I.

In all their many changes, the seasons of being endured, there was always a little seed of thought tucked deep in the back of Valentina’s mind: was this the last? Overcoming the ruin, harnessing the power. It seemed a perfect dyad of transformation. A.C.E.S had bent her, cracked Marcus and Brennus, and damn near captured Jovian in totality. But with time, care, and attentive understanding of their conditions, all soon found their gifts from the curse.

And then came a day one week after their first mission with the 365th Infantry.

Having successfully aided in fending off the raiders, General Knox saw to it that the Pack not only had designated time on the ranges, but began fast-tracking the investigation into the links between the Colosseum and the other points of intel. These were attended by Val and Eric, laying any remaining cards on the table they had. They were welcomed into a world of labyrinthine networks, system schematics, historic records, and eyewitness accounts. A proper archive of material concerning the Colosseum and its ties to Comm/Ent. and the war effort. The results were flurries of tales never told to the white wolven desert-dweller.

Military manufacturing conducted beneath common place police stations. Scores of archaic designs resurrected for modern use with advanced laser weaponry and hover engines. And there at the center, the all-powerful generative strength of the Artificially Controlled Eco-System. Able to make anything, anywhere, anyhow, at any time. Even with the wildly modular nanotechnology at her disposal, not all creations need have been tangible in the first place.

Stories of holograms, virtual realities, home systems capable of projecting and manifesting images and items as real as the perceiver they were formed before. Things as simple as learning how to use a screwdriver before having to bother with actually holding one. Itinerary items as complex as coding virtual games for contests held by the Commercial/Entertainment District’s Civ-Game Fest. All manner of lustful simulations and masochist pains for the pleasure-seekers. All manner of torturous interrogations and heart-attack-inducing horrors for citizens on the wrong side of a benevolent goddess and her oh-so-loving will.

It was something she’d never say in front of the others, but for a country girl from the sticks like Valentina, one pint-sized piece of her mind found it a fate worse than even death in the ring. A single continuum of placation, manipulation, and swift execution should one step out of line. Cradle-to-grave, all cared and accounted for, but only if you accepted one simple fact. The fact it could all be snapped away in an instant if you asked the wrong question, spoke the wrong line. Even a single, sour thought within what should have been the privacy of your own mind. A privacy violated at birth by the chipping of all citizens at the back of the neck, direct to the brain stem.

“And yet so many still live there.”

Val said it aloud, almost involuntarily. The dark gray General with the metal hand nodded and met it with an equally chilling remark.

“My parents are still there.”

Knox looked away from the table before standing up and pacing the room.

“Bet you the best unleaded on tap so are Jovian’s. And if the last news bulletin I heard about myself is true, they think we’re dead.”

Valentina’s jaw went slack, the white wolf’s wide jade eyes locked with the General’s piercing blue.

“Hero’s death too.” he continued. “I died three months after I left defending the capital again. Only this time I lost a fair more than my arm.”

He pulled up the fabricated clip of a young, rather dashing dark gray policeman taking a shot of laser fire straight to the chest in front of a black-furred female senator.

“Buried with full honors. In a city so big, no one would ever think to ask where that fella coulda gone between his big day in court and his last day on the force.”

Eric held Val’s hand, patting it gently as Knox’s death looped behind the toughened-up 30-something before them. And it wasn’t the only “fab” he had.

“What’s next doesn’t leave this room,” the General sighed. “This is about showing you just what we’re dealing with. I wanted to get as much public feed as I could relating to your former ‘place of employ’ and of the various news items I found regarding the sports side of Colosseum affairs. Adverts, interviews, full matches. A sports center’s wet dream. Among the news items...we found Jovian’s fab.”

He pressed a button on his small remote, and switched from his own death to a grizzly scene. The body of a towering gray wolf with an enormous gash in his stomach lying in an alley. Beside him the sobbing face of a gray mother cradling her pup.

“‘Jovian Stanton, Promising Young Gladiator. Dies A Hero At Age 19 After Saving Mother & Babe From Ruthless Muggers.’ Believe it or not, he ain’t even dead in that frame. They said all possible cybernetic augments were lined up, only for him to die en route to the nearest hospital.”

“Jesus God, why though?” Val gasped.

Knox crossed the room and knelt down by the shell-shocked white wolf. “A.C.E.S. is a mother. Think like one for a bit. What would you rather hear? That your son’s an enemy of the state, a draft-dodging sonofabitch, a betrayer of all that’s good and right in your little patch of electric Heaven? Or that he died a hero? He died saving a beloved politician, he died saving a neighbor, a stranger on the street he couldn’t stand seeing in harm’s way. And with a few clever dressings for an android, you’ll never know the difference of who’s in the casket.”

Valentina buried her head in her hands before dragging them down along her muzzle in sheer exasperation.

“He’s gotta know at some point,” she began, only to be snapped towards General Knox by his metal hand. When those eyes met hers once more, they were not the eyes of the seasoned soldier but the young wolf who saw his own fab for the first time. Wide, haunted, and knowing.

“In due time,” he answered coolly. “But not now. Not when he’s hurting for a home he might not get back to for a good long while.”

The white-furred hunter composed herself, took a mighty deep breath, and nodded.

“Lay the rest on me while I’m still fresh.” she continued. “I got all fucking night.”

II.

Even with the wealth of new material to study, the sight of that bloodied gray-furred kid remained etched in her mind. Valentina would keep the secret, alright, but living with it was going to take a while. Even her confidant Brennus wouldn’t be able to know. At least she had the excuse of “it’s top secret” in her back pocket this time.

It was only when she finally faced Jovian the next day that she found herself at ease. Just being reminded he was alive—that seven-foot sonofabitch sat there in the mess hall woofing down bacon—helped the world for her. Though the ox-tight hug she gave him might’ve let on something was troubling her.

“Hey, easy does it, I’ll flip a switch!” Jovian chuckled. “Meetings going well?”

“Yeah.” she nodded. “Finding out a lot about where things are landing. Even got to see some of you in the ring...you know it ain’t a bad sport when you’re on the right side of the sand.”

The long-haired gray blushed. “Well it was good while it lasted. Maybe when it’s all over and we’re starting anew, I can bring ‘em back. Obviously with a little more of an ethics board to keep kids getting suckered like me, but I think it’d be cool.”

Val flashed a wink and smiled. “It’ll be nice to see the new old guard at work then.”

“Maybe we can stage some later for driving drills,” he added. “Will catch ya later at dinner.”

Brennus perked an ear at the last word as he sat his and Val’s plates down on the table.

“You miss a meal in there?” the gentle gray fighter quizzed.

Jovian shook his head. “Nope. Working with Marcus, remember?”

At first, Brennus scrunched his snout in confusion. But before long, the reason for the fast finally came back to mind.

“Oh right, almost forgot!” he smiled. “Best of luck on it.”

“Alright, what did I miss?” Val chuckled.

Brennus rested his hand on her shoulder before answering. “I think you better meet with Marcus and let him tell you. Let’s eat first, then we’ll make our way down to his quarters.”

Now it was the white wolf’s turn to look confused, but she acquiesced, ate her breakfast, and joined the two grays as they made their way to Marcus and Sabina’s quarters.

When they got there, Val gave a gentle knock at the door and waited. She was met by Sabina in her tank-top and jeans with a smile that said plenty about why they were still in their quarters.

“How we doing Sabina?” Val grinned cheekily.

“Oh just fine,” the red wolf nodded, feigning ignorance. “Damn fine if I do say so myself.”

“The hubby still in there?” the white wolf asked. Sabina nodded, and finally opened the door. As the other couple stepped in, they were greeted by a most remarkable sight.

Since quieting his mind, Marcus had bulked up some and lost most of his ticks and urges. Since joining the Force, Marcus had not only toned that muscle but found himself in a whole other world of the mind. Not his juvenile absent-mindedness nor the deep, treacherous plains of a once-tortured subconscious. When Val and Brennus stepped into that room, they found their gentleman hound in a whole new way.

Standing in the room was a long-haired red wolf with locks of black. He still bore his well-worn khaki shorts, leather cuffs, and knee-high sandals, but around his neck and halfway down his chest was a full warrior bone choker necklace. His most intricate design, complete with rows of black beads and white hairpipe and three shocks of fringe leather dangling from the sides and front. Gone were the rectangle-framed shades, his Hawaiian shirt left on the bed. He was intently bundling up a cache inside a striking red Navajo rug, decorated with diamond shapes and many black stripes.

And yet for all the change, when he turned to meet his friends, there that warm smile was to greet them.

“Morning you two.”

It was the moment of a chrysalis breaking open, and from out the shell came a most magnificent beast. Val bolted over and embraced the immense warrior with all she had. She could hardly believe it, even as she felt those kind, reassuring arms around her.

“How the hell did you get hair that good in a week?” she guffawed.

“Well I’d been letting it grow out and get scruffy there for a while,” he shrugged, “then I woke up to this yesterday while you were in with Eric and Knox. And then I woke up to her this morning making me feel ten feet tall.”

Sabina winked playfully as she sauntered up and cozied up beneath one of his arms. Her man kissed her on the head and nuzzled her.

“Kinda glad for it too,” Marcus chuckled. “Helped clear the urges for what’s to come.”

“Speaking of,” Val pressed. “What are you and Jovian planning?”

The red gladiator shook his head. “Less planning, more being. I want to sharpen him up the way I’ve been this past week. Teach him some true ways of a warrior, to steel him for the months and years to come. You can’t do it with drills and textbooks, you gotta bring it out from within.”

Quick as a flash he folded the blanket and stuffed it under his arm. He looked back to the Hawaiian shirt for a moment, only to turn back around and shake his head.

“We’ll be back for dinner by 1800. See ya then!” Without a second to lose, he was out the door, down the hall, and on his way to the garage.

Brennus turned to Sabina in disbelief. “You ever see something you swear is too good to be true? And yet you still think it is?”

The red-furred lady nodded. “His temper is almost gone completely. My formosa still has his pet peeves and gripes, and yet they all roll off that great, broad-shouldered back of his. Last night, he was going through book after book about his people. He’s dead certain his heritage is with Diné, the Navajo. And yet he still loves speaking Spanish for me and he’s still forever learning Latin. I think my formosa has finally found himself.”

She thumbed a stray tear away as Valentina embraced her.

“He sure did the way you were smiling,” she teased. Sabina threw her head back, roaring with laughter before squeezing her white-furred friend tight. While it would be business as usual for the rest of the Pack on Base, the two warriors were off on a matter wholly apart from all that came before...

III.

The silver grin of the cream-colored DeSoto crested a final incline before screaming to a stop on a plain. Behind the wheel was Marcus, and sat passenger-side was a star-struck Jovian. Part of it was the pure rattling of the drive, Marcus never letting his mighty lead paw off the throttle for most of the journey. The other part was all thanks to the land itself.

It was perfect. Flat with eternity on all sides, only the faintest hint of distant hills dancing about the heat waves. They brought their rifle and sawed-off for protection, but deep in Jovian’s gut, he sensed they were well and truly alone.

Both hounds climbed out of the DeSoto and walked out in front of her. Jovian handled the rifles while Marcus brought out his well-folded rug.

“Take a seat opposite of me,” the red gladiator nodded, setting the blanket on a random patch of land. Jovian did so, followed by Marcus, both wolven men crossing their legs and resting their hands upon their knees.

“There’s a saying attributed to one of the tribes who walked this land,” he began. “‘Thoughts are like arrows: once released, they strike their mark. Guard them well or one day you may be your own victim.’ Try as I might, I spent many a year managing to shoot myself in the ass.”

The young gray chuckled.

“I almost took you out in those early days of meeting and understanding your dilemma.” he continued soberly. “I wanted to start by properly apologizing. You’re a brave young man and you’ve so much ahead. I don’t ever wish to extinguish flames such as yours. They’re far too few in this terrible world.”

Jovian bowed graciously. “I’m just sorry for scaring you guys. I’m scared every day to be honest. Scared of one dumb trip, my switches going up, and then...that comes out of me, y’know?”

The nod Marcus gave was one all too knowing. “I’ve killed so many wretches who dared to cross me or my wife. Hounds for whom I only remember the face who locked eyes with me before, and the blood upon my hands in the screaming afterglow of it all. To be of two minds within one to the degrees at which we’ve been is one mighty albatross, now isn’t it?”

Gone was the towering gray gladiator’s smile, only the same knowing nod as Marcus.

“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” he continued. “Eric found ways of bringing us closer within ourselves. Hypnotic techniques to burrow deep within the mind. In a strange way, the spirits of Níyol which brought us together were not mere ghosts in the machine either. This past week, I endured perhaps the most vivid of these, and yet it never took place under his watchful eye, or that of our former state-sponsored honey-pot.”

Jovian perked up, his white and black eyes wide with wonder.

“I was meditating one night. As I descended, I found my second self. One last little hound within me. A small, feral demon with eyes like Hades and teeth that could shred meat from bone in the blink of an eye. A blood-soaked bastard who I knew was behind every torturous impulse, every sleepless night. In a way, he was the one who led me to the ring. He found the right agents and booked one mighty show that night. You want to know what I did to him?”

The young, shaggy-haired gladiator nodded again.

“I beckoned him into my right hand, the one which had torn throats out. I helped him into my left hand which had beaten wolves to complete pulp. I let him rest on the pad of my palm. I let him get real comfy there. Once he was...BANG!”

Marcus slammed both hands together with a mighty clap, Jovian jolting back while remaining where he was seated. The older red wolf ground his palms together before laying them back upon his knees, palms up.

“I crushed that devil and watched him bleed. He didn’t vanish or fade back into me. He sat there in the same spoils he craved in my feral days. I made sure to watch him die. Then before me came a basin of water, clear as the sky above you today. There is where I washed my hands of him, watching that bloody mess fade from my fur and sink to the bottom, and then away forever. And now here I sit.”

The seven-foot gray shook his head in amazed disbelief. “And you think it worked?”

“There is no thinking,” Marcus smiled gently. “Only a knowingness. And I know that was true. As true as our fight is just. As true as my love for that beautiful little spitfire is everlasting.” He cocked his head back and smiled at his steadfast machine. “As sure as my Lady has ever been, and that’s one hell of a yardstick.”

The red warrior took the gray’s hand before continuing.

“I want you to try it. I beckoned mine by name, but I daren’t speak it. I know yours, but it is not mine to speak, nor yours to say aloud. You must call to him within your mind, and you must slay him there.”

Jovian looked out across the desert, to the placid horizon and cloudless sky. He looked to the ground, expecting anything from a scorpion to an ant, only to find no beasts of any kind. There was only him and Marcus.

“Is that why you wanted me alone?” Jovian asked sheepishly. “If it goes wro—”

Marcus shook his head. “It won’t. Remember what I said of thoughts. I wanted you to be in a place of complete tranquility where there can only be you and that second-self. I had the luxury of walking these paths in different ways. I think you’ve the strength to do this right here, right now.”

The red wolf finally began unfolding the rug, revealing a thick wooden dowel rod, a single folded sheet of paper, and a gorgeous bone choker necklace, as big as his, colored with turquoise beads, dark brown hair-pipe, and a silver shell at the neck. Marcus walked over to Jovian with the necklace and helped tie it on.

“I’ll take your shirt in exchange,” he winked. “It’s a fine garment and I don’t want it getting ripped. I’m a...speaking from experience on this one as well.”

It got a much-needed laugh out of the gray gladiator who obliged, his colorful patchwork chest now exposed to the sun as it neared its zenith. Now prepared, Marcus placed the dowel in Jovian’s mighty hands.

“It will only break upon the second’s death.” the red warrior nodded. “So you can prepare, I do have a mantra to bring you at ease. This too should not be spoken, only recited within your mind.” Carefully he unfolded the paper and presented it facing Jovian. Upon the page read the phrase: Dies Fractionis.

“Don’t even worry about enunciation,” he said. “Go forth and conqueror in its name.”

Jovian nodded and slowly closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and upon its exhaling, began looping the phrase in his mind.

Dies Fractionis, Dies Fractionis, Dies Fractionis.

He did his best not to hurry, not to force it. Slowly but surely, it was conjuring a trance within him. He felt himself floating deeper and deeper through himself. Not the physical body, but layer upon layer of the mind. Ineffable shades of red, pink, black and white, a warm tunnel that carried him deeper and deeper.

At a certain point, the inciting mantra gave way to the real one. That dreaded name he so feared, loathed, and regretted.

Tertius, Tertius, Tertius.

Slowly from out the cosmic primordial came that black-hearted, cold, soulless automaton. His body was bigger than Jovian’s, his mane of hair immense as a lion. He spoke in a booming echo, the young wolf deafened by words indecipherable through sheer volume. The roar, the might, those black eyes, and their thin white pupils. Part of Jovian was fixing for a monstrous fight, a knockdown drag-out that could set his switches flying and his heart racing out of his chest.

And then the other remembered Marcus and his story.

While Tertius stood too tall to be properly invited, Jovian knew there was but one way to bring him down to size. It was to not fear him at all. And in that quiet, pin-drop clarity of the desert plain, he knew just how to level the playing field.

What a small, useless man.

It was true after all. With the Nero program dead, what was the point of Tertius?

What a small, useless man.

It was Jovian who had control of his body, and no use for such an unruly behemoth.

What a small, useless man.

If it was between holding Tertius eternal and saving his friends and loved ones, the choice was so damn obvious.

And when looking at it all through his mind that way, Tertius had gone from this mountainous, murderous statue to but a mortal wolf stood before the young warrior. A mortal wolf who found two mighty gray hands wrapped around his throat. Tighter and tighter he squeezed with fangs barred and eyes fiery, wringing the ever-loving life out this wretched machine-hound who haunted him so. No matter how frightening the face—Tertius contorting and distorting into all manner of night terrors that had visited Jovian upon his travels—the towering gladiator kept squeezing and wringing and squeezing and wringing.

Until he heard the sound of the century: the snap of that foul being’s neck. The cybernetic body went limp, and opening before Jovian was a massive hole that emptied into the stars. The cold vacuum of space, fitting for a cold machine hound. Before he dropped him though, he made sure to look at that face one last time. The face that terrified him, the face that he feared frightened others. And in a small, strange way, the reason for his friends and newfound sense of purpose. For that, he had only two words, read once in his mind.

Thank you.

The last thing the body of Tertius heard before plummeting into the sky and drifting into the ineffable dark of night.

Jovian’s eyes remained closed for a while, slowly opening as the grand fight drew to its close. When he finally opened them, he saw that the dowel had been snapped clean in half. He looked up to see the beaming face of the red warrior who had brought him here, arm outstretched and begging for a proper Roman handshake. A shake met with furious passion and a tight embrace.

“What did I tell you!?” roared Marcus. “A brave hound meant for great things!”

The weight was well off his shoulders, though one question remained.

“How will this affect the programmed patterns?” Jovian quizzed.

Marcus rested a firm hand on the young gray’s shoulder.

“I don’t quite have the science for that, but I think Eric will. Let’s get back to Base and then we’ll continue with the day’s work.”

The gray wolf with the shaggy hair stood up straight and looked to the world around him. It felt lighter, clearer, brighter than ever. It felt like bliss itself smiling back at him. He gave a nod to Marcus before answering.

“Alright then. Let’s pop me open and see.”

IV.

Jovian’s return brought a great commotion in the labs, but not one of relapse. One of complete and utter surprise. Eric double-taked to the shirtless red warrior and his gray mentee in disbelief as he went back over the monitor with some of the technicians.

“The personality overlay is gone. It’s just gone. There is no Tertius. There is no brain-dead factory reset. Jovian’s the base now. If I went flipping switches, all I’d get seven different flavors of Jovian. It’s like that half-electric mind just rewrote its own code. But the programs are still down there. And they are kissing close to decryption.”

