accident. No big."
>She's still very enthusiastic, her tail is wagging as hard as ever, even if you can swear it's going along a higher arc than before.
>Maybe that sort of thing really doesn't mean as much to anthros.
>"Come on short stuff, show me what ya got!"
>Definitely doesn't really matter to her, guess the liquor just made her vocal. Her challenges stir your competitive side towards action, this isn't done until it's done.
>Cutting right back to the chase, she charges forward, and you have to laugh at her absurd enthusiasm.
>This time she's tricky, and staggers her approach more, helped by her own dizziness that's still clinging to her.
>You have no idea if she's accounting for the fake out this time or not, and it's looking like a coin flip.
>Might as well take the extra step, she is buzzed, so maybe she won't recognize the pattern.
>You fake out and lunge the other direction, but she abruptly pushes in the same direction.
>She doesn't crash into you directly, but it's not a miss either. She sweeps her arms forward for a grab, you manage to duck out of the way to her side and spin at just the right time to grapple her yourself, bracing your right over her chest just under the neck.
>But you feel a lurching sensation again as your legs tangle in with eachother, and suddenly you're both falling into the floor.
>"Oh-"
"shit!"
>"-shit!"
>You use your brace to pull yourself prone against her back as she tumbles forward, hitting the floor with an even heavier thump.
>She manages to stagger her fall with her arms but it's not exactly gentle on you.
>Your head swims, you pause to gather your bearings as your own trick backfired and gave you a minor case of whiplash.
>You're still on Teth's back. if you can just get a good enough hold that she can't sha-oh no.
>The jackal clamps a hand over your arm to keep you on her, as she rolls over with a grunt of exertion.
>nononononoNO-
>You brace for a sensation of your bones starting to pop as her weight starts rolling on top of you.
>It's hard to keep the air in your lungs as your chest shakes, and the pressure settles all over you. Much to your surprise, you don't feel anything collapsing.
>She's heavy, good lord is she heavy, her dead weight alone could keep you pinned, but it's not impossible to squirm your way out of this... if it was easier to breath.
>If you can just lever enough of her off you to lift one side, you can maybe roll with her and break away this time to get some breathing room.

>"Give up yet?"
>You detect the cocksure swagger of someone who's assured themselves they just won, not that it's hard for her to think she did with her laying over top of you.
>Your left hand is somewhere near where she feels the heaviest, and suck in as much air as you can through clenched teeth to roll her off of you.
"HNNNG!"
>You heave your left arm upwards into the mass of flesh it's currently resting under, and you squeeze hard to secure a good point for lifting her off.
>Whatever you're pushing against feels more like nylon than her fur and is rather pliable.
>"AhrrrRRRrrrRRRrrr~!"
>OH GODDAMMIT, YOU DID IT AGAIN!
>You would have to ponder what exactly that half moaning, half growling noise was later, right now you just needed her OFF.
>She arches her back, relieving the pressure on your ribs, enabling you to gasp in a second wind and keep pushing.
>In her lapsed concentration, she releases your other arm too. Fuck it, this works!
>You manage to get her up onto her side enough that the effort required slides off dramatically, and you roll with her.
>She flops onto her stomach and you keep going, completely freeing yourself of her and spinning yourself away to catch your breath.
>You stop on your back with an exasperated groan, your lungs feel agitated, you're now a bit sore, and you just groped your best friend twice.
>mental note: apologize for groping her when you don't feel like you're dying
-drama queen-
>Ah shut up!
>Being under what must be close to a quarter ton of royal jackal woman is nothing to sneeze at.
>Which is why you have to stare at the ceiling in dread as you hear movement rapidly closing in from your left.
>Teth'ra rolls herself next to you, before springing into a more upright stance, landing near your groin as she hems you in with her legs over yours.
>She leans forward and uses your biceps to stand her upper body on. With your limbs pressed into the floor and her weight sitting on your legs, you're pinned.
>A triumphant smile curls her muzzle as she tried to speak through her heaving panting.
>"CAUGHT YA!"
>That she did, you really don't have the energy to fight her anymore.
>"Ya done squirming yet, ya little worm?"
>Even if you could somehow slip her at this point, exhaustion has dragged weights onto your limbs. She's tired you out.
"Alright, alright... Fine, you win... Get off me."
>"I don't think so."
"Wha?"
>"You... Put me through a lot... You've been up to a lot of mischief... and I think you need a little punishment."
>She bends her elbows to lean down lower, spreading a wide, toothy grin. Her panting becomes more measured, and a gleam appears in her eye.
>Your thundering heart clenches a little on one of its contractions, producing a shot of pain in your chest.
>The reason for that being that gleam in those usually welcoming blues looks hungry.
>You tense your arms a little in an attempt to maybe move her as she leans in closer.
"Uhhh. Teth?"
>She stares at you, the visage on her snout looking more and more predatory. Trying to lift with your legs gets you nowhere, a sluggish exhaustion drags them down, and her weight keeps them on the floor.
>You can't see that warmth, and your mind races over the possibilities of 'punishment'.
>Maybe she's just fucking around, you're sure she'll stop if you voice your mounting worry...
"Teth'ra?!"
>The corners of her mouth curl up, with a breath, her muzzle plunges down towards you, mouth open, fangs wide.
>The glint of teeth
>You squint your eyes shut, and wrench your neck towards the side and hiking your shoulders to try and hide it.
>The wave of a thrash coils through your body, but nothing produces any results beyond fruitless squirming. You can't throw an arm up for the predator to take instead of your life.
>You force a rush of cold air into your lungs to scream.
>Tremors wrack your tensed body as you brace for the end.

>...
>It does not come...
>A shrill whine comes from above you. Like a dog, abandoned and despairing.
>The heat from a wash of breath flows over your throat, and you feel something slide over the bump of your adam's apple, gliding up into the base of your jaw before departing.
>A sensation that was smooth and wet.
"d-d... d-d-did.. d-did you just li-"
>You're stopped dead in your stuttering as you turn back upwards and your eyes meet a pair of brilliant azure lakes absolutely wracked with guilt, but there is such a familiar, warm sincerity behind them that their owner can speak nothing but the truth of the heart.
>The jackals lips peal open, and her concern laden voice calls a song that strikes you deep within a place you haven't named in years.
>"I would never hurt you."
>Your heart stirs in a way you haven't felt... since Carmen.
>Teth'ra sounds absolutely distraught.
"...Teth."
>Her grip slides off of your arm and forces itself under your back as she lets herself down and embraces you tightly.
>"I'm sorry!... OH Gods, I'm Sorry! I didn't mean to do that to you."
>She was so quick to stop because she scared you. Her care runs that deeply. Something in your chest flutters in the tumult of emotion.
"Hey! Hey! It's not your fault."
>"I know, but I went too far!"
>You hug her close as she breathes deeply, rubbing gently along her back to calm her. Slowly, her breath steadies.
>"I'm sorry."
"You were drunk, you weren't thinking that far ahead."
>...
>"*sniff* I-I guess you're right, I just thought that-"
"Shhhh. It's okay, I'm fine, you just gave me a scare. It's okay."
>You hold her close for a while, just letting her breathe out the tension, she didn't mean any harm, but she's so hard on herself for it.
>Eventually, she breaks from you and slowly stands both of you up.
>"I-I should go to bed, we can uhh. We can talk about this in the morning."
"Do you want me t-"
>"No, nono... I'll get some blankets, you can sleep down here on the couch, only bed is upstairs and uh... I won't fit on that. Sorry."
"Teth!"
>She refuses to met your eyes.
"Look at me."
>Timidly, she raises them, and you catch them in your own eyes.
"Don't beat yourself up over this. I forgive you."
>She nods, stills shrinking away from your gaze and saying nothing.
"I'm fine with sharing the bed. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning. Now let's just get some sleep."
>You wanted to tell her it was all okay, it was just your personal shortfalls acting up again, but some confused storm brewed in your chest, swaying your heart this way and that. To top it off you developed a pressing headache that refused to let you think, there really was no choice but to sleep it off.
>With great trepidation, the jackal leads you upstairs at your coaxing, eventually coming to the master bedroom with a king sized bed absolutely smothered in silk sheets and faux-fur comforters, it looked more like a nesting of blankets than just a mattress.
>The jackal shuffles away from you as you still read the melancholy clinging to her. She manages to tuck herself into the far side of the bed, shuffling herself deep into the covers before flicking off the warm glow of a bedside lamp.
>You join her, settling into the near side by the glow of the only active light source left in the house.
>Once you've thrown the heap of blankets over yourself, you notice that she seems to have focused heavily on a soft, warm feeling from all of these pseudo-fur comforters. Almost like she tried to simulate sleeping with a group of furred bodies, even if it's just you and her.
>You flick off the light, and are greeted by a barely audible goodnight from the jackal.
>Poor Teth'ra...
>You just want to hold her close.
>And tell her some of these confused feeling swelling under your chest.
>Rest calls for you, dragging you down as you're surrounded by warmth and faux-fur.
>That song from almost a month ago calls back into your head.
>If you had to hope that you don't fall in love... wasn't it already too late?
>She may be a jackal, she may be twice your size, and she may be very confusing to deal with at times.
>But maybe those lines can cross.

[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]


'The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.'

-Douglas MacArthur

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>- .... . -.-- / .- .-. . / --. --- .. -. --. / - --- / -... . / .--. ..- .-.. .-.. .. -. --. / --- ..- - / - .... . / ... - --- .--. ... / --- ...- . .-. / - .... .. ...
>.. / . ...- . -. / .... . .- .-. -.. / -. .. --. .... - / .-.. .. --. .... - / .. ... / -... . .. -. --. / .- -.-. - .. ...- .- - . -..

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>- .... . / .. -... . .-. .. .- -. / .-- .- .-.. .-.. / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / .... --- .-.. -.. ...
>- .... . / -.. .- .-- ... --- -. / .-. .- .. -.. / .-- .- ... / .-.. .- ..- -. -.-. .... . -.. / .--- ..- ... - / - .... .. ... / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --.
>.-- . / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / .... .- ...- . / --- .--. - .. --- -. ...
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Chapter 8: Precious Quiet

>A gentle, floating sort of warmth, Everything just... sits, tranquil, pristine.
>The air holds no buzz, no murmuring, no thrum.
>Every part of you is at peace, there is no tension, no worry.
>Except for the unshakable feeling that you've been here before.
>The bed seems a little too perfect, like you've worn your notch into it from night after night of rest, despite everything around you looking spotless.
>The warmth of the summer hearth filtering in through an unseen window is bright, but doesn't agitate your eyes. As if some unseen hand installed a dimmer switch on the sun and spent a few hours nudging it into just the right setting.
>As you stare at the ceiling in contemplation, you wonder why all of this is somehow plucking at a sense of familiarity.
>And a distant feeling of dread...
>It's not the home you know, the aroma in the air is different, no trace of the usual vices. Everything is too clean, and you can't hear the usual movement of a living city through the walls.
>As something stirs outside the window, briefly disrupting the light, a memory snaps out of the shade.
>Of course...
>It's taunting you again. Showing you this facsimile of the perfect life you can't have with plywood walls and a paper heart on a string.
>Your chest sinks as you breath out again, waiting for the game to end, for these prop walls to fall away into the night so you can be force fed your sampling of misery.
>That's what it wants, what it's always wanted, to sap your spirit.
>To see you give in.... And finally recognize there's no point in struggling for what you can't have.
>You can hear a shuffling breaking the pristine silence, heavy, soft steps echoing from somewhere outside of your cell.
>That warm haze is probably approaching, being puppeted around to keep up the illusion that anyone is here besides yourself.
>Come to think of it, the stand-in didn't have footsteps before, it just appeared at the door without protest.
>Those small voices outside weren't there this time. The light filtering in through the curtains is brighter than before, and the ceiling bears a different shade of paint.
>Irrelevant changes to be sure, just bait to set off your curiosity and prompt you into tripping the wire.
>Maybe if you just lie still, and don't look, then you can fool it long enough to wake up without having to go through the rest of the motions.
>The steps wander around the 'house' some more before coming to a soft halt at where you assume the door is.
>You would double check, but the fear sitting on your throat scratches that craning your neck forward will snap some invisible thread drawn over your larynx.
>Not sure if the entity would somehow recognize you're awake when it enters, you meter your breathing to simulate sleep; hoping it will just go right back out and leave you alone.
>A soft scratching and a click, the door swings open with a whispering creak, and you can feel that vague, fuzzy warmth creeping around your core again.
>You can already see the ghost of it, some peach haze that just floats in the doorway pretending at being alive, because even your subconscious can't fabricate 'the one'.
>A broken imagination for a broken man.
>But it's not leaving, and there's something else there, some feeling familiar beyond this torment.
>The minutes crawl by, you hear the air occasionally shift with a breath, or a soft tap on the doorframe. Gentle grabs at your attention to lure you to the honeypot.
>It's more life like than before, shinier bait, but bait nonetheless.
>You aren't moving.
>...
>And the dream isn't ending.
>It seems intent to force your hand if you want to leave.
>...might as well. You know what's on the horizon, and you're sure it can't throw anything worse at you.
>Time to step in line.
>You crane your neck forward, ready to feel the snapping of thread and the rush of ice as the walls fall away, but as you look up you lay eyes on the figure in the doorway.
>The grey fuzz has a voluminous, curving shape, and stares back at you with glimmering blue gems.
>It's.... Her?

*
>Your breath jumps softly as you try to decode the warm blur of colors your half open eyes greet you with.
>Some dull sensation grips at the back of your head. It's a distant, but discouraging distraction, and you shutter your eyes closed again.
>At least you're warm.
>Very warm.
>The heat has seeped into your core, soothing your heart and relaxing your being, you feel perfectly content to just lie here and forgot about... whatever it was you were supposed to do.
>A warm wall presses against you on your right, and you feel surrounded on all sides by warm fur.
>Wait...
>Fur?
>You remember a dense nesting of faux fur blankets, the jackal's attempt at providing a comfortable respite.
>Comfortable was the right word, and her attempt was a success. She's usually prompt about her business, so you figure she'll wake you up when it's time to go.
>The breath in your lungs coasts out with a dreaming sigh as you settle your head back into the soft warmth of your pillow. It shifts to cradle you, quivering slightly as you hear a faint murmur from above you.
>Another presence in bed breaths deep, murmuring more and moaning out a sigh... as the dense, warm mass under you rises in time with her breath.
>...
>You dare to creep an eye open.
>Grey. A bountiful lake of grey with faded white shores.
>Oh Christ.
>This situation is starting to edge on familiar, and you aren't sure how to feel about that.
>But is she awake?
>She might kill you if she's waking up.
>Nervously hiking your shoulders, you creep your gaze upward, being careful not to move too much, because judging by the sensation of warm iron barring across your back, she's pulled you into this hold in her sleep.
>You lay eyes on her muzzle, and find by the serene expression glazing her closed eyes, and the content smile on her lips, she's still fast asleep.
>Another murmur, her mouth nips at nothing, and she stirs slightly. Pleasant dreams that have you seeing echoes of your old girl back home.
>You miss that mutt, but at least she seemed to give you some tricks and relevant experience to use with Teth'ra.
>Tricks like finding the right spot to scratch to help out her emotional quibbles.
>It's cute really, watching this furred brickhouse of a woman 'hunt' in her sleep like a pup.
>Wait...cute? Her?!
>The novelty of it almost has your head spinning. She has sharp fangs, goring claws, legendary senses, primal instincts, and was strong enough that she could likely snap you in half.
>A trained killer, a warhound that carried a gun almost as large as your torso... and you found her cute.
>Adorable even, as she mumbles something before her sleepy grin goes from content to outright goofy.
>As her leg twitches, you have to wonder what saccharine little scenario is currently playing out in her head.
>And if it involves you somehow.
>You did end up dreaming about her, if only superficially.
>What could it even mean? Her presence in that dream, and how the more nightmarish parts of it refused to show this time.
>Something to think on after you slip yourself out of another awkward situation. Last thing you need is another repeat of the morning before Cache Creek.
>Come to think of it, neither of you really acknowledged that since it happened, which was fine with you.
>She mumbles something again, and you shift to feel out where her arms are around you.
>Her hold on you is nice and loose, so if you just pull far enough away, you can shimmy out without disturbing her and then go about the morning routine to keep your mind occupied.

>A new problem rears its head as you consider your options, however gently, due to her size and how close you are to her, you're going to have to push off of her.
>Meaning if she's ticklish or not that heavy a sleeper, your little mission is doomed from the start.
>The plan from your dream reemerges, if she stirs awake then you can just pretend at being asleep. In her morning haze she may not be keen enough to pick out the fine details.
>You wander your hand around over her middle, gently brushing at her fur and watching her face closely to see the effect.
>It's doing *something*, she continues her aimless nips at the air while murmuring out a subdued bark
>So far, so good, you bury your hand a little deeper in the sugary feeling silk of her fur, not making an effort to really push in yet.
>The rich fluff doesn't extend out that far, but it is dense, and immediately her response ratchets up a little.
>Teth belts out a series of muffled, quiet moaning sounds as she turns her snout upwards, flashing a wide fanged smile. Her tail is lazily wagging as you hear the limb brushing the sheets.
>You've discovered one of her good spots, but you think better on it and migrate your hand towards her side.
>If she produces a more subdued reaction, then that would be your likely hold for worming your way out of her grip.
>Her nipping turns to snapping as you test it, and she squirms a hair, her breathing jumping towards something resembling laughter.
>Her sides are ticklish, so it's back to her belly, after you pull away your hand to allow her a reprieve. You can't push it or she might wake up.
>Teth's grin subsides back into that quiet smile as she settles into her pillow, and you take the opportunity to push a hand in and rest it across her stomach.
>Briefly she starts up again with some happy whine before uncoiling into rest.
>The feel of her is different, very different.
>The plush silk of her fur envelops your hand, and the flesh underneath gives in with a comfortable softness, settling against a steely core that shifts gently under your touch with her breathing.
>The plan was straightforward, just push away a little, and then slip downwards out of her grip. Then you could just settle in at the other side of the bed and go back to sleep.
>No awkward mornings, no errant touches in the wrong spot.
-No difficult questions-
>...
>You can't think on that, it'll just throw you off.
>You just gotta squirm your way out without waking her, no big deal.
>You whisper pliantly to try and offer some sort of appeasement to her unconscious so she stays in slumber.
"Okay big girl..."
>Pushing in gently, she moans a little as you shuffle against her arms to loosen her hold.
"...Easy does it."
>Pause. look up. Is she stirring out of it?
>She's turned her head back upwards so you can't see her eyes past her muzzle to check, but as you hold your breath, she settles back into the unresponsive daze.
>Just a little further and you can easily slide out from behind her arms, you really don't even need to risk pushing against her stomach anymore.
>A crest of relief prompts a slight smile and a whispered quip as you shuffle away.
"Now just let go an-HMMMmmm!"
>As soon as you back against her arms, a lazy growl rumbles from her throat and she wrenches you back in, squeezing you tightly against her.
>This time the warm mass of comfort holding you in bed is physical rather than just the sense of your own laziness.
>You pause, thinking maybe the sensation of something pulling away from her embrace triggered some reflex, and if you still yourself her grip will loosen.
>Her deadlock over your back holds firm, and she even shifts, angling her shoulders down and bringing her legs up, curling herself around you.
>Mission failed... And the dread sets in that she's waking up. You listen against the hush of the airvents in the house, but she merely sighs dreamily before stilling again... still asleep.
>There's no way you're getting out now.
"What is it with you and not letting go?"
>A rhetorical question towards a slumbering giant holding on to you like a teddy bear.
>Your life had gotten more than just strange ever since you left home.

>Seeing as how she continues to gently snore, you start recounting.
>You were there the night the sky turned bright as day with an endless autumn fire, and watched through the window as an unending tide of gunmetal swam through the streets to meet it.
>It wasn't too long before the draft came to your neighborhood. Basic training wasn't the massive trial you thought it would be, but you struggled through the mud like everyone else.
>The time at the motorpool saw some ghost of normalcy, if it wasn't for the shuddering explosions a few miles away at the front.
>Then you met Willard, and your life turned on its head.
>Sent off to academy on the recommendation of a squadron captain, learning the new and intricate technologies behind iron giants.
>Strapped in and struggling through your first steps all over again, and heeding the words of an old german espousing his doctrine on artillery and barrage fire.
>At least you didn't fall, and the finesse behind handling the big guns just seemed to click.
>You started a bit of a repertoire with the old man, he believed you a natural talent, and you respected him for what he had to teach you.
>Soon he left you with a few extra tricks, and back to the front you went, to officially join the 512 as their newest pilot.
>The new stripes of a master sergeant were a welcome change of pace, now you had a bit of weight to your words to throw around.
>Small comforts when you felt increasingly uneasy about actually taking up the fight, you always told yourself you were fighting in your own way, behind the lines, but talk like that was cheap now.
>Through the haze of violence, they became like brothers to you.
>The brothers you never had, before they were torn away.
>Before your mental ramblings can spiral down to be any more dire, she squeezes again, throwing a leg over yours and making an unconscious effort to huddle you in closer to her.
>Not able to distract yourself anymore, a wave of warmth floods out of your already fluttering heart.
>How the hell does she keep doing that?
>That first night when you met her, and she carried you outside to talk, saying just the right things.
>The way she secured you when your nerves raised in fear.
>She was always there. When you needed that reassuring hand, those kind words, that warm embrace.
>The big girl didn't even waste any time with words after the crushing weight of gravecall, she just held you close to her to wash away the cold.
>Then after Cache Creek, she was eager to see you safe, and her presence managed to shoo away the waking nightmares in the corners of your vision. A detail you failed to notice at the time.
>And after you relived the hell of that encounter that so haunted you, she was still not unwilling to help, even as you were straining her patience.
>Your angel...
>Maybe there was more truth in those two words than you ever realized.
>You were of half a mind to reach around and feel her back for a pair of wings.
>The silk of her fur ruffles under your touch as your hands slide up her sides and... wait, the fuck are you doing?
-going mental?-
>Lying in a plush bed under a massive lump of faux-fur blankets, pinned against a giant jackal by her habit of cuddling in her sleep, and feeling around her back for a pair of celestial wings that couldn't possibly exist.
>What sane man would be doing that?
>Coupled with the things plaguing your own subconscious, and that swirling heat dancing in your ribs, you didn't have much ground to stand on to defend your sense of stability.
>Teth'ra stirs briefly with a happy moan as you think. Her embrace over you tightens further, pinning your arms square to your side.
>The heat grows, and not just from her further burying you into her body.
>It's a feeling that to your growing anxiety, is familiar.
>A stirring dripping with memory, both joyous and painful, and more memory is prompted from hiding by the sensation. Last night you and her got close, prompted by the fugue of alcohol to get more than just comfortable.
>That warm, smothering feeling from her throwing her thigh over your leg shakes out more from the dull ache you're now aware is inhabiting your head.
>The things you talked about, the way she loosed into her truer colors, that boundless playful energy when you accepted her challenge... and the noises she made...
>She curls in on you further, and you feel a slight prodding ruffling through your hair as she again breathes that happy sighing, like a...-
-lover in the afterglow...-

>Your breath catches in your throat, and a wave of intense heat washes over your face. You can feel the tempo of your heart growing stronger.
>She wanted more than just some time away from her business. It wasn't just some juvenile urge to compete that drove her to grapple with you.
>And the noises...
>Oh hell, the noises...
>She was enjoying it, and you were so caught up in the haze of liquor and confusion, you weren't even thinking on if YOU were enjoying it as well.
>...
>She was on top of you...
>Laying overtop of you...
>If you had lost control, she would have felt it pressing against her backside, and that's not something easily forgotten even after a hangover.
>Thinking on it, her grabs at you may have been attempts to *repay* your own accidental gropings in kind.
>The almost predatory look that grew in her eyes was a different kind of hunger. Something less primal. Something more personal.
>Oh christ.
>And when she had you pinned...
>A lump of heat glides up your throat, as if attempting to replicate the sensation.
>What did that even mean to her?
>What experience you have isn't of much help, with your old gal back home, that was just a showing of trust and familiarity, but a common dog Teth'ra is not.
>Was it something similar? Some mark of deep kinship? Or is it a message that she thinks of you as a... a partner?
>Your intuition leans towards the third option, even as the growing heat under your chest protests. After all what is a small lick like that if not a measure of affection like a peck on the cheek?
>...
>But why you?
-you aren't worth the trouble-
>You feel her tense briefly, pulling you out of the rattling swell of emotion and guesswork.
>The jackal stretches backwards, and produces a sort of muffled whining sound in what is undeniably the canine imitation of a yawn.
>Shit!
>She's waking up...
>Your instincts suggest tightening up for a defense, tensing up like last time, ready to bolt, but you're far too close and you fight against the urge.
>Pretending at being asleep should solve another awkward morning, so you try to relax into playing the dead fish despite that nervous tick to hunker down or flee.
>You know her, she wouldn't do anything to you. This is what... the fourth time now?
>Against your better judgments, you let your weight fall where it may, settling smoothly against the curve of her body, your cheek sinking just a little further into the 'pillow' to your growing shame.
>Now you have a different sort of problem.
>Your shame is growing.
>This time you don't even have the comfort and excuse of a morphine cocktail weakening your resolve.
>The heat of her body bleeds into your own, flushing your being further with a sense of intimacy that refused to be ignored.
>You read somewhere that most anthros maintain a higher internal body temperature than humans do, and between herself and the blankets; Teth'ra was like a small furnace.
>The heat was making it difficult to distinguish what was the warmth of the bed and what was your own stirring.
>You do realize that lightening feeling down below indicating captain richards is coasting down the runway with the throttle open, the traitor.
>Flexing your legs to starve the sortie of fuel, you hoped dearly it actually worked, because somehow you could see the big girl teasing you about a successful takeoff with little relent once you 'woke up'.
>You didn't crack when she was in her skivvies and you were loaded with morphine sulfate and whatever other miraculous medical reagents science could offer to smother your better senses, and you aren't going to let your base instincts drive now. You're in control of yourself dammit.