The red-furred mechanic embraced the two gladiators warmly, hooting and hollering like the country boy he was.

“You bastards are the most beautiful fucking things I seen on God’s green earth in a year. How the hell you do it?”

Marcus simply tapped his temple and winked. “Mind over matter, old friend.”

“My kind of mind over matter too,” Eric winked in reply. “Just downloaded the last of the dupes. After we get the man cleaned up from all that cyberjunk, he’s free as a bird.”

Tears welled in Jovian’s organic eye as Eric patted his shoulder. “Ain’t no lost causes on my watch, son. And don’t you forget it.”

The young gray dried his eye and beamed from ear-to-ear.

“Once you’re out of the electric chair,” the red gladiator added, “Now I can show you what a clear mind like yours can do.”

True to his word, they leapt back into the smiling DeSoto and tore off into the desert. Only this time, Jovian was behind the wheel. And he was giving her everything he had. With his sandaled paw flat down, the Adventurer swerved and roared down the same roads Marcus had taken. And instead of feeling a lump of fear in his throat at the hands of the car’s devil-may-care owner, he felt a synchronicity he had scarcely known with his own Lincoln.

“IF YOU THINK YOU TWO ARE GOOD TOGETHER,” Marcus bellowed over the DeSoto’s engine, “JUST WAIT TILL YOU AND YOUR OLD GIRL GET BACK TOGETHER!”

When they returned to the sight of the awakening, what followed was a furious regime of combat. They sparred with sticks, mocking up everything from swordplay to improv weapons. They fought bare-knuckle, both taking a pounding while never taking a beating. Target practice came on instinct as well as iron sights, the warriors landing further and further shots until the only thing that stopped them was the distance limit of the laser cartridge. While not spiritually nourishing in the way he expected, the feeling was invigorating because of something he finally felt capable of: letting loose without losing grip.

Marcus demonstrated with a recreation of his old ways.

“Before I even met our dear Valentina,” he chuckled. “I was percussive. My hands would snap to the throat, my knees stabbed up into the gut. My paw would pound that Lady’s poor throttle till it was almost bent in half.”

Jovian saw his point as the mature red warrior gave quick, heavy jabs to the air with his hands, hard stomps of his paws on the ground. Jovian nodded as he saw the stiffness.

“Now look at how I was driving, how I move as a hound and with my machine.”

There was a greater freedom of flow to his punches, long sweeps of the leg. He spun around on a dime and swung out his sawed-off and fired two shots at the last remains of the target cans they had set up.

“Now the meditation didn’t just give me these skills overnight,” he continued. “It gave me the clarity to realize my greater form. In this way, this was what that wicked bitch wanted to make us all along. Only difference: now we control our fates. Not where we eventually end up, but where we move, where we strike. Freedom, but a kind to be wielded wisely and always for more than yourself.”

He beckoned Jovian to a clear patch and gave him the “your turn” nod.

“Just remember to skip the Lurch routine and show me your true self.”

The colorful gray warrior did just that. He remained more percussive in his fisticuffs, but when both hands and paws were flying, he moved in a graceful, lyric way. His unbuttoned shirt made the display almost balletic. And for the first time, the pupil finally surprised his master. Jovian made a flying leap over the hood of that trusty DeSoto, landing gracefully before turning his attention to the targets. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed his rifle from out the car and blasted the target perches into oblivion.

When he looked across the ride’s roof to Marcus and the playful grin splitting his muzzle, he knew he’d made quite the impression.

They carried on like that for hours and in all different parts of this ethereal sacred place. The true test of their mettle wouldn’t come until the drive home.

Marcus was back behind the wheel. He made sure the radio was still on the Force frequencies to get them clearance, but with access to the network, it also meant they could take calls from the Outposts, other rides, and other associates. Not that they expected any calls of course—the newly-minted “Cazadores” were still just that. However, a static-crushed voice came over the speaker.

“RESERVE STATION DELTA TO ALL FORCE UNITS, RESERVE STATION DELTA TO ALL FORCE UNITS, WE’RE UNDER ATTACK FROM RAIDERS. I REPEAT, UNDER ATTACK!”

Concern swept across Marcus and Jovian’s faces. The red-furred warrior snatched up the radio and held it for a moment.

“What are you waiting for?” Jovian pressed.

Marcus pounced on the brakes and cut the wheel, swerving away from the well-worn dusty trail. “Well, help me out here. We’re still green to the protocols of the Infantry, we’re still under a blanket unit call-sign, and have you ever seen this reserve station?”

Jovian shook his head.

“How do you think it sounds when a stranger calls asking for your location when 15 of ‘em are trying to take the castle out from under you?”

The young gray warrior nodded. As he did, Marcus clicked the call button and made his request. “Cazador Unit Marcus to HQ. Requesting location of Reserve Station Delta, current location Dootł’izh Flats.”

“10 miles east of current location, over.” came the operator’s voice.

“Gracias.” the red wolf nodded. “Request to enlist full Cazadores team in fight.”

“Permission granted.” This time it was the gruff tones of General Knox.

“Make sure someone brings up Jovian’s Lincoln.” Marcus added.

“Will do. Sending Captain Herrera with main unit. ETA 20 minutes. Cazadores might be there in 15 the way you lunatics drive. If you get there sooner, don’t directly engage. Snipe if you can but know what you’re hitting.”

“Gracias.” Marcus replied. “Over and out.”

The DeSoto soared towards the east, Jovian checking over his rifle and handing Marcus his sawed-off. Lucky for the two, there was a cliff-face perch just begging for them to take a seat. He slammed the brakes, parked the car, and leapt out.

“Glovebox, binoculars.” the red wolf order. Jovian snatched them up and slipped out of his seat. He looked through them first to get a lay of the land before handing them off to Marcus.

The reserve station was built much like an old oil refinery, but it wasn’t pumping out Texas tea either. It was essentially a synth-station farm designed to manufacture fuel, an additional resource to supplement the comparatively meager fuel stations back on Base.

Circling the outer perimeter were the usual cadre of scummy looking machines and walking-dead riders—no doubt high off radium with the state of their molting fur. They saw some guards had been killed, and some raiders were already inside the compound.

As for those still outside, Marcus charged Jovian with the honors.

“I know iron sights might seem inadequate,” the red warrior reassured, “but trust those instincts, aim only for the drivers still outside. I’ll keep a hand on the radio and wait for our part of the cavalry to come in.”

Jovian nodded, dropped on his stomach and took his aim. He waited for the moment when he knew it would all line up; his rifle, their head. When it did:

BANG!

A single shot of laser fire sent the tan-furred raider’s head scattering across his dashboard, the rat-rod skidding and tumbling into its fellow raiders. From there, it was fish in a barrel, but never without care. One shot for one hound. And when they started firing back, it only took one grazing slug of red lead for Jovian’s defenses to shift into high gear. Quickly he tucked and rolled, returning fire with each place he landed, and making his mark. The raiders kept him dancing across the sand, but not without Marcus firing on them. While the sawed-off’s range wasn’t quite as well-calibrated as Jovian’s rifle, it could still split one of those savage, scowling faces like a cantaloupe.

But no sooner had the two warriors whittled the enemy’s backup down, more raced in from the canyon pass below.

Just in time for their own backup to show.

Racing into view were those three beautiful machines: the sandy Humvee, the black Mustang, and that boat of a Lincoln. But they weren’t all driven in the same order. While Brennus was still in his muscle car, Marcus was surprised to see Sabina in the Humvee and Valentina skidding to a stop in the Lincoln.

“Special delivery for one Jovian,” the white wolf winked, scooting over to the passenger side.

“How you like her?” he quizzed, diving behind the wheel.

“Smooth like butter and a real bitch to the right killers.”

“What’s the goal now?” Jovian asked Marcus.

“What’s ETA on the Captain?” he asked, covered behind the DeSoto.

Val shook her head. “Intercepting more of the bastards coming up the canyon. Said to take the fight to ‘em now that there’s at least some of us here.”

“Alright,” Marcus began, “I’ll stay perched here and—”

“FORMOSA!” Sabina screamed. “BEHIND YOU!”

Racing into view was a black-furred raider on an old Harley, aimed straight for Marcus. When Marcus saw him, he leapt onto the roof of the DeSoto and watched as the biker flung himself off the cliff’s edge, tumbling down several hundred feet into a bloody mess.

“As I was saying,” the red warrior winked. “From this vantage point, we got several angles to take ‘em from, but we also have that avalanche pouring in. Brennus and I will start cutting down on these newcomers. Jovian, Val and Sabina, get inside the station and start cutting down these bastards. Just remember where we are: one bad move and the whole damn thing blows up.”

Quickly, Marcus sprinted over the hoods of the white Lincoln and the black Mustang and hopped onto the side of the beige Humvee.

“Take this and aim sharp, babe.” the red warrior smiled.

“But what will you use?” Sabina asked.

Marcus produced a rusty pistol from his front pocket. “Snagged this on his way down. We’ll see if he was smart enough to charge it before heading out. If not, I’ll have to borrow another.”

That tender Latina kissed him square on the lips, long enough to last but short enough to send him on his way.

“Let’s roll out!” Marcus barked.

Jovian and Sabina bombed down the backside of the ledge, away from the canyon road swarming with raiders and towards the reserve station. Valentina worked the on-board radio with a Force hold-out still on the line.

Sabina took the stance Val would with her Humvee; front line, brute force, and the power packed in her and her lover’s sawed-off didn’t hurt.

The raiders who had gotten inside had sealed up all the gates. And while they were chain-link, they weren’t exactly A.C.E.S.-backed titanium.

“Think they’ll miss a door?” Jovian asked innocently.

“They’ll miss this plant more.” Val replied.

The shaggy-hair gray nodded and slammed his paw down. The Lincoln tore through the fence and smashed right into the first raider behind it. Val swung herself out the window and started popping heads with her Mars automatic. Engines roared, putrid wolves screamed, but it looked like they were clearing out the worst of the invaders.

For a split second, Jovian clocked his rearview mirror, trying to gauge how many more were on their tail. With Valentina still looking out the back, she couldn’t see one of the wild-eyed grays on the steel ladder ready with a hatchet in hand, and a dead-end at the base of a fuel tower just ahead.

When Jovian looked up however, he could.

“HEAD IN! NOW!” he barked.

The deep, roaring voice that came out of the young gray startled her back in just in time. Jovian slammed both paws on the brakes and swung the Lincoln in a full 180.

He missed the base of the tank by an inch, but he didn’t miss the head of the gray raider, who took a shot of his rifle right between the eyes. Without a moment to lose, he stepped on the gas and went charging back towards the putrid hoard, who promptly tucked tail and ran back the same way with screams of terror in their throats.

Back up the canyon, Brennus and Marcus were raining hell down on the raiders as they came. Every shot had to count for the red wolf with his pistol on loan, and Brennus couldn’t waste a shot even if he had to. When the two thought it safe, they’d take a pit-stop and shoot from behind their rides instead of in them.

Whenever the bikers of this motley pack got wise to their assassins and started racing up to the two fighters, that’s when the blood really started spilling. If Brennus couldn’t shoot them, he’d deck them right off their bikes and throw them down into the stampede of dirt-orange pickups and air-cooled V8s. When Marcus was under attack, he snatched them off and folded them in half over his knee before pitching them into the same mire. When Brennus saw this for the first time, the single fluid sweep of the flat-pawed, broad-shouldered red wolf, he bellowed over the noise, “miracle what a good night’s dive’ll do for ya!”

Marcus gave a salute before returning to the firefight.

For all the courage, the valiant stubbornness, the game of numbers was still teetering towards the rusty rat-pack of raiders. More machines crashed through the piles of scattered debris, more irradiated foot-soldiers kept making it past Brennus, Marcus and Sabina.

“We can’t keep this going forever!” Val barked over the radio. “If they don’t get here soon I don’t know what the—”

BOOM!

At first, Val’s heart was in her throat, fearing the worst had happened and that one of the large fuel towers had finally gone up. Until she saw where the flame came from.

One massive explosion swept through the canyon pass, dozens of rusty rat rods and trucks and bikes plastering the ground and walls.

Then through the second clearing came the Force’s boys, led by a fierce looking black wolf in a deep-blue, topless pickup truck. He was decorated from head to toe in black denim and leather, silver conchos popping off his belt, hatband, and boots.

A black angel of death he rode, with dozens of well-kept muscle cars and trucks behind him. He swung round, directly in front of the canyon mouth and produced a monstrous RPG.

“STAND CLEAR!” the black wolf bellowed as he leapt out of the truck, dropped into position and fired the next round down the canyon. Again, an immense explosion erupted through the pass, engulfing the swarm of desert thugs in a blistering wall of orange flame. The heat subsided, and the sheer scope of the devastation was apparent. Shrill screams of surrender began to sound from behind the Auto Corp unit and the Cazadores.

“V. Galvez to Cazadores on the Ridge, you hear what I’m hearing?” Captain Herrera radioed.

“Cazador Marcus to V. Galvez...yes sir, I do believe we can.”

V.

For their second debriefing, things had gone awfully smooth. Particularly was the impression made on the Auto Corp Captain.

“In spite of the rather loose organization,” the Gothic vaquero concluded, “these are fighters of great stamina and sharp skill. If five hounds of this caliber—combined with the remaining dozen holdouts at Delta—can hold off a swarm of roughly 80 all-told, then with time and training, they can be front-line material. Not that I wish to pull them from their current objectives. But should the need arise, I would put my life in their hands. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. I fear raiders may organize more supply attacks like these in future. My recommendation is doubling security on all reserve stations...and maybe increasing on-site fueling service here to reduce need. If we were to lose a piece on the board, I’d rather it be a pawn than a knight.”

After the meeting, Captain Herrera shook hands with the five warriors. He gave no favor, no special remarks, just a polite “gracias” to each before departing.

When Valentina looked over to Jovian, a strange chill rushed over her. It was like she was looking at a different wolf. Not just the deep thrum of his voice that had saved her from a beheading, but that he clearly looked different. He stood up straight, all seven feet of him on full display. He never looked down at his big paws or shoved his hands in his pockets like he’d done from time to time. But above all else, those eyes.

One black, one brown on white. Completely at ease. A soul stilled and forever content in the now. Part of her, in a strange way, sensed that the news of his public fate wouldn’t hit as hard now. She wasn’t going to find out, knowing how delicate the solidifying phase of such change could be. But as she saw the two warriors—Marcus and Jovian—embracing warmly and shaking hands, she knew that the boy had finally become a man. A proper man. And that was indeed something worth celebrating.

Before anyone could leave the room however, a call came in from the lab to Knox’s office phone. When the dark gray General got on the horn and heard what was said, he looked at all five warriors with a slackened jaw and stern eyes.

“I want all five of you down to the labs. I think our hound of the hour’s unclogged chakras have given us more than just a glimpse at the past. We have quite the future ahead.”

CATCH UP ON LAST ISSUE!

It took a few days for Valentina to fully regain her strength. Her relapse hit her harder than even she expected. The headaches were kept down with pills, and she didn’t show any signs of further hallucinations. Evidently, Eric had taken the time to explain the technical details of the whole affair to this General Knox. Her pack would come around her bed and let her know what each was being asked, from Sabina recounting Marcus and his manic episodes to Jovian’s narrow escape from recruitment and the changes made to his body. The only wolf who didn’t speak of things was Brennus. His only concern was seeing Val through her recovery.

In due time, Knox joined the bedside communing.

“When you’re well enough,” he began in that rather charming rasp of his. “I want to confer with you and just you. Evidently, you’ve struck a chord in this plight and I have some questions about that.”

Val nodded and smiled. “Sure thing. I guess when your goons tell me I’m set.”

As soon as the words spilled out, the white wolf snapped her hands over her muzzle in embarrassment. Knox chuckled.

“No I get it,” he grinned. “Big ol’ army might magically have something up their sleeves. You’ve a right to skepticism. As do I.”

He left her with those words and kept his distance for the remainder of her recovery. By the fourth day, she was finally set and ready to go. She’d been allowed some activity, but she took advantage of the adjacent gym so she could regain a little more of her physical strength. She hadn’t seen all these ellipticals and treadmill contraptions before, but she got the hang of them soon enough. After a proper shower and lunch, she was ready to have her meeting with Knox.

She was helped through the long winding corridors by two of his security team. She was whisked past the hounds in leather jackets and cowboy boots, all packing heat on their hips and shades on their snouts, before at last reaching the “principal’s office” as it was still called. After these doors came the final threshold; the General’s board room.

A wood-lined room, beaming with warmth through the gloss and the walls of Old World texts lining each side. Coffee sat ready, dead center in the middle of a long wooden table. And instead of sitting at the table’s head and leaving Val’s back to the main office, Knox sat in his plain white T-shirt and stone-washed denim with his back to the wall of atlases. He waved his mechanical silver hand over and pointed to the seat opposite him.

“That way none of us feel like we’re gonna be made men by the end of this.” the dark gray wolf chuckled.

“I know you’ve probably gotten quite the picture of me,” Valentina smiled sheepishly, taking her seat.

Knox nodded, pouring her cup for her. “Determination. Tenacity. Pig-headness which I’m a big fan of myself. Your stories–all ya’s–is probably the most fucked thing that digital bitch has cooked up of all our gripes, and trust me, we’ve got plenty of our own.”

Val took a sip and perked up. “Oh thank God y’all know how to brew it up here.”

“Trust me, if this Force didn’t have good coffee, you could kiss the whole fucking thing goodbye. One of the few things I took with me when I left Haven P.D.”

The white wolf stopped mid-sip and glowered.

“Don’t worry now,” Knox replied. “This silver hand’s the reason I turned coat on them. I ain’t the call coming from inside the house.”

“How’d you lose it?” Val asked cautiously.

“Got the real one cut off during a protest. Fella seized up on me when he grabbed my hand. ‘Magically,’ the gate at the capital building came whizzing down and cut it right off. How I got there was learning what happened to my old partner. Why I left was what she did to try and make me stay.”

Valentina cocked her head.

“Have you ever had all the news media, all the police, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men array a conspiracy to placate your own suspicions? Ever had a cop-killer materialize from thin air to keep you from thinking your own wolves are getting it in the neck for having a thought or two that fall astray of a meticulously curated status quo. Ever been told by the bitch who built it all that she did it for your own good?”

The white wolf sunk back into her seat. Not from her past fear of offense, but from sheer shock.

“And you believe me don’t you?” Knox grinned. “Cause I bet you if you told anyone exactly all of what you pieced together, they’d call you crazier than a coke bag.”

Val gave her solemn nod. “I guess it’s just forgetting the scope of it all.”

“We all got problems, Miss,” the gray wolf replied. “You and I just got one common denominator, the worst thing to happen on God’s good gray earth since they dropped half-a-planet’s worth of nuclear lead some two-hundred-plus years ago. My only question is: what was the plan?”

Again, Val stopped mid-sip. “Which plan?”

“What you’d do when you got there. The Point A to B shit ain’t my concern. We can help out as best we can with our intel networks and associates in finding this Colosseum. What I’m curious about is what you’d do to it. And why do it? Why go through all this hell, all this shit when we’re planning to tear through that city the second we got an in. She’s dying after all, and I got the data to prove it. Little fluctuations in the Tower Network shield, failure of services, a report from the 2450s about a goddamned military manufacturing base that is being–as I can only suspect–built in CYBERSPACE and printed in real facilities.”

“The hell you saying?” Val glowered.

“I’m saying the Second Plane doesn’t exist. Not tangibly. I’m saying we’re dealing with what could be the merging of cyberspace and the tangible world. Not out here of course. But within Haven. No one understands it, I’m not even sure the hypothesis is on lock, but your story might be the key in understanding what we’re up against. We need more intel, we need more time. And I don’t want to send civilians to go gallivanting around looking for shit to wreck that might not be there.”

“The fuck you mean then!?” the white wolf snapped. “You hold us hostage, you gonna lock us up and keep us from getting there and stopping–”

“Stopping what?”

Knox’s voice never rose above casual conversation. And in that calm intonation, Val felt the bubble of her world pop in on a single instant. She didn’t even know why the words stung until Knox clarified.

“Your experience with these Gladi-Models proves one simple fact: the games are over. The super-soldier program is over. They aren’t coming for anyone anymore. At least not for conversion. We’ve sent a team to dynamite Níyol. Even got every Injun tribe’s blessing. There’ll be no more conversions. We’re also going to take the tech there and retro-fit it for analysis. We might be able to comb the whole desert to find any remaining facilities via reverse signal tracking. Plus, we’ve snagged some of those sleeper agent bodies from your posse’s latest row and are working on finding common code signifiers to classify Gladis as enemy targets.”

Val slouched back down in the chair. “But you’re ruining–”

“Ruining what?”

Knox’s brow furrowed.

“Revenge, is it? You want to piss five lives down the drain because yours got fucked? Sister, if that’s all it took, I woulda sent all sum-ten-thousand of those boys and girls in denim and leather to their deaths right now. I woulda put my head to a U1’s 40-foot barrel and told ‘em to blow me away when my wife gave her life fighting for the land we just won back at the godforsaken border. The Ivory Coast is ours now and a foothold we got on the goddamn doorstep of the A.C.E.S. I know the pain. Not your exact pain but THE pain. Cherish that man of yours, ‘cuz you never know which day’ll be the last. I shoulda prepared for that and I didn’t. I spent one miserable night paying for it. What I’m saying is you can see to the Colosseum’s destruction, but it’s gotta be planned, it’s gotta be precise, and it’s gotta be with real muscle. You guys are tough, you’re competent. But you can’t do it alone. If we can find this place, and if we want it good and dead, we can’t just go sending in folks without some real backup.”

Valentina’s hands trembled with fury, but then with one quick shutting of her eyes, and a long, slow deep breath, the tremors ceased. Those jade eyes stared straight down Knox’s soul as she gave her reply.

“Guess it’s probation for both of us. You prove to me you got the muscle, we prove to you we got the skills.”

Knox took another sip of his brew before standing up.

“Interesting perspective shift there.” he remarked before extending his right hand. “But I get it. You and your team have full access to the gym any time. Check with Captain Westley about access to the gun range and test track. You can use them, but you’ll have to work around the scheduled drills.”

She left it hanging in the air for a moment before shaking on it. “Thanks. I’ll start with getting back in shape.”

For a while, no one saw Valentina beyond glances down corridors. Marcus and Sabina would see her dart from her new quarters straight to the gym. Brennus would only see her after the day’s work for dinner, but their nights together were frigid and silent. Jovian found himself being analyzed by some technicians from the Chief Engineer’s office, curious about how the augmentations impacted performance and how he evaded a complete surrender to the other Gladis’ base programming. Eric stayed on base with him to make sure no harm came to him in the process, and always laid eyes on Val as he saw her walk through the halls.

“Is everything alright?” Jovian asked innocently as he sat up from the observation table.

Eric nodded and patted the young hound’s knee. “I don’t think she’s had to reckon with just how big this all is. Tunnel vision does that.”

When their days weren’t spent working out or under the microscope, Knox organized observation periods to better illustrate his point and to clue the rest of the Pack in on how the Force operated. At first the driving range wasn’t that impressive. A nicely realized course with obstacles festooned throughout, and bleachers left over from the days when the Force’s HQ was a one-story school.

The cars were another story, at least for Marcus.

“I didn’t know they kept ol’ Hornets in that good a nick,” the red warrior beamed. “Got you a Hornet, a Charger, and even a putterin’ lil’ Baja Bug all in one running.”

“You don’t get on this team without having a love of these ol’ iron beauties.” General Knox smiled. “I imagine that’s why you two wound up with a happy ol’ DeSoto. When Angel showed me a picture from an ol’ catalogue, I about doubled-over and died laughing at how cute the thing was.”

“It’s like waking up to a second sun,” Sabina nodded, cozying up to her lover.

Even for all her frustration, Val found it encouraging to see Knox taking a shine to Marcus and Sabina. It was hard not to love those two, so he at least had a heart somewhere in there. Though she remained largely unimpressed until she saw the invention of the cargun on display.

Two Gatling-style barrels that swing out from the chassis of a ride that can rattle off laser-fire faster than most machine guns.

“It’s operated via a trigger beneath the throttle.” Knox explained to the group. “Angel figured that if you’re in battle with one of these beasts, you’d want to not let up one inch in the assault. Just attack-attack-attack. If you’re making evasive maneuvers, you’re already kicking the brakes left and right so love tappin’ the gas won’t yield contact that often.”

The guns also had a way of shredding through every obstacle put before them. Some of that childlike wonder came back to Marcus’s eye as he saw the display. Everyone from Brennus to Jovian leaned forward in amazement at the invention. While Valentina held back, she did so out of quiet admiration.

The gun range wasn’t anything earth-shattering on the face of it–all the R&D having clearly gone into making every hot rod and rust-bucket a mobile minigun–but it was the sight of 20 hounds, clad in denim and leather, all firing rifles in perfect unison that started to gnaw at Valentina. Full row upon full row, firing in lockstep and near perfect aim. 20 after 20 after 20.

He really did have the hounds for the job. He had the wolves, the rides, the weapons, and the structure needed to make. And over the course of several evenings with him, he revealed even more about his concerns with “Your Mission” as he put it when it came to intel.

“We’ve never had anyone who had a predicament like yours intersect with the larger problem.” he spoke one night. “That you folks were part of potentially one facility that used the industrialized cyberspace we’ve been trying to nail down as a certainty. Because the end result means one of two things: either large chunks of the city are projections, holographic in nature. Or on the flip-side, there are layers of perception at play. Citizens who are chipped see things different from how unchipped hounds see it. You’re being presented a reality to work you to the psychological bones while those in the stands see little more than care-free entertainment.”

It was as hard to wrap around as it was the horror of their time in the Colosseum’s light, but it was a conversation made of equal parts compassion and composure. Even as the thought of her glorious discovery and cathartic destruction ate her up from inside, Valentina’s frustrations were only agitated by that unbearable truth: he cared. Behind all the military structures and his former allegiances, he cared. She saw it on his face as he passed even the lowest rank in the hall, when congratulating each instructor on fine work. He could be a goddamn president if he put his mind to it.

One of these dinners cemented this fact. On this particular evening, Jovian got to talking about missing home and his folks. About the joys of being in the ring, of his friends in the street who would hoverboard with him and hijack him and his now “famous” Lincoln to go for skitches. “I used to arrest fellas like you.” Knox quipped, which got Jovian laughing and kept him from getting really weepy. All the same, when the General saw the melancholy coming on, he rested his metal hand on the young gray’s.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my Mom and Dad,” he nodded solemnly. “Nice days out in the park, sun shining all golden. Back when she was nicer, even the little scent notes Ace would pop into the air made the day better, even a bad one. Shit, you were probably just a pup when it happened, but you remember that one day half the city went from smelling like a breath mint to like an ashtray and it kept going back and forth every hour–”

“No shit, I do!” Jovian gasped. “I dunno if you left by then, but when I was skitching with some of my buddies, something like it happened where one block smelled like a big bunch of flowers, then the next like melting plastic. It was only for part of the day, but God we all wanted to ralph out the window, but couldn’t cuz then we’d drench poor Billy rocking his hoverboard behind my Lincoln! Shit, I think Duane actually got him one time–”

Jovian couldn’t even finish the thought as the mental image hit him like a comedy bomb. The young wolf let out a sweet, snickering laugh that had the whole table in stitches. A fella that tall and that muscular having something this side of a child’s giggle got everyone by surprise. Even Val let out a brief smirk

Again, she couldn’t write him off as some overzealous police captain or City Hall dumping pounds of bureaucratic paperwork in her way. He had the numbers, the resources, and time and time again reassured the quintet that they shared a goal with him. He was a perfect ally. And that drove Valentina madder and madder.

Over the week’s course, the rest of the pack continued their chummy streak with Knox. Each night over a fine cooked meal, the city boy’s peculiar rustic twang spun many tales of grand strategy, of ol’ General Godred’s days in battle, and of the advancements made in the fight and the ground gained. All the while sat in the background of the nights of wining and dining was a near-catatonic Valentina, slipping further and further away from her team, her dream, the whole damn thing.

“I figure I’d pull a trick outta ol’ man Leo’s hat and christen y’all ‘the Cazadores,’” Knox said on Friday night. “You’ve been on a hunt so long as a team, I can see you’d work well as a unit within us. Desert recon and intel for now, then when it’s time to clear through Haven, you hit the Colosseum once we got a lock on it, then help open the border for the rest of us. Eric’s vouched for ya pulling together when times get tough. You won’t be able to pull the Latin radio codes though, at least in communications with HQ. Having codes on a unit basis though will help with stealth.”

While everyone at the table liked the idea, they all looked back to Valentina, waiting for her reply. She looked from her plate to see all those soft, earnest faces before turning her attention to Knox. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t make a scene. She jabbed her fork into a nice cut of stake and said with a careless sigh, “I guess it could work.”

The dark gray General gave a gentle nod before continuing. “I’ll be using that to address you all from here on out when convening these get-togethers. I’ll also give everyone a chance to sleep on it. You’re still coming at this from a civilian angle and that means we got some training in store for you if y’all are on board.”

Again, to the rest of the Pack, it didn’t seem unreasonable.

Though Val didn’t let it show, she was just slipping further and further away from it all, wishing she could go back into that catatonic stupor where everything was numb and all she could do was lift her head up, take her pills and what little food she could, and pass back out.

That night, nearly two weeks into their stay, Brennus walked into their quarters to find Val undressed in bed, and looking at him with eyes he hadn’t seen in ages. Hungry, playful eyes. She finally wanted him, and it wasn’t long before she got him. Gone was the frigid air about her, and just this once, she could feel something again. That gorgeous passion she knew from days long ago when Brennus was little more than a mystery in a shack sat high upon red sands.

The gray-furred martial artist pulled the white wolf close to his chest in the afterglow of it all. He worked her with a few tender kisses before broaching the subject foremost on his mind.

“You’re scaring ‘em.” he said softly. “You’re scaring me. You gotta tell me what’s going on.”

At first, the thought Val wanted to wrench herself from Brennus, but the hound put his strength to good use when he spun her back around beneath the covers. He made sure she was looking straight at him.

“You’re gonna have to tell us at some point.” he spoke in as placid a voice as he could.

For the first time in a while, hate filled those jade eyes of hers, but Brennus didn’t loosen his grip.

“I need to know if we can help. Are you relapsing, has a new change occurred, have–”

“I’m done.”

Two words was all it took for Brennus to drop his hands from her shoulders. Instead of leaping out of bed the way she wanted to, the white wolf collapsed onto her lover’s chest.

“I can’t do it.” she began to weep. “I can’t I can’t I can’t–”

“Do what?” Brennus pressed, running his gentle hand along her arm.

“All of this.” she blubbered. “The whole fucking thing is busted to hell. I thought we could do it on our own, I thought we could take the whole thing down ourselves, but we can’t. When I talked with that General I wanted to rip his fucking throat out because he was telling me something I didn’t even think about in all the madness. He told me the goddamn truth. He told me all the fucking logistics in the world about how crazy this whole thing is. And y’know what? He’s right. The way I was going about it, I coulda led y’all like lambs to a fucking slaughterhouse. Look at what he’s got! He’s got everything right where he fucking needs it, the only thing stopping him is the only thing in the goddamn world. That miserable fucking bitch out west.”

The gray wolf pulled his woman close, soothing her as best he could.

“I think you’re looking at it the wrong way.” he began.

“Like hell, I–”

She felt the pinch of his hand on her snout as he snapped her eyes towards his.

“Let me finish.” he said calmly before shifting his hand to her cheek. “I think you are. You’re tough, we’re tough. We know we got a righteous cause we’re fighting one no one else even thought of. Either no one else lived it, or you had me and Marcus. Just spending our lives pretending it hadn’t happened. It took you making a ruckus to move needles on anything. It took you getting us together to help settle a few scores along the way. Save some lives even if they didn’t mean shit to our cause. Even if we called it here, we’d been doing good.”

Her sobs subsided to sniffles as he thumbed the tears away.

“You ain’t military, beautiful, but you’re as tough as they come. Just cause the battlefield’s changing doesn’t mean it ain’t worth staying on and fighting it to the end. All we gotta do is wait. Ain’t no one gettin’ hurt while we wait. If anything, that Knox fella might be as good a window into this as we have. He was a cop there, he had to work with the state. In his own small way, he had to work with the A.C.E.S.”

“That’s what gets me, though.” she cut in. “Like I knew all these little things, but I just forgot there was a war on. Like all it was was just some kids playing toy soldiers in the desert with big ol’ tanks. I thought I could just bulldoze right in there once I knew the coordinates and take the fucker down brick by brick. I didn’t even stop to think about what cutting in on the whole thing would even do. Buncha crazy-ass commandos from the desert come racing in trying to fuck up some random hunka city, the fuck we’d even do when we get there?”

Brennus held her close and let her get the rest of it out of her system before continuing.

“With backing like what we got now,” he smiled. “We’ll make sure the job’s done. Well-done like that steak you’ve been having.” That got a chuckle from her, one he savored with another kiss. “When they come storming through with the city in their pocket, they’ll make sure nothing like it happens to no one again. That’s all you wanted outta this right? That’s all you ever wanted was to keep folks from getting hurt?”

She nodded gently.

“That’s what we’re here to do and that’s what we’re gonna keep doing. That’s how we’re gonna keep rolling until we find that deviled place and raze it to the ground.”

Val kissed him the second those words slipped from his muzzle, the thought sending shivers rolling down her bare back as she kept kissing him all over.

“Now that’s more like it,” he grinned, caressing her as the two savored every kiss and caress and thrust. In what felt like a near week of powerlessness, even with her growing strength and healing, Val finally felt something close to the power she felt in the weeks and months prior. All in the arms of a hound who believed in her.

It was just seconds after Round 2 that a blood-curdling sound raced through the halls: a screaming fire alarm followed by an announcement on the PA system.

“RAID ON TALBOT SETTLEMENT. REPEAT. RAID ON TALBOT SETTLEMENT. DEPLOYMENTS STARTING IN GARAGE 3. IF YOU’RE PARKED IN QUARTER A, YOU ARE BEING DEPLOYED. CHECK FOR FULLY CHARGED LASER-CARTRIDGES, REPORT TO YOUR SUPERIORS.”

Valentina jolted up from the bed and leapt towards the night stand. She rummaged furiously through the papers to find the filings on where her Humvee was parked.

“I’m in Spot 33. And you all parked alongside, right?”

Brennus could see where this was going.

“Honey, are you sure you’re ready?”

At first she just kept gathering her clothes before she felt those mighty gray hands snap to her shoulders and spin her on a dime. She looked up to see the worried face of her lover.

“I need to know. Are you ready?”

She composed herself and stilled her chattering breath long enough to make her case, gently stroking that soft gray face of his.

“If we’re part of a bigger team now, then we oughta be team players.” the white wolf said. “Right now it ain’t about me. Too much of it’s been about me. Even if it didn’t seem like it, something in me was doing it all for myself. I could’ve worked harder to overcome it the way you did. I could’ve let myself get swallowed by it the way poor Marcus did. But instead I let it eat me up and make me some kinda Patton when all I was was a little girl scared shitless. Let me be a woman and do my part instead of making y’all run ‘round the desert ‘cuz I kept feeling sorry for myself and wanted to take it out on the thing I hated most. I know I’m better than that now, we all are. I want to prove it.”

Brennus pulled her close one last time before looking down and flashing a confident grin.

“Get dressed. I’ll get the others up.”

The two got straight to it, throwing on their shirts, jeans and sandals, Brennus knocking on the two doors besides the lovers’ quarters. To his surprise, Marcus and Sabina were already up and dressed, walking out the second he knocked. When he went to Jovian’s room, there the young gray gladiator was, standing tall with his keys in hand.

Together, the five hounds booked it to join the exodus of hot rods and motorcycles. When they reached the garage, they flashed their keys and the attendant waved them through. They made it past him, but one of the commanding officers was completely baffled by their appearance.

“When the hell’d we order Italian?”

The gray Commander Martin Archer Douglas was not particularly impressed by the sandal-pawed quintet and their rag-tag garb.

“Our staging of Julius Caesar ain’t for another millennium, now get back to bed.”

“We’re in the quarter and we’re here to fight.” Val shot back. “I don’t want to make a meal of this, so just let us pitch in.”

“LET ‘EM ROLL, MAD DOG. WE NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK.”

General Adam Knox’s voice echoed down the garage and was met with a reluctant salute and a quick cock of his head. The General raced down past them in his Hemi Cuda, and for the briefest moment, him and Val locked eyes. It wasn’t a cold glower of “watch yourself,” but the earnest plea of “prove my faith right.”

Everyone got to their cars and fired their engines up. Val’s sandy Humvee went first, followed by Brennus’ black Mustang, the smiling DeSoto of Marcus and Sabina, and lastly the screaming steel boat of a car that was Jovian’s Lincoln.

What surprised all five was the first thing that came over their radios.

“This is General Knox to Team Code: Cazadores. That’s all five of you. We haven’t yet gotten a chance to go through all the pencil-pushing and formal tests, but you’ve been through enough hell to know how to fight. I won’t upset your command structure, but I will give you the quick rules of engagement. Remember to flow with the traffic on our side, never against. Advance, advance, advance. We move as a wall against these bastards. Friendly fire gets you shot on site. Understood?”

The five answers of “Roger” that came over the radio inspired confidence in the General.

“Other than that,” he continued. “Give ‘em hell. Fuck ‘em till they bleed. We don’t stand for raider scum when we got so many other fish to fry. Godspeed.”

With that, it was all about seeing what the town was like and who they’d be fighting against. The village of Talbot came into view in short order, your standard revived Western ghost town, now being attacked by raiders with their usual disregard for the sanctity of life and liberty.

Stunning the quintet of warriors was the Technicolor hailstorm ringing out beside them. Dozens of cars and bikes lobbing streaks of electric lead of all colors into the rickety rat rods and hair-brained chop jobs attacking the wolves of Talbot. They’d never truly seen the miracle of the cargun in action until this night and the results were instant. The raiders were being struck down with incredible ease.

But what the Force was all focusing on wasn’t the end of it.

“Team Leader Cazadores to Knox.” Val barked on the radio. “We got more coming in at 2 O’Clock, back-side of town.”

“Think you can take ‘em?”

“Bet on it.” she replied, slamming her paw down on the throttle.

The Humvee tore away from the main formation, her team following suit.

Everyone checked to make sure their guns were loaded before engaging the raiders’ backup. Valentina went first in a way only her Humvee could; plowing right through the weakest rust buckets, crushing car and head alike as she split one of the others open.

Brennus joined in the fire fight alongside Sabina with her cherished sawed-off shotgun. The gray and red wolves, while unable to match the volume of Force’s display, landed shot after shot, dead in the head of each driver coming their way. Those that weren’t crushed by Val’s Humvee were spun like tops between Marcus and Jovian’s driving. The young gray gladiator in particular was taking the kamikaze route like Valentina, but instead of going over the tops of the low-riders, he started pinning rides against the nearest rock face.

The first car, a low-riding hot rod, got caught on a rock en route, spinning cab-over-wheels and crushing the raider instantly. Jovian’s second kill came with a more robust sedan getting slammed against the target. The second the driver came at him with a pistol, Jovian swung his rifle out the window and blew the bastard’s head away.