>The struggle is hard fought, and even unconsciously she seems to strike back against your efforts at holding your delicately balanced composure.
>It's far too late to move your head, and her morning daze has your 'pillow' swelling up and down as she yawns.
>You would admit the almost squeaky sound of her yawning is cute, it's something to pull your attention away from the bed of corpulent, supple flesh you find your head cradled by... The rich swell feels so amazingly soft, the plush silk of her fur calls y-
>NO!... shit...
>So far that leg casually resting overtop yours hasn't been an issue, until the solidifying wave of stretch rolls through her, and the heavy blanket of her thigh suddenly becomes a pair of rocks pinning your legs together. Even still the feeling of being squeezed like that is doing weird things to your bloodflow, and threatening to send you over the tilt.
-those things could pop a melon-
>no, bad!
>You curl your toes in desperation. You can't send things careening into a repeat of that morning before Cache Creek, not after what you talked about last night... What you did last night.
>Drunkenly cracking some sexually charged quips at some idiot sitcom? The way both of your gazes were ensnared by the net when the onscreen pairing of jackal and human shared a kiss? Chatter about your past loves? That bought up connotations you don't even want to think about, not now.
>She shifts a little, and now you're dreadfully aware of her belly sliding underneath yours as she continues her stretch with a massive yawn.
>You can't help but be drawn into the depression she leaves in the mattress, and the feeling of coasting fur presses around your sensitive spot, before it sinks in enough that something more solid bumps it, prompting a shock of electric feeling, and a sudden revving of the throttle.
>You bite down in response, holding in a grunt and briefly tensing everything to kill that drive.
-so soft... but so strong... maybe she's not that bad, hmm?-
>Shit!
>Distractions! fucking distractions dammit! Think! Just think!
>The thread of last night continues in your mind's eye, it's not ideal but you seize on it.
>Then there was truth or dare, Truth or fucking Dare! Like a couple of college kids stumbling face first into love.
-love huh?-
>Christ, stop!
>The torture of the jackal's stretch stops, and she relaxes, pushing you back into a less compromised position and relenting the industrial strength press that was pinning your legs. You sorely wish you could breath deep to stabilize yourself, but that would just blow your cover.
>Settling for hesitantly coasting out a heated breath, you listen as she orients herself, and then nail your eyes shut as she pauses with a hissing inhale.
>The fog must have lifted from her senses, because by your count that can only mean she's also become keenly aware of your awkward situation.
>Keeping your contingency in motion, you arrest any and all signs of tension in your body and keep your breathing slow and lazy.
>You just have to hope to god that she doesn't notice, and that you can hold your dog down.
-maybe she could help with that. She must have an amazing grip~-
>please shut up.... bastard.
>The air is so still now you can make out her mumbling something.
>"oh.... shit..."
>At least she seems surprised and flustered as well, small comforts.
>Least that's what you're hoping for, if she gets any funny ideas you might just have another episode.
>Even against her 'cushioning' you can feel her shifting her shoulders to take a look around, the whole while continuing to swear under her breath.
>"uhhhh..... fuck. Okay..."
>You can feel the stony presence of her arms slowly uncoiling from their hold as she contemplates what to do. You can only imagine the wave of questions and confused feelings running through her own head right now, and what plan of action is attempting to percolate through the storm of embarrassment.
>For your own sake, the best helping hand you can lend her in the effort to disentangle is to keep pretending at being asleep, despite your sensitivity to so many of her movements.
>"Alright, PLEASE be a heavy sleeper..."
>She acts quickly, very slowly lifting her leg away from yours while attempting to shuffle out the other one from underneath, hoping that the gradual absence of the sensation won't wake you.
>Every time your facade hitches a little in a peculiar breath or a reflexive twitch, she immediately pauses, and you can feel her staring down intently at you to see if she had stirred you awake.
>If only she knew.

>For such a big thing, she's being exceedingly careful, she already has her legs free and is now trying to work out how to best move your head from its perch.
>She must try a dozen different times to work some kind of angle, before withdrawing and trying again when she thinks better of it.
>You hope she finds the 'solution' soon because you don't know how much longer you can hold back that thought ricocheting in the back of your head.
>Now she comes in low, trying to sneak a hand in under your head, and you see her plan.
>A swapout like that idol you know... at least before the boulder started moving.
>Except this time she's swapping out the stand, likely ready to use a free hand to drag the pillow under you and set you back down.
>One soft mass should feel the same as another, right?
>You can feel the way her chest shifts under you as she presses in a hand to try and lever it under you, but you'll keep assuring the benefits of her doubt. It should be easy to keep up the act as long as she-
>"Mmmm-nngh!"
>...keeps quiet.
>Near instantly she swallows her breath and locks up, staring at you with a scrutiny renewed by an internal panic.
-how sensitive are these things?-
>Not now dammit!
>She's not moving, barely even breathing, you have to do something to make it look clear for her to continue.
>You were never much of a thespian beyond a talent for dodging questions, so you pray that your faked snore is convincing.
>Teth'ra gives a hearty sigh, and you can the urge to sigh in relief yourself, she can't get through with this soon enough.
>Sure enough her paw starts sliding under you. You'd be worried about the claws, but you don't even feel them, even in the morning haze she's cautious about them.
>The silky, ticklish feeling glides along your temple, and you feel there are breaks in the cottony fur, small, warm spots that demand comment on how pleasantly smooth they are.
>Her large, gentle hand cradles your head, the sensation is warm, weird, and soothing, you relax into the touch.
>Her warm hand and delightful little pawpads are oddly comforting, melting a mellow sigh out of you.
>The jackal takes a short gasp, slowing as you feel her eyes on you again.
>wait...
>oh... you fucking idiot.
>Your heart starts tightening, but soon enough she shyly continues, and you hold in your motions of relief.
>Guess she just thought it was a stirring in your sleep rather than your waking mind, she certainly made more than enough of those sorts of noises earlier.
>She makes some sort of scoffing sound as she tries her model best to keep your head still while sliding her bust out from under it.
>"hm, cute."
>You don't even need any prompting to understand she's probably wearing that gentle, ever familiar smile. This has some flapping thing near your diaphragm doing corkscrews.
>How does this woman keep having such a strong effect on you?
-Lo-
>Shut it!
>The hushed shuffling of the pillow tugs underneath you, and with the care of the ocean letting a ship settle, she lowers you onto the pillow, slipping the warmth of her paw away.
>You catch yourself missing that feeling already.
>Still, the heavy heat of her presence bathes your side, and now she's probably conceiving a way to slip out of bed without raising your notice.
>She must think you a heavy sleeper as she goes for a careful roll away from your side.
>To be fair, if you were in her position you'd likely think you were sleeping like the dead too.
>Then the weight off to your side shudders strangely, she takes a hissing inhale, and you hear the dull thump and rush of air of a hand shooting out to grab the headboard.
>Of course, she could make your act even harder to keep up by being a big klutz and almost falling off the bed.
>Again you feel her staring at you, holding her breath and waiting for you to awaken and question why she's hanging off 'your' side of the bed flush with embarrassment.
>Satisfied after another long minute, she breaths out her continuing relief at your apparent coma, and you feel the weight on the mattress carefully dismount.
>She gives another yawn, rummages through something, and then wanders around the room a bit muttering to herself. What she's talking about to herself (or you) is inaudible to your ears.
>You wish she'd hurry up and get on with her day so you can finally drop the facade.
>Another few minutes.... and finally, you hear the bathroom door followed by the muffled rushing of the shower coming on.
>Oh God finally!
>You roll over onto your back and shoot your eyes open, that dull beige painting the room had never looked quite so refreshing.
>The frustration and heat vents out in a protracted, agitated groan.
"Uuuuuuuugh... Fuck."
>Sitting up, the static air breathes a crawling chill over your skin, and you catch your reflection in the dusty mirror of an old oaken dresser by the wall.
>Your face is stained heavily with a rosy red, your hair is disheveled and in disorder, and you're already bracing your arms, shivering for the lack of such a warm body next to yours.
>What is that woman doing to you? And why is she even interested in you?
>All of these confused feelings and urges playing in thrust and countermand under your breast. Are you really attracted to her? Or is a simple lack of release to blame for your increasingly unrestrained whims?
>Either way your internal battle may sway, you have to collect yourself for the day ahead and sometime later maybe find a few hours alone to work yourself out.
>You have to be deadly certain about this.
>You've been cut too many times, and even now you're treading dangerous and shifting grounds.
>The whims of the heart...

<Teth'ra>
>You breath deep, steadying the hand over your chest and trying to mellow the tempo felt through your fingers.
>A heat stirs in you, burning to go back. He was at such peace.
>Even now there's still a pull to peek through the door and see that content comfort dressing him, but he needs his rest.
>He just looked so relaxed, sleeping there with his head on your breast.
>No flinching or uncertainty, just an undeniable security near you.
>You can't know if he shuffled over to you or if you pulled him that way in your sleep, but the fact he didn't wake up, that even unconsciously he smiled when you touched him sends warm shivers all over.
>This time he felt safe in your arms even when you weren't comforting him from his nightmares.
>However briefly, the fear wasn't there. Not even a trace
>It dances in your head, after images from your dreams, dreams of a better life, with someone right there at your side. As you saw more of who he is under the broken shale of his traumas and fears, he started fitting into that nook more easily.
>Your dreams last night were just a cozy, disjointed blur of pleasantries, but you saw him, and it was actually him, not a puppet of your libido shaped to resemble him.
>It was only a brief time, but he was standing in a garden, leaning on a shovel as the dry summer sun enraptured his face.
>He was wearing that roguish smile, with a charming air in his eyes, and peeking out from behind his knee was a curious little muzzle wearing young eyes wide with wonder and a stripe of gold on their chin. The shy little bundle of youthfully puffy fur was a shade of grey like you, but darker.
>As the light caught it, you could see traces of his deep blackened auburn mixing with your ashen grey for that marvelous color.
>And the eyes... a sparkling grey-blue, exactly like his.
>That image quickly filled you with an undeniable, complete warmth.
>Then just as quickly, the vision was gone, vanished in an autumn wind chilled with whispers of war and despair.
>You did not reach to grab it, it was only a dream, but the things you would do to realize even a fraction of that.
>The hissing water warms behind you, and you scrutinize your reflection, standing firm against itself in the large mirror dominating the wall.
>Through the smudging haze of the steam starting to coat the glass, the harder edges of your figure melt away; Your stomach softens; Your arms look just a bit thinner, more pampered; Your pillar like legs start looking more fatty from this angle; Your heavy breasts lose the texture of your fur; And the undeniable signs of strength in your wide hips fade.
>Your muzzle is too much of a smudge to make out, and your ears have vanished into the white haze on top of the mirror.
>Staring at the oily blur in the mirror, you can almost fool yourself into thinking it's human, that it's not almost eight feet tall.
>That it isn't you...
>Is this what he wants? What he would need to see when he looks at you?
>As much as a sense of melancholy wants you to say yes, other signs drag your best guesses in the opposing direction.
>You wipe away the fog, staring at the tip of your nose before meeting your own eyes again.
>You're torn on how he sees you, and a dull ice rattling in your skull since you woke up isn't doing you any favors.
"Get a hold of yourself girl."
>It's not like he's actively keeping away from you, he did accept a night alone with you after all, but exactly what happened after you settled onto the couch with him starts becoming a blur.
>A ghostly trace of his scent hangs about your fur as you breath in, there's an urge to keep it like a scent mark even if he's entirely unaware of that practice, but you should keep yourself clean and in order.
>The water should help this headache too, what were you even doing last night? Trying to remember hurts.
>You wince a little as you turn back to the shower, you barely fit in the damn thing. Your head easily clears over the rail the sliding glass door hangs from, and what room is left in the stall, you take up a fairly large portion of.
>Least it's not as cramped as those damn field showers, but you miss that big tub back home. About the only place you could stretch and relax into the warm water.
>Ducking in, you stand yourself against the wall with a hand, the last thing you want to do at your size is slip.
>The clinging heat of the water quickly hits your hip, and a crawling twitch snaps through your leg as you thump your heel against the tile.
>After the twitch runs its course, you feel the sensation turn over to a cool relaxation, sweeping away the morning dead weight in your leg.
>You don't pretend to know exactly why you do that kicking when the water first hits that spot on your hips, but you don't care. Stepping into the shower like this and washing away the tension feels wonderful.
>You turn the other side, soaking your other leg and moaning in contentment.
>It's still a bit tight in here, but unlike the rickety canvas stalls with a harshly rationed supply of hot water, you have some time and space, doubly so since some entitled little tramp wasn't trying to hog the showers specifically meant for larger troopers.
>You really had no choice but to throw them out on their ass, even in those larger field showers you could barely move, but there was no damn way you'd fit into the normal sized ones.
>You reminisce back on those misadventures as you soak your fur, even if it was just over one slice of the morning routine, it was good to feel like an alpha.

>It was one of the few things you held real sway over in the battalion, and you held fast to your guns on that front.
>First it was a bit of a routine, you'd find some bint that barely came up to your stomach acting like the only unoccupied stall marked for 'troopers of inordinate size' was somehow reserved for her when she could easily just use one of the many spare regular stalls, and you'd either get her to scram with a threat, or force her out and take your rightful spot.
>Sometimes you swear they did it just to be petty and inconvenience your mornings, taking up half of your hot water in the minute they had it running before you got there.
>Soon enough you cracked down on your territorial rights. Now if someone was using YOUR stall before you had your morning wash, you'd roughly throw them out of the shower tent itself into the open air; both to catch windchill and to be gawked at.
>That got the message through, it was your fucking stall.
>It became an unwritten rule that no one uses the big stall unless they want to involuntarily display themselves to half the camp when they're thrown out of the tent, at least not until after you were done with it.
>In a rare show of honest responsibility, the captain even called everyone together to mandate everybody to leave that stall open for large-bodied women like you or face discipline, either by official means or the makeshift punishment you cooked up.
>Faced with either duty cleaning the latrines or unwilling exhibition, the incidents stopped almost entirely. Aside from the occasional clueless greenhorn that got thrown out for a fair slice of camp to ogle her cup size, you won the battle.
>There were grumblings about it since aside from a couple particularly butch hyenas over in D and E companies and an elephant LT in D company, there really weren't any other women in the 606 that fit the 'inordinate size' bill, but nothing really came of that complaining beyond a few jealous looks shot your way.
>But you did hear of the hyenas holding down a couple girls refusing to follow the rule and roughing them up a bit, you weren't the only one to get territorial over that damn stall.
>All that fuss over a space still a hair too narrow to comfortably fit your hips into, and at best two minutes of hot water.
>The stress of the field and being away from home made small comforts valuable, you imagine if you somehow found a smaller woman squatting in this shower, a godsend compared to the usual field drudgery, you'd do worse than just throw her out.
>At least you've found better things to find comforts in since then.
>By now you're thoroughly rinsed, and the feeling of massaging warmth around your scalp starts leeching away your hangover.
>Wait... hangover?
>You remember now, you put on a show and shared a drink with him, it was some cheesy sitcom, but it was an old favorite for... some reason.
>Wait no, he was flicking through channels and found it by chance, and he found some whiskey in the liquor cabinet, which you hammered down to flatten out your nerves.
>You downed a whole bottle out of nerves, no wonder your head was throbbing and clouded.
>Sliding open the privacy door, you snatch up the combo shampoo-conditioner you got from home, stepping away from the shower head to lather your mane.
>You work in, kneading your scalp to break the ice and shake out more memories.
>The bottle felt light, and you make a note to ask your mother for another one of her care packages when you next write home.
>As you spread the foaming lather along handfulls of your increasingly rich mane, you realize; you never told mom anything about Tom.
>A minute lump collects in your throat just thinking about it.
>You know how she is, the second you mention you're interested in a good friend, and especially if you even hint at anything to do with how you saved eachother, your dear mother would already be planning the wedding.
>It's not something unimportant enough to just be relayed by a letter to home or a call either. She deserves her only daughter coming home, and introducing her face to face with the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
>...The rest of your life.
>What was an incessant murmur behind your breast grows into a drum.
-scared?-
>No, you knew what you were signing on for when you decided to follow your passion around him. It's only right you commit to this.
>He had more than earned your loyalty.

>The water cascades back over your head, running that refreshing feeling through your mane.
>You remember those civilians, the '100 Mile Miracles', and a grin can't help but break onto your lips. That was the single biggest exemplar that your efforts weren't wasted on him.
>He could really change, and more importantly: he was willing to change.
>Maybe that's part of why you were so determined to see the good in him; some of it manages to show through.
>He wasn't another dime a dozen bad boy that would do nothing to smooth themselves out despite the best words of their suburbanite arm candy.
>More of the glacier hanging over your thoughts breaks apart as you comb back through your fur.
>It was *that* episode.
>Oh gods, you told him it was your favorite... which wasn't *exactly* untrue, but you had more of a love/hate relationship with that one for multiple reasons.
>The 'fight' at the beginning was such unapologetic schlock, you always imagined if you were in such a ridiculous scenario. How you'd laugh at the idiots trying and failing to have a brawl in front of you, or how you'd just chase off your attackers yourself.
>The thought of being rescued though... was always nice.
>It was there that the night really turned towards something that exceeded your expectations.
>Maybe it was just the liquor pushing him to be more talkative like yourself, but there was something in his words that started sprouting feathers on your heart.
>'and the most caring person I've met out here.'
>You find your drying throat pining for the long empty bottle to douse your nerves. How are you this bad at taking a complement?
>Despite your soaked fur, the fiery blush creeps around your ears, pinned down while you wash.
>How can he just up and say that with such certainty? Especially after you told him, showed him even, your tendencies to act on your own.
>You care, you undeniably care, everything you did for him stands to that, but you aren't some shining beacon of charity.
-that's what you are to him-
>...
>Your chest thumps as your core makes its best impression of a spring.
>He thinks that highly of you... oh christ, just, think on something else.
>'anyone else would have left me to rot.'
>ANYTHING ELSE
>Your mind wanders back towards his rolling commentary on the 'fight', something that despite yourself was making you giggle.
>You couldn't have been getting drunk that fast.
>It was then that you started smelling a cocktail of anxiety floating from his side of the couch with what could be a ghostly hint of longing, and he blindsided you with a question while you were contemplating what it could mean.
>You can't quite remember the query though, and you dive your head back into the hot stream to try and help your memory.
>The baldie had just mugged the jackal for a date, and... he asked if the two of you were like that...
>If you were moving too fast.
>If something was wrong because he wasn't terrified of you.
>All over again a million and one questions ricocheted between your ears, which felt like they were starting to catch fire.
>Then it happened, you locked in on eachother's eyes and your heart started going ballistic. With some sort of bizarre connection, you seemed able to peer straight into him, and the liquor loosed your tongue to relay what you were seeing.
>And no matter how much harder your heart pounded, and even as the fire started licking at your loins, you could not tear yourself away.
>'My angel.'
>You inhale sharply, the sensation of a short wave of heat rolling through your body taking you off guard.
>Christ!
>How pent up are you!?
>And... and then he touched your nose and called you cute.
>Oh you've definitely done it now, your breath is hot and heavy, and you feel an urge growing.
>Shit!

>You had an opportunity to cool off after that episode, venting at the mess of a family onscreen and rubbing your legs a bit to let off steam and get yourself back in order before things got awkward.
>You don't have that opportunity now, you try and remember further in. If you can recall how the night ended off, then maybe you can get some help to douse yourself.
>Of course, he was also asking about your mating habits like it was nothing.
>You swear that man is either oblivious or knows exactly how to drive you up the wall, maybe both, he was drunk.
>Your breath hitches as you realize what happened next.
>The pair on screen kissed passionately, and back then and even now you imagine if it was you and Tom. Your heart performs acrobatics in response... and you can feel flames crawling between your legs.
>You caught a scent off him, a brief flash of arousal that just made it worse.
>Jesus tapdancing Christ! However briefly, he had the exact same thought.
>A flood of feeling courses over you: exhilaration, glee, anxiety, apprehension... lust
>The smoke is rising because there is definitely a fire now!
>And then in a scramble to try and get your mind anywhere but there, you thrust the first topic of conversation you could think of into his lap.
>You picked your mutual dating histories, idiot!
>At least it turned out better than expected, the rough spots in your love lives provided much needed distraction, something sorely lacking right now.
>With enough time to bat down the flames and discuss things, you had an opening to press in later when you were more in control of yourself.
>Your chosen method was ad hoc, but you could work with it, showing him further he had nothing to fear from you, drawing him in close and showing affection in ways you were sure he couldn't miss or misinterpret.
>It was into this that you must have let inebriation take you completely off the rails, you fell back towards a more base state of mind, and wanted desperately to 'play' with your 'friend'
-read: rough house your prospective mate into a compromising position-
>You wanted fun of both kinds, and you got it. It made a strange sort of sense though, what better way to help with his fear and show him you wouldn't hurt him than wrestling for fun?
>Plus you had a plan that had brewed into your head, your objective was to catch him in a compromising pin, and help him understand your feelings. No possible way for him to misread that.
>However you didn't really think things through, you had the time of your life finally cutting loose a bit, even revved yourself up after her grappled you in a few better spots, both with and without your help.
>Then it finally happened, you were on top of him, winded, drunk, and with no clue what you were going to do. So you just made something up that sounded good to your libido.
>From a fakeout, you would steal a kiss from him and brush away all the fog between you... you just forgot about the whole anthrophobia thing in the moment, and paid for it.
>But even as he was recovering from the shock of it, he was 'fine with sharing the bed'.
>Another surge of heat and desire, your legs tremble.
>Impassioned thoughts broil to the surface, daring you forward.
>You bite your lip as the temptation is so close.
>Maybe it would be best to let your passion ride out before you have to spend the day with him...
>You dirty bitch, he's just in the next room! You haven't even locked the door.
>But the shower would be covering for you, and if you can keep yourself quiet...
>A sense of paranoia stands in the way of the flow, you have no chance of squirreling your way out if he wakes up and walks in on you.
-but that's the thrill, isn't it?-
>...
>Your hand hovers between your legs, it's not like you'll have to take any time to clean up, and really the only thing you can imagine attracting his attention is if you're making a terrible racket.
>You're covered head to toe in fur, right? Of course you'd take a while in the shower~
>You bite your lip as you press yourself against the wall.
>You can't believe you're doing this...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Tom>
>After you recovered some sense of control about yourself, you set to work dressing on your uniform and digging your kit out of the footlocker.
>For a few minutes you paused, thinking maybe the noise of you rummaging around would get picked up by Teth'ra, and she'd shyly call out from the shower with that awkward question; 'how long were you awake?'.
>But as far as you can tell, the hissing deluge is drowning out your morning routine. What did seem odd to you was just how long she was taking in there, but all that fur must take time for a thorough clean.
>It's not like you really need the shower anyway, you freshened up after the usual checks on your machine last evening.
>Which reminded you, the left arm napalm fuel pump had been acting up since Cache Creek, random spikes in pressure were forcing the fuel line to run rich, and they were only getting more frequent.
>You would have to get a work crew to help you pull the pump and take a close look at it before the pressure waves got to the point of flooding the line.
>The other pump on the right arm could use a look too, and likely a cleaning for both of them. After emergency dumping both tanks fighting that punchy bastard, the pumps could have sucked in debris and sediments before shut down.
>Currently you're trying to worm your belt through the loops on your ammo pouch so it sits on your hip correctly, which given the weight of the thing was a pain in the ass, which is why you usually refrained from wearing it unless you were venturing into the field.
>It's not like you'd need more than a dozen shots on hand at base.
>Glancing down to the hard leather holster at your side, you vow to stop leaving it empty, field duty or no.
>Your ruminating halts as you hear it again: that occasional light thump through the wall.
>A muffled grunt follows, so submerged among the rest of the noise you can barely even register it.
>Poor girl sounds like she's having a hard time moving around in there, must be cramped for her.
>Your heart pangs in sympathy, even the normal field showers had dimensions more fitting of a locker than somewhere you actually expected a person to move. Just how bad was it for her with her larger frame?
>Her larger, thicker frame...
>You shake your head to fling away any temptation to bite into that fruit, you had more than your fill of that earlier, and you are not going to allow a repeat.
>It was only because she was so close in the first place, she's off in the other room now so you have that distance to your advantage.
>Slipping on your boots, you get to lacing them up, wondering how much more of a delicate operation this would have to be with claws.
>It was an amazing thing, really; how deft she was despite the small knives she had tipping each finger. All this time you spent near her and she didn't even so much as nick you on accident.
>Another soft thump through the wall, you hear something clattering around and she makes a low groaning howl in response. The noise in question being an almost one for one replica of the complaining noise your dog used to make.
>'Course on the other hand, she can be a flat-footed klutz just by virtue of a moment of mental absence and how much space she takes up.
>You pull your arms around yourself to press out the morning chill. Either there's a window open somewhere in this house that you didn't notice, the heater's off, or maybe she really was just that warm and the relative difference in temperature has you freezing.
>You can't keep your mind off her for too long, can you?
-we're falling again-
>shut up
>It's just confusion and urges, give it time and it's sure to fade like it always does. This feeling never really endured, not since the one that left.
>Maybe she's right, maybe Carmen did just abandon you in pursuit of pleasure and cheap thrills.
-wouldn't be the first time-
>A sea of faces, a blurring of warm bodies, and none of them held a heart in tune with yours.
>As you peer back through the history without the fugue of alcohol, something jumps at you with all the subtlety of a neon sign exploding: all of them were human.
>Not once did you think an anthro could hold what you were looking for.
>But you can't blame yourself for that... Afterall, she's the only one you aren't scared of.