The backup became paste-like smears of red on the desert sand as a pileup began to take care of the rest. Those who tried to avoid their comrades’ fate were met with the same for monstrous cars assaulting them on all fronts. Those that weren’t crushed were shot, those that weren’t shot were flipped.

When Valentina saw the rest retreating, she got back on the radio. “Team Leader Cazadores to Knox. Backup’s retreating. What’s left of it. What’s the safest way to return to the formation?”

“Stand guard. Will give you the go ahead when the town is cleared. When you come back, high-beams and hazards on.”

The adrenaline kept the Pack alert and jittering with tension, but they wouldn’t have to wait long.

“This is T. Jeff to all rides, T. Jeff to all rides. Returning from southeast of the battlefield are a beige Humvee, a black Mustang, a cream DeSoto, and a white Lincoln. These are not enemies, these are our guys. Besides, they took better care of their rides than these fuckers, so you’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em.”

That was the quintet’s cue to make their descent from the road down to the rest of the Force’s troops. When they arrived there, they weren’t held as heroes, nor was there any heckling. In a strangely simple way, they were nothing more than five rides in a sea of nearly a hundred. All the same, the one hound who counted found them before they left the settlement.

General Knox pulled up to the warriors as they all stood next to their rides. The lovers were in each others’ arms, and Jovian stood by Val and Brennus, the white wolf quick to bring him in for an embrace.

The tall dark gray wolf surveyed the group with a drill sergeant’s eye, always observant and piercing. He made his way to Valentina and looked down at her.

“Good start.” he said, extending his organic hand. “I won’t call it probation. Let’s say a trial run. One you just passed.”

Valentina shook on it. Instead of aggression or insecurity, the white wolf met the General with a knowing look.

“I get it now.” she said. “It really is bigger than I ever thought.”

“But yours is an important piece of the puzzle. Now we gotta find out just how big of a piece it is?”

It was a question Valentina wanted the answer to as well. And in due time, she’d get it. She’d get all she’d ever wanted to know about Haven and more...

Before the blade could split Valentina’s leg, a mighty sandaled-paw slammed the arm into the dusty earth. Val leapt out of the way as Jovian pried the blade from the metal beast’s hand, joining his Lincoln in pinning the violent android down.

“God, am I glad you’re here.” Val smiled softly, embracing the long-haired fighter. She turned her attention to the black-eyed devil caught beneath the town car’s wheels. “Help me deactivate him, Brennus. Let’s see what secrets he’s got in him.”

Once they powered the metal wolf down, deeper into the desert they drove, for the sake of the town they saved. By morning, the lovers ran through the correct programming sequence and subdued the metallic beast. With enough distance between towns, and a little help from Eric over the phone, Brennus managed to crack almost every encryption layer within the android’s mainframe. They still couldn’t dive into its base layer, but as the gray martial artist put it best, “at least, he’s honest for now.”

Or rather, she was honest for now.

Though it bore none of the outward appearances of womanhood, the voice used to convey the information Brennus dove for was female in nature. As usual, all requests for the Second Plane’s location and the Colosseum were met with the old favorites.

“I was not programmed to reveal that,” she spoke in digitized whispers. “Try again.”

“Could you please then,” Brennus asked. “Explain your extermination spree in the town of Sopwith? Why girls, why in their 20s?”

The black eyes flickered as she combed her databanks for the answer.

“They had. What I. Did not.”

The pack exchanged puzzled glances. “What did they have?” Val pressed.

“True. Bodies. Organic. Bodies.”

Brennus gave the beast a harsh glower. “What need do you have for organic bodies? Yours is a superior build to all wolfkind. Is that not what Aces meant for you?”

Those white pupils went blood-red at the mention of the name.

“No. NO! DEAR GOD NO!”

The obsidian android let out a deafening shriek, the piercing pitch of a program crashing. All five wolves leapt back, hands over their ears as she wailed and screamed.

“What the hell have you done?” she howled in coarse, crackling digital tones. “Why’d you bring that out? Why’d you have to kill me? WHY ME?”

The men were ready to subdue the furious android, but Jovian stayed their hand.

“BACK OFF!” he shouted. “This shit’s happening too fast for any of us to think straight. That includes you.” The seven-foot warrior pointed to the dark android and asked the one question no one thought of: “what’s your name?”

At first, she couldn’t speak.

“My name’s Jovian.” the gray wolf said. “My ring name was Tertius. Did you have a ring name?”

“My...name...My. Name.” She was stuttering on the thought before one word came out. “Candida.”

“Nice to meet ya.” Jovian replied, shivering a little. “That your given name?”

“I. Think. So.”

Jovian’s eyes widened as he realized just what he was onto. “Did you want...the body...so you could come back?You wanted to be flesh-and-blood again?”

“...Yes.”

“Is there any other reason they’d want you killing like that?” he asked gently.

Again, those eyes fluttered about, in search of their answer.

“There is war. War on desert. She...cares not what happens. To desert wolves.”

When Brennus saw the whole picture before him, his eyes were as wide as Jovian’s.

“Is this a mandate to all Gladi-Models?” the short martial artist asked.

Again came the silence. Then those searching eyes. Then the truth.

“Yes.”

So that was it. The failed experiments, the old agents of the insane scheme had all been sent on to the war effort. They were now chaos agents, set forth to wreak the kind of monstrous havoc on the desert. To crush wills, to warp morale.

But something about this bugged Valentina. The android had a given name, yes, but she was clearly a completely mechanical being. None of the half-cocked assemblies marked Jovian’s modifications. This was a proper robot if ever there was one. An organic mind in a metal body.

Or maybe, she thought, organic brain patterns in a metal body.

The white wolf stepped forward, fixing her denim jacket before asking her fateful question.

“Do you remember a facility beneath a mesa? A place beneath the Rock of Níyol?”

“Yes.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember. Being. Drawn towards.”

“When you were there, what happened?”

“Flash. Of white. Then I woke up. Somewhere else.”

“In this new body?”

“Yes.”

The epiphany brought the whole interrogation complete. The facility beneath Níyol wasn’t just for terminating the failed experiments. It was a transfer station. It took the mind of a Nero’s Bastard, and downloaded it into a wholly synthetic body.

It was the last words the android got out before the convulsions began again. The machine writhed to attention, eyes red, glowering at the hounds before it. The disassembled android rattled and rocked before leaping towards Marcus. Its outstretched, wire-covered hands wrapped around the muscle-bound red wolf’s throat as it screamed and writhed, its back half still on the back of Val’s Humvee.

Through all his hacking and coughing, Marcus still held within him the strength to spin the machine around and slam it to the ground with full force. Over and over he shoved and beat, his red hand snapping the machine’s mouth shut as prayed he would sever whatever the hell it took to kill the stupid sonofabitch.

With a final crash, he swung the android’s head down on a rock and snapped it in half. What came out of the mutilated machine’s mouth was another blaring, ratcheting tone. The deafening scream sent the hounds clinging to their ears once more, the cold metallic cry echoing across the desert and mountains.

A cry that did not go unanswered.

The sound of lead-heavy footfalls rocked the earth like an avalanche, the sound racing towards the Pack. Sabina was the first to spot what the dead machine had hailed as she helped her husband up.

“Dios mio.” she gasped. “Another one!”

Just as tall, muscular, and cold-eyed as the soul they dispatched.

Only this time, the playing field was a little more level. The Pack were together, and they were prepared.

“Everyone, start firing!” Val ordered.

Just like that, the wolves dove for cover and drew their guns. Brennus leapt behind his Mustang, Sabina behind the DeSoto with the lovers’ sawed-off, and Val behind her Humvee with the Mars. The pistols and shotgun rattled the android around, but did little to stop its advance. Instead, out came the laser-guns built into its arms, firing wildly at everyone in sight.

Jovian went looking for his rifle, but to his horror, his laser cartridges were all dead. Not a single one with even 5% left on the charge. Thinking fast, the long-haired hound looked around, and laid eyes on the biggest rock just ten feet behind him.

“Hey Val!” Jovian began. “Remember how you knocked me down?”

Valentina nodded from behind her cover.

“Lemme try my hand at it!” He picked up the bulky stone like a baseball and pitched it dead-center into the black android’s head. The rock bent the muzzle downwards, sent the machine stumbling back, but still it carried on.

“Go for the schnoz!” Marcus barked. “Metal’s weakened there.”

The three lines of fire all aimed for the spot, working at it best they could.

“It ain’t giving in!” Val bellowed. “Any other ideas?”

“Yeah!” Jovian replied. “Hold fire and let me at the bastard!”

The towering gray wolf leapt towards the android and tackled the machine to the ground.

“HOLD FIRE!” Brennus echoed.

With nothing to lose, Jovian lit into the machine bare-knuckled. He tried working at the beast’s snout, but it was still too tough to break. Instead, he began wailing away on it in the chest. The metal was tough at first, but one or two tenderizings later and he was starting to make headway. But for all his Herculean might, he was still wolven. Something the dark android exploited with a brutal rabbit kick to the gut, Jovian sent flying through the air and into the desert sand.

When the machine leapt up to shoot him, Brennus knocked it off balance with a sweeping leg kick. Fully disoriented, the gun malfunctioned and retracted. A level playing field that gave the gray martial artist his first real chance at tearing the bastard apart.

Brennus laid into it with everything he had, a fury of fists that finally broke the machine’s metal skin, wires and chips stumbling out of the robot. Brennus ripped handfuls out before another kick sent the machine twirling towards Marcus, who was out and ready for action.

He took over right where the others left off, wailing on the metal bastard with all his heart. More wires and fluids spilled from the machine, its metal the consistency of ribbon as he roared with all his might. “THIS IS FOR VAL.” BAM! “THIS IS FOR BRENN!” BAM! “THIS ONE’S FOR JO!” BAM! “AND THIS ONE’S ON THE HOUSE!”

A final sock to the jaw dropped the android flat on its back.

“Marcus,” Jovian hollered, back on his feet. “You still got your chains!?”

The red gladiator didn’t say a word. He dove for his Adventurer’s trunk, whipped out the long rusted links, and fastened one end to his hitch.

“Take this one Sabina!” he hollered, “ his wife bolting for the driver’s seat.

By the time the chain was in Jovian’s hand, his mighty paw was flat on the machine’s chest, heel digging in with each stomp. Quickly, he snapped the chain around the metal wolf’s neck.

“HIT IT!”

Sabina fired the cream-colored DeSoto up and pinned the gas pedal down, claws piercing her sandals once more. The engine revved up and screamed away, the link of chain straightening out, wrapped tight around the android’s metal neck, ready to rip its head off.

Jovian was so focused on the machine’s beheading, he didn’t see his own come racing towards him.

Fortunately, Valentina had. She fired furiously into the second black android who joined the fray. Once she drew his attention, Brennus was free to start beating the hell out of the machine, once again softening the metal skin for the next hound to take him on. Marcus got in on the action, only to see again another black android in the distance. And another. And another.

“Fucking hell, there’s a whole-ass army!” he bellowed, throwing the android down to the ground. “EVERYONE GET IN THEIR RIDES!”

Just as he said it, Sabina reached the end of her chain, and the first pawn’s head went flying off into the desert, the body dropping in its absence. Jovian let off the shredded machine’s torso and dove for his pearl-white Lincoln. Val and Brennus followed suit into their Hummer and ‘Stang, and Sabina came back around for Marcus, his smiling DeSoto greeting him with a warm rev. With everyone locked, loaded, and firing on all cylinders, it was time to wage a hell of a war.

The machines charged into the growing swarm of black androids, Valentina taking lead, paw buried in the footwell and bracing for the ruthless onslaught of metal bodies against her Hummer’s bull bar.

“You ain’t failed me yet, don’t you fail me now.” she growled, claws out and digging for every last horse under the hood.

When she hit her first android, it threw her back into that mythic Colosseum. The desert vanished, her friends were gone. There was only her and them. And God did she loathe them. Where her first time came with the awakening of her fight-for-flight instincts, juiced to the nines and given free reign over her mind, body and soul, this was different. This was precision time. This was the time for her to live up to what they were going to make her. To throw the whole sorry fucking project back in their face.

When the second body tumbled beneath her SUV’s mighty tires, a devilish grin came to the wolf’s face. A toothy grin filled with fangs and eyes of fire.

Devilish for devilish was indeed the word. She grew demonic in her hatred of these demons. In what they pushed them towards, in what they made them. Their seducing of that sweet, gentle Jovian. Even as the first machine’s terrified screams rang in her ears, the name Candida swirling in the maelstrom of her mind, she knew that there was no coming back from what these poor souls had become. Running them down was about the nicest thing she could think of. Every time she felt another race beneath her wheels she’d stomp the throttle down, toes flexed, claws shredding her sandals. She wanted to feel it. To feel their release, to feel them die. That mind she had worked so hard to fix, to set back on track, was nowhere to be found. It was just her, those tall, ancient arches, the stands of thousands of wolves cheering her bloodlust on. And she was loving it.

Her jade eyes went blood-shot wide with the third body, and her savage growl ripped through her throat as she crushed the fourth. She kept seeing those savage gray machines back in the ring, their acid oil burning the sands as she demolished them, left and right.

It was by the tenth that she wanted out. That beautiful mind she’d spend so many long hard days cultivating was wrestling back control. Even if she still saw the colosseum before her, that better half knew she had to find a way out. All those horrific urges came racing back upon her, pounding away at her head with each thud, each crushed metal skull, each soul vanquished with another stomp of the throttle. She needed a way out and fast.

Oh thank God, the gate!

When Valentina spotted the gate, she knew just what to do. Quickly she cut the wheel and went for one last towering black android standing in her way.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

She jammed the pedal down, fangs barred, back hunched, hands clutching the wheel at all costs. She slammed the black android at top speed and ran him right into the gate with a tremendous CRASH!

Once her head hit the wheel, she knew she escaped at last, the world gone again into that pit of darkest jet…

The room wouldn’t stop spinning, even as she felt the hard mattress beneath her. When she tried to swing her legs out, it felt like they weren’t there. They were–she could feel them beneath the covers–but she could also feel herself all over, from her breasts to her paws. When she finally did get the legs over, they were caught before she could take a single step.

They were caught by Brennus.

“Easy babe.” he soothed in that gentle voice of his. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“Where...where are we?”

“Sickbay.”

“Whaddya mean?” she asked.

“We’re with the resistance now.” he replied, pulling the covers up for her. “The Ambiorixians. Remember the stories Eric told us about old General Godred?”

“Are the others...”

“They’re all here.” Brennus cocked his head to the rest of the room. Sure enough, there was Marcus with Sabina, the lovers holding each other tight and putting on a brave face. And next to the bedside was Jovian, crouched down so he wouldn’t look too imposing.

Even Eric, the old red goat himself, sauntered up to the foot of the bed, the short scruffy mechanic smiling that warm and gentle smiling.

“Why are we...why here?” Val asked, her voice on the edge of tears through sheer exhaustion.

“Because I think we can help.”

The voice came not from one of the Pack, but from behind the door. The warriors parted like the red sea as the hound behind the voice entered. He was a tall, dark gray fellow, definitely older than she was. He wore a plain white T-shirt, faded jeans, work-boots like Eric’s, but boasted a most peculiar prosthetic. A large silver left arm, decked out to the nines in panels and kit. Though imposing at first, when the man crouched down to bedside level, his eyes softened, and that same gentle rasp told her something she never thought she’d ever hear.

“I’m General Adam Knox. And I think we can help.”

“Watcha thinking, chief? I’ll make it, won’t I?”

Jovian lay on the rack beside Eric’s desk, the elder red mechanic tending to the mountainous hound before him. He had ordered everyone out of the room—even Valentina—and sought to have a heart-to-heart with a figure he never thought he’d see.

“You ain’t some labbed-up cocktail, friend” the haggard working hound chuckled. “You still mostly you. More than I can say for the other fellas who showed up in this office. Though most of ‘em came with more problems, or more hardware. You just got yourself a little of both is all. Mind if I switch your neck-plate up?”

Jovian hesitated at first before parting his massive locks of dark gray hair to one side. “Just be careful you don’t flip ‘em.”

“I’ve rebuilt engines fiddlier than these, pally.” Eric grinned. “And they ain’t what I’m after.” He plugged a short cable into a hole in the bottom right hand corner and plugged the other end into the computer terminal. “Now just relax, and we’ll download the surface. Nothing intrusive, just the basics.”

Jovian’s breath sped up briefly, before he felt the calming hand of the mechanic on his shoulder. “I spend a bunch of my life fighting made-up monsters in a ring, and this is the shit I get scared about.” His voice fluttered like an old cassette.

“And you’ve every right.” Eric smiled, “But you’ve also every right to a good long-n-healthy life. I’m hoping we can get you that chance again.”

“Not the way I look.” the seven-foot gray sighed.

“Friend.” The red mechanic took a stern tone while returning to the terminal. “I’ve seen 100% organic creatures in this desert that’d put your heada hair up in a beehive if you saw them. A black eye and a ribbon-chest plate ain’t gonna kill your chances of leading a good life out here.”

“But what about—”

Eric spun round and shot him a look he hadn’t seen since his father, way back in Haven. Since the night Jovian’s father gave him his first pep-talk before going out into the Colosseum at all.

“You can’t control the past, kid. You can only make peace with it. And I know you ain’t ready for it, but one day, you will be. One day sooner than you’d ever dream.”

Just like that, the download was finished, the wire removed, and the big gray wolf felt that same fatherly embrace in Eric. He didn’t cry, he didn’t erupt into a fountain of emotion. He took the embrace as it came, and Eric showed him what was retrieved on the monitor.

“Well my stoic friend,” he grinned. “That’s what you’re made of. All the biometrics, all implants, all front-facing operating systems. And we ain’t seen anything like this in our hunt. Show the rest of the pack in for this.”

Jovian got up, and greeted the quartet of wolves with his same warm smile and shaggy hair. “I guess we found something!”

First over the threshold were the red couple Marcus and Sabina, who shook the hound’s hand, then Valentina and Brennus. Jovian’s fellow (if shorter) gray met him with a proper Roman handshake, arm-to-arm, while the white-furred leader popped a kiss on the towering hound’s cheek.

“Turns out,” Eric began, one leg up on his chair, “the folks behind the games hid these details in plain sight. This squares fine with what we know of Project Nero, but it gives us specifics on what’s been altered to achieve that superior form.”

First came some of the obvious ones; improved muscle capacity, elevated testosterone, subtle enhancements to the cardiovascular system to offset the strain of the heart. What proved even more fascinating were the artificial enhancements. The colored chest was, in effect, a live calculator, gauging and calibrating moves, current status, and the limits on Jovian’s fighting capacity. His black eye was a classic cybernetic aug; a camera eye through which internal records were kept, improving memory.

Then, of course, came the brain.

“Internally, I ain’t ever seen a mechanism like this.” the scruffy red mechanic continued. “In effect, a personality regulator rigged via fiber-optic cabling, tapping into and reconstituting various parts of the wolven mind through the panel on the neck. The reason he’s still Jovian is because that’s his prime personality. This ‘Tertius’ fellow is what the scientists at the Colosseum aimed him to be. I’ve taken the liberty of filling the dip-switch sliders to keep them in place. They should hold fine and keep him in his prime state.”

Jovian leaned over the computer for a moment, sheepish as he absorbed the explanation. He looked over the diagrams and readouts, broad palms resting on the desk. In the glass came the reflection of himself, his piercing mechanical eye. Then, upon his shoulder, a white hand. Then a gray. Then three reds.

The Pack gathered around the young wolf, and with gentle smiles and reassuring nods, he knew—for now—there were no qualms about himself as a part of the crew.

The next few days were recuperative ones, Jovian taking the time to exercise himself in ways he hadn’t for a while. One was a chest press, the towering hound pushing a car away from him as though it were an unlocked door. Another involved pulling two by the hitch towards him, chains wrapped along his forearm. In both instances, he favored drivers piloting the cars. Both became something of a trust exercise.

One day, he’d have Sabina behind the wheel of his Lincoln. He’d tease her enough to get the pedal down, but knew her hesitance would keep her from gunning the town car. The next, the wolven men in their muscled-up sedans would be at the ends of his chains. To both hounds’ shock, even with the rides opened wide, Jovian could still pull them in.

The closest he ever came to any real danger in the exercise was when he tried his chest presses against Valentina’s Humvee. The white wolf was steady on the throttle, but she could just barely see him over the hood of the jacked-up machine. When he asked for more, she didn’t hesitate, her sandaled paw slipping further and further to the floor until she felt the pedal hit the footwell, and the back tires began to scream. She held it there until she heard the electric roar of the gladiator, shoving the Humvee back far enough for her to see him. She was quick on the brake, and leapt out to make sure he was alright, fearing she almost crushed him.

Instead, she was scooped up in the young hound’s arms and held tight. “Just set my damn PR!” The slim wolf guffawed with relief as she returned the embrace.

The last day saw Marcus getting in on the action, managing to hold out for a solid minute in the “hot-rod pull-up” as he dubbed it, Jovian’s Lincoln and Sabina behind the wheel of their DeSoto putting up a good fight for him. When Jovian checked on him afterwards, he was met with an old Roman handshake, arm-in-arm, and a familiar look in the musclebound red’s eyes; the thrill of triumph.

Valentina, with Eric’s help, also expanded her dossier with everything downloaded from Jovian’s aug software, as well as his testimonies. Every night, the 20-year-old flung open the Lincoln’s door, helped the white-furred leader in, and pinned the pedal down, bolting into the desert night to loosen his nerves. They’d pull off the patted-down dirt road, and Valentina would ask every question she had.

“So you remember entering through the backdoor in Comm/Ent.” she quizzed.

“Yuh-huh.” Jovian nodded. “I don’t know how they did it, but it was like you entered a normal office, then the dressing room, then you walked in and BOOM, there’s the ring! You could see the street clearly, but you couldn’t see it when you drove up.”

“Does the phrase ‘Second Plane’ mean anything to you?”

The gray gladiator shook his head. “Never heard of anything like that. All I ever knew was that address, 368 Webley in Comm/Ent, just a skitch away from the big telescreen boards.”

“The hell’s a skitch?” Val asked.

There was a solitary blink between them before Jovian realized and burst out loud. “Oh shit, I forgot that’s something more in the city than out here. Skitching, yeah. Skating-and-hitching. It’s when you’re riding a hoverboard, and you catch the fender of a passing hovercar with your hand. You get taken for a little ride till you let go. Me and some of my buds used to—”

He stopped himself as a flood of memories washed over his face, his jaw slackened and his organic eye began welling up. “Shit, I miss them.”

Valentina pulled him tight as an ox into her, running her white fingers through his thick black hair. “Felt the same way when Pa died.” she soothed. “I ain’t got nothing but this. Nothing but right now for you.”

It all flowed out of him for only a moment before he calmed down. “Thank God I never did this before a crowd.” he chuckled to himself. “Can’t have the muscleman bawling over bullshit.”

Valentina smirked. “You’re tougher than all four of us combined and you got more guts to boot. You ain’t owe anyone shit when it comes to manhood.” She gave him a friendly nip on his cheek and called it a night.

When all was said and done, it was time again to make their journey westward. With their goodbyes made to Eric once more, off the cavalcade went.

They raced on to make up for lost time, and to get away from the honey pot in Níyol for Jovian’s sake. They gave him a radio for his sleek town car, and he took the drive to properly test it.

“I spy—”

“Sand.” Marcus cut in.

“With my little—”

“Rocks.” came Brennus.

“...just finish it, Val.”

“Cactus.” the white wolf answered from her Humvee. “I get it, it’s boring as shit, big guy. It is what it is.”

“I know, I know.” Jovian sighed. “Would help if you had more than two stations out here.”

“It’d help if we had more than two radio towers, city-boy.” Marcus teased. “Get that paw in ‘yer tank and I’ll show you the nearest one.”

The cream-colored DeSoto leapt off the road and into the desert, the pearl-white Lincoln following suit. Brennus went to join the chase in his slick black Mustang, but was stopped by Valentina over the radio. “Let ‘em have their fun.” she smiled. “They could break our arms if we didn’t.”

The roaring laughs of the two gladiators rang in both wolves’ ears as they pulled off to wait. Five minutes of white-hot engine roars screeched to a halt in the distance, Val and Brennus now worried. When they bolted off-road, they saw why the strong-hounds stopped.

The body of a young tan wolven woman, no older than any of themselves, dead in the desert. Marked with shots of red along her body. Whoever she was, it was no natural death.

“Where’s the nearest town?” Marcus asked grimly.

“Sopwith.” Brennus replied. “A few miles west.”

They made tracks for the town, and hightailed it straight for the sheriff’s office. It was a far more developed hamlet, almost resembling a suburb. And when they arrived, the body loaded in Val’s Humvee, the first words out of the haggard old gray chilled them to the bone.

“That’s 5. Dammit all, that’s 5.”

Sheriff Nic Seal was a proper Old West lawman, right down to the waistcoat and a thick-furred muzzle, bordering on mutton chops. The elder wolf explained the sordid tale of the other four of these types of abduction/slaughter cases to the strangers. All young wolven women in their 20s, all with a drilling of holes in them. He was expecting them to do the usual “oh gosh, that’s awful, we’ll keep an eye out” routine. Two of these killings had been happened upon by wayfarers and the understandably shaken civilians were unable to do more than “keeping an eye out.”

What he didn’t expect was a team of five new night-watch hounds. Even Jovian, for all his peculiar gear and his lone dark eye, was welcomed to the cause with a tentative shake of his large hand.

“If you folks is all together,” Sheriff Seal nodded. “Then I ain’t gonna split hairs about who’s got what in ‘em. Every bit helps.”

They’d need all hands on deck too, for the quiet town of Sopwith was about to endure the loudest evening of its life.

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Sopwith was a far more developed town than most, its streets lined with weathered model homes and downtown shopping district. Its many alleys made for a maze of hiding spots. The Pack’s four cars all occupied streets that weren’t being patrolled by the remaining litany of black-and-white sedans. In this way, they enjoyed the benefit of any plain-clothes officer. Jovian made sure to button up his shirt and kept his electric eye peeled. Marcus and Sabina traded binoculars, hunting for any suspicious movement. Brennus slid his black metal stallion into the shadows and waited with steepled fingers.

Then came Valentina.

She kept her gun on her hip, but her windows rolled down. Partly to air out the last lingering scent of the body—her snout still catching acute whiffs of the decay—but also as bait. She was a slim 25, dead in the range of other victims. If the killer was going to come for anyone of the bunch, it would be her.

In Jovian’s district, however, things were beginning to move.

A far younger wolf, a red no older than 15, was walking down the sidewalk. Jovian’s eye scanned her briefly, marking only her name from the flap of her purse, “Angie Stevens.” It was just as the young girl crossed Jovian’s alleyway that he heard an engine rev up from behind. He fired the Lincoln and cut off the path, only to get blown away and sent spinning into the brick facade.

It was an old Dodge Coronet, from the hammering straight-six to its four-eyed dinner-plate headlights, barreling towards the young girl who was sprinting in frantic horror.

Leaping out of the car and bolting ahead of the screaming sedan, Jovian leapt into action and snatched up the teen-aged pup. He tucked her in close to him and rolled away from the sidewalk and onto the astro-turf of a house's lawn, the Coronet barreling towards him. Jovian rolled again, just in time to miss the Coronet’s bumper slam into the base of the house.

The seven-foot gray bounded back towards his town car, the teen under his arm like football. He tossed her into the passenger seat, climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door behind him.

“You’re safe with me.” he panted, getting the car back in gear before radioing in. “We got action on Bleaker. ‘66 Coronet 500, dark green paint.”

Fortunately, the commotion caught everyone’s attention as a swarm of cop cars, as well as Marcus and Brennus’s rides surrounded the bucking sedan. Tried as it might, every ride closed in on it, pushing the car in closer and closer until a half-dozen rides boxed it in, throttles down and tires screaming to keep the car in place. When a shot of laser fire blasted through the back windshield, the whole street stopped.

The driver’s head was blown clean off.

Jovian felt the young red wolf clinging tight to him, shivering with terror. “It’s all over.” he soothed, gently rubbing her back in reassurance. “It’s all over.” Without thinking he parted his long dark locks, his white-pupiled black eye shining through clear as a star. When he realized, he quickly brushed the hair back and turned away from her.

“Are you alright Mister?” she asked innocently.

“I’m fine.” Jovian replied gently. “I just know I can look scary sometimes, especially right now with all this commotion.”

Through her sniffling tears, she looked up and brushed the jet-black hair away. When she saw the eye, she actually began to laugh.

“Why should I be scared of that little thing?” she giggled.

Jovian smiled. “Lotta older folks are, that’s the problem. ‘Nuff about me though, where do you live?”

She pointed down one of the side streets. Jovian was just about to start down when he saw two headlights growing from the distance. First they veered left, then they veered right. Back and forth they swiveled until, into the lamplight of the main street came Valentina’s Humvee, screaming away past the commotion as a gray hand squeezed her neck, a damn-near naked wolf hanging off the side of the SUV.

“Marc, Brenn!” Jovian hollered. “Val’s in trouble!”

The DeSoto and Mustang broke from the formation and bolted away towards the Humvee as it sped out of town.

For Valentina, the bait proved too perfect, the gray producing not a gun but a slender black blade, protruding out the top of his balled fist. One wrong jerk of the wheel and Valentina would be skewered. Worst still, neither Brennus nor Marcus could line a shot on him. If they went for the head, the laser fire would still have enough energy to pass right through Valentina.

In the vice grip of the cruel gray, eyes furiously scanning the white wolf’s body, Valentina could see the blade receding. When it fully slid back, she slammed both paws on the brakes, the Humvee skidding through the desert sand, only for their assailant to swing himself from the side of the Humvee and onto the hood. Val shoved her paw down on the gas and sent the beige SUV bolting onwards.

Brennus and Marcus got up to speed and started taking their shots, only to find that laser fire was only removing the top layers of flesh and fur, revealing bloodied metal beneath them. It paid them no attention, eyes focused solely on Valentina behind the wheel. Deeper and deeper she gazed into the eyes until, as if thrown headlong down a fugue state, she was no longer in the Wastelands.

She was back in the ring.

She was back in the Colosseum.

There upon her hood, one of the gray robotic guards, eyes black as the midnight and glowering furiously. She felt her clothes slip away, denim and cotton evaporating, the leather beneath her paws no more. It seemed as though the arena was endless; an endless procession of arches, seats, and screaming “fans,” the miserable city-dwelling devils.

It went on forever, until it didn’t.

Quickly she saw the wall of Colosseum coming into view, her paw practically glued to the throttle, unable to move. She heard the crowd chant something, muffled at first, before the word came out loud and clear, and in the voice of her lover, Brennus.

“STOP! STOP! STOP!”

Val broke from the trance and slammed the brakes. Back in her jeans and tank-top, back with leather straps wrapped about her paws, and just in time to see her assailant fly off her hood and onto the desert floor with a hard thud.

The second the body landed, there came a pale town car to crush it.

It was Jovian. His Lincoln cleared 120 when it bounded over the android, a shot of red mist arcing above the Humvee’s hood. He backed over it at 100 to the same effect.

When the four-eyed Lincoln skidded to a stop, Jovian waved Val on with a flick of his fingers; it was her job to finish the job. She leaned over to see a metal skeleton staring back, body almost flattened. A fistful of dirt in his metal hand was all she needed to know he was ready to pounce. Val hit the gas first and pinned the busted machine to the ground. Before they did him in for good, she wanted answers. And answers she got.

“Welton Bludhorn had a P.D.0. out on him from Hell Patrol Central.” Sheriff Seal radioed from the scene in the middle of town. “When he knew the jig was up, he stopped dancing. But our girls are too old for the likes of him.”

“Then I think I know who’s really been killing your 20-somethings.” Val replied coldly. “He’s a bot. But for what end I don’t know. I’ll hack him and see.”

Valentina stepped out, letting out a dry cough before looking over the squirming, fidgeting mess. “That wasn’t just a vision I saw, was it?” she glowered.

“Whaddya mean Val?” Brennus asked, resting a gray hand on her shoulder.

“I mean I saw the Colosseum when I looked at this bastard’s eyes. I fought plenty of creeps and weirdos out here without ever losing it like that. Every time I ever see that place, it’s always because there’s some part of them from it. Why this one?”

She knelt down to look, just as a freed metal hand, blade protruding, came wheeling towards her...

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They hadn’t words for such a sight. Valentina, Brennus, Marcus, and Sabina all stood at the cave’s mouth, beneath the Great Rock of Níyol, beholding for the first time in their lives, the future meant for them. The white wolf stepped forward, past her gray lover, her muscle-bound brother-in-arms, and his red bride, to stand before this incredible specimen of a hound. In nothing but her ragged denim, white tank top, and the same sandals that rode shotgun to the slaughter that split her mind all those terrible months ago. She set one white paw into the future, and approached the incredible figure.

By God, it was real. There was their Überwolf, their hound of tomorrow. Backed by the sun, the halo effect almost too good to be true. He was a gray wolf, standing tall at around seven feet, with long dark hair catching the late afternoon rays. His wardrobe was rather inconspicuous; flared jeans and an darkly colored, unbuttoned blouse. The sandals he wore were black, with straps crisscrossing the tops of his paws. What marked him as such a peculiar specimen were the obvious augmentations. Whatever powered him was all on display in his chest; a spectacular collage of colored strips, a full spectrum in constant, shuffling motion. One of his eyes wasn’t exposed so much as it was simply black. The same black-and-pinprick-white that terrorized the Hunters in their maladjusted days.

He didn’t seem particularly impressed with the welcoming committee and wasn’t shy in saying so. “Who in the deviled irons are you?” he asked impertinently, his voice faintly British. “Vacationers?”

“The name’s Valentina.” the downright dwarfed white wolf replied. “This is Brennus behind me, and our red friends are Marcus and Sabina.”

“Tertius,” the gladiator offered in kind. “Now let me pass. I’ve got some readings to follow up on down that cave—”

“DON’T!” barked Valentina. “It’s a long, hair-brained story, but that machine down there is meant to kill YOU and your kind.”

Tertius cocked an eyebrow (his only naturally colored one). “And how would you know?”

“We been down there, we got our minds read by it and we don’t have the electric guts it wants to shut down.”

The lean mountain of hound shook his head. “Now this, I’ve got to see.” He took two steps forward before the rest of Val’s pack joined her, forming a wolven blockade.

“I appreciate the concern,” he snarled, voice deepening and flanging with electric ire. “But I am quite capable of handling myself.”

“You don’t understand,” Marcus piped up, “we mean YOU. As in you, handcrafted piece of electric bullshit. It wants to terminate your ass and stop ya running around without Momma Ace’s leash.”

A venomous growl grew deep in Tertius’ throat. “Do I have to fight you all then, or can we at least take turns?”

Marcus was the first to lunge and the first to catch the mighty warrior’s backhand. The muscular red wolf slammed into the cave mouth wall with a crack. Sabina leapt towards her lover, desperate to tend to him, leaving only Valentina and Brennus. The gray martial artist came in with a sweeping leg kick, only to be met with what were almost certainly steel legs. He didn’t feel pain upon the clash of their shins, but only when he was yanked by the hand and thrown aside like Marcus.

Val stood alone, eyes mad as hell, and yet utterly terrified by the beast before her. Instinct said shoot his lights out, but the knowledge to be gained was worth the whole world to her. She picked up the heaviest stone she could manage with one hand and flung it at gray gladiator’s body. He recoiled briefly before flinging the rock back, sending Valentina flying into the cave. After that, it was an all-bets-off blowout. The men rebounded and grabbed the beast by both his legs, pulling furiously in a bid to topple him, and topple Tertius did. Sabina leapt on his back, beating her fists furiously upon it. The image bordered on pantomime as Valentina came off the dusty cave floor, just in time to see, in one terrifying display, all three launched off by Tertius with two leg kicks and simple leap. Their positions changed, Marcus wrapping his leather-cuffed arms around the gray gladiator’s head, Brennus dealing and trading blows with Tertius’ arms as they flew. Even Sabina tried to take the boys’ place in wrestling the warrior’s legs to the ground. Yet again, the trio were flung from their adversary’s back and front.

As valiant their efforts were, every move was matched in timing, motion, and sheer strength by the incredible stranger. When all three were felled for the umpteenth time, he snapped his attention back to Valentina, the crazy bitch who brought this whole affair down on him. Tertius’ black eye grew as piercing as those guards, the images coming back to the tenacious white wolf in her maddened state. She felt the rubber of the Humvee’s pedal beneath her paw, the sounds of crushed bones ricocheting in her mind, the crowd’s demonic roar building and building until—

“ENOUGH!”

She grabbed a massive rock with both hands and threw it with the might of an ox. Had whatever servos withing him moved but a millisecond sooner, Tertius could have caught the stone his hands and not his face. All the same, there came a deafening snap, and rattling thud as the gray gladiator fell to the ground, a statue wrenched from its podium. All the world fell silent for the furious white wolf, as all her companions stared with shocked expressions. It wasn’t the manic display of strength, nor the command in her voice. It was those eyes, those damned jade eyes, mad with everything from power to fury to obsession. They were the eyes of a woman who found that white whale of hers, one of many, and would not let him go even if the harpoon’s rope wrapped her neck and drowned her on his next dive.

“Don’t...don’t kill him!” she barked hoarsely. “Get him...get him away. Get him...”

With a frightful, chattering gasp, she too fell into that ever-familiar black abyss, her eyes lingering on the felled gray warrior until their last shutter.

She came to in her own Humvee, sat in the passenger seat while Brennus did the driving. Marcus had taken over his Mach 1 Mustang, and helped Brennus hitch the car they had found at the base of the winding road. Their surprise guest was the owner of a well-preserved Lincoln from the 1970s, headlights sheathed, and her owner doubled over in the backseat.

They drove for a solid hour, clearing many a mile before stopping off at the mouth of a dried gulch. Clear and safe of the mysterious base’s influence, the quartet reconvened to discuss the stranger.

“I don’t know what the hell is up with that man,” Marcus began. “But he ain’t fit to be around. Not the way he comes up swinging.”

“I’ve never known such a brute,” Sabina added.

“If we can find some way of restraining him and getting him back online,” Valentina surmised. “We can at least learn everything we can. After that...then we figure out what to do about him.”

“You mean kill, right?” Marcus cut in.

“If necessary.” Val nodded. “But I’d like to keep something of him around so we can understand more about what these guys are. It’s one thing to have it on paper, it’s a whole different ballgame to have a real McCoy in your midst.”

Marcus saw the logic, but still shook his head. “Y’all work your programming magic on him. But the second he starts swinging, I start coming back on him like a ton of bricks.”

Sabina felt the muscular red wolf shivering in his rage, one she was quick to try and quell with that ever-effective touch of hers upon his bare chest. “Easy, Formosa, easy.”

Brennus and Valentina returned to the Lincoln hitched behind her Humvee.

“How’s our guest?” she quizzed.

“You’re a mean bitch at the mound,” Brennus teased. “Your curveball knocked him down cold, but he’s built tough all the same. Face’s barely scratched, but not nearly as worse for wear as it should be.”

“Anyway of getting him back up and running?”

Brennus pointed to his neck. “Dip-switch panel at the back of his neck.”

“Meaning it should act just like an android’s. A proper factory reset oughta make ‘im docile.”