>You jump as another thump echoes through the wall, louder this time, and an almost haunting sound leaks through the door.
>"Mnngah-GRAAaaauuharrr-rr!"
>Rather suddenly her bizarre howling ceases, and you're left confused.
>The hell is she doing in there?
>Did she stub her toe or something?
-...-
>A musing manages to squirrel into your headspace, some conclusion of logic that seems to wrap things up with a neat bow.
>It's her tail, weighed down with water. She must be hitting it flat against the wall, producing that occasional thump you've been hearing.
>She did say it had a mind of its own, and you can only imagine slapping an extremity full force against the wall would be startling and painful.
>Course that brings up another question, interesting in and of itself; why exactly is she pleased enough to be frantically wagging her tail like that?
>Perhaps she just woke up in a good mood, or she's thrilled to have a shower that's not cramped beyond measure and more than two minutes long.
>Gotta take joy in the simple things, you suppose, or else someone might just go mad out here.
-or maybe she's remembering last night-
>don't you fu-
-remembering her time with you...-
>...dammit
>The ponderous question beaches itself onto your consciousness again: What draws her to you?
>Why does she believe she can find what she wants with you?
>What makes her think you're worth it?
>The obvious answers spring to shore first. You're determined to address each one and roll them back into the sea of your subconscious where they belong.
>The first fat lump of convenience and circumstance congeals into something resembling a reason, the brightest and most obvious of these confusing happenstances.
>You saved her life, but just in turn, she saved yours. Quid pro quo, so what could she believe that she owed you then?
>She was a loner from the rest of the platoon before her promotion, so it's not like anyone else you covered that day was close with her.
>Unconventional as her approach was, she saw a man in need of help, not an opportunity to spread her legs.
*THUMP*
>"AHRAAAUUH-MMmmm-!!!"
>A thudding like a tree falling sideways onto the increasingly thin sounding wall between you and Teth'ra sends your solved query skittering away in fright, and your breath into a hitch.
>You stare long at the pitted beige dividing the two of you, an expectation swimming in the back of your head that at any moment it will tear open like paper and her nude form will collapse forward wearing a concussion.
>And what on God's green earth was that noise?
>It was almost like a howl, and pretty damn loud at that, but she pretty quickly shut herself up. For fear of waking you?
>Can jackals even howl?
>And what the fuck is she doing in there?
-...-
>A minute wheezes by, but you don't hear anything else. A concern calls that maybe she hurt herself, but listening to the shifting hiss of the water tells you she's just fine. She's tougher than that.
>Maybe she just forgot herself and was engaging in some personal ritual, the sort you do when nobody else is home or the nearest person is far and away out of earshot. As for what it is, you don't have the slightest fucking clue, but it does bring up the point that she feels comfortable around you.
>You shake your head softly with a mutter.
"anthros"

>You peer down at the flak vest laying in a heap at your boots and breath a deep sigh. Later, damn thing never fits right.
>You try and steady yourself to recall your mental chain to answer those pressing questions, studying the scars across the fabric.
>You weren't fighting alongside her at Cache Creek, she was in that bunker, securing whatever Central was keeping on ice.
>The way she embraced you as soon as she saw you back at base camp told you that these feelings were already developing before then.
>Her experience in the field must have pushed it to the surface of her mind, prompting her to act on these feelings before it was too late.
>So it wasn't that which made her interested.
>The only other time you 'fought' near her wasn't even a fight, it was just sweeping the houses because this battalion doesn't seem to understand that a mech pilot isn't trained for mere grunt work.
>She always made sure to keep you behind her, but within reach. She didn't want to shuttle you away in a corner despite your lack of training, but she was worried regardless.
>That told you that she respected you as an equal, rather than wanting to smother and restrict you like a lost pup. Something you were thankful for, you had more than enough of being coddled by people only pretending to understand.
>Looking back, her banter read like she was trying to sneak in a pass at you, so her attraction was already in bloom.
>Wasn't that either.
>What else could you have done to set off her-
>oh...
>The realization collapses on you with all the strength of her hardened body.
>That day in the rain... when she cracked open and revealed a wounded heart much like your own.
>No matter how strongly you may have felt about being left to yourself, how much your hatreds coursed, you were overwhelmed.
>Guilt, sadness, sympathy, it all ran through you in such a great surge as she wept. The illusion of invincibility and danger was shattered, leaving a lonely woman with a shivering heart and a plea on her lips.
>'Don't go'
>She was broken, like you.
-'A heart in tune with yours'-
>No, dammit, shut up.
>You can't...
>She's...
>...an anthro
>Guilt weighs into your chest, that terrified family were 'just anthros' too, before you saw the desperation in their eyes.
>And she was that strange anthro that hung by you before that day.
>You showed your true colors, but she didn't shirk you or leave you to your episode. She saw your terror, and it rattled her heart to see how broken you are, but it drove her to pull you away from the others.
>'Don't go'
>She must have thought that she just lost the only friend she had left.
>But you didn't leave her, did you?
>The morning a week ago, when she pushed you to do the right thing. The fear poised at your throat to turn away, even as she said that if you went down that path, there wasn't any hope for you.
>But you pressed forward instead, didn't you?
>And the family, the father had a gun trained on you out of fear, and in fear you considered eliminating a threat.
>But you saw the humanity glimmering in his eyes.
>So much works against you, you bristle with anger and spit toxin, but something changed when you met her, she sees something past your cobbled shell.
>But you're a good man... aren't you?
>Is that why? Her seeing the 'good man' beneath your fractured armor?
>What even is there...
>What qualities of a better man has she seen from you to spark her attraction?
>A rare kindness.
>Sympathy.
>Mourning for those you lost.
>Making up for your mistakes...
>You don't want to hurt her again...
>A sharp wit
>You at least know how to have fun.
>And... you make her laugh...
>...
>oh shit you're screwed

>You're so caught up in introspection that the sound of hissing water fading away almost escapes your notice.
>You pause and listen.
>The murmur of a sliding door, the soft beat of steps with the tack of naked claws, the scrape of an object lifting off the counter.
>Nothing to tell you what she might have been doing earlier, now she's probably drying off and combing her fur into order.
>Would being fresh out of the shower make her even more fluffy?
>You noted that dense coat had been gaining more volume and looking more regal lately. It was puzzling, but despite being native to the desert, was she growing a winter coat in response to the chill of the north?
>How soft wo-
>You shake your head free of the trappings, just focus on the day ahead idiot, stop winding yourself up in thinking about her... qualities.
>You occupy yourself inspecting your revolver and plucking bits of grit from the inscriptions with an old cloth.
>How did these even get in here? You haven't really used it recently.
>Your suspicions reflexively point to a half-wily coyote believing he's funny again, but you remind yourself you're far and away in the battle lines now.
>The stray hair you find on the grip tells likewise, it's grey. She's been around you for so long it's probably nothing though.
>Swinging open the cylinder you find all six chambers still loaded, unused for a month now.
>Maybe you should put in some range time when you have the chance, don't want to get rusty.
>You swing it closed again and stow it in the holster, then promptly stare ahead and contemplate choices for breakfast.
>Nothing even really comes to mind before the click of the bathroom door opening sounds from your left.
>Well that was quick.
>You're awash with humidity and the overwhelming smell of wet dog as the door swings open, might as well pay her courtesy.
"Mornin' Te- WOAH!"
>As you look towards her, you catch sight a sea of bare, ruffled grey, a pair of petite pink cherries sat neatly at the heads of twin planetoids, but that was all you gleaned before you turned away and hid your shamed face in a hurry.
>Her side of the room immediately produces a wet clap as her arms bolt to cover herself, followed by a terse bark of alarm.
>"*YIPE*!!! SSSH-SHIT!! YER, UH. Y-You're awake!"
>HOW COULD YOU NOT BE?!
>You fall back on instinct, it says dodge.
"Yes! How very observant! The thing I'm not being right now!"
>A warm feeling is crawling out from your chest, beat it back down. Beat it down!
>"I-I uh, I just-. I just gotta, get in here and grab something real quick. Sorry!"
"No, sure. By all accounts, don't mind me. take your time!"
>She flips up the lid of her footlocker, slamming it harshly against the furniture of the bed, you can hear her claws occassionally scraping against the lacquered innards as she hurriedly rummages for something.
>"I, uh, kinda left my clothes out here. Sorry!"
>Why would you need to know that?
-you are now thinking about her undressing in front of y-
>SHUT THE HELL UP!
>Heat scuttles around your cheeks and your heart quickens. Ah shit, it's happening again!
>She rips something away from the rest of the pile in there and slams the lid shut again, the air moving around her assaulting you with her scent.
"You done yet?!"
>"Just a second!"
>Her claws resume tacking on linoleum, and you loose a lungfull of relief, the door clatters shut shortly after she peals off one last shy word.
>"Sorry..."
>You drop all pretense of holding yourself upright, and drop your hands back to your side, slumping as your head hangs.
>Your face is baked with a desert like heat, your heart throttles like a motor... and worst of all, you can feel that little bastard downstairs snuck back out onto the runway.
"fuck..."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You didn't stick around to see her reemerge, you needed distance, and fast. So you dove downstairs into the kitchen, scrambling through the cabinets to try and find a drink.
>That whiskey last night was all that was here, and you swore under your breath as you heard her timidly descending the stairs.
>She didn't say anything, and she refused to meet your eyes, all fine by you.
>Breakfast soon after was just as silent, you elected to just use one of your MRE packs rather than attempt to cook something more palatable. In your state of mind you'd probably just burn something.
>She chose similar, and you largely stared out the window while choking down cardboard steak and undercooked beans. All while trying to forget about everything and sort out the chaos swimming through your head.
>That was just it, you don't know what it is you're feeling. It could fade, it could flourish, it could die, it could turn.
>Before you acted on anything, it needed to do something first, to stabilize and provide you with some concrete frame of reference.
>Wise men say only a fool rush in.
>It's also a fool that rushes out before he knows what he's dealing with.
>Stuck between a rock and a soft place...
>Your feelings had proven false before, either by a change of face on their part, or a change of heart on your own.
>You know her face, but you don't want to hurt her, not again...
>It's best to just stay your distance, and get some time alone to think.
>You swallow the rest of the crumbling brown chalk that excuses itself as a brownie and nudge the tray off into the trash, trying not to think about the taste to make it easier to keep down.
>Least it wasn't field rations, God you hate field rations.
>You hear shifting next to you as the other barstool creaks nervously under her.
>"Hey, uhhhmmmm..."
>Oh Christ, here we go.
>"Sorry, about earlier. I guess I just got a little bit *too* comfortable."
>You're far from eager to engage on this issue so soon, but you guess in a way it's excusable, even with the spectacularly bad timing.
>You swivel to face her and offer a bit of easy deflection, if only to help both of you move swiftly away from it.
"Hey, I get it. First time you sleep under an actual roof in a genuine article bed relatively to yourself in... how long?"
>You weren't expecting an answer to the question, but she raises her snout and glances at you a little while engaging a thoughtful expression.
>"It's April. So over a year by now."
>She runs a thumb inside her fingers, as if remembering some lost trinket.
>"I was drafted in the spring, last year."
"I thought you were an 'early pick'?"
>"Yeah, the draft came for me long before anyone else in my hometown. Not long after my birthday, actually."
>Come to think on it, you never actually looked into how old she is. With anthros, age seems to be more of a mystery, they don't wear their wrinkles.
>And her being drafted after another year on this earth rang close to home. It's hard to steady yourself when you keep stumbling into things you have in common with her.
"Oh Lord..."
>"What?"
>You could only offer a crooked brow and drawn lips.
>"Wait. Don't tell me..."
"Same story, wasn't a week after I turned twenty five that the recruiting officer payed a visit."
>She flashes a brief grin and rests her chin in her hand, blowing a pleased huff.
>"Incredible."
>"So that would make you twenty six?"
>Her math is dead on, she must have guessed based on your context.
>Clever girl.
"hm?"
>"I just figured you were in the same recruiting batch I was. Even if we were on opposite sides of the country."
>She's sharp, and you can't help but find yourself drawn just a little further in her direction when she proves her smarts.
>But you can't just let her get away with it either.
"Yes, but it's rude to bring up someone's age you know."
>"*snrk* Please. Like either of us are polite members of society."
>She lifts her muzzle from her paw and sets it flat on her collarbone.
>"Twenty five. There, we're even."
>And another score on the board, you're both a couple of idiots in their mid twenties. You give a satisfied grunt.
>"What? Did you think I was older or something?"
>She almost sounds hurt, you're quick to deflect towards your ignorance.
"No, I just... With anthros it's not exactly easy to tell."
"You don't wear your wrinkles."
>"Eh, you learn to look for grey hairs."
>You stare at her deadpan, she's covered in grey. She returns a mischievous smile.
>"Yeah, I know! 'That doesn't exactly work with me.' Heheheheh"
>It seems the conversation has moved her away from the occupation keeping her quiet over breakfast, but she's still a little shy about meeting your eyes right now.
>She did briefly adopt your tone of voice, it sounded off from her, but the gesture has you rolling your eyes.
"Smartass."
>"Hey! That's my line."
>You can't help the smirk settling over the corner of your mouth. She blows a pleased huff and softly shakes her head, wearing one of her serene smiles.
>This woman can get you talking, and it seems like she does nothing but enjoy your company.
>Your heart jitters, and you look away to produce even the faintest sense of isolation.

>The stool squeaks under her as she she shifts again, out of the corner of your eye you see her lay her snout across her arms on the counter and snoop at old newspaper clippings pinned to the fridge.
>You swivel to face outwards, and lean an elbow on the table, tracing the direction of her snout to see what she's interested in.
>'The Enemy is Here!' reads one headline 'Anchorage Falls!' touts another, 'Can The Swarm's Move South be Stopped?'
>All of them from before the northwest cordon was established.
>"I wonder what it was like here. When the bugs were on the way..."
"Probably a lot of scared people looking for a way out."
>"Like rats on a sinking ship."
>She sighs heavily, her breath whistling through her nose.
>"Some refugees moved so far south as to fall in with my neck of the woods. Despite the troubles they bought with them, couldn't help but feel sorry for 'em, they were so desperate."
"Maybe one day they can go home again."
>"Yeah. I just don't feel like dying for it."
>Her tone sounds faintly dismal.
>You trace her eyes directly to a clipping from some paper in the city of Prince George to the north 'Cowards in Command: The EDF Refuses to Defend Us.'
>The cordon lines were drawn far to the south, where the forces of man regrouped to dig in and make a stand.
>It was there that the winter swarm crashed against the lines. The defense held, narrowly saving Vancouver, but everything to the north was indefensible and had to be left behind.
>Three failed counter offensives had been launched since then, this excursion being the fourth.
>You tear away from the recounting and stand up to retrieve your jacket and flak vest from the foot of the stairs, you have things to do.
>First of which is getting outside and finding a quiet spot to think things over.
>Dragging over your garments, you set down on the couch still roughly shoved off against the wall, inspecting the shoulder of your jacket in contemplation.
>It wears three black chevrons underpinned with a trio of rockers, wrapped in a piping of gold thread. A master sergeant in the mech corp. The infantry had the inverse standard with gold thread and black piping.
>Overhead are a pair of badges nestled side by side: 13th mechanized infantry divison, and 606 hellhound rifles. You swear you can still see the 512 armored fusiliers badge at a glance.
>you slip it over your shirt and start tucking the buttons into their homes, stopping as the bar stool in the kitchen gives a relieved groan.
>"Where are you off to?"
>You hope the foggy answer you offer is to her satisfaction, for as shy as she's presently acting, you still get the sense she wants you around.
"...morning run."
>She stretches up towards the high ceiling in the kitchen, her joints audibly popping with her tenses and grunts.
>"Erm, mind if I come with?"
"Teth... I-"
>Looking up, you find her with an expectant expression, tall ears standing with a certain energy.
>"Come on, I could use a good P.T. partner. It's been a while."
"Don't you have your squad?"
>"Oh-. That's a lot of grumbling and panting, I could use some conversation."
>She spins shy glances in your direction, eyes bright like a puppy's, and she makes that telltale tapping with her claws.
>"...please?"
>She offers a skittish, charming little smile.
>You coast out a sigh. Damn your sensibilities, you can't say no to that face.
"Alright."
>A sense of perkiness bounds across her features, you could swear her ears even did a little bounce and have to wonder how much of a dog's boundless energy for morning walks would translate to a canine anthro.
"Just don't show off, alright?"
>"Wha. Why would I show off?"
>Some reflexive connection between 'morning walks' and 'dog' rolled out those words; a half joking warning to your old pooch not to run out ahead of you when you took her outside.
>The last thing you need on top of this morning is Teth catching on that the more animalistic ticks she displays remind you of a feral cousin of hers you had as a pet. So you cover for yourself.
"You have longer legs than me."

>"Oh what? You're scared of *these*?"
>With a practiced fluidity, she shifts her balance onto her hip and holds one of her legs up.
>Even with her cargo pants loosely clinging to them and breaking up the curvature, you know how massive those things are. A vision flashes back in your mind's eye of those man killers dominating your field of view, ready to clamp over your neck.
"...no."
>Her snout breaks into a grin, and she chides snidely.
>"Huh! Maybe human stamina isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"Excuse me?"
>"Long distance running, pursuit predation, marathons. Maybe they aren't as hard as you like to think they are."
>That cheeky grin raises an energy in your core.
>She's challenging you, and despite yourself you get caught up in the spirit; ready to show her that for all the advantages anthros have, humans are still the kings of endurance.
>You've put more than your fair share of endurance running into practice back home and especially now with your machine. Hell, endurance training was a large slice of mech academy, running those machines is not easy on the body.
-she won the last competition, get even!-
>She doesn't know what she's in for.
"Oh you're asking for it, little doggy."
>"Hahhahahah. You're on! I'll even let you pick the route, in case yer still scared."
>With that, she strides out through the door with a bounce in her step and a swaying tail.
>You look over briefly to the dusty old flak vest. Fuck it! You can get it later. She made you look like an idiot with that wrestling stunt, and it's time you pay her back.
>Buttoning up your jacket the rest of the way, you step out through the door to find Teth'ra out at the curb lunging side to side to stretch her legs.
>You reckon that in an all out sprint, the sheer power and size in those pillars would make her deceptively fast in a straight line, but she might be like your heavy lug of a muscle car and have to slow down to corner.
>The glimmer of a lustrous sun through the leaves seems to welcome you back out into the wilds with the wafting smells of pine and morning dew.
>The unkempt grass on the lawn sways in waves from a crisp breeze. It is strangely nice out today.
>If it wasn't for the overgrowth and any and all signs of life on the street being in uniform, it would almost look normal.
>Teth'ra stands back to her full, towering height as you approach. The corner of her mouth still shines with mischief.
>"Ready to go whenever you are pipsqueak."
"You think you can run with an auger pilot? cute."
>"Hey, you said it yourself, I got longer legs."
>They won't serve her much in a tight space. You drop a knee forward and lunge to stretch.
>Looking towards the bump of a thickly wooded hill rising next to the lake and overlooking the town, a plan starts forming.
>She did say you could pick the route.
>The wind stills, and she pauses, looking more intent. Her tall ears scan towards the south, searching for something.
>"You hear that?"
>The air breathes laconically, you hear nothing over the rustle of leaves and incidental bird calls. Cupping a hand to your ear you try and listen towards the lake like she is.
>You stay like this for what must be a solid thirty seconds or so before anything you're hearing presents itself as unusual.
>The soft lap of water, more rustling, and a deep rushing noise, far off but growing closer. If she didn't point it out you probably wouldn't have even noticed.
"Jets..."
>"And a lot of them. Sounds like the airforce woke up."
>She looks skyward, and you check over your boot laces. The sound of jet engines growing in volume surprisingly fast.
>Either some sky hooligan is on full afterburn and flying low, or Teth'ra was right about the sheer number of planes. Regardless, your sense of direction narrows the angle of approach as from the south.

>You spare some quick glances around the street, what few troopers you see have stopped what they're doing and are staring towards the clear sky over the lake.
>A whistle from your side reaffirms your attention.
>"*phew* That's a lot of planes."
>The noise has shifted into a low, breathy howl punctuated with sharp waterfall roars as the formation begins passing overhead.
>Following the line drawn by her snout provides a view of a lazily shuffling swarm of broad shadows, small clumps of arrow shapes thrust between the larger forms' dreamy maneuvers.
>You haven't seen an air formation this strong in a long while, there must be hundreds of them. 'the airforce woke up' indeed.
>"What even are they?... Never really studied my wings."
>You'd recognize those broad manta-ray silhouettes anywhere. B-62s, the EDF's premiere strategic bomber, the result of some madman aeronautical engineer throwing a flying wing, a gunship, and a Super Fortress into a blender.
>The 'Fortress Eagle' flew on 8 turbojets and carried 62 tons of munitions in addition to an array of defensive guns that dwarfed even the defunct B-17.
"Bombers, lots of bombers"
>It was strange, usually you saw B-62s flying in far smaller squadrons, dropping enough payload on enemy strong points to powderize a city block.
>"Huh, almost makes ya feel sorry for the insect bastards they're gonna dump all those munitions on... almost."
>"Why do you think they're up there anyway?"
>With those giant ground pounders? In that great a number?
"They must want something in particular really dead."
>The last time you saw such a force of bombers, they were after a super swarm a ways inside the cordon, a swarm with an excess of particularly dangerous bug breeds.
>That was just before your first sortie, the captain made remarks about it as he had faced that same swarm before.
>"Or maybe they're rolling us out a nice carpet of flattened bugs all the way to Anchorage."
"*psch* If only it was that easy."
>"Yeah, if only."
>Whatever they're after must be deep in enemy territory, multiple squadrons of fighters are flying escort amongst the hundreds of fortresses. For all you can guess, they could be outbound to Anchorage itself.
>But for all that's said and done, what's droning over your heads right now is not your problem. For a mission going as far ahead as you suspect theirs is, the only help the airforce can get is what it gives.
>You mutter a blessing under your breath.
"best of luck flyboys"
>Back to the business at hand, you know roughly which way you want to go, and you're about to ask Teth if she's ready to set off, but pause as you see her continuing to stare upwards at the passing birds.
>She's not paying attention, and she did say she was ready to go whenever you are.
>You can't help a sly grin tugging at your lips. You're feeling a bit devious, and want to give her some payback for the situation she put you in.
-do it-
>You launch yourself forwards like a spring, taking just a moment of time to announce the start of your little competition with a word and a back-handed slap to her hip.
"Aight GO!"
>You don't even need to look back, your imagination filling in her surprise beautifully.
>Her confused bellow just sweetens it.
>"Wha?! HEY!!"
>It's a light, bouncing sort of feeling rolling across your chest right now, it drives you to move forward, to make the best of it.
>It drags a laugh out of you as you skip your stride sideways and look back, only to swallow a little in dread as you see just how quickly she's catching up. Her strides are long and forceful as she shunts herself forward at a speed that takes you off guard.
>She's even faster than you were expecting, her long, powerful legs giving her sprint a launching bound to every step.

>Despite the determined grimace dressing her features, you catch back on those words, no, that promise she made last night and feel a little more at ease as she closes.
>She only slows once she comes aside of you, blowing an annoyed, exaggerated gust from her snout.
>"Sneaky little... Don't think you can get away from me that easy!"
"You're really determined to see this through, aren't ya?"
>You look up to see the conviction settled on her brow, she definitely has some reason for doing this.
"You that desperate to show me up?"
>A thin smile creeps onto her lips.
>"Hmph. Maybe I'm just sick of you hairless folk talking all big and bad cuz' you have sweat glands."
>She definitely has a reason, but you admit seeing this competitive side of her flourishing charms some deep sense of appreciation, like your friendship has rejuvenated the big girl.
>You're still going to edge out a victory over her this time.
>The initial plan remains to play the long con, because with that display earlier, you're sure as hell not outrunning her in an open straight.
>You meter your pace like the old man thought you for long marches, and hope that her stamina will wear down faster than yours, which itself is a difficult puzzle.
>Anthros are known to have a marked disadvantage in stamina aside from most members of the canid family, like her, where the difference is less pronounced.
>At the same time a large body like hers needs more effort and energy to move by necessity, but she's lived with that as a fact of life for years, and could likely have trained herself around that downfall the same way she trained the rest of her body into 'peak performance'.
>She easily matches your pace, longer strides making her bounce a bit more. It's now that you notice her jacket is actually buttoned up for once.
>You just got so used to seeing her bearing her midriff and painfully stretched tee-shirts to the world.
>It's an oddity you can't help but remark on.
"You finally buttoned up for once?"
>"Yeah, didn't want my tits to give me a concussion."
-[error: please contact your system administrator]-
>Briefly blanking, you forget your footing and stumble a little as your boot scuffs the pavement, you pull yourself back upright but can't hide the shock on your face.
>"HA-HAHAHAHAAAHAAAA!"
>You've fallen behind her a little, she looks over her shoulder with a grin a mile wide, and you can see her attention is divided between indulging in her mirth and not also tripping over herself.
>Shaking your head with vigor, you pick back up to fall in at her side, battling the blush creeping around above your jaw.
>You try to wrestle out the mental image of her melons launching upwards into her chin while she coasts out her laughter.
>"Heeeeh-. Seriously though, ask any woman that jogs, having these things free while you're moving like this is a pain."
"...Y-yeah I bet."
>Don't look idiot, don't look.
>Don't imagine how much they're bouncing... just don't.
>Can't distract yourself, you have to beat her.
>She was practically guaranteed to win that wrestling bout, even if you made her work for it, but you still have your ways to come out on top.
>You can't just have her so casually holding every advantage over you.
>For the time being you force away the part of you that recognizes a presence and just focus on moving forward.
>Why did you let her goad you into taking her along?

<Teth'ra>
>He jogs slightly ahead of you, staring firmly ahead in an attempt to hide his face from you.
>But you don't need to see that red hue creeping around his features, the way he stumbled over himself at that little quip told you more than enough.
-he likes you-
>Some small part of him does. He may not be directly acknowledging it, but you can sniff out the faintest hint of interest there.
>A hint is better than nothing, but you can't jump the gun, as much as your baser instincts wish to do so.
>The leisurely pace he's setting gives you room to think on other things, namely questioning yourself over what you thought you were doing earlier.
>Walking in with your girls out like you owned the place, you're getting complacent.
>The shame swallows your neck in a tight warmth. You can't forget the wide eyed stare he affixed you with before hiding his own face, either for his own shame or some fear of your retaliation.
>Later over breakfast, you couldn't even bring yourself to look at him for long, and he did likewise.
>The question then was if you simply took him by surprise and he was hiding away from you to conceal some stirring of feelings, or if he was silently put off by you.
>Fucking idiot! You were finger fucking your brains out while he was just in the next room, this is what you get for failing to keep a lid on it.
>Even pounding your hips against the wall in lust mad thrusting. What didn't he hear?
>Are you really so desperate for a mate that you can't even control yourself?
>But... while he was keen to move the topic away from what happened, he wasn't outright avoiding you.
>That's the sticking point.
>You have his attention.
>You have his friendship.
>But do you have his affections?
>It's a question you still can't provide a concrete answer to. Humans don't display obvious tells or really have any set mating habits.
>Each one is different, and you're still prying into what his signs are. He shows more warmth as you grow closer, but he could appreciate you like a fussy sister rather than something deeper.
>A conflict is wearing in him over you, but the sides of the battle are unknown. Who's to say that one of them is a shy idea trying to break through to see you as a woman with needs and desires? Its opponent could just as easily be that primal anxiety over your beastly nature.
>An anxious feeling skitters up your throat, you clench your jaw to trap it because you're fearful of the words it might take with it if it escapes.
>Some small part of you wants to open up your caged heart, and just flat out ask him, but your fear holds the key tightly.
>Scenarios spin through your head of the many ways a confession could go wrong.
>He could think you're unhinged for holding these feelings so long.
>He could be disgusted, both with you and himself for being attractive to something he thinks he should be afraid of.
>He could believe that you only wanted to use him...
>...
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>Patience girl.
>You have to be patient.
>Let him find his feelings for you.