“If he was a normal ‘droid, yeah.” Brennus hastened to add, resting a gray hand on her shoulder. “But no telling what happens when I level those switches.”

Valentina looked down at the ground first, kicking a rock with her sandaled white paw. “Well, help me get the heaviest chains we got. We’ll tie ‘em down in his car. You flip the switches, then we’ll see.”

They found some heavy links in the Humvee’s rear compartment, and carefully crossed them across the towering gray Bastard, and anchored them with the heaviest weights on hand. It was a miracle neither wolf crushed their feet getting them sorted, though Marcus’s strength came in handy for the final positioning of the blocks within the car. He also helped lift the Lincoln from the hitch and onto the ground.

Once ready, Val hopped into the town car’s passenger seat and Brennus into the back. Gently, he slid the fur-covered panel down and leveled all the dip-switches to their centered position. He sat back, Marcus and Sabina standing outside awaiting the signal if things should go south.

Slowly, the lights on his Technicolor chest came sliding and shuffling back to life, and his eyelids fluttered. Instead of the mechanical monster they dreaded, or the blank slate they could easily extract data from, the same faintly British accent from before, but in soft, muddled tones.

“Jeez,” he grunted, panting slowly. “Everyone alright? Every—Christ, what happened?” He not only saw the two wolves within his car, but the two outside, all scuffed and scratched. It wasn’t a gloating act of faux-concern, the worry in his chorused voice seemed genuine, if delirious.

“What do you remember?” Brennus asked. Much to his surprise, when he felt the gray’s forehead, it was warm. It was that of an organic hound with a fever.

“Not much else than a few fists thrown.” the tall gray gladiator sighed.

“That’s about all you need big guy,” Val teased. “Only thing that took ya down was a rock in the schnoz.”

“That figures,” he chuckled lightly. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” Val perked up, confused.

“Christ, I don’t know any of ya.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. When he felt the dip-switch panel, he slid it shut. “Thanks for resetting me.” he smiled to Brennus. “Lord knows how many times a good fall fucked me up. Name’s Jovian—”

“Tertius,” Brennus corrected. “You said Tertius back at Níyol.”

The gray gladiator shot up from his chain-link binding and looked to the martial artist with dismay.

“Oh brother,” the cyborg groaned. “So that was it.”

Marcus, shocked by the ease with which he shed the binding wanted to leap into action, but was stayed by Val’s raised hand and Sabina’s presence.

“Where’d you get my ol’ chains from?” he asked, puzzled.

“Those aren’t yours.” Val replied, coolly. “To be honest, we wanted to grill you about a few things and that’s the best restraint we had.”

Again, the gray gladiator seemed at a loss, eyes innocently flitting about. “Well, I shouldn’t be too surprised. If I said my name was Tertius, either I was back in Haven or I took another crack on the skull.”

“Close enough,” Brennus interjected, checking Jovian’s vitals all the while. “What we, the four of us, were trying to warn you of was what was in Níyol. It’s remote deprogramming facility. It’s meant to attract former gladiators from Haven’s Colosseum, those from the art of aremort. I take it you are one such hound.”

“Yeah.” he replied, innocent as a newborn pup. “Mind if I hop up, quick?”

“So long as you don’t go anywhere.” Val nodded, producing her Mars automatic.

Jovian shook his head indignantly. “Well you ain’t as quick as the hounds in Haven, so I guess none ya are secret agents.”

He slowly crept into the driver’s seat and reached across to the glove-box. When he pulled the papers out, he dropped them right into Val’s lap.

“Take ‘em down, pass ‘em around.” Jovian sighed, kicking his broad flat paws up on the steering wheel. “You’re looking at one of the ring’s biggest fighters. And you’re sitting in the car that nailed all those points.”

The photographs were promotional stills of the very hound before them, with great golden cuffs and necklaces, all atop a proper Roman guard uniform. More perplexing were the other items. One was a fan message over electronic mail he replied to, and the other were x-rays. X-rays revealing just how much of him was still of flesh, fur, and blood. And it was a lot. In fact, many augmentations outwardly presented as showpieces rather than hardware. At least, that’s how the x-rays made it seem. That is, except for one.

Jovian’s black eye.

“Fun fact,” he casually added. “This little bead was taken from the very hound who claimed the real one. A guard animatronic malfunctioned, and I got a spear straight through my eye. I took the bastard down half-blind, but didn’t want to go running around with an eye-patch—”

“Why do you say all this?” Val interjected. “You speak so freely.”

“All men speak freely when there’s nothing left to lose.” Jovian smiled, getting the long black locks out of his eyes. He swung his sandaled paws down onto the brake. When Marcus stepped towards the car again, Jovian noticed.

“Not going anywhere, officer.” he replied, his big hands held high. “Just wanted to check and see if the brake was still as spongy as I left it.”

When he pressed his right foot down, it was. “Mind checking and seeing if there’s a fluid leak?” he asked Marcus, cranking down the window. “Take these as insurance.” He chucked the car keys at the buff red hound. Marcus caught them, face vacant.

“Wait, didn’t you take these Brennus?” Marcus added.

“I thought I did.” Brennus replied, digging through his pockets, only to find them empty. “I guess our new friend is also a master pickpocket.”

“Guilty as charged.” Jovian snickered. “Mostly comes in handy when doing magic tricks at shows. Mystifies the audience before the real action.”

Marcus was ready to pounce, but Sabina was just as quick to soothe.

“Well he did ask nicely at least.” she sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You and two other pairs.” Jovian chuckled. “Your troupe are the most hounds I been able to keep around without sending anyone shrieking into the hills.”

“Well, you do stand out.” Brennus nodded, still studying the X-rays.

“What interest you all have in the old sport?” he quizzed.

“Former participants.” came the cold answer from Valentina. “Former unwilling participants.”

Jovian cocked his head, absolutely puzzled at the phrase. “Unwilling? They used to hold auditions ahead of each season? What’d they do that for?”

Part of Valentina was fit to burst, ready to light into this regime stooge and all he stood for to her and the others. And yet, that lone, true eye, was not only puzzled but concerned by the very prospect.

“Lemme tell you it from the whole beginning. Every step.”

While Marcus inspected the Lincoln’s brakes and Brennus surveyed the remaining artifacts of Jovian’s file, Valentina spun the entire tale from the beginning. From her horrible experiences soaking the ring in blood to her finding of fellow survivors to all the clues and conjecture they arrived at, the picture painted widened the gray gladiator’s eyes, both artificial and organic.

“I...I...I can’t believe it.” he gasped. “I just can’t believe it. I can’t...unless that’s why they closed up shop.”

“Is that why you escaped?” Val pressed.

“Escaped in a roundabout way,” Jovian remarked. “They did call us ‘Überwolfs’ after we got our augs, but I was never abducted. I signed right up for it. They said it was just a part of the show. Jazzed up our image and all that. I knew the changes were permanent, but I didn’t think the games would end. But then, one day, whole thing was canceled. No more shows, no promotions, nothing. Like it had never happened. And then they tried to—oh God, is that why they tried to draft me?”

It was like seeing the stars of a constellation he had grown up with finally connecting before his eyes, the innocent bliss of his kayfabe completely demolished. Valentina rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I know the games themselves mean a lot to you.” she began.

“But all of this is why I’d never fit in afterwards. Had no hope of reintegrating into the city looking like this, so I guess they just said ‘sure, why not, dump him in the military, let him get shelled to death!’ Get the same thing every time I roll through a town. Least andies get to look like they’re real. I do all of this for show, can’t get it changed back, and I get the pitchfork and torch treatment the rest of my life. Christ, it’s why they killed Jayne.”

“Whose Jayne?” Sabina asked in her soft Latin timbre.

“First gal I met when I came out here...and the last gal I’ll ever get close to. Picked her up off the roadside, nothing but cutoffs and a cropped-top covering that soft, white fur of hers. Was running away from some crazy biker asshole. Bisected his ass with my trunk and kept going. She was named Jayne, and she didn’t look at me cockeyed for having one black. And well, she made better love than any girl I ever dated in Haven, I’ll tell ya that much. But I picked one wrong town, bought one wrong motel room, and stayed one wrong night. Just finished making love, I got up, and...y’know how we used to kill ‘em in the ring?”

Val shuddered before giving a knowing nod.

“And how you do it because you know they can’t really feel?” he soldiered on. “They did that to Jayne. Cut her right up in the dark, not even thinking. I had gone down the hall to the bathroom, and when I heard her scream I came running back to find a pack of thugs just...hammering away. Laying right into her like she was all microchips and tungsten limbs. I killed every hound standing that night, buried her and kept going. Ain’t stopped since.”

Both the women, for all their strength and resilience, couldn’t help but shed a tear at the tale. And it wasn’t helped by the consoling from the back seat.

“That’s a lot to happen to ya before 20.” Brennus sighed, rubbing his shoulder.

Val’s eyes widened when she looked to the seven-foot-tall fighter next to her.

“Really?”

Jovian quietly nodded.

Of all the affected wolves she knew, their first willing participant was now the youngest hound she ever met, younger than herself at 25. She pulled the towering hound down and held him tight. Not even a half-hour ago, she was willing to gut this poor creature for every scrap of data he was worth. And one cruel, quiet part of her mind was prepared to still take on the task. After all, her own pistol wasn’t too far from her hands and his gut.

But in the end, she just couldn’t do it. Not now. Not after all that was said.

“How about you fall in with us?” she offered. “I want to learn everything I can from you about the Colosseum. Location, procedures, history, everything they told ya. Even the front-end story from the inside’s important. Especially how they did all this to you.”

“What if another freakout happens?” Jovian pressed. “What happens if one ya gets hurt when they try coming for me? I can button up all I like, but when people see this eye, they go crazy.”

Brennus, Sabina, and the now-upright Marcus, back with the keys, all looked at her.

“Let me talk it over with these three.” Valentina soothed. She hopped out of the car and joined the rest of the pack.

Everything discussed beforehand was re-litigated again. In his “Tertius” state, he was a walking death machine, only fixed with some blunt force trauma. And there was Valentina’s own natural cynicism in the wake of her experience. It could be all some elaborate ruse, a defense mechanism. But she still wanted that data. And even beyond that, there was the simple fact he was still mostly organic. His augmentations were concerning, but as with their past understanding, the conversion was permanent. And in that organic body was an organic heart that had opened itself wide before them.

Marcus, when he looked back to Jovian, the gray gladiator reduced to a sheepish smile, he saw some of himself in the passenger side window. A similarity of countenance, a mirror-glass reflection between the two.

“We must have the information,” Valentina argued. “And maybe through that, we can work to find a way to keep him as Jovian forever.”

“And let him run around being a persecution magnet for the rest of his life.” Brennus argued. “Kid passed over the adult threshold only two years ago, and him spending the rest of his life ‘roided to the nines, constantly getting badgered for the privilege.”

“But I don’t think that’s a death sentence.” his white-furred lover shot back. “And with any luck, getting the data we need outta him won’t be either. But if that kid’s on the level, and my gut says so, he should be riding with us. He can help us know what to look for. Maybe these guys all have normal personalities. Maybe he’s got a sixth sense for ‘em. And if not, he might be the only hound who can match them!”

Both lovers turned to Marcus, their true-blue brute. He looked down to his dear Sabina before crossing his red, leather-cuffed arms, and nodding his head.

“I say we have him on a trial-run.” Marcus replied. “If he can hold his own, keep that head on straight, and not cost us anything in the long-run, he deserves just as much a chance as any of us. Just as much a chance y’all gave me.”

With nods shared between all four hunters, they turned back towards idle Lincoln and her master. “Hop on out, kid.” Marcus hollered. “Let’s talk business.”

He rose to his incredible height, and walked over, puffs of desert dust kicked up with each step. He looked down to the quartet. “What’s the word?” he asked coolly.

“You’re in for now.” Val smiled. “So long as you can prove yourself. Keep that panel on tight, and hopefully we don’t hear much more from your ring persona anytime soon.”

Jovian nodded. “Thanks. Now can I get some names around here.”

“I’m Brennus,” began the gray martial artist. “Your nearest in class is Marcus.” The red-furred Hawaiian-styled barbarian equaled the gladiator’s handshake with equal force.

“I’m his wife, Sabina.” the red lady grinned.

“And I’m Valentina.” the white wolf nodded.

No sooner had the pact been forged, than it would be put to the test. Shots rang out, sparking off all four rides as the hunters split up, bolting for their cars. More of those pesky scavengers reared their heads. In rust-bucket pickups and ratty choppers they rode, taking shots at anyone and everyone. Marcus tossed the keys back to Jovian as the gladiator dove back behind the wheel, whipping a rifle from beneath the passenger seat.

The boxy Humvee, slick Space Age DeSoto and long black Mustang all made haste as the scavengers gained on them, trying to blast anything of value off of them, from silver hubcaps to steel plating. Jovian swung his town car around, and lined himself up behind the pack of thieves. Literally standing on the throttle, he swung his head out and shot rich green laser fire into everyone behind the wheel. Those swift reflexes managed to stay his hand every time one of the others fired. Sabina, in particular, was in ferocious form, wielding her husband’s sawed-off with well-timed blasts.

When a biker came roaring up to Marcus’s DeSoto, he reached over to Sabina before she could reload, only to take a shot of Jovian’s rifle to the head, body left spinning beneath the Adventurer’s flat wheels and Marcus’s flat-pawed driving. Even when the others got the memo, Jovian wasn’t shy about using his Lincoln as the weapon of choice, the low-riding sedan slamming its front into bike and truck alike. Those who didn’t fall to Val, Brennus or Marcus and Sabina’s fire and horsepower were chewed up and spat out by Jovian, whose prized Lincoln looked like a prize fighter after ten rounds of right hooks to the jaw. Even with the worst of the thugs were in their rear-views, no one slowed until they hit the town of Veldt. When they reconvened outside of town, and all the lovers embraced, Valentina brought Jovian into the fold. She pulled him right out of the driver’s seat and into the tightest grip she could muster.

“That’s one way to make yourself count.” she beamed.

“How many others are there?” he asked softly.

“Only the future holds those answers. And maybe you’re part of that future. Just not in the way they planned you for it.”

There was a sullenness to his organic eye’s gaze, but he plucked his mood back up.

“Guess we’ll have to find out together, huh?”

Valentina nodded. “We’ll get topped up on supplies here. And if anyone gives the big guy shit, tell ‘em they got me to deal with.”

Brennus, Marcus and Sabina all playfully saluted, for it was true, that in Jovian held much of their future. And it also held true that it wouldn’t be in the way anyone planned for...

The data from the dismembered android led them here. The strange map kept within the truck-driving thug’s electric mind bore an “X” marking the Rock of Níyol. It was one of many towering rock formations in the desert, its name being the Navajo word for “wind.” The descriptor was apt, the breeze whipping and stirring around the three automobiles as they pulled up. The sandy beige Hummer skidded to a halt while Brennus’ Mustang and Marcus’ Adventurer rolled to a gentle stop. As all four sandal-footed, sun-glass-wearing warriors stepped out, it was clear their leader was concerned.

“This cache better be good.” Val muttered, tossing her denim jacket back in the SUV. “If it ain’t all the guns, ammo and rations we’ll need to make it to Haven, I’ll blow the fucker to hell outta spite. Heat’s enough to melt your bones out ya fur.”

“I betcha it’s there in the cave,” Brennus observed, the muscled gray martial artist ditching his own long-sleeve shirt.

“Guess I’m the only fella who don’ have to strip,” Marcus chuckled, the buff red driver fanning himself with a few tugs of his Hawaiian shirt. His wife Sabina, however, left her leather jacket in the smiling DeSoto.

“My formosa,” she teased in her playful Latina tones, “You were born a lizard some days, I swear.”

“Least I know where to find the sweetest desert roses.” he teased in kind, snatching her up in his arms.

The red-furred couple nuzzled each other before Val chimed in with “no PDA, lovebirds, we got something these bots don’t want found down there.”

Out came shovels and metal detectors as the couples strolled up the trail and towards the mouth of Níyol’s cave. And though her admonishing was playful, Val kept close to Brennus herself, his gray arm wrapped gently around his white-furred lover. “How we feeling?” he asked. “Meditation still serving you well?”

“Much better.” Val smiled. “It’s flowing better. The thoughts. Letting ‘em go in and out. Guess you weren’t kidding about how you found peace all them years ago.”

The gray wolf nodded. “It’s even better now, with us all on a pretty even keel.” He pointed to the red couple ahead of them, Marcus’ Herculean build stood in stark contrast to the playful sway of Sabina’s hips. “Look at those two, letting their woes come and pass in the morning sessions. Never thought they’d be happy like that again.”

Valentina nodded. “Neither did I...by God, neither did I.”

“And look at you,” Brennus smiled. “Shaping up fine as a leader.”

“Well y’know what they say,” the white wolf nodded. “Behind every great woman is a great man.” The lovers embraced as they finally entered the Rock of Níyol.

Once in, they switched the detectors on and made their passes along the sandy floor. At first, there was nothing, safe for some stray chunks of unprocessed ore.

“At least we can smelt these, right?” asked Sabina.

“Absolutely,” Val nodded, “Chuck ‘em in our sack and—hold it! I think we got a live one.” The machines were going crazy over a patch by the cave’s western wall. Marcus and Brennus grabbed the shovels and started digging, though it wasn’t a smooth operation at first.

“Shit, ground’s like cement over here.” Brennus growled.

“Not if I can help it!” bellowed Marcus. With a stomp of his flat red paw, he drove the shovel deep in the dusty earth, lifting the top layer with a heaving grunt.

All he got for his trouble was a flat obsidian slab.

“There gotta be something in it, right?” he asked.

“Get me a brush,” answered Brennus. “There are lines filled in by the dust. This might be a door to somewhere.” When handed his brush, he dusted off the six-foot slab. Once cleaned, it was clear the slab was definitely metal, and definitely accessible. “Let’s use the shovels to pry ‘er open.”

The wolven men’s muscles bulged as they dug the shovels into the crack and pulled with all their might. Their claws dug into their sandals as they growled and fumed. With a final roar, the latch broke and the door flung open. Revealed to all were a set of circuits. No secret passage ways or traps, just a mess of wire on an unkempt motherboard. While the men toweled the sweat from their hands and paws, Valentina and Sabina inspected the array.

“Ain’t like any computer guts I ever seen.” the white wolf sighed. “But dig the pipe! It goes deeper into the tunnel.”

“And I bet,” ventured the red-furred Latina, “that the pipe is the same metal as this compartment. Which means we can follow the trail.”

The quartet did just that, running the metal detectors along the tunnel’s left-hand side. When the last bit of daylight was lost, the troop threw on their headlamps and kept going, deeper and deeper into the quiet cave. It was a surprisingly dry cave, no sign of stalagmites nor stalactites, no eerie drips echoing in the distance.

“Whatever it is,” Marcus surmised, “Gotta still be active if they knocked all the humidity outta here. Here’s hoping security don’t get messy.” He patted the sawed-off shotgun on his hip for good luck.

Instead, the magnetic trail led the hunters to a chamber of sorts. It was too desolate to be a grotto. The ground was smoothed over, however, a tell that someone took great care in arranging this space.

Valentina was the first to observe that it “felt like an arena.”

“Many things in life appear as such.” Brennus replied plainly.

What no one counted on was the appearance of a wolf deep in the cave.

Suddenly, warm candlelight lit up the dark. Stepping out from the shadows, with great buccaneer boots and his mass of shawls, was the wanderer from Valentina’s visions. A wanderer that all could see within the space.

“Welcome my friends,” he boomed in his sumptuous English baritone. “The fun’s about to begin.”

Marcus rested a hand on the grip of his sawed-off shotgun, only for Valentina to pipe up with a most peculiar remark.

“But I left you with the other rides!”

“The body, my child,” the black wolf clarified, dragging a long index finger along his snout, “but not the mind. Though I must admit, I’m not quite feeling myself.”

“Who are you?” Marcus asked, still on guard.

“The way you shall interface with this magic land of ours beneath the great Níyol. I hope it to be most enlightening.”

“You say ‘magic,’” Brennus pressed skeptically.

The Wanderer could only chuckle. “In as much as Clarke’s third law will allow.” he reassured. “In truth, I am but the manifestation of the strongest spirit in the room, and I must say, my dear Valentina, my how you have grown.”

She didn’t know whether to blush or shoot, so she tried one last hand for rationality.

“But you ain’t real!” the white wolf barked. “You just in my head. My...my Hummer for one, but I guess my subconscious for another.”

“Well, if we’re talking metaphysics, perhaps. But you all are in the hallowed halls of psychokinetic projection. In a sense, anything in your mind is fair game. And we’re about to put that to the test.”

“What test?” Sabina and Marcus chimed in unison. He couldn’t wrap his head around it all. “Mind” and “test” brought back the memories of therapy with Eric, of the terrible visions that had tortured him for years. The towering red hound held his woman tight, defiant in the face of a relapse.

“That’s the funny thing,” the Wanderer remarked, fixing his broad-brimmed hat. “Haven’t a clue. Trouble with firewalls and all that.”

“You can at least tell us the purpose.” Val ordered sternly.

“Purpose, yes.” he replied. “Fine idea. The secret of Níyol is to find the strongest warriors in the land. Warriors unbound by the frailties of wolfkind, the barbarisms and weaknesses that plague our flesh and fur. They are to be rewarded for their bravery at the end of this gauntlet.”

Puzzled glowers sat on each wolf’s face, still perplexed by the entire ordeal. “And how shall we be running this?” Brennus quizzed again.

“You’ll be running it. Right. Now!”

Darkness fell upon the cave. They couldn’t see, hear or feel each other in the shadows. When next the light rose, the wolven warriors would find themselves faced with a peculiar pair of bizarre scenarios...

Marcus and Sabina were right where they felt safest, behind the wheel of that smiling DeSoto Adventurer. Night had fallen, and they did as they always had beneath the full moon’s light. Sabina’s slender, voluptuous red body rippled along the gladiator frame of her man, both wolves oblivious to the world beyond their four-wheeled abode. The rumbling flash of warmth that rocketed through man and wife sent Sabina falling back against that toned body of his.

“Like a military rack, Formosa,” she teased, nuzzling his neck.

“Well you seem like a tough little army girl if you can sleep on it all night,” Marcus shot back with a smile. “Let’s see you rock-n-roll on the front lines.”

That was her cue to fire the car up and take the two for a quick joyride. She gave the key a good twist, and revved the engine. The mountain of a hound behind her playfully yawned as she drummed the throttle, the Adventurer letting out barking revs with each stomp.

“You flood her, you fix her,” he teased.

“Yes sir,” Sabina retorted, punching in drive on the button-panel gearshift. When she gave the gas pedal one last shove, she was met with the scream of the beast’s tires, without said beast moving an inch. When she looked down at the footwell, she saw her lover’s broad sandaled paw flat on the brake. She wanted to wheel around on him, only to be met with a playful kiss.

“I just love it when you spin ‘er wheels,” he grinned. He snapped his paw up, she held hers down, and the DeSoto bolted away in a cloud of tire smoke, both lovers thrown back in their seat, besides themselves with laughter.

Screaming out of the desert night, from seemingly nowhere, was a patch of warmth, like sun through a thunderstorm. When the DeSoto bolted through the window between day and night, it skidded right into an arena. The arena where Marcus had once fought all those years ago. The skies were the burned orange of his visions, and the wretched, burnt tire smell lingered in the air.

Sabina slammed the brakes down and went tried to reverse, only to be met with the closed cage where a gladiator’s car would be housed.

“Marcus!” she cried, fearing the relapse that was sure to come. When Sabina turned around, she was met with his vacant stare. He said nothing, not a single word. He simply zipped up his shorts, shifted Sabina over into the passenger seat, and took the wheel. When he looked to her, to her petrified face, he at last smiled.

“We’ll make it, babe.” he grinned, caressing her tear-stained face. “Whatever it is, whatever it takes.”

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she laugh-cried.

“Just be glad we still got our heads on better than before.” he chuckled, He tightened the lace of his gladiator sandals, and with a mighty stomp, the barbarian wolf set his smiling machine to her task, looking for an exit he could find.

“There’s the gate,” he growled, clutching the wheel. He held the Adventurer to course, the Space Age muscle car roaring for the wrought iron rods, only for them to swing open, and for the head of a massive rattlesnake to shoot through the doors.

He slammed the brakes and swung the cream-colored convertible away, circling back to the cage they had entered through. “The hell is that doing here!?” he bellowed, the monstrous reptile pulling itself through the entrance, and coiling into the arena’s center.

“Challenggggge meeee.” it beckoned in a hoarse whisper, its death rattle shaking the arena. “Challenge me or die.”

The lovers sat completely confused. “You afraid of snakes?” Marcus asked. Sabina shook her head. “Good, neither am I.”

“Weren’t we reading something like this?” she asked innocently.

Marcus glanced upward, sifting through the million thoughts racing thru his head until he had an answer. “Oh yeah! One of my old adventure comics from the trunk. But ours was a cobra.”

“Our friend here is just for show.” boomed an old English voice. “Makes things more exciting. The real tests will come in due time.” Wherever he was, it was the strange cloaked hound from the caves!

“Knew it I didn’t like that fella,” Marcus growled. He loaded their sawed-off shotgun and handed it off to Sabina.

“Marcus? Formosa?” she asked softly.

“Whatsit, baby?”

The Latina pulled her man in for a kiss, and flashed a brave smile. “Just a little luck for the road.”

“Let’s getcha some snakeskins,” he grinned, fixing his shades. He slammed the throttle down, the DeSoto bolting for the lumbering rattlesnake. Sabina rolled the window down and swung her head out, aiming for the snake’s flat face.

Blow after blow whizzed by, occasionally skimming the skin. And even when the bullets landed, they weren’t doing much. Round after round peppered the diamondback’s scales, only for wounds to heal and bullets to vanish in its body.

“Well, we can’t shoot our way out through him,” Sabina sighed. “What can we...un momento. Look, in the backseat!”

Both wolves looked over their shoulders to find a large broadsword. Silver blade, black handle, and neither knew where it had come from.

“Guess he wants us to skin ‘im ourselves.” Marcus surmised.

He pulled the DeSoto back to the spot they had entered from. Sabina took the wheel while her lover grabbed the blade. With a flip of her long dark hair and a slap of her paw, the car was off again, racing towards nearest chunk of coil.

Once close, Marcus drove the sword into the skin with a feral roar and let his bitch’s lead foot split the coil open. The snake hissed and shrieked as blood spilled from the slit drawn. The rattler came swinging for the car, but Sabina cut the wheel and bolted away. The sands were stained red as the leviathan diamondback seethed, the lovers swing in for the next round. Same as before, the broadsword was jammed into the coiled snake, Sabina following the curve to the letter. It was all going perfectly. Too perfectly.

Midway through their second diamondback gutting, the sword caught in the reptiles body. It ripped out of Marcus’ hands and sent the DeSoto spinning wildly from the sudden shift in momentum. Sabina fought for control, soothing their metal beast as she fought for control.

“Bring me back around.” Marcus growled. “We ain’t licked just yet.”

The DeSoto roared towards the stuck blade as the diamondback writhed, the head diving towards the car. Sabina swerved, the car spitting dust into the snake’s mouth.

“Alright,” the red gladiator sighed, “Let’s try hoofing it.”

Without a second thought, Marcus leapt from the car. Sprinting towards the blade, he managed to grab hold of it, only for the sword to remain stuck. Tried as he might, he couldn’t get the damn thing out. Worse still, the coiled snake began to ripple and bulge. As the mass grew, Marcus clung to his blade as it carried him higher and higher. The coils folded and rolled through each other, bringing the mighty red wolf right to the snake’s massive maw.

Sabina grabbed the sawed-off, ready to blast the beast right through his venomous jaws, only to feel a blade to her throat, and a hand jammed in her stomach. Her eyes went wide as she saw the assailant in the rear-view.

He was jet-black, but not a black wolf. Like a mass of shadow with a knife for a hand, white light for eyes, and a devious grin. She reached for the gun again, only for the mass to slam her arm back in her gut. He held her down so tight, his arm felt the true blade, ready to cleave through her by sheer force. She dared not move, dared not drive, as she saw a third hand wrap around, snaking beneath her restraints. She felt the disgusting brush of it along her body, breasts, and legs.

“What a beauty you’ll make for,” it greasily whispered in the snake’s voice. The hand snapped onto her throat, the glowing sliver knife pressed against her neck. Sabina’s gut tighten, her vision dimming. She felt the cold breath of this infernal beast, its lecherous gaze, the world dying around her. She then saw what could be the last thing she’d ever see: her lover swallowed by that horrendous rattlesnake, tongue hissing and sizzling in anticipation.

In a last gasp, she cried “MARCUS,” at the top of her lungs, and in that moment, saved them both.

Marcus, for all his new-found strength, couldn’t free the sword. He was drawn closer and closer to the wretched rattlesnake and his devilish eyes, savoring the struggle of his prey. It was only when he heard the cry of his woman, and caught sight of that tender body bound by those heinous shadows, that he found that extra shot of adrenaline-soaked rage. With a feral roar, a hard jab into the snake’s skin, and a leaping shove, the muscled red wolf freed himself! He swung himself out of the snake’s clutches, and drug the sword down the length of his mountainous coil, blood flowing freely as the beast shrieked in pain.

Sabina, the image of Marcus dead in the snake’s gullet, slammed the gas down, ripped through the shadow’s vice grip and grabbed the blade with her bare hands. She pitched the blade out the window, and whipped the shadowed creature down over the seat by its neck. With a pull of the trigger, the sawed-off fired, point blank. The shadowed demon blew to pieces, blood soaking the passenger seat, though it was nothing compared the gushing red waterfall her husband was making of their scaly foe.

“Get in!” she barked, pulling up just as he landed. Marcus did just that, as the duo bolted away from the deflating reptile and towards the now-cleared exit. The second they were free, the world went dark again.

Brennus was home. Same wooden shack, same red sands beyond. And nestled against him, from the comfort of his bed, was Valentina. But not his Valentina. He still felt in her soft white body that miserable shiver of their first night together. The shiver of a young woman snared by the tortures he himself had only just escaped a few years ago. It was before his own attempt at releasing Val’s trauma, but he saw through the illusion shortly.

Whatever your game is, he decried from within, you’ll have to do more than the past can manage.

“I’m glad you think that,” rang the Wanderer’s booming voice. “I can see you all made quite a step forward. Now put that best paw to good use.”

Brennus stood up, slipped into his jeans, buckled his sandals, and walked to the front door. Sat next to the hat rack was a broadsword with a black handle. Without a second thought, the bare-chested gray filled his hand, and opened the door. Staring back at him were six eyes, sat in the dark. In fact, darkness had consumed all beyond the door. Whatever this infernal contraption was doing to his mind, it was playing off old information.

“You could use with an update,” Brennus scowled, blade raised. “We’ve grown a lot since then.”

He swung a sharp blow at the malevolent whatsit at his door, only for the eyes to dart from view. All that remained was the void, and the gentle tap of a small white hand on his shoulder.

“The hell was that?” Val gasped.

He thought he heard his lover’s old twang, instead of the clean, matured woman he was now so familiar with. When he answered with a cool “trying to figure that out,” his Valentina’s voice emerged, jade eyes wide awake.

“You alright?” she asked calmly, slipping into her denim jacket. “I feel like I was hung out to dry.”

“God I hope so,” Brennus sighed. “You realize where we are?”

“Back at your shack, yeah.”

By the grace of God, it seemed the two were sharing in this delusion. “Arm yourself,” he sighed. “I don’t know what kind of test this is.”

“Lil’ convenient that they said ‘warrior,’” the short white wolf answered, grabbing a baseball bat, “My money’s on a trap. In fact, I’d say a trap just for all of us, anyone who managed to survive the bloodsports in Haven.”

“Only one way to find out!” echoed the Wanderer’s voice from afar.

Suddenly, the six eyes became hundreds. Not hundreds of individual pairs, nor dozens of six-sets, but the black of the void rippled into a sea of eyes, watching and staring at the couple. Their gaze stung, a physical, powerful pain, as they all stared packed against one another like seeds in a sunflower’s head. But the gaze alone wasn’t enough to deter Valentina and Brennus. They looked into each other’s eyes, the warmth and compassion.

“Remember why I took you in?” he asked her softly.

“Remember why I wrapped my mad little mind around yours?” she asked in kind.

They both knew the answer, and with a nod between each other, launched themselves into the grotesque menagerie. Cleaving, bashing, breaking every solitary white orb, every black pupil, clearing glowering gaze in a blind fury of martial skill. Each lunge of the sword, each swing of the bat, each abnormal eye gored and gone. The lovers fought in an equilibrium of force, the other’s action always matched, an eye for an eye. But the forces within this peculiar space were not done with the hounds.

As the trypophobic array dwindled, the vacant space was revealed for what it was, a black void. For a moment, all was still.

“It’s gotten easier.” Brennus remarked. “Easier to deal with being seen in the world. Easier to—”

CRACK!

It was the sound of a skull split wide, answered by a banshee’s scream. Valentina whipped around just in time to see her Brennus drop to the ground, twitching from the shock, and the culprit behind him...was Valentina.

A white-eyed, mangy Valentina, limbs and breasts bulging with muscles to rival Marcus, and a large snout trimmed with sharp teeth. And yet, when faced with her own malformed mirror image, a doppelganger of what was or could yet be, Valentina raced towards her and locked clubs. The wood cracked against one another, the grotesque white wolf lunging savagely at her short, demure counterpart.

“If you do this to me,” she growled with each blow, “I will bring the whole fucking house down on you! You’ll never get away with what you’ve done to us!”

The savage bitch didn’t answer, choosing only to snarl and growl as they fought. The jade-eyed Valentina met the overwhelming scale and might with tenacity aplomb, trading blow after blow. She knew what she was fighting; it wasn’t her, it wasn’t even some dark part of her. It was what should could have become thanks to that wretched Colosseum. It was what she feared Marcus would become, and what she feared Brennus would devolve into. And she fought that hellish life tooth and nail. Even as her cheek and nose bled, even as her eyes watered from sheer exhaustion, and of the horrible despair of losing that one man of hers she had come to rely on, she fought with a god’s might.

The savage, white-eyed wolf she sparred with kept the war coming. Its assault never wavered, never showed signs of weakening. It only ended when the real Valentina landed a final blow, square on the head. The skull cracked as the muscled white wolf dropped. With her own banshee cry, Valentina clubbed the contorted, muscular body with everything left in her. All the hate, all the rage, every soured emotion left from her torturous time in that sanguinary arena. Blood spilled and bone shattered, the body deflating with each bludgeoning until it looked like her again. The last thing she crushed were those perma-white eyes, popped with a final stomp of her sandaled paw.

With nothing left in her, Valentina staggered towards her fallen man, now dressed his familiar black long-sleeve. She collapsed next to him, but didn’t pass out just yet. She had to know.

“Please,” she wept, “Please, for the love of God, don’t let me do this. I would never have. Never, never, never, never.”

She trailed off, a broken hound, only to hear that calm, tender voice. The voice she heard whispered to her in the bed of that old shack, and on the dark desert night he had tried to help her.

“It wasn’t you that blindsided me,” he hoarsely whispered. “It was what you coulda been. I made one mistake that night...I didn’t know how bad you were hurting. I didn’t cut to the core. But it’s all over now. It’s all over.”

He pulled her in close, with every ounce of strength he had, and held her until the world went black once more.

All of that, in five seconds time. The team staggered to their feet when relieved of the machine’s analysis, the Wanderer waiting patiently for them to get their bearings. It was good to be back in the material world, and good to know everyone was alright, each couple locked in a feverish embrace.

“It seems you’ve all passed with flying colors.” the Wanderer remarked gleefully. “Time to dole out prizes. Downloading...nowhere. Hmph?”

The team looked puzzled. “What were you gonna download?” Val asked, brow furrowed.

The shawl-wrapped black wolf glanced around, looking at a display invisible to Val and the Pack. “I have a protocol labeled EXE.002-X. Supposed to send somewhere in you lot, but it hasn’t anywhere to go.”

The red couple were lost while Valentina racked her brain. It was Brennus who drew up the answer. “Wasn’t 002-X one of the options from our CRT droid from a while back?”

“You’re right!” chimed Sabina.

“And it’s attached to an executable,” the broad-shouldered gray continued. “Or perhaps, a file earmarked for executions?”

The Wanderer simply shrugged. “Count yourselves lucky, I guess.”

“Not lucky,” Marcus answered, “But damn fortunate. We got the coordinates from a busted-up bot in Machan.”

“So it’s a trap!” Val exclaimed. “A trap to suss out who made the conversion! Only reason we even survived was ‘cuz we ain’t augged! We don’t have any of the cybernetics, so there’s nowhere to download it in us!”

“Our minds must have the profile of an superwolf,” added Brennus, “But you can’t download shit to a big ol’ packa gray matter!”

The lovers rejoiced at their survival, but the joy was short-lived.

“You may have,” the Wanderer answered plainly, “but it appears you aren’t the only ones bearing these brain patterns.”

Everyone froze.

“Someone’s coming up the road to Níyol. And I do believe there is a destination for this file, should he prove himself, of course.”

What began as a mere cache had turned into a revealing glance through the Colosseum survivor’s minds, and what would be their first meeting with a bastard of Nero. And each hound’s heart began to pound with terrible might, as the footsteps drew nearer and nearer to the cave mouth. They had to know more, and they had to stop what was almost assuredly the bastard’s destruction.

The four wolves broke into a sprint, racing back through the cave, tripping over rocks in their mad scramble. Paws pounding the rocks and sand, frantic to reach the hound before he took a step further. They rushed up to the cave mouth and skidded on their heels to a stop.

There he was. And there they were. Distant relations forged in fire, now stood face to face for the first time. And for Valentina, the day would change her life forever…

Where once stood four scared, tortured beasts, fit to fly off their collective handles, now stood a renewed troop of warriors. The red mechanic Eric had found in each of the unwilling Colosseum participants strengthened qualities. The gray Brennus was now twice as precise in his skills as a martial artist, landing incredible blows in their sparring matches. The white Valentina grew to be a crack shot, rock-steady and without hesitation.

Then came Marcus.

The most troubled of the three, and perhaps the most deadly, the red-furred gentleman had found himself a changed hound. He traded his fits of madness for solemnity, of blackout rage for inward meditation. His elevated sense of scent remained, and his strength improved dramatically through callisthenic exercise alone, push-ups and curls toning and building muscle in a matter of days. It wasn’t a steroidal growth either, more like a peculiar cultivation. Marcus could vividly recall the beast he had become in those strange primordial visions, and found himself striving for a suitable halfway point.

He had also become something of a driving fanatic.

Brennus and Valentina returned to the driver’s seat with some trepidation, driving bare-pawed for the week’s length to numb the painful memories of entering the arena stark naked. Marcus, on the other hand, needed no such conditioning. The drive had become the day’s wind-up, cool-down, and when in the company of his fair Sabina, aphrodisiac. He still exhibited some feral tendencies, namely his claws protruding in the heat of excitement. The long drives yielded fresh pinholes in the leather of his Space-Age DeSoto’s wheel and the bed of his knee-high gladiator sandals. Though the display was one of aggression, with paw slammed to the floor, and hands clung to the wheel, the driver himself did so out of an innocent glee.