>Calling yourself back to attention, you find Tom still staring ahead without any real sense of purpose.
>Is he even sure of where he's going?
>You want to tease him over it, jog him back into wakefulness and keep his mind away from what exactly it was you were doing in the shower this morning.
>You quickly look around, as much as you enjoy seeing him flustered and getting precious looks at his true feelings, you don't want to embarrass him in front of anyone else.
>The street is largely deserted aside from small clumps of troopers emerging from the houses they garrisoned for the night, so you wait for the 'crowd' to thin where the chances of another pair of sensitive ears eavesdropping on you is lower.
>In the meantime, you take in your surroundings. The dimming rumble of the airforce still leads off into the north, the sky above is wonderfully clear for the morning sun, and verdant evergreens sway everywhere around you.
>The winds bring the unfettered smell of the wilderness, you taste the aroma deeply, sighing happily.
>It smells green and lively, the far off calls of birds make you feel at ease. Being out here in the wild courses a minty vitality through your core, and your heart runs smoother.
>Without *them* around, it's beautiful up here, if chilly.
>Something you want to share with him, and hold him close to keep the cold away from his furless body.
>There's a lot fewer people around now as you march towards an intersection, practically no one is in earshot with the potential exception of an obstinate looking private smoking like a chimney as he leans on the stop sign.
>You silently turn your nose up, that awful smell has a habit of sticking to everything, and you're not sullying the freshly washed fragrance of your fur by drawing close to him.
>Before the clinging stench of the tobacco can interfere, you hunker forward quickly and take a delicate sniff near Tom's neck, and withdraw quickly before anyone can take notice.
>There's a near silent trace of melancholy on his scent, you know that smell... His mind is wandering towards sad and lonely places, so it's time to reel him back in.
"Do you even know where you're going?"
>"hm- what?"
"I said. Do you know where you're going?"
>"...Yup."
>He has no idea, but still tries so staunchly to sound sure of himself. It prompts a giggling to curl from your lips.
"Hnhnhnhnhnn. Well then where are we going?"
>You're trying not to sound condescending, but you're attempting to parse together the words to let him now it's okay to admit he's lost, only to be interrupted as he barks out a call at the intersection.
>"Left!"
>You don't know what it is he's up to if he isn't just wandering with purpose, but you shrug and follow alongside as you turn north.
>You'd still like to know what destination he has in mind, if any.
"So. Where *are* we going?"
>"You'll see."
>A smirk creeps over your lips, you try not to giggle again as you test his bluff.
"Oh?.. A surprise then."
>You put just a little vigor into it to make it sound like he's taking you to some secret spot instead of running around to clear his head.
>"Yes... A surprise..."
>The edge of deception in his voice tells you that he's up to something.
>Payback for last night? You'll have to see, but you aren't going to let him win so easily. An innocent excitement has started bouncing around you after he said yes to another one of your little challenges, you feel like a teenager again, excited to play with your crush.
-maybe he's leading you to a romantic little meadow-
>Oh, shut up...
>You look around again to check if anyone's watching, especially as you can feel your tail swaying happily.
>The two of you are all alone now.
>perfect.
"Thank you."
>"Uhm... for what?"
"Last night. It's been a while since I've been able to let my hair down like that, so. thank you."
>He takes a long pause, and you can smell the faint whiff of embarrassment on him, the shy way he's holding his shoulders reinforces that.
>"...Don't mention it."
>A flurry of signals flies off of his scent, too much mixed in to pick out what exactly it is he's feeling right now.
>You listen close, and find that he's making an effort to keep his breath metered.
>This effect you had on him was something common between the two of you, but the confused mess of signals means you can never quite pick out the subtleties. You always hope that you aren't intimidating him and instead it's a confused, hesitant attraction to you like you suspect.
>But your earlier advice still rings back in your head when something pulls in you to push further.
>Patience

<Tom>
-'seriously, don't mention it.'-
>Her pressing was getting a little uncomfortable, now was not really the time you wanted to discuss last night, or even really hold more than a passive conversation while you felt so mixed up.
>For now she seemed to back off, and you breathe a slight relief. You still aren't sure if you actually want her here or not.
>You push the mess away again and focus back on running the road.
>As much as she teased about your surprise being some romantic kick, there really was a surprise in store for her.
>You planned to snake around up to the road hugging that lakeside hill, and at the right time, you'd find a way to distract her before modifying the conditions of your little competition. Then you'd go tearing to the top of that hill through the dense thickets of evergreens. Your smaller, nimbler body having a much better chance at out pacing her through the crowded foliage.
>Sure you weren't playing fair, but she wasn't either when she was manhandling you last night.
-ayyy-
>Shhh!
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>Just let it drift, this is your time to reflect.
>She stays mercifully quiet as you shift right at a tri-way onto a crooked switchback.
>You breath deeply, inhaling the crisp sensation floating on the cool morning air, and focusing on what's around you rather than who.
>Old evergreens creak in the wind, the young saplings sheltered below them bend with the breeze. Waves of increasingly wild grass shuffle over their own stalks as vines creep around whitewashed walls.
>Blurs the colors of loam and winter flit in and out of sight at your approach. Constant chatters and cheeps are the biggest sign of this array of invisible life animating around you.
>Every time you try to lay eyes on one, they disappear into the branches, and their wordless songs echo from the trees, singing a melody with no defined tempo or measure.
>It was far in imagining from the frenzied discord of battle, or the homogeneous sigh of a moving city. It was quiet, simple, and thoughtless.
>And in all your time journeying these wild spaces, you almost never stopped to listen.
>"Nice day, isn't it?"
>The planes from earlier are long gone, and without any real trace of anyone else among the sound, it's honestly tranquil.
>A mellow beauty that can only be appreciated in isolation, but for as big as she is, she doesn't seem to intrude on this peace.
"Yeah... it is."
>"Reminds me of my hikes back home. Always felt more complete just taking a moment to listen."
>Anthros are closer to nature than you ever were, so her being an outdoors type is just a foregone conclusion.
"Never got any of that in the city. Countryside was always just flying by in the window."
>"What *was* Boston like?"
>The question takes you by surprise, how did she?
>...oh
>...right...
>Last night...
>You leave out any mention of the inhabitants out of a paranoia that she'd see you as lesser for it, but for the city itself you make no effort to hide your disdain.
"Noisy, crowded, dangerous. All around I hate the place. They tell you that there's a nice ocean view but that's small comforts when you're coughing on smog from the factories and the harbor is choked with oil spills and trash."
"There's a huckster on every street corner, The Globe is always telling you what to think, and you're about as likely to catch lung cancer from secondhand as picking a pack a' mollies. And it's an uphill battle to find parking that won't get your car keyed."
>It was a choking, oppressive place, and you want little to do with it.
>Too many bad memories lie there.
>Others would tell you that your home is something to be proud of, some of the finest centers of technology on North America lie there, but if MIT and Harvard produced some benefit to the dregs of the city, you never saw it.
>The place is rich with American history, but every Bostonian knows all those pages by osmosis, and the tourist traps along the freedom trail didn't exactly get the tax dollars flowing into roadworks or the police department.
>All of it was combined with a schizophrenic sense of illusory community that could be divided on so many lines. A city that wore a dozen different hats.
"Above all, it's a place that can't decide on what it wants to be. Cultural touchstone? port town? tech haven? industrial sprawl? last bastion of the American identity? or is it Tuesday? Ah yeh, let's start wavin' around the fuhkin' UTR flag and rant above jus' how fuhkin' good we have it. Oh it's Friday? Gah, fuck it! They found another body on the waterfront, and the Sowks just got their asses kicked in their own fuhkin' stadium. Oh boo-hoo, Fenway! Time to go on the bahr dive!"
>"*snrk* Haheheh hehe, Yer slipping into it."
"What?"
>Finally swallowing your precious sense of solitude, you glance up to find her wearing that sly grin.
>"You have barely a trace of the accent, most of the time I can't even tell it's there... Unless you're all puffed up."
>The amusement is clear as day on her voice, she thinks this is funny!?
>You've just turned east on the road out of town, and now you scowl deadpan at her.
>You don't like being reminded of the minute traces of the east coast drone that still cling to your vocabulary.
>Her smile just shows more teeth, and she turns away snickering. All you can muster is an annoyed grunt.
>Snarky little furball...

>"Come on, I know you grew up surrounded by it."
>If that's what she wants, she's going to be sorely disappointed. You aren't some traveling flavor platter for that old city and its confused identity, hell, you don't even like the Sox that much.
"I'm not doin' it."
>"It would just be one time!"
"I'm not doin' it-."
>You aren't doin' it.
>You aren't making a fool out of yourself.
>"Come on! It's only the two of us out here. I won't tell anyone~"
"I'm not doin' it!"
>A low whine sounds close to your ear.
>So she's pulling that trick again, You still aren't doing it.
>She's not getting what she wants.
>A longer, more intent whine that pulls on your heart.
>'She just wants to have fun with you' it says, 'why are you being so mean?'
>She can beg as much as she likes. She can shred your heart strings reminding you so dearly of that precious little puppy you nurtured when the runty white cotton ball was abandoned from the rest of the litter. You still aren't doing that ridiculous act!
>A despairing, heartbroken, plaintive little whimper leaks from her throat, and you can feel your heart melting into a puddle.
>Son of a bitch!
>...You always did have a hard time saying no to that dog.
>...
>No! No accents! You're done with it!
>You rebuke her with a low tone.
"Teth'raaa-"
>A precious moment of si-
>"I'll help you sniff out liquor for your stash if you do it."
>...
>You hold the bridge of your nose and nail your eyes shut, laboring on a single breath to clear the air.
>...shit
>That did sound like a good trade.
>There's an undeniable pull to get drunk even now, just because your strings have been drawn out and frayed so much recently.
>stupid... fuckin... adorable... bitch.
"Alright fine!"
>"-yes!-"
>You pull right onto the long road snaking south around the hill, trying to formulate what exactly it is that you can come up with to sate her.
>And what minimal effort on your part you can get away with.
>"Well?"
"Give me a second, it's been a while."
>Think, what the hell would old Joe down the street start yelling when a game was on? Minus the avalanche of curses.
>Although maybe you should include that just to get back at her...
>No, the hill should be enough, but your window for giving her warning just shrank.
>"I'm waiting..."
>The excitement floating on her voice is giddy, and it bounces off your brow, ruining your concentration.
>You shoot her a sidelong glare, only to find her leaning intently in your direction, her smile a mile wide and a light in her eyes.
>Can you really disappoint that face?
>...fuck it
"Ahright, you wanna know about Bohston, I'll tell ya about Bohston, in Bohston we got crabcakes, marathons, and a bunch a' dead assholes, also an old boat suckin' up tax dollah'. Cambridge? what the fuhk is Cambridge? We gots Hahverd, useless degrees and kayaking teams, only one low investment of yeh whole bank account to feel good about yerself cuz' you went tah Hahverd! MIT? sure! Les' talk tah Poindexter, he'll show ya this neat trick with a rat and a circus peanut, then we'll go down tah Quincy fer the labstah bake and watch the Sowks game. Say hi tah miss Mcready, she's still beating her husband, the old crone. Or would yah like The Freedom Trail? Nickel an' dime ya fer a star spangled hand job an' a cap. Up, there's Paul Revere's house an' the projects on tohp of it. Ya havin fun yet?! Let's stare at some cahrdboard cutouts of the british an' then have a middleschool lecture in front a' this here old church. That'll be five hundred dollahs and yer dignity please!"
>A gnarled knot of heat sits on your heart, and you open the gates to a rush of cold air to kill it.
>For the love of God, she better not say she wants more.
"Huuggggggghh... There, ya happy?!"
>You slowly wander your gaze back over to her, her lips have drawn closed but are struggling to stay that way, and her chest is subtly jumping.
>"Mmmnngh-kh-kh-phhHAA HAAA HAA HA AH HAAAAA!!"
>Guess that's a yes.

>She stops and doubles over, howling with glee.
>You arrest your stride and stare back at her. The jackal has her hands on her knees and is fighting valiantly to keep her breath, but failing.
>Before her mirth was always contagious, but the reminder that she's laughing so intently at your accent, whoever much you played it up, is more than a little insulting.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up..."
>She holds up a claw, and scrambles to recapture her breath.
>"S-Sorry-y-hee-y-hee heeehheheh!"
>It's something like a minute, a long, humiliating minute before she approaches something resembling composure.
>Your face is alight with a burning indignity.
>"Hehheh... HAAA ha ha hah *snrk* Hahehehe!"
>And she just keeps going.
"You about done yet?"
>At least whatever quirk of hers that tricks reality into giving the two of you plenty of time with no one else around is still going just as strongly as her incessant giggling.
>If anyone was watching you'd probably go and throw yourself into the lake, it is just down the hill.
>"*snrk* hnhnhnhahe Sorry, I just-kngh hehehehnhnhn *gasp*... The accent is adorable, you sounded like a puppy-hahahha."
>A sense of anger still floats, but a strange flattery coils around it, her wildly thrashing tail just reinforces your confusion.
"I... Uhhhh."
>"Hnnnhnhn... *snff*-hoooh. Sorry, but it's true-heh, you really did sound like a pup there."
"...HOW?"
>She makes a muffled choking sound as she swallows another giggling fit, before taking another second to collect her composure.
>"The fast, breathy speech? The short hand pronunciation? You reminded me of a pup that just learned to talk, running all of his words together."
>...
>"Plus... You look cute when you're all red in the face. hnhnhn"
-yup, you're screwed-
>The broil of emotion and heat floods over you again, when all you wanted earlier was to just get away from it.
>More so to at least catch a clear breath away from her. Teth'ra defies explanation with what she does to you.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>You're going to win this little bet and teach her not to discount you, then finally get some time alone when the call comes for forward march.
>The hill you set on is right here, you just have to surprise her at the right moment.
>She's looking away, smiling at nothing in particular, then closing her eyes and taking long, slow breathes.
>"Well red man, where are we off to? You should know whatever you do I'm still gonna beat ya."
>Alright, that's it.
>You're gonna wipe the grin of her snout, that overconfidence is just asking to be punished.
>She's busy laughing to herself when you spring the trap, you lunge off towards the trees at the side of the road.
"Top of the hill!"
>She can't say you didn't warn her.
>Her confused bellow puts a righteous smile on your face and drags away some of the heat in a satisfied huff.
>"Wha? SON OF A-!"
>Her boots echo hard on the pavement as she lunges off after you, but you're already in the trees, brushing aside the bushels of pine needles as you bound over hillocks and roots.
>The trees grow close together here, tangling their branches and gnarling the ground into an earthen washboard.
>They're more sparse near the road, and if they didn't become so much more dense just ahead, you'd be more worried about her catching up. You hear her pounding feet a fair distance behind you, but you know all she needs is a good clear straightaway to catch you.
>Ahead of you an old aspen hangs open a gateway into the thickets of trees, and you can almost see a winding path into the forest starting there.
>You duck under a low hanging branch and twist between a bush and the tall trunk of a spruce. Running as hard as you can, you almost didn't notice a root arching out of the ground.
>You step high, lunging off the root instead of letting it catch your foot, and you find a narrow channel peeling left through the brush, perfect for a short burst of speed.
>Somewhere behind you echoes heavy footfalls and a cacophony of rustling and snapping as she forces her way through.
>"YOU DID IT AGAIN!"
>She sounds angry, but it's a hollow sounding anger, so you see no danger in taunting her as you dive over a low squatting bush at the end of the aspen corridor.
"Just try and keep up, tiny!"

>A crack echoes from on your trail as you presume she simply pushed a branch out of her way, then followed by a burst of rustling and her briefly yelping in surprise.
>"Gyaaauhhh!"
>There's a crashing noise and a solid whump, she wastes no time swearing vehemently.
>"Fucking hell! What ASSHOLE put that there!? Graarrrrrr!!"
>Seems she found that root.
>You can't help a devilish chuckle as you wind through more trees.
>Some of the gaps here are so narrow even you think twice about the possibility of fitting through them, must be nightmarish for her.
>The uphill run is straining, but you've fared through worse, and it provides an easy direction to your goal.
>More roots churn the ground ahead of you, but from this angle they almost look like a staircase straight up.
>Noises of all sorts move behind you as she fumbles through into her own way through the trees, you can hear her spitting and swearing near constantly.
>You look again at nature's escalator...
>Fuck it, it just needs some legwork.
>You hop gently from root to root, branches brush over your hunched back as you dash up the steps.
>Teth'ra trips over herself again judging by the sudden up-tick in snapping sounds, likely she just crushed an innocent hedge.
>"FUCK!!"
"I thought you loved nature!"
>"Oh, fuck off!"
>You hope she isn't too mad, if it'll lesson the sting you may offer to help pick the pine needles out of her fur.
>Right now you have a race to win.
>The root stairs take you up pretty far, and you can see sunlight dancing through the canopy ahead, which way to go now?
>You can't dawdle as you hear Teth's relentless climb closing towards you. You have to give the big girl credit, the rough terrain isn't slowing her as much as you thought it would.
>As long as you keep the initiative, it's doubtful she can reclaim the lead, you spot a breach in the foliage between a bush and a fur and dash for it.
>Wood creaks lowly where you just were as you brush aside the needles, she must have found the staircase of roots.
>Then an echoing snap. "SERIOUSLY?!!"
>You kind of have to feel bad for her there.
>At least she doesn't destroy furniture the way she snaps these thin little aspens.
>You see more sun, and as you brush aside a pair of spruce trees, you're met with the wide blue sky again.
>You slow and wander through more low bushes into a clearing, the summit of the hill is right in front of you past a few more trees.
>Another loud snap closer on your tail, and you book it.
>Taking a few high-kneed bounds upward past the last of the trees, you've reached the hill's bald summit.
>You proudly step on a smooth rock nestled into the yellowing grass in a tiny echo of a safari hunter making a display of his victory.
>The sun on your face feels sweet, you coast out a warm sigh and don a triumphant smile.
>The treeline below you rustles angrily before 8 feet of angry jackal thumps out of the brush panting heavily, takes one look at you and your cocky grin, and spits a pine needle out of her lips.
>"Not. Fucking. Fair."
"Oh like you played fair last ni-"
>"Don't even say it!"
>She has a claw leveled accusingly in your direction, before she sulks through the brush to join you at the top.
>You track her as she climbs up onto the summit with you, the tired way her limbs hang suggesting that she isn't going to do anything rash.
>She marches up next to you, hitching your breath a little as she looms over you, every heave of breath carrying the hint of a growl.
>"Alright... Sorry for making fun of ya."
>She lightly slaps your shoulder.
>"Smartass..."
>A gnarled and stunted spruce is the only real feature atop this hill, it bends sharply towards the south before attempting to curve skyward like a bow. Weedy branches spread to catch the sun just over the level her ears are at, so this little tree almost takes the shape of a reclining chair with an umbrella over it.
>She groans as she puts herself down on the misshapen trunk, plucking waxy green needles out of her fur.
>"I swear if any of this shit got in my mane, you ARE going to help me pick it out."
>You put her through more than enough with that stunt, even if she was asking for it. You raise your hands placatively.
"Fair enough."
>Besides, you don't want to turn her humbling into a wounding.

>You relax your shoulders and take a look outwards while she fusses over herself, you can probably see for a fair few miles up here.
>Towards the north and northwest is really the only way you can look, the eastern view is dominated by hills furred with trees and the rising mountains. The south is hidden behind that last row of trees, their bushy tops screening the summit from the road.
>Below you is the same nesting of houses you just came from, and you trace a long string of them running back up to the town proper.
>Although most of it is obscured by a hill ahead of you, you can sight the small civil airstrip near the heart of town, and the large scaffolding screens set up there for mechs to make field repairs.
>the runway itself was cratered and broken, yet it was already too short for most jets to begin with, only a handful of VTOLs and helicopters paused there to refuel.
>Beyond the town the highway continues its wind northwards into wilderness and enemy territory, hills, woodland, and small, glittering lakes scatter to both sides, and occasionally the blanketing of trees is broken by the squat shapes of structures.
>The view is pleasant, but it's nothing you would call breathtaking, you busy yourself studying the traffic moving up the highway.
>Well, you would, if her breathing wasn't so distracting.
>Short, hurried gasps free of vocal effort, and outtakes just as quick. You look over to find her tongue almost lolling out of her mouth.
"You're panting?"
>The tree sags gently under her as she's reclined herself into the trunk's curvature.
>She eyes you tiredly, but you swear some sense of appreciation is there too.
>"No sweat glands. remember?"
>Right
>"You know. That's the first time someone outran me."
>Is this routine for her?
"You make a habit of challenging people to this?"
>"Nah. Just the ones I like."
>That sincere little smile gets your heart attempting to sprout feathers again.
>"You know, when we get leave I should take ya to monument valley. See if you can outrun me then in the open."
>Knowing her, she'd take it as an excuse to run you down and tackle you.
"What? And get pounced? I don't think so."
>"Jackals don't pounce."
"What?"
>"I said we don't pounce when hunting, we LEAP."
>You don't doubt those legs could launch her through the air like a furred cannonball, but the terminology seems purely arbitrary.
"Semantics..."
>You look out to study the stride of some far off walker before your attention is called back by the jackal's seat creaking in protest.
>She's stood herself up, and is wearing a devious grin, quickly setting off alarms in your head.
>"Maybe I should show you~"
"Oh no-I'M GOOD!"
>"*snrk* hnhnhnhn, I'm just fuckin with ya!" She leans back onto the gnarled trunk and adds something in a low, sour whisper that almost escapes your notice.
>"-'sides, it's not like you'd survive under me anyway...-"
>...
>You're just gonna let that one be. Seems like she wasn't intending for you to hear that.
>Despite what she's put you through, you don't want her morning to go out on a sour note, so you offer conversation for something you're sure she appreciates.
"You said you went hiking?"
>Her smile fails to reappear, but you have her attention.
>"Oh, uh, yeah. Though it was less hiking and more wandering."
"No sense of direction?"
>She gives a soft scoff, her grin briefly making itself known again.
>"No... My place was towards the edge of town, so, it didn't take much to find myself out in the wild."
>"Some days it was as simple as jumping the fence in the backyard. The neighbors behind us had access to the street that led to the city limits."

>You have to raise a brow at that, obviously where she came from plays by different rules, but in Boston that sort of behavior would get you in deep trouble... or shot.
"I bet that made you popular."
>"Ah, Miss Shane was nice enough. But it was hard explaining why I was on the roof of her garden shed the first time."
>Briefly the image crosses your mind of the way she is now perched on top of a cheap plastic shed. The obvious conclusion is that she immediately falls through the roof.
>The thought is funny, but she was probably a lot scrawnier at the time, and wouldn't be such a risk to structural integrity.
"Hn"
>"I swear she was the only person that hated the natives as much as I did, she and her husband went through a nasty breakup after he converted. Invited me inside for pie a few times, good cook, and a nice place."
"Nice lady."
>"Yeah... I should check in on her sometime."
>She sighs happily.
>"Once I got free of town, I had everywhere to go, that little pocket of wilderness was all mine. My empire of claw marks and wildflowers."
>"Every ledge was a challenge and a conquest, hollow old trees were mysteries and outposts, and if it was cute and cuddly, I'd practice my hunting catching it."
>A fay light glimmers in her blues as she looks at you, like she wants to show you all of this through her eyes.
>A smile is tugging at the corners of your mouth, hers grows brighter in turn.
>"I had more live birds in my hand than my ornithology teacher ever did."
>She was a bright eyed trailblazer, gently clutching a nervously beeping bushel of feathers.
"D'aaawwww"
>Teth'ra cracks a nervous giggle and looks away. The crossing thought of paying her back by sending her into a fit of embarrassment is only that, in crossing.
>She's sharing more of her heart right now, and the want rises to coax it out.
>Shyly, her muzzle raises back in your direction, her eyes dart, and her ears twitch.
"What?"
>"I-I just. You probably see me as a dumb kid now."
>What you see is a truly gentle soul.
>You speak your mind.
"Teth. Everyone does dumb things when they're young. Just not usually something so... stupidly adorable."
>"I-eh. Keh- Tsch!"
>It's not difficult to get a read on how hard she's blushing, the furious wag of her tail tells all.
>You give her space and she takes the time to collect herself. You try to make it as obvious that you can that you're open to hear more.
>She cups her chin in some effort of solidarity.
>"I loved that damn place. It was my little kingdom, I marked out the borders, places of interest... the fields."
"Fields?"
>"*snrk*, wildflowers are easy, just dig up a couple and put them somewhere else, they take care of themselves really. I could never get the vegetables from mom's garden to take. 'Course, I only grew the prettiest weeds I found."
"What about all those poor trees you marked up?"
>"U-eh. Most of em were dead before I got there, stop trying to guilt me!"
>You splay your hands defensively, no ulterior motives here.
>"Hahaha hnhnhnhn. It's fine. I mostly used those trees for practice, but I made sure to leave at least one mark on pretty much every tree on my 'border'. I just have to wonder if there's an urban legend from all the marks I left around!"
>"Mom didn't approve of any of this, mind you, but she had a hell of a time trying to tell me no if I came home with a sad look on my face and a bird I found with a broken wing."
"How many did you bring home?"
>"I... never kept track. She always looked torn between scolding me or praising me, it helped that I never got hurt out there. I'd always turn around if I smelled trouble."
>As sweet as she is, trouble and her get along like a lug and a wrench.
"'Trouble' meaning...?"
>"Ah, the usual. I'd run home if I caught the scent of a bear or wildcat... OR some strange boy I didn't know~."
>You bite down the implication before it can launch itself into your attention, she titters at her quip before continuing, her voice heavy with the strain of longing.
>"I have to wonder if that place is still there. My duchy may have been overturned for a factory."
>It's something so dear to her, it'd be a shame if it was gone. the thought of some concrete box belching smoke and washers in its place is quietly enraging.
>If the wild kingdom still endures, it would be something to see.
"I'd love to see the realms of Queen Magaul."
>A thin smile wears on her lips, and you catch each other's eyes.
>"I'd love to show you."

>Her lips quiver with the ghosts of syllables, some spark in her eyes is trying to make itself known.
>She steals a shallow breath, before stopping rigid. Her ears scanning towards the north. Her gaze follows shortly with the alert movements of her head.
>"The hell is that?"
>She's heard something, and the content comfort you had on this little hill drops, you have no idea what it is she's picking up.
>It now occurs to you that neither of you are really ready for a fight. You left your flak jacket behind, and she is bereft of her armor and machine gun.
>All you have are your sidearms, and some rouge pack of bugs may have snuck past the lines further north.
>You encountered bugs out of your auger frame before, but they were alone, and memory provides blurs of adrenaline rather than suggestion.
"Teth... what's going on?"
>"...Something's exploding."
>So many possibilities, all of them bad. You reach for your magnum.
>You halt as her snout darts in your direction.
>"No, no! Hold on! It's very distant, I don't think we're in danger."
"Well WHAT are you hearing?"
>"Sounds like artillery, but it's a bit off. It's too... metered."
>The tension in your chest is slow to uncoil, you air out your lungs to try and help it along.
>You watch Teth'ra's ears scan before she rises from her recline against the gnarled tree. At her full height, her eyes scan the horizon, you try to follow her gaze, but see nothing.
>The wire drawn over her shoulders slacks, and her face softens as she stares out.
>"Well... that is something else."
>Apprehension gives way to curiosity, what exactly has she sighted?
"What do you see?"
>"I have no idea, but it's... gorgeous."
>Try as you might, nothing you can see fits the bill.
"Teth, unless you're gawking at trees I don't know what we're looking at."
>"Tom, i-it's beautiful. Get over here!"
>You follow her direction, maybe she's seeing whatever wonder caught her eye through a break in the trees you can't see from this angle.
>Careful not to trip over a stone while you're scanning the horizon, you wander closer to her.
>Without any real pretext, she reaches a hand to seize your left shoulder and pulls you into her side.
>The touch makes you jump slightly, but she isn't too forceful.
>Her other arm levels itself in the same direction as her snout, drawing a thick line directly above the horizon.
>"Right there. You see it?"
>Trying to ignore the way her hip is pressing deeply into your side, or the large shirt-tearing lumps obscuring the right half of your vision, you try to spot what she's looking at in a fever. If only to get her to leave you a little space.
>Still no luck
"I-I don't see anything!"
>She blows an annoyed huff as you find yourself being prodded forward.
>"Here, we'll try this then. Hang on!"
"Wait, wha-Haaaauuuht!"
>Her hold on your shoulder drops away, before you find both of her hands nailed hard to your hips, and with an unsettling sensation she lifts you clear of the ground.
-oh shit, oh shit, oh shit-
>You go rigid to maintain your balance and suck in air. This is without much warning and you're hopelessly lost on the context, what is she doing!?
>Your lungs feel chilled, a brisk alarm chirps through your skull, and visions of teeth and trauma start surfacing behind your eyes.
>Your rise upwards halts and you're lurched back before finding yourself seated on some firm narrow shifting under you to hold your weight with unflinching resolve.
>The hands arresting your hips move away, and panicked over your balance, you manage to find a spot to hold on in a downy ruff to your right, but you're still afraid to move as your sense of vertigo is precarious.
>Daring to look down, you find that she bought you up to her shoulder.
>"See it now?"
>You can't see much of anything while you still feel like you might fall, you fumble out your left, grasping blindly for something to hold onto.
"I. Uh. Teth? Please!"
>"oh, um... Here."
>Your hand finds something warm wearing an odd texture flat against it, you grasp it anxiously, and it clasps around your hand in turn, providing some precious since of equilibrium.
>Lungs trembling and trying to get your hair to stop standing on end, you fight to get your breath back.
>Teth briefly looks back up towards you before returning towards the horizon, before stopping with a jilt and snapping back to you.
>"I-oh. OH! Shit! I am SO sorry!! I don't know what came over me! Are you okay?!"
>Her urgency is desperate, having just realized what she did. You have to wonder if there are going to be any more times where she slips into a trance and manhandles you without warning.
>But, she didn't do anything too rash, and you're perfectly intact, if rattled.
>No harm, no foul, but a jumping heat flares to remind her to be more considerate of you.

"I-..... I'm, fine. Just.. Give me some warning next time!"
>"I-I'm so sorry. I should have checked with you first. I just wanted you to see... that."
>Her blues gaze up at you with a tangible plea, the regret on her voice is clear.
>"Puh-please, Don't be mad. I. I got excited and wasn't thinking ahead of myself, I'll try not to let it happen again!"
>You don't really find a reason to be angry, it was a mistake made in the heat of the moment, and with you making your discomfort clear as day she was quick to recognize her fault.
>Dare you say she might be overreacting a little.
>It's now that you realize your right hand is firmly in the luxurious silk of her mane, and you scratch at the back of her head to offer a token of forgiveness.
>She groans shyly, and you fill your lungs to stabilize your ratcheting heart.
"I'm okay...... But you need to be careful."
>"I-I will!"
>...
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>She's more than strong enough to support you up here, and she was fast to recognize her error. As long as she avoids doing it again it should be fine.
>It seems to you that recently she's been alternating between trying to relax and form a stronger bond around you, and fretting nervously about overstepping herself or slighting you.
>What could be setting her into that nervous switch so easily?
>It could be that such lapses got her bitten harshly in the past, so now she's twice shy.
>She waves her free arm out in front of her with a shy smile.
>"Well?... There it is."
>You finally find the will to lift your head, tracing your eyes upwards. You waver a little as you realize just how high off the ground you are.
>A view high off the ground isn't unfamiliar to you, but that's always accompanied by the sweat of leather bracketing your eyes and a heads up display.
>With the wind on your face and your body free of any of the restraints and supports of the armature, being 10 feet in the air on top of the hill is a little terrifying, and exhilarating.
>You shunt in the breeze to clear your head a little.
"Hooh! I can see the top of the damn world from up here."
>"Look further."
>You brace yourself to be greeted with the wide wilderness yawning beneath you, squeezing your handholds in case the vertigo tips your balance.
>As you trace the land northwards, your left anchor squeezes back, and your breath is stolen by a splendor on the horizon.
"Holy hell..."
>Great marbles of rose light shimmer far in the distance. From miles away you can still see the dancing shadows cast deep into the trees.
>The glowing domes fade into a deep fuchsia before flattening into heavy mounds of wine stained smoke that you can swear resemble the unfurling of a rose.
>As one fades, a bright gold streak smashes into the earth from somewhere above, erupting into a fresh marble of blushing fire. Each light grows, shimmers and fades into the floral smoke with a spotlessly precise timing.
>Drifts of reddening vapor climb like vines into the air over the target for this strange and awe inspiring attack, catching the light with shimmering specks of argent debris swirling in the clouds.
>Such a curious and pure sort of beauty, floating over the collapsing shell of a long dead town. It's difficult to believe what you're looking at is even real.
"Is that ours?"
>"The shells are coming from the south... it has to be."
"It's not like any artillery I've ever seen. It is... beautiful."
>It's now you realize what's ensnaring your hand, silk warms your palm like a winter hearth, and smooth pads rock gently between your knuckles and above your wrist. The sense of her claws sit over your flesh in a guarding cage, not a threat.
>She squeezes gently with a grip not allowing your digits to dare move. The rose fire must be reaching all the way over here because you feel it on your face, and the din of your heart curls in your ears.

<Teth'ra>
>There were two reports, one high, one low. The shells were coming from somewhere high above, some sort of massive aircraft no doubt.
>But the distant booming of the cannon and shell is long drowned out by the noise of your own heart flooding your ears.
>His thin, dexterous hand has been clasped in your own as the both of you stare at this ethereal garden of titanic roses blooming in the destruction of a bug infested town.
>You don't even care anymore about what sort of munition central, or the airforce, or whomever really is raining on that place, the sight is something beautiful that you never believed could exist in the midst of utter destruction.
>You got a little eager to show him, but now he sat so calmly as you held him on your shoulder that you're guiltily thankful you took the chance of picking him up.
>Your shoulder complains lightly, he's not too light, but to keep this moment of connection between the two of you; you would hold up the world.
>Somehow, this sight would be wasted without him. This moment would mean so much less with anyone else.
>You swear your pounding pulse is reaching up through your arm, and leaking through your palm to synchronize with his own.
>Though you listen intently, it's hard to tell them apart.
>"It really is beautiful, Teth'ra. I don't think I'll ever forget this."
>An errant taste of the air, so close you get an unclouded read of his scent.
>Embarassment, anxiety, a fading fear, and... *arousal*. Flames grow within.
>Your heart is racing for war, not even in the bunker was it beating so fast.
>Your throat is dry and clammy, your ears burn, and you can feel your pawpads starting to slick with sweat.
>Fighting the itch trying to start a tremble in your legs, you manage to coax out a word.
"Tom?"
>"Yeah?"
-you love him-
>'I love you'
>You love him.
>...
>An electric pinch seizes the ruff of your neck under the warm presence of his hand, and you swallow the tar gumming your mouth.
"...Thank you, for being here."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>You had been on the move for hours, that moment tauntingly running itself in your head over and over again.
>'what if you had said it?' it coos, 'would he ever say it back? or did you miss your chance?'.
>You thrash your head, and take in the chill of the evening air to calm yourself.
>Your better judgment seized on you at the last moment, before your passion steered you into making a mistake. You had indulged yourself too much this morning, and he was in turmoil, now was not the right time.
>It wouldn't be that way for a while, and you have other things to worry about in the meantime.
>After you veered away from what you suspected was just a trick of passion and timing, the bombardment soon faded. You were more than hesitant to keep talking about anything, and simply expressed your desire to return to your temporary barracks so you could get your stuff ready to ship up North.
>The run back was quiet, and it was honestly a relief after you shoved your footlockers into the back of your assigned truck and Tom split from you to go warm up his machine.
>Gathering up your squad everything appeared peachy, nothing had burned down while you were gone, and while both looked rather testy, Duran and Feldspar weren't bitching at eachother for once.
>Matthews complained adamantly about needing another space heater to avoid torpor, and you told her that she and Pliskin could fetch one from the requisition depot once you all got to the assembly area. The twins also handed you a shopping list for spare parts, which you tucked somewhere safe.
>Your orders had changed since last night, said staging grounds were now miles north of the original sight. The planned sight of William's Lake had been abandoned in favor of the large town of Quesnel, forty miles south of the city of Prince George.
>Said city was likely to be the most daunting obstacle in the path of the advance yet, but strategy was not your issue for now, so you joined your squad in hitching a ride along with the passing convoys.
>From there you rode for miles, leaving 100 Mile House far behind. Occasionally you caught sight of Tom's machine far ahead, but you didn't dare raise him on comms.
>You needed your space, and it looked best to let him have his.
>Soon you saw the reason for the change in orders, Lake Williams was a field of craters.
>It was the same story for other bug infestations up the line, you were following a trail of destruction.
>Every side road injected mixes of troopers into the column, so many of them from different divisions that yours hadn't been in contact with for weeks.
>A few uniforms in the migrating crowd of rifles even looked like marines.
>In the sea of chatter, you picked out one word that presented itself as a title: 'Thunderbird'
>Thousands of eyes must have scanned the sky, but 'Thunderbird' never showed itself. You had to wonder if the flying titan would simply flatten Prince George for you like it had all these towns.
>"What? You're looking kinda grim."
>The phrase snaps through your recollections and brings you back into the now; marching the last mile into Quesnel.
>Your ears swivel behind you.
>"Leave me alone, Julia."
>"And what if I don't want to? You gonna wave claws in my face too?"
>Your lips sour into a frown, so much for the peace between your corporals.
>"I already said that was a mistake! I am sick of apologizing, leave me alone."
>At first you believed it would be best to let them blow off steam, but their little spats had been getting more than just harmless.
>"I'll leave you alone when you stop glowering at people, I can smell your anger."
>You had starting seeing the beginnings of a rift between them, and the lump in your throat started glowing hot.
>This is supposed to be a unit, you will not have your own squad being split because neither of them have been willing to sit down like adults for almost a week now.
>Your ears flatten, and a growl builds towards a snarl. You turn back in their direction.
>"Maybe what you're smelling is your own sh-"
"KNOCK IT OFF! BOTH OF YOU!"
>Both of their shoulders jump, both snap their attention to you with wide eyes.
"Duran! Up here!"
>The doberman's ears shrink, and she picks up the pace to join you at the head of the squad.
>For her part, Feldspar wears what you can best narrow down as a hesitant relief, but your attention is now shifting to Julia.

>She moves in at your side, ears low, tail slack, and shying from your eyes. She may be a head or so taller than Feldspar, but you still loom large over her.
>She knows you're speaking as her superior, not her friend, your tone of voice reinforces this.
"What is your problem?"
>"I-..."
"What is your problem? You've been harping at her daily for almost a week now. I get that you want the lesson to stick, but pushing it day after day? Once? she gets it. Three times, she REALLY gets it. Eight times? You're just pushing it!"
>"It's like she's a different person!... Ever since the hanger she's just been finding every reason to get pissy, and she will not stop glaring at people."
>A certain dogged attempt to shame her sounding in her ears every five minutes probably isn't helping the lion's mood.
"So? She's angry! Who the fuck cares? There are a thousand reasons should could be angry, not all of them related to you or the hanger. Are you really going to misinterpret every single one?"
>"I'm just worried she's going to slip back."
>So she constantly bombards her with shame and judgments? You want to put faith in her that she's just not aware of the effect she's having or hasn't thought her approach through.
>Duran was so quiet when you first met, now she seems one of the loudest, most impulsive voices.
"Well what you're doing isn't helping that, if anything it's making it worse."
>She wants to say something, but swallows the words as her eyes wander in thought.
>She's listening, and you take the opportunity to help your point.
"You pushing against her so hard is only making her want to stand her ground. Whether you intend to or not, you're not giving her an out."
>You know what it's like, because once you were on the other side of that. You know how Feldspar's heart will harden if this continues unabashed.
"Soon enough she is going to start believing that any sort of repair or forgiveness between the two of you is impossible, then she's going to start resenting you for it. Even growing to hate you."
>Her snout twists in conflict, and she voices a disbelief.
>"How could you know? You've only been with us for a few weeks. I know Charlene, she gets in a habit of speaking for us, and she's defensive, sure. But it's rare that she holds a grudge."
"I know, because once I was in her position. The difference is my mistakes were imagined, I was assigned blame for the failures of someone above me, and all the judging and talking behind my back only made me despise people I once called friend."
>They were sold in their belief of you, and every little thorn of your personality was magnified into an executioner's sword.
>They took every excuse they could to see you as the villain.
-but maybe you've been doing the same-
>Lu...
>Maybe she's been rethinking you.
>Maybe you should have accepted her apology.
>Maybe your old friend has been seeing the error of her ways, and is ready to rebuild bridges.
>If only you offer your hand, and accept your own flaws.
"This whole thing happened because of my failure, but she still has her own mistake, give her some space to realize that."
>"I'm scared that she might split the squad."
>It would be more likely that Feldspar would become the pariah of the group, but the concern on Julia's voice is heavy. She believes without a doubt that the lion would tear the squad straight down the middle.
"And how would she do that?"
>"The kids... Alex and Samantha. They looks up to her, think the world of her."
"And you think they would just follow her into a sedition. They look up to YOU too, trust me. Whenever the two of you get in a spat, those kids remind me of siblings just trying to keep their heads down while their parents are fighting."
>Both of the privates were hesitant to even speak for anything but necessities like the space heater for Matthews, otherwise they refused to take a side. The twins meanwhile were firmly in Duran's court.
>"All due respect ma'am. You weren't there when we found them."
"Found them?"

>She takes a more neutral expression, eyes deep in a recounting.
>"Those two aren't originals to our squad. Charlene saved their lives during an action. They were originally from a fresh platoon with a bunch of other kids from small townsville USA, the kind of places where there are no exports beyond corn and apple-cheeked youngsters."
>You have to start wondering just how young the pair is, they couldn't be more than a day over 19.
>The army was growing a habit of recruiting younger and younger.
>"They got lost in the confusion of an engagement, separated from their platoon and their squad. We came across the pair of them pinned in a half collapsed house. Running out of ammo and surrounded by a large pack of warriors and razorbacks."
>You look back as she continues. Feldspar wears a frown coupled with forlorn eyes, scratching loosely along her arm. The twins share glances between themselves and the lioness as the gun rig is shuffled behind them. Matthews and Pliskin chatter between themselves, Sam's bristled tail exposing their worry.
>How different did this squad look back then?
>"The sergeant was out of action so me and Charlene were in effective command. I wanted to hold back and get more guys involved, but Charlene wasn't listening. She saw a couple of kids in trouble. Next thing I know she's off. So she roars up behind this pack, screaming at the top of her lungs 'ya'll leave them alone!'. She was spraying with one hand and lobbing with the other! I remember thinking: 'this woman is either insane or trying to get us killed.' But you know what they teach us in boot, live with your squad, die with your squad."
>She briefly looks up to you, hazel eyes sparking in that familiar way before looking back in the privates' direction, a thin smile growing before she looks forward to the road.
>"So I shake off my confusion first and order the troop forward to support her. One of the privates with us lost a leg, another got a nasty scar across the chest, and Charlene got a pair of quills in the ribs and a broken arm for her trouble. But we saved those kids... Thing was, during the battle their platoon got wiped out. Afterwards they were sent in to our outfit. Charlene took over their grenadier training, and they've looked up to her ever since."
"What happened to those other two privates?"
>"...they're gone now. Our last sergeant took them with her."
>If your mental picture is lining up correctly, that would mean only the two corporals and the twins are what remains of the squad's original members.
"I'm sorry."
>"Nothing you could have done. Nothing to apologize for then."
>Four out of ten and they were still going, even now with seven of ten including you, they were understrength. You still had yet to receive any word about new recruits or reinforcements joining you, something that you suspected Vilka was at fault for.
>She trusted most of her paperwork to that sabercat with the vacant stare, and you didn't like even being near that one, something about her just seemed... evil. It was either her or the bitch herself that was denying you the trio of rifles your outfit needed to be fully operational.
>But angry visitations with your lieutenant was a task for another time, so you turn back to the now. Julia needs some gentle encouragement to take the chance on Feldspar.
"I get why you think they'd hardline their loyalties to Feldspar, but they're just kids, really. How old even are they?"
>"...seventeen."
>You have to pause as you feel your stomach curdle, a knot of disgust slides up your throat before you swallow it.
>When you were 17 you were sneaking out to hang with friends and shoot the shit, your worries were over boys and your figure, not your life. It should have been the same for them.
>You look back, they're still whispering anxiously, and only one conclusion crosses your mind.
>They don't belong here.
>It's a struggle to turn your attention back to Duran.
"Well... then that just means that they're at an impressionable age, which works to your favor. Charlene may have been the first to move, but all of you pitched in to save them, so they likely think of all of you guys as a second family. So trust me when I say that they're just as worried about this situation as you are."
>The consideration on her muzzle turns towards acceptance, looks like your argument has gotten through.
>"Hell, talk like that and you may be part of our dysfunctional little family."
>The thought is flattering, but you're still relatively new to them, and you didn't start off on as nearly as strong a foot as you did with Tom.
"Flattering, but you said it yourself, I've only been with you for a few weeks."
>"True, but you're also one of the most reasonable sergeants we've had. Sure you flipped your lid a bit but you recognized your mistakes, apologized, and you're trying to be better for it. More than I can say for most of our sergeants."
>You aren't sure if accepting the praise would be in bad taste, but you don't want to seem prudish either.
"Ehm... Thanks."
>"No problem, *mother*."
"Stop that."
>If you were more cynical you'd believe she's trying to distract you from leveling a punishment instead of joking from relief over just getting off with a warning.

>"Speaking of parental absence, where were you last night?"
>Finally making a move, but she doesn't need to know that.
"I trust I don't need to baby you, corporal."
>Jesting at her independance should wave her off without any issue.
"You can take care of yourself without me for five minutes. can't you?"
>"Ah yes, the classic 'dad going to the bar' excuse. Didn't take you for a drunkard."
>You shoot her a disapproving glare over the bridge of your muzzle. Breaking down one's constitution in public is shameful, you don't get why humans do it.
>Her wiry grin stays strong. She may be joking, but you aren't going to tolerate even the thought that at least your public face is anything but respectable.
>Drink was for private moments, between trusted friends.
"I was off with a-some friends. I don't go to crater dives."
>Your tongue hitched a second and almost betrayed your real reason, you pray she doesn't notice.
>"Uh, all due respect ma'am. But the rest of the platoon has a communal stick up their ass, and the other sergeants in the battalion think you're trouble. What friends?"
>Snippy little thing, isn't she?
>You're starting to prefer her back when she was quiet. You had plenty of friends in the unit... had.
>Some depressive spot leaps over your ears, but you blow it off with a sour huff, it can go fuck itself.
>And she doesn't need to know what you were getting up to last night.
"Well if you're gonna be like that, it's none of your damn business."
>That was a night between you and him, no one else. He showed how vulnerable he was, and he trusted you every time to keep it between you, you will not betray that trust.
>The man has gone through enough betrayal and loss in his life as is, you can make it better.
>"Oh... I get it!"
>A dangerous glare crests your brow, and you direct it at her in warning.
>What exactly does she think she gets? Because you're fairly sure you don't like the answer.
>"You were off getting some 'meat~', weren't you?"
>A nerve breaks madly around your core, producing a short flash of animosity.
>You vent it piecemeal with an open palmed slap to the back of her head, a gentle reminder not to overstep herself.
>Out of the corner of your eye, you see the soft clap of the strike draw Feldspar's attention before Julia makes her displeasure known.
>"Ow! -augh. Okay, I was asking for that one."
>An angry stirring still collects into a growl, so you weave it into a verbal warning.
"One thing you should get straight right now, corporal: is I DO NOT sleep around."
>She clutches around behind her ears, checking for any damage but finding nothing permanent. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have.
>"Understood and duly noted... Man, you guys really are touchy about that stuff."
>A barb in your throat spits at the typical domestic attitude, but you breath sharply and let her have that one.
>Last thing you need is to lose the trust of your functioning corporal again. It's best to remain at a stern but fair demeanor.
>It's been more than enough joking around, and you remind her that the purpose of this talk was not for jesting.
"Look, my point is if you want to help things with Feldspar, then change your attitude. Don't be so determined to misread everything she does. Remember that she's your friend, not your target. If Charlene is the sort of person that I believe she is, that I met, and that you know, with time she'll start seeing where she went wrong. And if she comes forward to you, don't confront her with rabid judgments and a closed fist. Try some understanding, let things go. Hell, lend her a hand to help her fix herself! Just stop pushing against her, because when the ground under someone that obstinate breaks and you're still pushing. The only way they can slide is backwards."
"I'm confident that if you offer some honest help, she'll take it. Things can be better. But before any of that can happen, you first have to back off. Don't make it an order."
>The doberman breathes a long sigh.
>"Alright ma'am. You've convinced me. We'll do it your way."
>Your hand moves for her again, you rest it confidently on her shoulder.
"Thank you."

>She looks up, and the two of you share a small grin.
>When all is said and done, the both of them are contentious, but you see promise in them. Perhaps some small part of them reminds you of yourself.
>You can shape this squad up yet.
>You glance back towards Feldspar, her snout turns away but you know that for a little bit she was watching intently, and probably trying to listen.
>The twins will no doubt need expertise to help fix their gun.
>And you remember Tom was staring at some sort of plan sketched into a notebook when you were packing up.
>A plan starts coming to mind.
"Now then, you need anything from the supply depot?"
>"Yea-uhhhh why do you ask?"
>You can't help the knowing smirk cracking your lips, but you conceal the exact reason with a practiced deflection and a jerk of your thumb over your shoulder.
"Those four back there have been bugging me for various provisions, and I need to top up on ammo. So I figured if you needed anything it would save a trip."
>Her eyes briefly narrow, searching you for some betrayal of your intent, but she finds nothing and her sense of practicality pushes her to make her needs known.
>"I was checking over my fuel tanks yesterday and found a little bit of a leak. I could use a new set of sealing gaskets"
>Now for the distraction.
>"I'll see that you get it then. Now go check on the kids, they looked paranoid that I was going to bite your head off."
>Looking back, she confirms what you're saying and nods curtly.
>"Ma'am."
>Duran departs, and you glance back while she's busy with the privates, catching Feldspar in another one of her intent gazes.
>You motion for the cat to join you. Her approach is a bit hesitant and she wears a worried brow.
>"Uhh, wha'd'ya need sarge?"
>You've seen her like this a few times over the week, pretty much always after arguments with Duran. The cat withdraws into herself, the confidence that was once there bleeds out, leaving her pallid and forlorn.
"Don't look so nervous, you're not in trouble."
>"Um, alright then..."
>You need to ease her back into opening up, show her that she doesn't have to tread so lightly around you.
"I just want to check in with how you're doing corporal, I'm not going to hit you if that's what you're worried about."
>"Oh no. Once was more than enough."
>She clutches near her stomach in a moment of inattention and guilt tugs at your frown. You're still questioning whether or not you were too hard on her.
>Worry plucks that her shy behavior is hiding resentment, maybe it would help if you explain yourself.
"Look, I'm sorry for... that."
>She jumps a little as she realizes where her hand is.
"But, the fact is, you had already proven yourself to be obstinate... and you were the first to step majorly out of line, so-"
>"-You were making an example outta me."
>...
>"I got what ya were doin' after shaking hands with yer little friend. Anyone else woulda done the same, you bit me hard, so ya wouldn't have to bite me again."
>Her scent stirs with a hint of anger, but you feign a complete acceptance to let her think over how that very thing was your intent.
"I'm glad you understand. I can't have my number two threatening to kill someone."
>On queue, a shot of guilt reaches your noise. Her intent wasn't murderous, your faith goes that far, but your suspicion was most parties involved interpreted it that way even if they didn't admit it.
"Now then, I have something for you to do."
>This would give her time to think clear of the distractions of you or the rest of the squad, and present her with an opportunity to forward an olive branch.
>She looks at you expectantly as you remember where you stashed that list.
>You dive a hand behind your breast plate and probe for the minute slip of paper.
"Alright, where is it?"
>It was the safest pocket you had, but it was a bit of a pain fishing it for what you wanted when every little jostle and shift could have your quarry descending deeper.
>You were at least thankful that the twins had adjusted the straps and fitting on your vest so it was far more comfortable.
>The cat has a brow raised, understandably intrigued by the sight of her superior rooting a hand around between her breasts, but what girl hasn't used her girls as a pocket?
>Finally two claws close around something that crinkles, and you wrestle the slip of paper away from the clutches of your chest, handing it to Feldspar.
>"What's this?"
>Your plan in motion.
"That is a list of spare parts the twins need for their gun rig. The kids need a space heater so Matthews doesn't have to worry about torpor, Duran could use a new set of sealing gaskets, and I need three a-hundred round belts of high explosive armor piercing fifty cal."
>"I don't see how an errand will-"
"-Don't think of it as an errand. Think of it as an opportunity to take some time, and clear your head."
>You grip her shoulder gently.
"Think you can do that for me?"
>Her eyes flit in thought, but eventually a minuscule smile creeps onto her muzzle.
>"Yeah, I can sarge."
>That wasn't as hard as you thought it'd be.
>Today was shaping up alright. You offer the cat a proud smile.
"atta girl."
>Now to find Tom.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Tom>
>You've been staring at this scribble in your notebook for about five minutes straight, also staring at the metal tube and pile of spare parts sitting obtusely on the table, and wondering if you should go for welding brackets or try and find a disused rail that won't snap off with the weight.
>There's also the question of a sight, would it need a ladder sight? Or should it be fine just eyeballing it?
>And where exactly should you put that hacksaw to work?
>If only you got more exact measurements.
>Come to think of it, the shroud would get in the way with a rail, so it would be better to bend the forward mounting bracket around that to ease and balance the weight.
>Recoil shouldn't be an issue despite the caliber. With low velocity and a solid base the kick didn't need any direct dampening that wasn't already there. It was going to be propped up by a solid pair of legs anyway.
>Now for the real question, leave it muzzle loaded or try and scavenge more to set up a breach fed magazine?
>There was also the trigger, the existing lever bar would work perfectly, but would something more familiar work better?
>It was already a hassle getting your hands on the first tube, and you couldn't just cap off the cut-off length since you weren't sure exactly how much you would need for the magazine, but where could you sneak in a second tube?
>Maybe if you can bullshit the supply sergeant enough... You already had a prototype feedramp that you managed to work out with some sheet metal and a coil spring.
>...You could always just swallow your pride and ask for help, surprises were damned difficult.
>On the other hand, you would have most of the day to work on this and get something functional, since your official project wasn't going anywhere.
>Damn quasi-celebrity fucknugget was hogging all of the damn work crews again.
>You gaze again at the pieces on the table, and back to your hasty chicken scratch of a blueprint.
-you don't know what you're doing-
>A heavy breath lolls out of your throat, you weren't used to working on this small a scale, and the chances of a misfire seemed to add up the more you considered making it more complicated than it strictly needed to be.
>You take the pencil back to your notebook and adjust your notes, splitting the design into two.
>The first design would be a prototype to make sure the basic premise worked soundly, would be easy enough to test it with the smoke shells you got a hold of.
>If a smoke shell misfired, you got a sting in your eyes and a bit of a cough, no big deal.
>Better than testing with proper high explosive.
>The second design would incorporate the magazine, holding four, maybe five shots counting the one in the chamber would be something to appreciate, but it would have to wait until you got your hand on that second tube and worked out a feed and chambering system that would hold up to the pressure.
>It was lucky the supply sergeant bought your story of trying to work out a mech scale smoke grenade dispenser, seeming to forget that for that to work you'd need a lot more firing tubes.
>At that point you could also get outside help to move past the prototype in 'Mk. 1'.
>She's pretty sharp, she would have the knowhow.
>You hate to not make it as big a surprise as you were hoping, but it's better safe than sorry.
>Shit, just look at yourself. Agonizing this long over a gift, you really do sound like you're in love.
>But you still can't help that excited query. Would she like it? It was a pretty slapdash piece of work to be done by chopping up a disused light mortar, but would it be a case of 'at least the thought counts'?
>It would be miles more practical than any of your other homemade gifts you scrounged together, and it just seemed more honest knowing you made it with your own hands instead of just acquiring it.
>This was your apology, and it has to be perfect. No box of corner store flowers would do the job.
>Those things are always just left to shrivel up and be forgotten in a vase anyhow.
-how romantic...-
>...
>When was the last time you cobbled something together for a woman you didn't have feelings for?
>You can't remember.
>But again, you don't know what you're feeling right now, you're pent up, confused, and her signals aren't exactly clear.
>She's been acting differently lately. The competition, the teasing, the affection, all of it hinted towards something unspoken.
>She could just be excited over your recovery, she's your best friend despite everything, but that girl displays such a shyness sometimes that a murmur at the base of your skull whispers that there's something she's not telling you despite how much she may want to.
>Something she feels.
>But the slightest stir has a heavy ambrosia leaking in on your thoughts, you stare more, noticing the little bounces and rolls. It could be coloring your reading of her towards a conclusion that doesn't apply. Unaware habits and comforts being mistakenly read as deliberate attempts at your attention.
>Maybe you should take some time, stroll out to the greenery just out of town, find a quiet spot downwind and... relieve your urges.
>It's been around a month now, right? It's only healthy...

>But that could wait for later, you had to get this mess in order and then go scream at the nearest technical sergeant to stop jerking off the ace and get some damn work done.
>It's not like anyone else could help y-.
>"Tom?"
>Your back knots in a painfully familiar way, and your lungs seize every square inch of air available on reflex.
>Hiding the pile like your shame, you yank a crumpled tarp over the mess and quickly shunt your notebook under the canvas.
>You swear if it's those fucking cats again you're done.
>And just at the exact wrong time again too.
>The frustration spits at the intruder.
"Christ!! Do you people ever knock!?"
>"*snrk* Hnhnhn. You don't have a door!"
>The cheerful dulcet tones you've become so intimate with reach your ears.
>Oh... it's her again, and you've made yourself look like a fool.
>Heat is crawling around your eyes, say something, anything.
"Uh.... Heyyy, Teth'ra."
-real natural-
>shut it.
>How are you going to hide your surprise from her? It's not ready yet and she's undoubtedly curious about what's on the table.
>Turning around, you meet her deep blues, once again radiant with that happy energy. Today is not keeping her mood down any.
>"Is now a bad time?"
-yes-
"N-No not really."
>Her snout splits into a gleeful white gleam, and she softly turns the toe of her boot into the ground.
>"Glad to hear it. I, uh.-have a proposal."
>She strides in towards you as you panic in wonder why she's doing this when you meant to wave her off.
>Wait!... Shit!... Well, can't take back that blunder of the tongue now.
>You can't really muster yourself to say no to that charming grin and the excited way her tail swishes with only a distant acknowledgement to the tempo set by her stride.
>Propping your back against the table, you concentrate on breathing away the heat creeping under your cheeks.
>Her eyes regard the covered mess behind you but don't seem to make anything conclusive of it.
>You take security in the fact you saw no flash of recognition, she instead turns and makes a seat out of the right corner of the battered old work bench.
>It wheezes wearily under her, but you're certain it's taken worse.
>"So uh... hmmm, how to put this."
>You turn to find her with the leg closer to you crossed over the other, and her brow furrowed in thought.
>Half of you balks that she's considering the best way of gently breaking a request for something you would never do otherwise, but the rest of you stirs with a distant energy.
>She eyes you over her shoulder, and the shyest hint of a grin has that feeling in you climbing into a subdued... excitement?
>All things considered, last night with her went alright, as long as she leaves you time to yourself, you wouldn't actually mind another hangout.
>"I'm uh, running a firing drill later in the evening, I'd like you to be there."
>That spring of a good feeling fades quickly. Her squad, it's always with her damn squad.
>You can't relax around them, too many snouts getting too curious. You loose a heavy sigh, not caring if she infers your meaning or not.
"Them again huh?"
>Almost all of them seem to have some tick that raises your hair.
>The doberman is inoffensive enough, but you've seen that her temper is getting progressively shorter, she flips from quiet to ranting at the drop of a hat.
>The small spotted cat... ocelot?... whatever, flies into excitement about revolvers a bit too fast for your liking, luckily she's never spotted yours.
>Those twin cats are so eerily in sync that the only thing it reminds you of is The Shining.
>The lion you always keep an eye on, you aren't fooled by her meek act, not with the way she glares at you sometimes.
>The only one you can afford to ignore is the lizard, she keeps herself out of the way, and of course Teth never forces you out into them, just insists that you're always around to sidestep any approach and glare at them like it's prom.
>"Tom... Remember our talk?"
>Her tone is one of gentle admonishment, but you're tired of those wary hours with absolutely nothing to speak of.
>Some bitter swill pools on your tongue.
"Yeah, I know. It's for my own good..."
>You want to believe her, but you don't see how, just being around the zoo isn't going to magically cure you. You find yourself missing the days where it was just the two of you against the world.
>She never told them about you until something had already happened, so you may just be falling into the same trap she did.

>You're tired, stuck with a project you can't do on your own, and off balance. Meeting with them again is the last thing on your mind.
>"Tom..."
>You want a nap and a heavy meal for once, but guilt plucks your heart for shirking her.
>Sure most of the squad seems like they don't want to do you harm, but they also don't want to approach you, and it's likewise for you.
>If she intended for you to come out of your shell, it's just not happening.
"Teth'ra, I know. But whatever you're trying to do... I just don't see it."
>The table groans again, and her presence soon looms over you.
>A strong hand rests on your shoulder, and she spins you to face her as she kneels.
>The swell of her chest dives out of your vision, and you're left face to face with her naked concern.
>Ears held back at an angle, brow steeped with worry, and her shimmering sapphires betraying a sadness worn on her lips.
>This giant respects you enough that in such a crucial moment, she plants her knee into the dirt to get on your level, to make sure the both of you aren't hiding anything from the other.
>The eyes are the window to the soul, and hers has always been gentle.
>She holds her snout a small distance away from you, but the gap between her nose and yours is measured only in inches.
>So close, those shining gems look so rich with life, her breath washes into yours.
>"I know it must be hard for you, but I meant what I said. I want you to be free of this terrible thing. I know there's no easy way through, but that's just the way these things are! There's never a quick cure all, it always takes time and effort."
>You swear some part of her is reaching into you, you can't break away from that magnetic draw. The luster in those eyes is renewing.
>"They really aren't so bad, they just... aren't sure how to behave around you, because you're always hiding away. I know you must be scared, but I can't help you on my own, I need a little help... I need you to try, if for no one else... then at least do it for me."
>You want to take the hand she's offering, but where could it even go? All roads lead to Rome, and Rome is in a civil war.
>The doberman and lion may have stopped arguing whenever you were around, but the fact is their conflict seems to have forced the rest of the squad into isolation. You had no cheap and cheerful way to even attempt conversation.
>She's asking the impossible, but instead of frustration you feel the sink of guilt pulling lower around your belly.
"What is there to even do? With your corporals at each other's throats I don't have an in, and it's not like any of them will come forward."
>"Then make an in! I've taken care of Feldspar and Duran's spat, so you have an opportunity. hell! I'm helping you with an opportunity, the Jorgenson's need their gun rig fixed. You don't even have to talk to them! Just do something nice, show them a little of the good man that I see."
"Teth, I-I don't know how. With you I-..."
>You don't know what you did.
>"You were drugged up, tired, trusting of a pair of eyes. And in dire need of a friend."
>...those eyes
>Those impossibly blue eyes.
>"What would we be without that? What would I look like to you if we never met? If you didn't know who I am?"
>The answer creeps from a deep pit, sloughing off a trail of despair and guilt as it squirms up your throat.
>You cage it with your teeth, but her eyes sadden, she's already seen it through your own eyes.
>The way your instincts could have stirred when confronted with her image, if it wasn't held down, drowning under sorrow, loneliness, and medicine.
>A long snout lined with gleaming dagger teeth, large gripping hands tipped with filleting claws, predatory pointed ears that can hear your breath from half a mile, an infallible sense of smell, and a body stacked with crushing, primal muscle hidden by a thin curtain of unassuming fat to take just enough of an edge off that you lower your guard.
>In a time of barbarism and instinct, all of that would be the sign of an alpha predator that was something beyond successful.
>Even so just loosing it pulls needles out of your core. It's all so shameful, you don't want her seeing herself that way because it is so at odds with her gentle soul, her caring nature, her holding of life as precious.
"yh-y-Y-You... You'd be terrifying..."
>All of this, and she's a better person than you. Why does she stay by you? Why keep focus so intently on what little could redeem you?
>"That's exactly it. Tom, we met by circumstance, and I hate to think what we would be without it. They don't have that benefit, but I do have an idea. So please, give them just a little of the chance that I was given, let them show you who they are. So you don't have to focus on what they are."
>...
"Alright... Alright, I'll go."
>A happy whine, a gleeful smile, a vice grip around your torso threatening to squeeze your lungs out.
"Hmp!"
>She curls her arms over your back, pulling you tight against her. Your jaw is immediately over her shoulder, and she bars any attempt to back away.
>"Thank you!"
>Her voice is honeyed with ecstasy, but you can detect a strong hint of relief. A silky, ticklish feeling starts gliding around your neck, interrupting your thought as a wet spot brushes your nape.
>You forget how touchy-feely she gets, once again she nuzzles enthusiastically over the back of your neck. The feeling of fur gliding around your neck and hair is light and fuzzy, occasional scratchy feelings from more coarse hairs or the wet kiss of her nose have feathery feelings crawling around your spine.
>It's like being attacked by a feather duster, and you have to hold down the jumping coalescing in your lungs so you don't look like a fool.
>What if someone sees you like this?
>You complain, loudly, while fighting stray hairs from her mane attempting to infiltrate your mouth.
"Pah, tch... Teth!"

>"Araaouf~!"
>Her answer is one of those rarely heard barks, she must forget herself when she's happy.
>Her assault continues, and soon enough the little cold touches from her nose are breaking down your resolve.
"hk-tsch! Hn-hahn-Heheheheh! Teh-T-Teth! Come on! Krch-huehahahaa! Stop it!"
>Finally she withdraws, an air of smug self satisfaction dressing her features as she looses her hold.
>"You feeling better now?"
>The sentiment was there, but she was also trying to embarrass you, something that despite the wash of fresh air over yourself you don't appreciate.
>You 'rebuke' her with a finger pressed into her nose. Immediately she snaps to a confused attention, going cross eyed to focus on the offending digit.
"Bad!"
>Her face seems to freeze in the moment, an eye twitches, her lip curls, and her breath starts jumping.
>"Nnnghe-aah-auh-"
>She's fighting it but you can see the inevitability, and you smirk a bit. All you had to do was push her button.
>Her snout dives downward, and she vigorously rattles her head as the involuntary reflex seizes her.
>"-AAgh--FFFFFfffffff-t!!! *snf* aww."
>The skittering feeling under your breast is renewed into a rich laughter. She sneezes exactly like a dog.
"mph-Pahahahahahaha!"
>The hand on your shoulder lightly slaps its perch before returning to her side.
>"You ass!-*snf*"
>Her ears have lowered and she wears a rather displeased glare, she attempts to start into some sort of rant before her ears shoot back up and she gets that confused look again.
>"I can't believe y-eh. Ah shi-Ahfffff!!"
>You can't hold in a breathy snickering, and she shoots a glare at you before the urge seizes her yet again.
>"Son of a bi- HACH-FFffff-t!!!!"
"Hahhahahahahaha!!"
>"I HATE THAT DAMN FEELING!"
"Oh come on."
>"hueagh-fft! Dammit! Now I'm gonna be doing that all day!"
>Seems you pushed her buttons in another sense, her annoyance is turning sour.
"Is it really that bad?"
>"Take that crawling, burning feeling you get in your nasals when you want to sneeze, now apply that along the length of THIS!"
>She motions along the bridge of her snout, your middle turns in sympathy. That sounds even more annoying than dealing with your own allergies.
"...I'm sorry."
>"You better be..."
>She crosses her arms and pouts, making an interesting chain of muttering mixed with low growling.
>You glance around and listen a moment, nobody's around, her talent for finding you when you're alone in action again.
>The silky cascade of her mane edges over the collar of her jacket, flowing down between her shoulders in a fluffy curtain of waving grey cotton. You note that towards the tips, her far longer fur here darkens. Maybe she has traces of black backed in her.
>Remembering how your pup would throw her muzzle aside and pout when you teased her over a treat, you forward a similar peace offering.
>Your fingers weave effortlessly into the rich curtain of fur, and you soon find her neck with the tips of your fingers.
>Her response as you begin scratching is immediate and humming with satisfaction.
>"Hrmm, mmmnf, hur-arrrrr. Wh-wha-what are you-"
>You press in with your nails, scratching into the base of her neck as she reflexively curls around your touch, growling mirthfully.
>"rrrgh~. Mmmm-rrrrrr! Ahrauurrrr."
>She peals off a light sort of whine as her muzzle inclines skywards, big girl wants more.
>She really is just a big dog sometimes isn't she? You've never had one that weighs more than you did, but you've also never made friends with one with a figure and an attitude.
>The jackal has leaned over towards you to allow easier access, you see her tail steadily picking up pace as it threshes back and forth over the table.
>Luckily it doesn't disturb the tarp or the mess of parts under it, but you figure that even that alone can't make up for all she's done for you, so you might as well treat her a little.
>It's no secret that anthros of all stripes appreciate petting, so you use your free hand to attack her chin with a wandering scuttle up and down the underside of her muzzle.
>This immediately produces a response.
>"Mnnn-ooOOOOooohh! HmmmmnnnrrrrrrrrRRRRRrrrrr~! Haaaa-AA-aaaa!"
>She's making all sorts of mumbling noises, reminding you of the way your old mutt would 'talk' at you when she was curled in your lap enjoying your petting.
>Of course she's far too big to ever curl in a ball over your legs, but the sight of this massive jackal squirming happily under your handiwork is endearing.

>"ho-mmmn. D-d-don't stop. Harurrrrrgh!"
>Her smile has reappeared, twice as wide as before, making no effort to contain her pleased sighs and content rumblings.
>She's been making a lot of noise, some of it a bit... sensual. are you sure no one heard that?
>Drawing your attention away from her, you scan the shadows the sun casts against the gantry screens, though you watch the shifting shade of the sparse trees nearby, none of the shadows resembles a figure for more than a moment.
>No sounds greet you beyond what 'chatter' she's making and the rustling of the wind carrying the distant percussion of men at work.
>Your attention is pulled back by a familiar, needing whine. You've slowed while your attention was elsewhere.
>She pants lightly while presenting the top of her head towards you, more specifically her... ear?
>What could she want with that? With your old girl the ears did nothing for her, just something to idly flick between your fingers while absorbing whatever drivel was on the idiot box.
>For how similar she's acting to the old bird right now, there was still a world of difference between your runt and the jackal, maybe this was one of them.
>What's the worst that could happen?
>Tepidly, you maneuver your hand around the base of her ear and pinch gently, admiring the feel of the warm velvet as it slips between your fingers.
>"Hmng! GrrrrRRRrrrr~..."
>She squirms towards you as a shudder coarses through her from head to toe.
-well that was different-
>Must be a sensitive spot. You can feel her throat rumbling in pleasure under your other hand, and her panting has turned deep and breathy.
>She's positively melting under your touch, she must have really needed something like this.
>Teth'ra moves in even closer, sliding over and leaning into you. She hooks herself under your right arm and cranes her head to rest across your chest.
>She's very quickly gotten in close, but the fear isn't what's lurking around the corner this time, instead it's an undecipherable heat, creeping up through your neck to dig its roots into your cheeks.
>It occurs to you that if she couldn't before, being so close she can definitely hear your heartbeat, and right now it's going strong. Your sanguine core stirred by some unseen hand to hammer harder.
>Easy you dumb bastard, she's just getting friendly, it's what anthros do.
>Breathing deep to fight off the fire and accompanying percussion, you try and ease her petting a little for your own sake.
>She makes something of a groan of complaint in response.
"Uhhh... Teth?"
>"Shut up and pet me."
>The demand is groggy, your fingers working some sort of daze over her. You survey your surroundings again, and again find all evidence rebuffing that you are alone.
>It was easier to believe that with certainty out in the wilderness, but here in the staging grounds there are easily thousands just a stone's throw away.
>Again worry bites over the possibility of someone stumbling on you like this, there was no explaining it.
>The only ones that really had a solid idea about this was Teth'ra's squad, who didn't care at the moment; and Vegalta, who assumed on reflex that any two people moving within the same post code were romantically involved, so he was the opposite of credible if anyone asked.
>Your instinct presses to keep it quiet, back home pairs even resembling yours were almost never seen; to your shame you remember the few times you did see them, something in your throat knotted with disgust.
>That was a long time ago, but others aren't so willing to change. Then there was dear old dad... How the hell would you even solve that particular quandary? Assuming it ever came up.
>"Something up?"
>Her voice calls you out of your melancholy, the image of her peering up at you is a bit strange.
>Holding her snout across your chest like any normal canine with your hands cupping her chin and curled around the base of her ear, but her eyes shine with an unmistakable intellect and concern. The very picture of the difference between animal and anthro.
>She doesn't need to know of your doubts or confusion, it would just sour her mood and complicate what ever it is between you.
"Just, thinking over things."
>You pray that she doesn't pull another one of her empathetic magic tricks and see straight through you, because you have no answer to the question she'd inevitably ask.
>"Well then, pet me!" She nudges your hand with her snout, pressing against you further.
>Thankfully she's too distracted to pry, but she's not letting you just get up and leave until she's sated.

>It's just petting right, probably isn't much more to her either than a pleasant distraction.
>Again you breath deep to steady your heart and abide her pleading, running your fingers around her snout and through her mane.
>She sighs dreamily as you resume your impromptu session, you get the sense that she would be just fine napping like this as you watch her body relax.
>Once again, would be impossible to explain how 500 pounds of royal jackal woman fell asleep in your lap.
>Something occurs to you out of your fog of confusion and harnessed emotion, maybe someone saw her come around here, and you have been alone in here together longer than strictly necessary for a chat.
>...The noises wouldn't help dissuade any assumptions.
>Plus, your nerves are steadily growing more severe, you wish you could say it's at least nice to have her close, but not out in the open like this, and not so soon after your squall of feeling.
>Your intuition clamors for subterfuge, to make it plausible that your time alone is perfectly friendly.
>Your eyes catch on the rigid bulwark hanging on the side of your machine's arm. A new addition anchored onto the outer gun shield, reinforcing spars cross their way over your machine's arms to hold the extra mass securely.
>There is your excuse, and an out from your current predicament, you don't have faith in your ability to keep your pulse from ramping up.
>Swallowing the heat in your throat, you offer the suggestion that she do anything but put you in an awkward spot.
"You know, I uh. I... could use your help with something.
-smooth-
>shut it
>You feel her shifting to look up at you.
>"Uhm. What with?"
>You point directly at the device anchored onto the rumbler's forearm.
"That."
>Around two hours ago, just after you turned off your engines, some eccentric in a grey lab coat marched in with two such corrugated hunks of some indeterminate alloy and a crane.
>Sure the crew that egghead brought with him did the heavy lifting, but the fine tuning was apparently a personal matter for you, and the scientist refused to actually clarify any of the wall of babel he confronted you with.
>The least he could have done was leave you with something remotely resembling a technical readout or the barest idea on what those things are even supposed to do. The best you got was a word salad acronym and assurance that it was perfectly intuitive once everything was wired up.
>You feel nothing but unease about the eccentrics that clamor for their data and experimental models at the central science bureau, and one just walked into your gantry and deposited a pair of such experimental models onto your forearms.
>They could be anything from some obtuse external fire control computers to mine dispensers, you never know.
>You still remember the tale of Mitchell Pavel and his machine 'The Negotiator'. Some madman with a degree bolted a massive hydraulic ram onto his machine, something that should be a foolproof knockout punch against enemy machines.
>The primary cylinder shattered on the first hit, spilling gallons of hydraulic fluid and paralyzing 'The Negotiator' along its right side before the system could compensate. This field experiment almost cost Mitchell his life.
>You're deep in recounting when her voice snaps you back to attention.
>"Well that's new, but what does a hunk of metal have to do with-"
"Ah! It's not a hunk of metal. It's a, 'Hydro-Pneumatic Expansion Shock Device'."
>The scientist's word salad seems to stun her just as effectively as it did you when you first heard it.
>"I-what? hydro pneu-. Hydro pneumat-eh-. H,P,E,S,D. Fucking. Hypoz! Fucking Hypoz, the fuck is that?!"
"I don't know, and the egghead that does walked outta here like an hour ago."
>Finally she moves away to sit more upright, the mystery of your new experimental hardware seizing on her. It seems like she can't resist her curiosity.
>"Okay, so what does the hydro pneuma-eh-fuck it, word salad even do?"
"I have no idea, surprisingly enough he didn't leave behind an instruction manual."
>They never really stop and explain exactly how these things work. Maybe they're so off base from months in a lab they don't know how to convey the technical ideas in proper english, or so haughty that they believe their selected pilots just wouldn't understand.
>Either way it results in situations like Bill Macright, who was almost killed when the experimental coilgun duct-taped to his machine almost exploded from a capacitor overload. You curse under your breath, damn eggheads.
"-fuckin' experimental shit.-"

>"Alright, so what do you need me to do?"
>You thought for sure she'd need a little more convincing considering the risk of oil and grease, but she doesn't sound afraid to get dirty, points in her favor.
>The final steps were somewhat simple, but you couldn't manage them on your own.
"These things need to be wired into the fire control and they're both hooked up the the hydraulics. I can run the wires mostly on my own, but the entire hydraulic system needs a thorough spot check in case the new additions are causing any leaks. I need to be up in the engine compartment to run a flush through the system, you just need to poke your head around and shout if you see dripping."
>"How long should this take?"
>It should have been long done if you were free of a certain outside annoyance.
"All of two minutes with a proper work crew, that is if SOMEONE wasn't hogging them all... But with the two of us it shouldn't take more than half an hour or so."
>That damn peacocking showboat was starting to piss you off. Who the hell consistently needs every spare work crew if their machine so much as moves?
>you had walked within earshot of his group multiple times, and didn't find the din of work, but instead the sound of Redenbacher loudly regaling everyone with ridiculous stories.
>"Who's taking all the work crews?"
>You groan as you step away from the table and stretch, climbing around the gantries always made you feel a bit worn in.
"Redenbacher."
>"Who?"
>... How could she not know? The way the old man put it, his image was plastered everywhere on propaganda for the mech corp. Hell, he was one of the few pilots consistently followed by war reporters.
"Uh, The Red Baron?"
>You look back to find her wearing a puzzled, but bemused sort of twist.
>"Are you doing a bit right now?"
>...
"What?"
>"*snrk* I'll admit I'm not the most astute student of history, but even I know the man carrying that moniker has been dead for almost a century. And it's Richthofen, not Redenbacher."
-she doesn't know-
>You never thought you'd have to explain Redenbacher of all fucking people.
"No, you see... Redenbacher is a, last I checked, very much living strider ace who calls himself The Red Baron. According to my instructor, he selected the moniker because he quote: 'was a kindred spirit of Manfred Von Richthofen'."
>Her amusement shines through into one of her trademark smirks.
>"That is some very creative bullshit, but there is no way someone could be THAT self centered."
>Maybe not, but you remember so many of the rants the old man launched into whenever the topic of the baron reared its head.
>As far as you could decipher from all the shouting, Redenbacher, rather unfortunately named Orville just like the popcorn magnate, was once a struggling recruit on the verge of washing out of the academy. That is until the old man stepped in to drag his ass out of the fire.
>Somehow the old German cracked into the young flunky's spirit and managed to start instilling his wisdom. Orville started climbing the scales, and by his graduation was at the apex of his academy class.
>According to the old man, it was about then that everything went straight to Redenbacher's head. He never even thanked the old man for his help and completely ignored that without it he'd probably be a tunnel rat.
>Since then you had encountered him personally, and while the old man may have been overstating things, the ace isn't exactly pleasant either. His paper thin accent rings as deceptive, and his habits and trimmings point towards a self obsession.
>Today in particular it seemed he was wasting man hours telling about his own achievements in front of that garish mess of a machine out on the town's only runway.
"Oh no I'm perfectly serious. You must have seen that violently red mech out at the end of the airfield, right?"
>The change in her expression tells you everything as realization dawns on her.

>"Wait, that's not some useless showpiece?"
"Nope, he named it Frau Emile, and painted it 'the exact shade of signal red', roundels included. He's so absorbed into his role of reliving history that not only did he take the title of a man spinning in his grave. He 'forgets' that he was almost a drop out from the academy if it wasn't for the man that taught the both of us."
>"Both of you were in the same class at the mech academy?"
>That would require a far earlier recruitment on your part, and even if that happened you don't know if you could live with being in extended contact with a stage show actor masquerading as a pilot.
"no, no, absolutely not. Orville graduated long before I came around, but my instructor had a bit of a hair trigger over him. said that showboat over there never even thanked him for pulling his ass out of the fire."
>"That sounds..."
"Pretty bad, I know. Granted, biased source, but I mean come on! The guy puts on a fake as shit accent hoping no one notices it's British, not German, does nothing but revel in all the attention the propagandists following him hand out, and constantly shanghais work crews to, as far as I can tell, form a circlejerk talking about nothing but his assumed legacy. Have you even seen how many propaganda posters have his face all over them?"
>"Wait a mi-... *That's* him?!"
"...yes?"
>Her face twists oddly, before her lips burst with glee.
>"Pffffhahahahahaaa-ha-haaaa!"
"What are yo-"
>"Hehehahahaa-hnhnhnhn... geauh-haah. I'm sorry, it's just. The way you put it, it sounds like this grown ass man is larping with his robot."
>Immediately your mind flashes to the crater-faced geeks that garnished your schooldays, studded with pimples and plastic, wailing on eachother with foam cutouts and swearing that it was a grand adventure. Redenbacher's chipper face joins them, waxed mustache frayed and patchy, swearing up and down that no, really, he WAS Manfred von Richthofen, he memorized the kill count and everything.
"Well when you put it like that... -hmkh"
>It pounds on the insides of your ribs to let itself out.
>...It's not like he'll here it anyway.
"Heha-hahaha. HAHAHAHAAAA!"
>Again you find yourself in the company of the jackal, your privacy, and an air of joy. The laughter comes for a long while.
>It's always been like this, just the two of you... She really does so much to make you happy.
>There's that confused swelling under your ribs again, you quietly let it deflate and move to start climbing up towards the peak of your machine.
>"As ridiculous as that uh *emh-hm* dressing is. You ever actually talk to him?"
>All of five minutes of antagonistic chatter over the radio probably doesn't count.
"...not really."
>"Well then all that shit your old instructor said is just hearsay from someone with a grudge, isn't it?"
>She's one to talk.
"This coming from the woman with a death wish for her LT."
>"*grrrrr* Please! She's a different story! You don't know half of the shit I put up with from her, besides, you've seen how bad she is in person."
>That much was true, after that dinner stunt you're fairly sure that somewhere out there, Vilka's name is on a register for sex offenders. She certainly had the habitual abuse of power down pat.
>The thought of what she could do if she was allowed to get away with it has a feeling like a freeze dried spider crawling through your spine. You never want to get close to that wreck again.
>That mangy, unkempt tangled mess of fur, dull grey eyes that only saw something to use, the yellowed teeth, the smell...
-disgusting-
"Eugh! Don't remind me."
>"Least she got what was coming to her, the bitch."
>You could merely grunt an affirmative as you climb more of the scaffolding surrounding your machine.
>"So where do you want me?"
>You look down to see her stripped of her usual jacket down the the white tee underneath. It clings around her shoulders and has long given up attempting to contain her bust or fully cover her stomach just like the rest of her collection.
>Her tail sways slowly, and she wears a pearly white grin. She's eager, and you know exactly where she can help you.
"If you don't mind getting dirty, could use ya to help poke around and thread some wires before the spot check."
>Her grin twists, and you swear you know exactly what's coming next.
>"Oh, I don't mind getting dirty~."
"Stop it!..."
>"Huehnhnhnhn."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<Teth'ra>
>The next little while was quiet, you shut up to let him concentrate on the important work. This machine was responsible for safeguarding his life, you wouldn't ask any less if you were maintaining your guns.
>You were curious over what exactly he was doing as you passed wires from the odd castle-corrugated bustles loaded onto the rumbler's forearms through the armor towards the central torso. He constantly slipped in and out of the crew compartment before eventually bringing up what looked like a soldering iron.
>You found a spot along the spider's web of pipe welded gantry surrounding the mountain of machine like clouds spinning around a peak.
>You would be trying to help spot those leaks he was worried about... if you knew what you were looking for and where.
>Granted you had a vague idea where the hydraulics were, should be analogous to the muscles of a body by your reasoning. But, you weren't familiar with the ins and outs of a mech like he was so you'd defer to him to tell you where everything was.
>In the meantime, you try to ignore the slight bite of frost in the air, it's definitely gotten chillier as you've moved north.
>You're fairly certain that your fur has started growing out a little in response. It's not a full winter coat yet, but maybe it will be when you start nearing the permafrost.
>Your mind wanders to how the extra fluff will soften your curves and lend just a touch more volume to you. You could also press something like that to your advantage, let him sate his curiosity over what it feels like, offer to keep him warm during those bitter winter nights.
>The army never does have enough blankets.
>Hell, with your size it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to share a cot if he was on top of you... or the other way around~
-easy girl...-
>Damn, listen to yourself... the hell is with you?
>You thought you had everything ironed out when you... tended, to urges in the shower, but the fire just started smoldering again atop that hill.
>The crawling warmth from wrapping his dexterous hand in yours, the growing security he felt at the new height you raised him to, and the shy beauty found in the carnage.
>He found something awe inspiring and captivating in that fire, he can see something so strong as something beautiful.
>Something just like you.
>The moment would be wasted on anyone else.
>A hearth rumbles out of its slumber in your belly, and you breath deep to douse yourself back under control.
>inhale, count to four, exhale
>So that's it, you can't really try to fool yourself anymore, you want him... need him even. A deep part of you pulls towards him constantly, your instincts are drawn in and something about his scent is curious, stimulating, alluring.
>But he's still apprehensive, there's more work to be done and you can't move too soon.
>You don't want to hurt him, you could never, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself.
>It was a battle between your wants and desires and your better sense, and you refuse to let the lust win until the time is right and you can make your confessions without worry.
>The odd thing was your growing reactions to him, it was unlikely, but you still had to worry that maybe this was a sign that your heat was coming early.
>The thought is heart stopping, the only thing that could be holding you back would be a compromised strength of will alone.
>But there's usually more warning signs than a rise in your libido, it could be exactly like you said this morning, 'too comfortable'.
>Challenging him to wrestle, Pinning him, that neck lick, thrashing yourself in the shower, hoisting him onto your shoulder like it was nothing, your impulses are starting to override your better judgement.
>You're a godsdamned jackal, not a rabbit, you need to do a better job of watching yourself. Any overstep on your part could do serious damage to your relationship with him.
>A whistle shatters your insulation, you snap your muzzle towards the source to find him leaning out of the hatch with a quirked brow.
>"*fweoo-oo* Earth to notch-ear, you there?"
"Oh! Eh, mneh. sorry."
>"You ready or what?"
>You have an idea of what you're looking for, but it can't hurt to double check.
"Ehm, what am I looking for again?"
>"Leaks in the hydraulics. I'll be up here running a flush and checking the pressure in the system, you poke around for the access hatches around the joints. Stick your head in and look for any deep red fluid leaking out of the big silver pistons."
"Right, got it."

>You watch him clamber overtop of the machine's back before he disappears behind the bulk of the shoulder plate and one of the turrets, you follow alongside from the gantries out of curiosity.
>He reappears from behind the turret and throws open a hatch situated in the middle of what you guess as the engine deck.
>He lowers himself in legs-first, and you feel a little anxious being left on your own outside.
"Ya sure I can't help you in there?"
>"Oh hell no! you'd never fit in here. Now wander around to the left shoulder so we can start... please."
>With that he disappears like a rifleman into a foxhole. This leaves just you and the 500 tons of machine.
>It's a cold but distantly angry sort of thing. Heavy plates and bold shapes lend the steel a very real sense of aggression.
>As you walk around its impossibly broad shoulders, you get the sense that if this machine could manifest some buried sense of self, it would only feel at home in the carnage of the field.
>A flaw that you have to worry may be shared with its pilot. Some men lose themselves in the thrash and chaos, they're more like animals than you ever were.
>You've seen shadows of it in his panic, even in humans there is still a deep instinct to attack to ensure survival, and that instinct can easily take over under great stress.
>It's easy to fall into it, many soldiers credit it with preserving their lives, but what happens when it goes too far?
>You know what that desperate drive to bite and tear can do, how the lines blur and reason disappears. And with this walking fortress at his disposal, the thought is more than a little frightening.
>"Alright, Starting the flush in a minute! We'll take this group by group! You with me!?"
>There's no real trace of it on his voice, hasn't been for a long while. But someone can be a completely different person in the field than in their quieter moments, as a predator, you understand completely.
>You arrive at the left shoulder, staring up through the yawning gap of the heavy steel pauldron into a nest of pistons and hinges looking like a utilitarian attempt at replicating the human shoulder socket. Hydraulics are arrayed in a radius around an armored shaft leading outwards from within the main body. The shaft terminates in a heavily armored housing around the size of a truck that forms into the upper arm.
>You're starting to get why some find auger mechs like this one such deeply interesting machines, it's constructed more like a living being than a product of industry.
>He's waiting for a response, so might as well get this started, you pray that you don't end up with any of these fluids in your fur.
"Yeah, I'm with ya! Go ahead!"
>"Left shoulder, check!"
>Some sort of generator starts with an electric sigh, and you watch the silver radius in the shoulder closely. What you assume as the pump runs for around ten seconds, but you see no trace of red leaking from the seals.
>You don't smell anything particularly off either, no new scent rises above the oil and grease.
"Clear!"
>"Upper arm's next, there are latches on the back of the housing to swing out one of the plates."
>You're sure you see it just below you behind the 'bicep' of the upper arm, but the gantry doesn't go in close enough to easily reach.
"And how exactly am I supposed to get there?!"
>"How else?! Stand on it!"
>The forearm was a massive assembly around the size of a city bus, it has to be so large as it held both a GAU-8 and a gigantic flamethrower.
>Armored shields protected both sides of the guns, and squared plating bridged the gap overtop of the gun shields before forming over the joint connecting it with the rest of the arm. Behind the turntable that formed the elbow was what looked like an ammo drum for the GAU and a heavy counterweight at the end.
>All of this looked more than secure, but it hung from a single pivot, and you worry that setting foot on it would upset the balance.
"Ermh... Tom?! Ya sure about this?!"
>Almost seeming to anticipate exactly what was holding you back, his voice echoes from the engine compartment with a placation.
>"The machine is hard locked when shutdown, It'll hold you!"
>...Still, a fall from up here would be nasty.
-stop overthinking, you can trust him-
>Right, it shouldn't be a problem... This thing alone weighs, what? 10 tons?
>It's just that you have a bad history with things collapsing under you.

>When you were 17 your old twin bed decided to give out one night, you didn't even fit on the thing after puberty anyway. There were a couple desks in senior year. And during basic the balance boards on the assault course just wouldn't hold you, but at least you weren't alone in that particular hangup.
>You have to wonder what Yhana is up to, probably something a little less silly than testing your footing on something that's solid metal.
>Now satisfied that you aren't cursed, you tiptoe onto the plating, sure to keep a hold of the gantry rail as you shift over.
>He was right, the arm hasn't so much as budged under your weight. You really were worrying over nothing, idiot.
>You're still careful of your footing as you climb up near the elbow joint and scan for those latches, which don't take long to find.
>They stick a little but you easily manage to lever them, and for your efforts a half-shell back plate of armor swings open with gravity, revealing the interior of the upper arm, a mess of pistons, piping, cables, and wires. It really is almost like staring into a surgical incision and seeing bundles of muscle, snaking blood vessels, and branching nerves.
>Here you are staring down the intricate anatomy of a metal animal with 4 diesel burning hearts and led spit, and for the first in a long time, feeling just a bit small.
"Ready!"
>"Alright! Run check!"
>The pump kicks on, you watch, and you don't see any leaks, though it's a little hard to tell through the darkness inside the armor.
"Clear!"
>The checks continue on like this for a good long while, clambering around the machine's uneven surfaces is odd but manageable.
>His routine is to work from the top down, each check takes you lower and to areas where the hydraulics are more protected, but harder to get at. Narrow hatchways invite you into yawning darkness that smells of chemically saturated iron.
>You're thankful that you can manage what's asked of you by just poking your head through, you would not like to be crawling around in this dark labyrinth with only enough room to spare for you to breath the fouled air.
>Now you're down to just one more check, the right ankle... Just through this square hatch at ground level... This hatch that was four sizes too small for you.
>The other one you managed, it was a tight squeeze but you just poked your shoulders through in order to take a look around with the flashlight you held in your teeth.
>"You ready?!!"
>His voice echoes strongly from the top of this mountain of industry, quite the pair of lungs on that one if you can still hear him from what must be like 80 odd feet below.
"Yeah, just give me a minute!"
>Of course the inevitable rouge thought shoots across your bow.
>You shake off the musing of him moaning your name in ecstasy, being distracted right now would be a good way of forgetting that the hatch in front of you is too damn small.
>The latch bar holding it closed is yet another something that could use some oil with how much it sticks, but with enough muscle powered coaxing it breaks loose.
>Confronted with yet another narrow crawl space, an urge in the back of your head pulls to try and dig, to widen the passage so you don't risk being trapped, but there's no damn way you're burrowing into metal.
>Plus these crawl spaces at the bottom of the machine smell strongly of earth, artificial chemicals, dampness, and the faintest whiff of death. Likely you could still find bits of gristle from bugs this machine has stepped on down here if you look hard enough.
>The narrow, swallowing darkness and the smell has your nose burning, and your nerves buzzing.
>Easy girl, you've done it once before, you can do it again.
"R-Ready!!"

>You clutch the light between your teeth and lean in, putting your arms through first to keep your profile narrow as possible. You wish you could survey this comfortably with just your shoulders through, but you need a bit of distance in due to the hatch being set through some internal recess and most of the machinery you're supposed to keep an eye on being above you.
>You pan the light around, bathing the corners in a wash of harsh white. It's dubious following your paranoia to check for monsters inside of this place, but the enclosed darkness has your nerves up.
>It reminds you too much of that damn tunnel, the pitch blackness, the stinging aroma, and the infected silence beyond your own functions.
>You deflate yourself and prepare to edge your bust through, pleading with whatever may be listening that you don't tear your shirt or pull your fur. Your bust hasn't cursed you with backpains but it was a burden here, scraping a little around the lower rim of the hatch as you carefully force it through, wincing a little as the icy metal drags against whatever of you is pressed into it by gravity.
>"Starting her up, final check!!"
>His voice echoes not from behind you in the open air, but muffled from above, the sound bouncing around through the machine's plating.
>His bellowing takes on a hollow ringing which just doesn't sound right to your ears, even as you reassure yourself that it is him.
>Now you're more or less in position now that your chest is through and you can safely eye the nest of hydraulics and rotors in front of you that make up the ankle joint.
>The pistons give a smothered hiss as whatever the pump is putting out cycles through, you pan the light around the assembly but find none of the dark red he told you to look for.
>Some thin tapping sound catches your ear, and your nerves rise on end.
-something's in here-
>You scan the light around the edges of the hollow in searching. The only place you can't really see is directly above you.
>Shimmying yourself in further, you manage to get a clean line along the wall above you to search.
>Nothing makes itself known from the nests of cables and wires, and you find your culprit in a braided cable swaying gently into some metal facet.
>A hot breath surges out of you, it was nothing.
>The silver mass settles its noise making, heralding the end of your little adventure in the guts of this metal giant.
"Clear!!"
>It's about now that you notice the hatch is clinging tightly to your hips, you moved in a little further than you thought you did and you can't easily just shimmy back, but if you got in, you can get out.
>You plant your feet firmly onto the ground, toeing the plating as to give you a little more leverage.
"hmp!"
>You dig your heels in, pull hard to ignore the heat of exertion in your legs... and you don't budge.
>A sinking feeling starts gripping your heart.
>No, you can do this, you just need a little grip.
>You try at it again, deciding to 'bounce' out... you're still not moving.
>oh no...
>No, no, no, no... You are NOT dealing with this! It would be humiliating to get yourself trapped like this, you can help yourself!
>You clench the light in your teeth again and brace your arms against the recess to give yourself more push.
"Huragh!"
>Even with your arms you don't feel the bite of the hatch letting go of your hips, you force yourself harder, scrambling your feet to find the best purchase even as they slide against the dirt.
"Nnnngh!"
>You try twisting forcefully against your angle, trying to see if maybe you reorient yourself by just an inch you can come loose.
>...
>nothing...
>You're in a dark place that smells dull and mournful, you can only hear your own lungs heaving for air, and a flying dread is starting to dart around your ribs.
>The anxiety collects in a long whine.
>You're stuck.

<Tom>
>It's cramped in here.
>The engine compartment is never exactly your choice of hideaway, it's narrow, sweaty, and smells overwhelmingly of motor oil. The only lights are small yellow fairy lamps that cast hard shadows across the compartment, meaning you still have to bring your own light if you want to do any sort of precision work on the engines. Topping it all off is that it's still an uncomfortably narrow fit, you've snagged your belt or tools more than once.
>The red needle quivers slightly behind the glass, and you stare at it suspiciously in case it dips.
>Any sudden loss of hydraulic pressure could spell disaster, this must be what you most hated about hooking up anything new to the hydraulics or refurbishing the system: watching this damn gauge for five minutes straight in this oil-drenched hell hole while it stabilizes from the flush checks.
>You could check the computers to look into their own recording of the hydraulic pressure after the fact, but paranoia and policy still dictate you have to sit here and watch the needle bob.
>At least Teth'ra didn't find any leaks.
>Of course, now you had to work in her affair into your schedule. That and try not to panic when inevitably confronted with her cantankerous charges.
>You should have enough time to finish your side project before having to head to the firing ranges.
>The sticking point was finding enough time to yourself to sort yourself.
>More and more you caught yourself thinking about her in a less than wholesome manner.
>"Tom?"
>You swear you can even hear her right now.
>"Tom!?"
>...
>Oh, you actually are hearing her...
-dumbass-
>Her voice boils up from one of the small vents at the side of the engine compartment, you'd been resorting to shouting back and forth through that vent to communicate.
>"TOM!!"
>She sounds agitated, what is she even still doing here?
>All of your checks were done.
>Grunting in complaint, you shuffle over towards the vent.
"What?!"
>"I-. C-Could you come down here and help me?!"
>...
>What could she possibly need now?
"What is it?!"
>"Could you just get down here?!"
>The girl needs to practice just a shred of patience right now.
"Teth'ra-"
>"-I'M STUCK!!!"
>Your breath forgets itself for a moment, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.
"ohhh, fuck me..."
>You should have seen this coming...
>Someone her size squeezing through the hatches? Of course she would find a way to jam herself in there.
>It would be like trying to stuff a bombshell into a cannon breach.
>And it just had to be on the last one, didn't it?
>"Toooom!!"
>Her shouting carries a whining cadence, she isn't the least bit pleased.
"Alright!! Just hang on a minute!"
>Now not only would you have to check the pressure log on the computers, you'd also have to redo the test to doublecheck in case the gauge or electronic sensor wasn't working correctly.
>...And you had to find some elbow grease to slip the living tank of a woman out of your mech before she started getting panicky.
>If she hated those tunnels, you can't really measure just how badly she's taking being stuck in a dark, enclosed space.
>Today seemed determined to push you close to her whether you liked it or not.
>You shunt your way through the crawlspace between the engines, banging your boots and your hip on just about everything as you make an effort to go a little faster for her sake.
"Christ, you're killing me smalls."

>You manage to squirm your way back out of the engine compartment in to the open air, already you can hear her from a muffled echo coming from somewhere below.
>"Get me out!"
"Hang on a second, I can't just jump down!!"
>Her response is a rather mournful whine.
>You aren't sure if the reminder makes you sad or amused, since the last time you heard such a noise, your dog was running around with her head stuck in a jar.
>Of course with the jackal, she must be in a situation not so easily remedied.
>You know she's down by the right foot, the legs had some of the thickest armor and most cramped maintenance hatches on the whole machine, so of course that's where she'd inevitably forget how wide she is.
>Scrambling out to the gantry, you still can't catch sight of her, but you can hear her whimpering.
>It occurs to you the poor girl might be claustrophobic.
"Don't freak out, I'm coming!"
>The placation seems to quiet her some as you slide down the levels of catwalks to get back on the ground.
>"You're not the one with your ass hanging in the wind!... Hurry please!"
>She's definitely getting jittery. As much as it might be amusing to let her hang a little, she sounds nervous and you lack the heart to do something like that to her.
>Mounting down the ladder, you finally feel the unforgiving earth under your boots, you stroll around towards the maintenance hatch on the machine's heel and have to pause at what you see.
>Dangling out of the hatch that even you have trouble sneaking through, is the thickest pair of legs you've ever seen, an agitated grey blur sways furiously in the air above a lump of curves that could never even hope to stuff itself through that hatch.
>It seems impossible that she even managed to squeeze her tits through.
>She's backpedaling like a wild animal caught in a fence, but despite the muffled grunts of effort and her strong stance, she goes nowhere, only succeeding in bouncing in place and looking like a fool.
>If you could see the other side of her, you'd imagine she looks like a stress toy squeezed by an alligator clamp.
"Ffff-HAHAHAHAAAeeeeeh-huh!"
>"Stop laughing at me!"
>She stomps impotently as her complaints are muffled by the steel.
>This does nothing to curb your amusement.
"Ph-bahahaheheheheeeh-guuh! H-hah How did you even get stuck like that?"
>Her jerking, backwards struggling pauses a moment.
>"I don't knooow!... I-. I-I thought I heard something and moved in a bit to take a look around. Next thing I know this damn hellhole won't let go of my hips!"
>The stress on her voice is tangible. She's not panicking but she's not calming down either.
>You feel an urge to lecture her like you did your pup when she'd go around eating bees.
"Now why'd you do that? You know you'd never fit."
>"I-ah. I get nervous!"
-poor puppy-
>Yeah, that settles it, she probably has some kind of mild claustrophobia. Thankfully it's only an echo of what could be far worse.
>You've seen it from tunnel divers, casualties aren't the only things shrinking their squads.
>They call it Clutter Shock, the men that break under it are sent home nervous wrecks. Any sort of dark, enclosed space sets them over the edge, a feeling you're all too familiar with.
>You can help her the same way she helped you, keep her mind off her immediate fear, let her know that someone is here for her.
"Alright, alright. Let's get you out of there."
>You move in closer and lean over her side, examining the hole for some easy fix.
>Her hips are firmly jammed in, the metal biting into her sides and holding strong. This is going to take some combined effort between the both of you.
>Not for lack of trying on her part, but her rear is angled just enough in the air from the angle she's stuck in that she can't get enough traction on the ground.
>Her massive, juicy rear...
>...
>Focus idiot!
>You shake your head to reorient yourself, she needs your help.

>She seems to finally realize that there's no way she can get out on her own, her legs still and her tail sinks. A rather hurt whimper comes from the other side of the wall.
>"Araauurgh!.. This is humiliating..."
>Her spirit has been dragged through the mud, all of the confidence behind her voice has left and she sounds put down.
>You gently admonish her to stay a little bright.
"Oh relax you big baby. I won't tell anyone."
>"P-Promise?"
>She already has to deal with her power-tripping lieutenant, last thing you'd wish on her would be rumors going around that she got stuck in a man-sized hatch because her ass was just too big.
"Yeah big girl..."
>You reach your hand over to her to give her a gentle pat of reassurance, but think better of reaching towards her tail and instead cautiously pat her thigh.
"I promise."
>"Ye-You better not be finger-crossing me right now. Cuz' if you are, I swear to God!"
"Why would I do anything like that?"
>"I-uh... I don't know... Just get me out!"
>It might be a simple case, couldn't hurt to check.
"Alright, what have you tried?
>"What?"
"What have you tried to get out already?"
>"Well... I pulled, pushed, and twisted. But nothing worked.."
>It might just be the situation, it could also be some stirring urge to pay her back for this morning some more, but you cut the tension with a poke at her.
"Have you tried not eating so much?"
>The wave of an electric twitch seizes her, and her tail briefly attempts to stand on end.
>"Wha-HEY!! A body my size needs bigger portions dammit!."
>There was bigger portions, and then there was what she got. Sitting with her at mealtimes you learned quickly that she had a hollow leg, and none of her squad dared to say anything about it.
>Must be how she keeps her outrageous figure.
"Tch-hnhnhn. Calm down wide-ass, I'm just fuckin with you."
>Her tail bristles as she tenses her legs in a renewed effort to pry herself out.
>"Oh! Now you're calling me fat! Rub it in while I'm stuck why don't you. Nnnngh! I swear, when I get outta here-"
>She'd never rough you up, she said so herself, promised you even. You call her bluff.
"-You'll what? Sit on me?"
>"I-. Uh. I'll uh..."
>Just as you thought, she wouldn't want to so much as set a hair out of order.
"Hueh-hnhnhnhn."
>"Du-pstch. Shut up..."
>Her mind is more on you than her situation now, that's good, will mean less of a chance that she'll be uncooperative.
>You move to put yourself directly behind her, it could be just as simple as pulling her out at the same angle she went in.
"Put your legs up."
>"I... How is that going to help?"
"Ugh, look, I'm gonna try to pull you out by your legs. Just put 'em up."
>"Uhm, alright."
>Timidly, as if expecting an upset to her balance, she raises her legs for you, her calves falling in at your sides.
>You doubt that it would actually be this simple, but you pulling from behind should have more sway than just her footing alone.
>You grip around her calves and have to marvel a little, it almost feels like hauling a thinner man by his middle.
"-...like concrete wrapped in foam.-"
>"What was that?"
>Shit, did you say that out loud?
"Eh. Ya ready?!"
>"Of course I'm ready! I want out!"
>Seems she didn't catch that, thanks to the metal.

>You hoist her legs up to a firm grip under your shoulders and brace to start pulling, fully expecting to stop at any time so you don't dump her on her breasts as she comes out.
"On the count of three."
>Her tail wags once, which you guess is an affirmative.
"One... Two..."
>You steady yourself, because you're about to be hauling a heavy load.
"Three!"
>You lean back in a brace with your legs, pulling hard to try and get her out.
>She assists as best she can, shimmying her hips and presumably pushing with her arms from the other side.
"RRRrrrrgh."
>"Hnnngah!"
>Your legs are burning with the effort, but you don't feel any movement.
>Your ribs quake, you've burned through your air with the strain, you stop and breath. Her legs sink back to the ground
>Should have figured, she really is stuck, and as you look around the rim of the hatchway, you don't see any sign of progress.
"Damn, you are really stuck in there."
>"Were you even trying? It didn't feel like you were trying."
>The implication isn't flattering.
"Hey, if you don't appreciate my help I can always just-"
>"-Nononono! T-Th-That's okay I ju-... Get me out. Please."
>It occurs to you that she wouldn't be in this mess if she just followed some of her own advice.
"You coulda just said somethin', you know."
>Her tail sinks again.
>"I didn't want to be a bother."
"Well you're being a bother right now."
>the grey bush curls between her legs accompanied by a shrill whimper.
>"I only wanted to help..."
>A needle of guilt punches you below the heart.
>It's like scolding a puppy. You put a gentle malt to your voice to calm her.
"Just be more careful big girl. And learn to ask for help, will ya? I can't come to your rescue everytime."
>"...You can rescue me right now..."
"Right..."
>You're going to have to try something more effective than hanging off her legs since she's stuck so good.
>The answer is staring you right in the face, bathing it in a growing heat.
>Her center of mass...
>You've taken your glances before but there's no ignoring it now. You swallow your pride and try to ignore the distant beat in your ears.
>Being this close it hits you plainly just how large she is. Each of the pillars standing at each side as you look closely... are a little wider than your torso, and far more full in shape.
>And the mountains in front of you... oh Lord give you strength.
>Her normally baggy pants have been ridden and twisted by her predicament, and are doing practically nothing to mask her shape right now.
>Your attempts to steady your breath are only meeting with partial success, the heat is crawling along your cheeks and you just know something is stirring lower.
>The temptation whispers strongly, you know that she has some interest in you, she's right in front of you, and it's been far too long.
>...
>inhale, count to four, exhale.
>Calm yourself, it's just a reaction, she needs your help, and you could never hurt her, not after all she's done for you.
>It's still not going to be easy, as you swear out of the corner of your eye the fabric is riding tightly enough to see the corpulent flesh under it tensing and quivering invitingly.

>Don't look, just... reach around it... and try to ignore it.
-try...-
>Christ, who are you kidding? This is going to get awkward with her, fast.
>You halt as your hands are hovering mid reach over her, realizing what you were about to do.
>What comes out of your mouth is as much a warning to yourself as it is to her.
"Okay, don't freak out."
>"Why, WhaHUUUuuuuit areyoudoing?"
>Trying not to fucking lose it.
"Pulling from your center of mass..."
>"I... eh... okay."
>She at least sounds willing to understand, you can't imagine how all of this must be affecting her.
>You've had to reach wide, and now your hands sink in as you fumble to find a grip.
>It's so forgiving... so rich...
>The blush crawling around your eyes refuses to leave. Your only saving grace is that the rough fabric of her pants is still there.
>You have to splay your arms like you're carrying a boulder to avoid touching her... ehm... boulders, but that might not be an option when it comes time to pull.
"*eh-hm* Um, ready when you are."
>"Oh. We're thrusting on my mark now, huh?"
>Fuck's sake why did she have to say it like that?
-you know you want to~-
>Shut the hell up, you mental gremlin.
"UhhHHhh. On, your go. yeah."
>Fucking hell, your face feels like it's ablaze. You pray dearly that this will be the last hurrah and this torture can end already so you can find a quiet spot in the woods and wring out your snake.
>Far, far downwind, a mile away from any potential snouts or ears, hand radio off and stashed in a hollow somewhere, and no doubt trying dearly not to think of this exact moment.
>You don't dare to check if that bastard below is attempting to surface, it would mean bringing the titanic molehills into your view again and aiding his ascent.
>She breathes with a familiar timing and you feel the mass under your fingers shift slightly, the feathery silk of her tail brushes your arm as she adopts a more readied stance. You brace your stance too, paying abject mind to avoid putting your groin anywhere near hers.
>"Okay. Let's go!"
>Before she even begins, you dig your heels in and pull. You fight your instinct to thrust forward, opting to lean instead.
"HAAA-Ump!"
>"RRRRRAH!"
>Her hips harden like stone under your grip as she flexes, and as your arms lower and she tenses, her rump almost seems to reach out and welcome your forearms into a great cushion.
>Even through the fat attempting to swallow your forearms, you can feel the wall of core-tempered steel straining underneath.
>Just like her, soft but unbelievably strong. You try not to dwell on it.
>"Come on! You son of a-. Bitch! Nuh!"
>Suddenly she changes tactics, forcing her hips left and then slamming them back to the right. She roars with each alternating slam. You realize she's trying to 'walk' her hips out, smart.
>The only problem is each change in direction drags your arms in the same direction, and makes you increasingly aware of where you're touching her.
>You can even feel it wobbling through the fabric.
>Calm down idiot, concentrate on anything else.
>Your lungs itch for a breath, you gulp down air and continue. Your legs are heating like overworked servos, but you're not giving in just yet, you can actually feel her starting to budge just a little.
>You roar a challenge, but the greedy hatch still refuses to let go of her.
"RAAAAGH! This is worse than a rusted bolt!"
>"Come on, Come on! I-I can feel myself moving a little!"
>The both of you pull hard, but you still can't feel her coming loose. What the hell is it going to take?
>"Nuuyaaaaagh-augh!"
>She softens, the wind leaving her sails. You can hear a muffled panting from the other side and you let go of her to take a breather yourself.
>At this rate, it would take forever to slowly shuffle her out, and even you probably don't have the stamina for that.
>She would be left ruffled, dirty, and exhausted before she could get to her evening plans, and that whole chebang sounded important to her. Why else would she be so happy that you agreed to come along?

>"Fuck me, I don't get it. Why isn't this working?"
>You don't really have a solid idea, she jammed her hips in there, so it should have been relatively simple to pull her back out.
"I don't know what sort of magic trick you managed to pull big gal... You're jammed in there like a baked rag in a funnel."
>"What's that s'posed to mean?"
>She sounds as tired as your legs feel right now, you need to get her energy back up.
>Nothing seems to do that quite like some friendly prodding.
"It means your fat ass doesn't want to go anywhere."
>"Oh fuck off."
>A weak snicker manages to bounce out of your chest.
>Her tail sways a little stronger but she still sounds morose.
>"I just want the hell outta here. It's been humiliating enough... I mean, what if the bitch saw me like this? I'd never hear the end of it!"
>You promised that you would keep this between you and her, but the way things are going you may not have a choice.
>Unless...
>'rusted bolt'
>Maybe all she needs to come loose is a little touch of the right stuff.
"Hold on. I got an idea, just hang on for a minute."
>You have to stop as she gives a nervous cry.
"I'm not goin' anywhere, don't worry."
>A light whine follows. She's been putting on a brave face but she's very nervous over the possibility of you ditching her.
>You move off to the workbench, looking for the cure to what ails her.
>It should be somewhere under here.
"Alright... where are you?"
>A trademark blue can sits in the shadow of a jerry can and a wrench set, there it is.
>WD-40, a mechanic's best friend. If you can loosen her up with a little of this around the edges, she could just pop right out.
>Some days you swear this stuff is magic, it works on everything.
>You hear her, just barely, through the plating.
>"Tom?...."
>Again she calls for you, nerves quickly wracking her voice.
>"Tom?!.. Tom?!!"
>As clingy as she seems right now, the nerves are understandable. Again you offer your comfort.
"Calm down! I'm not going anywhere. Promise."
>You look back, take in the sheer size of the jam, and decide you might need a second can. Just in case.
>The blue wonder's brother is hiding behind a pair of bolt cutters, so you grab him as a tag-along in case the elder sibling isn't up to snuff.
>So you have one narrow hatchway, two cans of WD-40, and around five hundred pounds of distressed jackal with her ass hanging in the breeze. Time to get to work.
>Never in your life did you believe you'd be working on a problem quite this odd.
>As you approach her again, a big issue to your brilliant idea flies up in your face.
>In order for this stuff to be effective, you need to apply it directly to the conflicting surfaces, and you can't reach into the inner rim of the hatch which just leaves her.
>Her clothes won't do.
>You have to use her skin...
>The heat you had been dousing returns with vigor, and your heart is winding its song into your ears again.
>Not just touching her, but rubbing it into her fur, feeling everything pass through your fingers.
>Your eyes are caught in the trap.
>The heat chokes your words and smoke smothers your thoughts, how the hell would you even break this to her.

>She needs you, you have to try.
"Okay-eh... God this is gonna sound weird, but uh..."
>The last phrase feels like trying to cough out a rock.
"I-I-ah. I'm gonna need to... Unbuckle your pants."
>Her tail freezes stalk still.
>Even the wind seems to die off.
>The silence is deafening.
>"...You what?"
>Oh it's nothing, in order to get her out you just have to partially strip her and rub oil into her hips.
-it is still just between the two of you~-
>Good God, shut up!
>You're puzzling over how the hell you can put this without seeming like an absolute cretin.
>inhale, count to four, etc.
>Just lay this out like a procedure.
"I got some oil, and I think we can use it to help loosen you up. The thing is I need skin contact."
>You mentally plead with her to understand so you don't actually have to say it.
>"M-Meaning?"
>Her voice quivers, pointing towards a realization, but her questioning is telling you she's majorly unsure.
>Not that you can blame her, how the hell do you relay to someone who's nervous and stuck in a small hole that you'll have to partially strip them for their own good?
"uhh.. I'll have to expose just a little bit of your hips to erm... lubricate."
>Her tail bristles and her whole body tenses.
>"Ieh-I-eh-Is that really necessary? I mean, you can pull again! That was working some! Or just, uh, ya know, get a saw or somethin'!"
>This armor was not made to be cut through, you'd need a hell of a lot more than a rotary saw, and it would take upwards of half a day.
"Teth'ra! It would take HOURS to cut you out of there!!"
>The other option is breaking your word and getting more hands on deck.
"It's either this... Or I go get help."
>"...*sigh* Alright. Just, fuckin.. Lube me."
>You wince as a fire licks your cheeks with quiet temptations. She just had to say it like that.
>"A-And NO PEEKING!!"
"Oh please! This is awkward enough as it is!"
>You're going to have to go under her to start this fuckfest of a procedure.
>The only real open avenue for approach is between her legs.
>Calm down, you're just helping out a friend, nothing more.
>You sit down and put your back against the steel, gazing up at an angle that's tauntingly familiar.
>Again you have to ask yourself what she was doing last night with that, did she want you to see? Or was she trying to get something across that was just clouded by the booze?
>Regardless, now you have to push that mental image a step forward.
"Okay, let's take this from.. the bottom."
>"Oh harr, harr, harr."
"...shut up..."

>She isn't wearing a belt, you guess she's wide enough to fill these things out without it. One less step.
>You swallow your nerves and reach carefully for her, keeping an eye on the muscled mankillers either side of you.
>If she wanted, she could do you major harm right now, despite her position she isn't harmless.
>You remember her relaying to you a long while ago what happened when she was cornered.
>Four men in hospital, one of them almost killed on the spot. Who's to say that she doesn't feel threatened in this position?
>The noise of your heart is growing over your thoughts. You're so close, but you note that your hands are trembling.
>Upon popping open the top button, she makes a nervous sort of croak and you freeze as what little you can see of her middle tenses overhead.
>This feels like diffusing a bomb.
"Do you want me to stop?"
>She breathes with that ever familiar timing again.
>"No. No.. K-Keep going, it's the only way."
>You reach again, trying to bite down on the shaking, the silver tab gleams tauntingly between the folds like a shiny bauble set for a trap.
>Seizing it with the tips of your fingers, you pull slowly as not to startle her. When it stops, you scramble out and back onto your feet in haste.
>You pull the trick again, You're only helping a friend.
>Turning around, nothing appears different, but you gently grab the belt loops and pull inch by inch.
>Slowly, the fabric starts peeling away, revealing a carpet of rich fur sprouting in its absence.
>"Ok-okay-OKAY! That's enough!"
"Calm down, I just needed a little bit."
>Sure enough, you've pulled them down just enough to expose at least an inch or two of bare fur all around the rim of the hatch.
>You notice her pants are bunched slightly around her tail, which appears to have been threaded through a specialized loop, neat.
>And you swear you see just a hint of... yellow satin?
-curious, isn't it?-
>You rattle your head to regain your focus and find the WD-40 where you left it. Extracting the red straw from the can, you spray a great amount into your open palm in order to get a richer, more slippery mixture, rubbing it onto both of your hands until they're practically dripping with the stuff.
>The air feels brisk as you move your hands towards your gripping point, you check both to make certain you're skin-on-fur.
>You press your hands in, only to freeze as her hips buck and she yips in alarm.
>"FUCK ME, THAT'S COLD!!!"
>You remember to breath as she limits herself to a dying tremble instead of clamping her legs together and crushing your ribs in panic.
>The cans have been out in the open spring air so of course the shit is cold, it seems ridiculous she wouldn't have that in mind.
"The hell were you expecting, olive oil and a massage?"
>"A LITTLE WARNING WOULD BE NICE!!"
"Okay, Christ! I'm sorry."
>She still can't fully relax, an occasional twitch or tremble runs through her.
>"Nyuh! It's dripping-."
>Fuck it, this nightmare needs to be over with, you can deal with her complaints later.
>You move your hands upwards, trying not to think on the sensation as she squirms under your touch. Then you move down to cover the rest of her sides, being careful not to go too far and end up hugging yourself around her.
>"Aaa-hh-nnnyah! Nrrrrguh. H-h-hmmmp!"
"Would you stop making that noise?"
>"Nngyah~. You try being soaked with cold oil and see if you can keep-nnN, quiet."
>Her voice is fluttering, your heart is pulling its best impression of a seizing jackhammer, and you're smothering the fire bathing your face with every ugly thought you can throw, but her gigantic ass is impossible to ignore.
>Must go faster.
>You soak your hands in oil again and kneel down to sweep her front.
>Your hands land ahead of her thighs and she squirms, shuffling her legs and making a noise you just can't tune out.
>"Arraahnn~!"
>Christ...
>Just let this end already.
>You sweep your hands more towards the center, bracing for some ear piercingly loud moan of ecstasy/discomfort.
>"hnng!"
>Her hips buck again, but she swallows the most verbal of her complaints.
>"ff-fff-fffuuuhk, why is that so cold?"
>You don't entertain her whining for the sake of expediency, and lather your hands with the oil again to tackle her back.
>Her complaints are far more muted this time, apparently she's either adjusting or she's not as sensitive back here.
>Finally it's done, and you dry off your hands and leave her to soak for a minute, occasionally amusing yourself by watching her shiver.

>"I think it's been long enough, can we go now?"
>You've sat down to catch your breath for the final push, but she's not quite as patient, and neither are you because the sooner she's out, the sooner the taunting ends and you can get some fucking peace.
>Giant fucking wrecking ball of a jackal always barging in and taking up your attention...
>At least she's good company.
>"Tom!"
"Yeah, yeah."
>Picking yourself off the ground you return to your position behind her, and realize your previous handholds are slicked with oil now.
>More out of curiosity than intent you reach for the gently swaying bushel of grey, seizing it at the base when it stops swaying for a second.
>Her tail stands on end, visibly bristles, and you can see her entire body tense up. She bellows angrily.
>"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT!!!"
>...
>You release her tail and opt for the usual sexual frustration instead of an experiment that might get your ass kicked.
>It's right back to what's tried and true then.
>You anchor your boots into the dirt, brace and sink your hands into her hips. She feels slick so you end up gripping a little harder out of paranoia, she doesn't seem to notice or care as she's too busy steadying her breath.
>"Okay.."
>Her legs rise.
>...
>Wait...
-uh oh...-
>You're squeezed as her thighs come in on both sides and you feel her calves slapping over your back.
>On both sides from your hips to your ribs, she has you sandwiched. The walls of her thighs tense and she pulls you into her, swallowing your lower half in a pliant, hugging warmth.
>You're surrounded on all sides by muscle, fat, and fur and keenly aware that if she squeezed any harder than necessary she could probably break you.
>Trying not to panic, you forward the obvious question.
"Now what are YOU doing?!"
>"Helping you help me!"
"How is this helping?!"
>"You'll have a better leverage than just me scrambling, now shut up and pull!"
"-Oh Christ...-"
>She has a point, as thin as it is, and the faster you act the faster she can let you go before she feels your runaway train starting to push between her thighs.
>Face in flames, pinned against five hundred pounds of agitated jackal, and desperately waging a losing battle against your own body. Today could not get any worse.
>She starts moving, muscles all sides of you flexing as she readies to do that hip shimmying thing again, it just got worse.
>The strange, crawling press isn't so much as muted by your clothing. It leaks through, kneading your sides and pulsing against your stomach. The iron across your back is almost soothing.
>Her hips shift ahead of you, grinding above your groin and prompting a wash of electric sensation that threatens to steal your breath.
>Holy shit!
>You have to fight to keep from vocalizing anything, but the fire is spreading as your thoughts flood over with sensation for a brief second.
-Unf, Lower~-
>"Well?! Come on!!"
>Her barking steers you back towards attention, and snapping into a panic matching the thunder under your ribs, you push your legs hard, leaning away from her as far as you can manage.
>You need to get out of her lock and calm the hell down immediately.
>Your pocket rocket is making a lot of smoke on the launch pad, but if there is one thing you can thank your rotten luck for, it's that her efforts aren't pushing directly onto your groin. Just dangerously close to it...
>It's a three way battle between mentally beating down your rogue element, swallowing any noise so what feels like a roar of strength doesn't come out as a plea for more, and pulling to get her the hell out of your machine and out of your gantry so you can have a precious moment to stop, think, and freak the hell out about falling for the wiles of a beast.
>Your lungs throb in protest, your legs burn, your gun stirs even as you bash it with whatever reviling mental images you can hold onto, and her hips tortuously slam back and forth, rolling across your middle and swallowing half your body in pleasant pressure and throwing your poor brain into information overload.
>But finally, you feel her budge an inch, and another, then another.
>Your glee in unfathomable, but she's the one to voice such feelings, you button your lip in fear.
>"Yes! Yes! YES! I can feel it! It's working!"
>Your lungs are pounding, screaming, you half to open your mouth.
>Don't moan, Don't moan, Don't moan!
"Good!"
>Thank fuck, you managed to choke out something intelligible.
>You suck a deep breath through your teeth and keep pulling, she slides a little more as her hips move the other direction, and your heart spikes with anxiety as something downstairs touches your half-masted sausage for the briefest moment.
"Hn~"
>The pinprick of electric sensation almost shoots out your throat but you bite the thing in half before it can escape.
>She slides back again, and you find your lean has inclined further, you're really getting her out.
>"For the love of all things holy, just let me go already you damn demon hole!"
>You share her sentiment, for entirely different reasons. This needs to end before you lose it or explode, as in right the hell now.
>Stamping your heels, you throw yourself backwards, and suddenly find yourself falling.
>"Wha!!"
"SHIT!"

>Her legs flee your side as her form comes rushing backwards out of the hatch, finally free, but now you have nothing to keep you away from the hard embrace of the ground.
>You throw your arms out to steady your fall and hit your elbows with a painful jostle as your back rolls onto the dirt.
>You have no time to recover as something heavy immediately crashes onto your ribs, driving the breath from you and pinning you flat.
>"Oof! What the-?"
>Your vision is swallowed by white and grey as her shirt drapes over one eye and her frazzled fur obscures the other.
>She doesn't sound particularly perturbed, but you can't breath with her sitting on your ribs. You thump her in the side with a fist, managing to wheeze out a single command.
"Get off!"
>"Aw, fuck. Sorry!"
>She rolls off to the right, and with the pressure on your chest relieved you start hacking to coax your lungs into working.
>You open your throat, and a great rush of cool spring air eagerly accepts the invitation.
>Air! precious air!
>She lightly coughs and grumbles, looking over you find that the majority of her fur is going every direction but straight.
>She stands herself on her hands and knees, wobbling a little as she regains her bearings.
>You leave her to it, you have your own lungs to concentrate on and thankfully you're free of your fleshy entrapments.
-that felt... wonderful-
>If you had a way to turn this bastard off, you would do it.
>That was horrible.
>"Let's never do that again."
"Agreed..."
>Today was intent on torturing you by pressing you into her body, you swear if some situation develops at the firing range later that could result in you getting intimately acquainted with her erogenous zones, you're just leaving. You can't do this a third fucking time.
>Oh fuck, that's right...
>You made a promise to go to her little function, near her, and her squad.
>Would she mind if you just sulked in the corner? At this point you legitimately have to wonder, you just don't want to be the center of attention right now.
>You nail your eyes shut and focus on breathing, the ground feels nice all things considered.
>Maybe you could just take a quick five minutes, with a day like this you deserve a nap.
>You hear her shuffling somewhere off to the side, but you could care less right now, a dull pain stands on your ribs. She did a number landing on you like that, but you didn't hear or feel anything explicitly break.
>You don't pay attention until you hear steps practically right next to you and feel her standing over you.
>Daring to creep your eyes open, you find her offering an arm down towards you, but she isn't looking your way.
>She looks a mess, her fluffy mane disheveled and tangled, fur going in all different directions, and her haggard shirt is worn crooked, but she at least remembered to pull her pants back up.
>You clasp your hands around each other's forearms, and she hauls you to your feet with little effort, quickly stepping away and still refusing to really look you in the face.
>You can feel your face is still red, and you imagine her ears are much the same, so neither of you really look at eachother.
>Still, you feel a pull to at least make sure this experience is just going to be an awkward story for her later and not something damaging.
"You okay?"
>"Hey, I'm out. So I'm fine."
-fine indeed-
>shut the fuck up
>"Erm, thank you.. by the way..."
>Her mind is definitely somewhere else right now, since she only just remembered to offer gratitude.
>Maybe you'd try to lift her spirits or something, but right now you just want to say your pleasantries and bid her to leave.
>Risking a glance you see her muzzle pursed by a frown and she's staring into the middle distance.
"You're sure you're okay?"
>"yeah, yeah, hatch was just... smaller than I'd though it'd be."
>Bit of an understatement.
>Her disheveled looks are odd for her, usually she's rather trim.
"Well, you look a bit of a mess."
>"Well maybe if you didn't pull so... hard!"
>Like she wasn't the one that got stuck in the first place, or pressured you into such an aggressive extraction.
>You shake your head but find some odd scent reaching your nose. Smells like antifreeze, but there's something under it that you can swear you've caught wind of before.
"*sniff*... Ya smell like a mess too. What even is that?"
>"Oh! That... Uh.. One of your fluid lines- leaked into my fur."
>...
>You didn't notice any damp spots aside from the sheen of the oil you rubbed on, but you don't want to question her, it would keep her here longer than necessary.
>"I uh.. Should probably go get... cleaned up now."
"right."
>She turns and walks for the way out, you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief, missing something she mumbles under her breath.
>"-fuckin' tease-"
"What?"
>"NOTHING."
>With that she strolls out, leaving you alone and with a heap of questions to ask yourself.
>You attempt to relax, slumping yourself downwards, and have to pause in dread as you look down.
>While you weren't paying attention, a tent was pitched in your pants.
"Fuck"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>It's been around an hour or two, maybe three. You managed to calm yourself, and now you've just been operating on strung out autopilot as you tend to business.
>The Rumbler's hydraulic pressure checked out, the usual checks turned out green across the board, and you've been developing a smoldering hatred for a certain self assured ace.
>None of that shit would have happened if he just swallowed his ego for a second and let you have a crew for a few minutes.
>You swear if he's operating in your sector again, you don't give a flying shit what happens to him, as long as he either leaves you in peace or you can show him up again.
>Since then you managed to make something out of the mess of parts on the workbench. She at least didn't notice or question it, small comforts.
>The completed tube is ready, you checked over all the minutia and it seems to be functioning properly, but you won't know until you run it through a proper test.
>You check your watch.
>3:19
>Teth'ra's firing drills are 'this evening' which you guess puts them at around 5:00 or 6:00, leaving you with at least two hours.
>Munching on the sandwich you pilfered from the mess tent, you wonder how far out you could get on a half hour hike for an hour alone before coming back, picking up your project, and heading out to meet Teth'ra and the zoo.
>Wait... anthros...
>Make that a shower or at the very least a quick rinse with soap to cover up before you get anywhere within smelling distance.
>"Er, excuse me?"
>The meek tenor of a young trooper floats from a more than respectable distance behind you, asking for more of your precious time.
>Looking over your shoulder, you find a thin ginger haired trooper wearing the typical service jacket over his wiry frame. A single tan chevron with drab olive piping sits on his shoulder; a private with the logistics branch.
>His boyish face is cratered with acne scars, can't be more than a kid, and he stands off at well beyond arm's length, as if he could feel the frustration radiating off you.
>You don't need this shit right now, but might as well see what he wants.
"What the hell is it?"
>He glances down to a clipboard clutched in his bony fingers, reading off it as his finer wits leave him under your gaze.
>"Master Sergeant McWhicky?"
>You spy a loaded hand dolly behind him, must have something for you. You turn to face him more directly and cross your arms as you lean against the work bench.
"You have him."
>His beady eyes light behind his spectacles as he finds the gumption to stand a little straighter.
>"Ah, of course."
>He wheels his burden up to the work bench, and one by one, hoists a trio of footlockers from the top of the stack and places them on the table.
>You find it a bit odd that you got three of them, but footlockers had become a sort of universal container for a lot of the supply corp. If there's a shipment containing a host of small items that don't have their own containers or particularly small containers, they're usually assorted into a footlocker and delivered like that.
>"These are for you, sir. Apologies for them being so late, they got lost in the shuffle for a while, don't ask me how. No one ever knows."
>He turns the clipboard towards you and offer his pen, pointing to the blank spot at the bottom of the page.
>"Sign here, sir."
>You don't really read over the print, just scribbling your signature where directed.
"Of course, kid."
>"Thank you, and uh... sorry. sir."
>The hell does he have to be sorry for? You would ask but you'd rather be alone right now.

>He wheels back out and you turn to investigate this mystery stack in front of you.
>A paper tag hangs off the latch of the top locker, strange. Usually these things aren't tagged, it's only...
>...Personal lockers...
>A dryness grips your throat, and you feel your heart slow.
>Pinching the tag, you turn it over and read.
>'Captain Gaius Willard, 512 Armored Fusiliers, Lunar-Stripes rumbler squadron'.
>A cold shock runs over you, something barks in the distance, you read the next tag.
>'Master Sergeant Terrance O'Neill, 512 Armored Fusiliers, Lunar-Stripes rumbler squadron'.
>Another clatter off in the far fields, your heart murmurs with pain. You check the next tag hoping it's some dream, a freak hallucination, but find only a dreadful, tearing confirmation.
>'Master Sergeant Vincent Kask, 512 Armored Fusiliers, Lunar-Stripes rumbler squadron'.
>You let the tag fall limply from your fingers, some wetness seizes your eyes, your hands tremble faintly. You hear the rifles bark with perfect timing in your ears, aware that it's only a haunting of memory, they aren't there.
>They aren't here...
>It's staring at you in the face, this is all that's left of them. Three drab boxes, orderly, featureless, emotionless. Containing naught but memory after painful memory.
>They're too small to contain their bodies, but each one might as well be a coffin.
>You feel along the filed down grain of the wood, staring into the gleam of the metal as if your reflection in each one would twist just enough to resemble their faces. The lockers carry a quiet whisper, a fatal request, to carry them home, to bury them next to the empty pine boxes sent to their families.
>It's a request that you cannot ignore, they fell by your side, and you have a responsibility to their memory, their legacy, the ghostly traces of their being left behind like vapor on the wind.
>You know where you can keep them while you clash with the monsters they fought, while you hunt the one gleaming bastard that took them from you, that stole your brothers.
>A great wave fills you from below, suspending your heart and filling your lungs with iron breath.
>No more tears, you have to be strong, they're counting on you.
>After you find him, after your vengeance, after that damnable twisted city of the north lies in smoking ruin and ash, then you can take them where they belong. You can bring them back to what you've never had yourself; home.
>You can put them to rest as long as you endure, as long as you keep yourself alive and fighting, as long as you hold yourself true to what they would have wanted from you.
>You will avenge them.
>You will put their souls to rest.
>Still you stand.

[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]