His love for Sabina and his intricate bead-work remained the other constants in this metamorphosis, and the red-furred brunette found herself in a unique place of utter devotion. No longer the nursemaid of peculiar passions and a man-child mind, she at last saw the wolf she loved crawl out from the depths of his madness. The hound that had loved her the way no John ever had, the hound who taught her to drive, and the hound that taught her how to unite the two passions into one.

There were nights where she wept without care, not in sadness nor pain, but from under the weight of something she thought she’d never see in its purity ever again. In the middle of one night, in the back seat of their ride, she took her husband by the tufts of his cheeks, and after their umpteenth kiss, asked Marcus to promise her one thing.

“Once we put this all to rest,” she smiled sweetly. “Let me and my formosa build a family like no other.”

“Anything for mi reina.” he answered, holding her tight.

It was on that same night that Eric and Valentina conferred about the hacked android’s data. He had summed up the basics for the whole team, but being the quest’s leader, Val wanted everything laid before her.

“The gladiators were to be an evolutionary stepping stone.” Eric sighed. "All this conditioning was in the name of the Überwolf, the supermen of tomorrow, though they were never meant to be all-organic. As with all things concerning the city’s computer network, A.C.E.S., these warriors were to have melded their heightened instincts with cybernetic augmentations. You were to be her children in a sense, born from her device and her device alone. Thusly, I stand here hosting three of what were to be members of a master race.”

“But why name it Project: Nero?” came her next question.

“Why not?” came the wry reply. “Does she not fiddle as her city burns? Perhaps it was coined by a wolf early in Aremort’s conception, and now that she’s outgrown the need for carbon-based life, she simply accepts it as programming. But from everything General Godred told me before his passing and everything I hear from General Knox now, it still fits. She seeks perfection in everything under her, and it’s driving her and her city to their deaths. She can’t take care of the bare necessities, but she’s more than happy to potchke around looking for something she can make worth her caring.”

Val nodded. “Do you think we can keep this balance? Without those augs or her assistance?”

Eric knelt down and smiled that same warm smile that had made the world feel right again, way back in those painful first days. “With time. All will settle in due time. I’m glad you kept them here to give them some of that time.”

Valentina wrapped her arms around him tight, burying herself in his shoulder. Eric was prepared for waterworks, but instead, received a declaration deep in his red-furred ear. “I will not waste this gift you have given us.”

Her voice had warmed and smoothed, all that country-girl charm having boiled away over the past few days. When he looked the white wolf in her jade eyes, he saw a woman he never thought he’d see. She looked stronger than ever, more determined, and more confident. She looked built to kill, and built to handle such killing. “Lay the rest on me.” she smiled.

And so he did, explaining everything from the various reasons harnessing these feral instincts failed, to the over-stimulation of automotive combat, to the peculiar details she’d have to keep tabs on. Though a failure en masse, 10 reasonably functioning soldiers were produced via this method, though none were registered on the android’s white-list, a list of not-to-be-killed beings.

“So we got ten mad hounds are at large.” Val nodded. “And the big kicker?”

“We have the Colosseum’s location.”

Valentina leapt up and squeezed Eric tight in unashamed glee.

“Your celebration is premature.” he continued, gravely. “It’s simply called ‘Second Plane, Comm/Ent.’ No coordinates, no details. There isn’t even a place on the public registry labeled Second Plane.”

While the roller-coaster of emotions would have brought the old Valentina to her knees in depressive anguish, the new-and-improved warrior took the news in stride. “Then we’ll just have to find this Second Plane for ourselves.”

“That’s the spirit.” Eric nodded. “I’ll get it all written down for you and backed up to a hard drive. Now I think it’s time you spend the rest of the night in the arms of your real man, not huggin’ and squeezin’ this ol’ codger.”

He tousled the thickened white scruff of her head and sent her out of the private room. Waiting there on the cot in the main office was Brennus.

It was strange looking at him with her head on straight. He was still as handsome, as attractive as when she’d first laid eyes on him, but there was that pang of guilt, of throwing herself upon him at that time, the tension of not having truly been in each other’s company of sound mind, and the horror of that dreadful night where he had finally lost all control.

And yet, with a touch of his soft, firm gray hand, he pulled her onto the bed next to him. “I’d like to finally know you.” he smiled warmly.

Valentina curled up in his lap, nuzzling at his bare chest. “I think it’s high-time. Do you think we–”

He hushed her, lips pressed firm against hers, muzzles locked tight. Fortunately, it tasted as good as it had in her scatterbrained state.

“That still feel right?” he asked calmly. Val nodded.

“Think we can make it work?” 

The white wolf looked away in thought. She held herself there for a moment, searching for the answer. When she turned back, and her gentle jade eyes met his warm browns, she realized that it must be so.

“I think it wasn’t just the mania that brought us together.” she smiled. A fit of ravenous passion soon overcame both gray anchor and his wild white woman, for the night was as good as any for both couples to renew their affections.

As the troop packed, Val scanned Eric’s dossier over morning coffee. The map of Haven and the blowup of the commercial district had awakened something within her memories, but what it was had yet to reveal itself.

“Hiya Val.”

The white wolf jolted up from her thoughts, and was delighted to see the now fully-chiseled Marcus. His unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt clung tight to his body, his leather cuffs grew stressed by the growth of his forearms, and his calves had grown into the leather that wrapped them and his broad flat paws. And yet, there in his large hands was a thin, delicately crafted choker.

“Made it special.” he grinned, kneeling down to present it. It was a simple, one-strand piece, jeweled with fine turquoise, and to her surprise, a piece of genuine jade front and center. 

“My God, it’s beautiful.” Val smiled. “Sabina’s lucky to have a man like you.”

Marcus chuckled sweetly as his big mitts delicately tied the choker around her neck. He felt flushed with warmth upon his friend hugging him in return. Also of interest was the ornate choker wrapped about his own neck. “When’d you make that one?” she asked.

“During the week, whenever I needed to wind down.” His was four rows of hair-pipe, tied together thru a silver disc. The weathered whites and deep reds certainly complimented the warrior’s ever-peculiar garb. Contrasting him was the sight of Sabina, her cropped leather jacket now complemented by the first pair of jeans Val had seen the red-furred lady in, though her sandals and throne room’s worth of jewelry remained.

“Nice to see you dressed for the occasion.” the leader chuckled.

Sabina could only smirk. “It’s still his request. But one I give into gladly.” Her lover responded with a playful growl.

“Last thing, friends.” Eric smiled, his weathered red hands patting each ride. “Y’all got built-in ‘droid scanners now. They ain’t specially built for Gladi-Models because they themselves don’t give off any special kind of signature. I want you to use them RESPONSIBLY.”

The emphasis on that final word puzzled Val.

“I get that y’all have been having some nasty run-ins,” the mechanic continued, “but there are also metal folks out there who aren’t causing no trouble. I don’t need to hear about one of ya running through someone’s shack just ‘cuz you get a reading. If you catch a signature, and you find the hound, just ask first. If they give you shit, or they try to waste you, that’s on them. But don’t start anything unless you know they’re hostile or you see the blacks of their eyes.”

When he received his playful salutes, Eric hustled everyone into their rides, and soon the three-car entourage were off and away once more. Brennus’ slender black Shelby Mustang, Val’s boxy, sand-colored Humvee, and Marcus’ cream-colored Adventurer had all enjoyed five-star tune-ups, and the engines all hummed agreeably.

Though they had set course for the city of Haven, Valentina wanted something made clear over the radio. “Just cuz we got ourselves a real target now doesn’t mean we give up the side mission. If we meet anyone in trouble, first thing’s to help them, then get back on the road. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” Brennus answered.

“Aye cap’n.” chimed Marcus.

Both the promise made and the equipment gifted would soon come to a head when they passed through the settlement of Machan. Patterned after the Old West of the Old World, it looked like a homesteader’s dream. A well-preserved main street, rows of homes behind both sides, and scores of small stores and bars, all equipped with food and resource synthesizers ready for anything.

It had also come under the hungry eyes of some gangs. One pack ran with trucks, the other with motorcycles, and both were starved, heat-stricken, and fixing for someone to blame for their miseries. When they stumbled upon each other, each looked like the perfect scapegoat for the other. The indignant screams emanating from the local General Store was marked by the steady blip of a reading on their android scanners.

“No killing on-site,” she steadied over the radio. “Let’s give it all a second.”

As they pulled into Machan, they could hear the screams from as far out as the edge of town, and even with their renewal, the Colosseum survivors’ guts grew tense when the shouting match flared up.

“WE’S HERE FIRST!” roared the voice of one unwelcome patron. “AND YOU CAN TAKE YOUR HONKY ASS ON OUT!”

“Try me you black sonofabitch,” growled another. Upon the store front window shattering, the body of a stout black wolf crashed down upon a scraggly tan mutt, and soon the two mongrels were at each other's throats, wailing away on in a flurry of fists and kicks, the fight onto the streets as the trio of cars approached.

“Mind if I lead?” Marcus asked over the radio.

The white leader hesitated. “Let me pull up first. We’ll send you ahead if things get hairy.” The military SUV rumbled past the muscle cars and pulled off to the side. Neither gangster paid her any mind, both locked in their ruthless concentration on one another.

Valentina looked at her Mars Automatic, and sighed.

With two blasts of her pistol, she had gotten everyone’s attention.

“What’s the big idea, boys?” she asked casually.

“Ain’t your fucking problem, broad,” the bloodied black wolf spat, picking himself up from the sand.

“You makin’ trouble for this here town is.” growled Val. “And I can fix that problem with one good shot if you don’t take your schoolyard horseshit past the town line.”

“And I gotta gun to fix you with, honey.” the tan thug slurred, grabbing his crotch. The scruffy wolf’s bravado cost him a fist to the jaw as the fight raged on.

Once more Valentina sighed. She would have shot them dead herself, but Marcus’ request told her something; he wanted to prove his control. And there was no better time than with tensions this high.

“All yours Marc.”

The smiling DeSoto tore away from her spot, her muscular red driver grinned mischievously as his sandaled paw flattened the throttle, and both hands clutched the wheel. It looked like a swift death would be upon them, one they were oblivious to in their own feral rage. Marcus, however, had other plans.

He slammed both feet on the brakes, the thugs sent flying halfway across town. The black and tan bodies landed with a thud, coughing and spluttering in shock and pain.

Gently, the red’s right paw pressed the gas, and the cream-colored Adventurer became a circling shark ready to crush the bloodied street fighters. When they saw the car making its approach, and the devilish grin behind those strange rectangular shades, they scrambled like mad for their rides. The fat black wolf dove onto his bike and the ragged tan leapt into his white pickup.

When Marcus backed his Space-Age machine alongside Val’s Hummer, he turned to face the crowd of shell-shocked hounds “Now…any of you with THEM,” he answered calmly, producing his sawed-off shotgun. “Better follow ‘em.”

The General Store was cleared in seconds. When the signature on the scanner split both ways, Valentina realized they now had leads in both camps.

“How’d I do?” Marcus asked softly. He took the smothering of love from Sabina as a 10/10. When the gray Brennus joined his pack, and all three rides were parked in front of the General Store, he gave the display a charmed golf clap.

“Save some for me next time,” the martial artist teased. “I could’ve taken at least five of ‘em.”

“And I’m sure you will, handsome,” Val chortled in reply. “We’ll hunt ‘em down later, I could use a drink after all this.” When the Roman wolves walked past the saloon doors, careful to observe the shattered glass, they were met with the clerk who had been on duty.

He was a black wolf, much thinner than the biker bear, and cut the classic profile of a saloon owner, right down to the thick mustache beneath his nose, and the rectangular-framed glasses upon his snout. And like all good saloon owners, was thoroughly unphased by the past ten minutes.

“Much obliged.” he smiled, polishing the shotgun in his lap. “If you wasn’t, I was fixing to drop one of those clowns myself.”

“Happy to help,” Brennus nodded, “Though you have these three to thank.”

“Valentina.” the slender white wolf smiled. “Your Maciste for the afternoon was Marcus, his gal’s Sabina, and my man’s Brennus. And if you need any help for the rest of the day while we’re in town, just ask.”

“How bout y’all’s get a drink at least, on the house. I’ll invite the Sheriff down to chat with you good samaritans.” It was an offer they couldn’t refuse.

One round of whiskeys later, the sheriff had arrived. He was a far nicer (and fuller) tan wolf, dressed in black leather and blazing white cowboy boots.

“Hell Patrolman Abel Grant.” he smiled, shaking hands with Valentina and her hunters. “Scotch and soda, Joe.”

When he heard the whole story from top to bottom, he was grateful as could be. “That’s the problem with a Hell Patrolman as installed sheriff. When you get called in on big chases like the one we just came back from, you miss skirmishes like these. A good gal with a gun and a good man with a lead foot like yours oughta be staples of every town, and fortunately they usually aren’t too far off.”

“Speaking of which,” Val ventured, sipping her drink. “Know where those two packs-a-clowns usually go? Gotta catch up with a ‘droid.”

“If they’re past the town line, they’re outta mind, Sister.” Sheriff Grant sighed. “They weren’t regulars if that’s what you’re wondering. Drop in one day, gone the next. Way most gangs work.”

It wasn’t a particularly satisfying answer, so the quartet set out to find their own. Val and Brennus backtracked in the Humvee looking for the truckers while Marcus and Sabina trailed the bikers.

“Keep your eyes peeled, but don’t get your hopes up,” Brennus radioed, “It’s gonna be like catching bats outta hell.”

True to his word, all they got for their hour of trouble were trails muddied by overlapping tire tracks, and not a stray blip on anyone’s radar.

When they returned to Machan, the rest of the day went without incident. Valentina topped off on supplies and joined Brennus in a little more hand-to-hand training. Marcus and Sabina found themselves browsing the various shops and talking craft with some local artisans, learning more about the Old World tribes that once inhabited the area. Once the sun had set, the whole crew returned to the General Store for supper. One killer steak dinner later, and it was time to call it a night. The hunters took up two rooms in the local motel, and hunkered down for their evening’s rest.

While Val and Brennus took time to enjoy each other’s company, it was in the dark of night and the depth of sleep that Marcus found himself returning to the strange realm of dreams…

It was a town not unlike the one they were in, and a truck not unlike the one piloted by the gangly Indian wolf. The truck sat at one side of town, and Marcus sat at the other. Something told him this trucker wasn’t right. Not just the usual thuggery, but that he wanted to bring him back. He wanted to drag him away from this new-found stasis of his. And it was this very thought that made the mighty red wolf tremble. He clung to the wheel as a child to a security blanket, and his eyes were shut tight, hoping the feeling would go away. But instead, all that balled up tension was released, and in an instant, the red wolf’s pupil shrunk to the slender shape of a cat’s eye, and his large flat paw slammed the throttle down. The DeSoto Adventurer sped away, desert dust spitting from its back tires, as the behemoth truck bolted for the cream-colored sedan.

Closer and closer the two rides came, neither swerved, neither wavered. Behind the truck’s wheels, the tan driver’s eyes went black as midnight with pinhole-white pupils. It could only end one way as the two grills came to meet, and the fronts crumpled into each other as a fireball ripped clean through them both. The flames weren’t what he feared though, for soaring clear through the Lady’s engine and the dashboard was the savage blade of the truck’s radiator!

The second the blades tore into Marcus, he awoke with a howl of pain. Sabina sprang up, Brennus and Val bolting in from the next room, all quick to tend to the convulsing, petrified hound. They all feared the worst; the relapse, the two steps back to their one step forward, that Damoclesian threat of all their progress being undone. But through Sabina’s tender touch and calm, it became clear that the nightmare was simply that, nothing more than a terror of the mind.

Marcus took a swig of water and relayed the tale. He managed to do so calmly, without turning in on himself or devolving into those childish inflections he once possessed.

“Sorry for scaring ya,” he soothed, pulling his wife close to his bare chest. The men hushed their women before any waterworks could flow, but Marcus did make a request of Val. “Get me our map. Not the Comm-whatsit, our memory map.”

When the white wolf returned with both it and a pencil, Marcus flew across page after page, drawing more and more of the route out from that wretched Colosseum to what he hoped would be the outer wall of Haven. He built the map like a book galley, sheet upon sheet taped together. When he finished, he sighed. “It ain’t the border, but we’re getting close.”

“We’ll get there soon, formosa.” Sabina calmed, cozying up to him. “We’ll get there.” They fell asleep in each others’ arms once Val and Brennus had left.

In the comfort of their own room, the lithe white wolf rested quietly next to the gentle gray fighter. “‘The mind is its own place,’” Brennus muttered to himself, “‘and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

“Milton again?” she smiled in her newfound twang-less timbre.

“I didn’t know you knew,” the poetic hound chuckled.

“I watch and I learn” were her last words before savoring a mighty long kiss on her husband’s lips, and the arresting caress of his firm gray hand along her body, a pleasure that carried them into their own contented slumber.

When dawn broke, the nightmare thought lost to the midnight hour had proven painfully real. Riding in on one side of the town were the hoards of matte black pickups and rusting compact trucks. From the other, a mass of multicolored, busted-to-hell-and-back motorcycles. Though yesterday’s battle was won, the war was still on for Valentina and her hunters.

The jade-eyed leader gave the morning desk attendant a message. “Call the sheriff and tell him to get every Hell Patrolman they can find.” The attendant whipped across the rotary phone as the four wolves piled into their rides.

Brennus was the first to peel out and towards the bikers. He had relented on the subject of firearms and found himself in possession of one of his sensei’s most prized peacemakers: a silver Singer M1911A1, one wielded with the same grace he had wielded himself with in combat, and one that made quick work of the brute-force thugs, though many more were on the way.

When Marcus laid eyes on his wave of bullnose beasts, the red warrior froze.

“Th-th-that’s him.” he stuttered. “He’s the one. His eyes are black, I swear to God, his eyes are black.” His wife could feel him shake behind the wheel as she did her best to snap him out of the stupor.

“Darling,” Sabina whispered, deep in his ear. “If I must drive and you must shoot, I will. But you must trust yourself. We will be alright. We will!” When he looked into those pleading eyes, veiled by those beautiful brown locks, all was right with the world once more. “You’re a better shot anyhow.” he growled with pleasure, savoring a rapturous kiss before battle. The white Space Age automobile tore away into the trucks, with a gladiator at the wheel, and his lover putting big beautiful holes in every ride coming towards them.

In the spirit of the red couple’s model, Valentina joined Brennus, though she opted for a brute force of her own. In the heat of battle, she too had begun to relish the thrill of driving the way Marcus had, claws sunk deep into the bed of her Roman caligae as she pinned the gas down and charged on the hoards of bikes. The two-wheeled machines crumpled and crushed beneath her mighty Humvee’s wheels, her breath chattering with a euphoric glee. “Go’on,” she cried, cackling uproariously. “Slay ‘em Beautiful!”

The Humvee barreled over head and helmet alike, as the engine took on the depth of a devilish baritone, his mistress savoring these newfound passions.

As the bikes and pickups swung and swayed past the DeSoto, Marcus gunned for his chosen truck. That driver would be his before the battle was over, he just knew it, licking his chops, savoring the taste of that sickly acid blood.

“Hang on!” he barked, slamming the brakes and swinging the Space Age machine in front of the white truck. The pickup swerved, crashing into the brick wall of an Old World apartment. The five-story structure was intact, and the truck’s engine was as good as dead, spluttering and chugging as the leather-clad tan wolf leapt out and onto the DeSoto’s hood, gun in hand.

“Vale Canis.” Sabina grinned. The shot blasted the driver off the hood, crashing against the brick wall with a crunch. A decidedly metallic crunch, which left pinkish hue to the beast’s “blood” mixing with the white fluid of an android. When the trucker popped up, Marcus knew.

Down his paw went, the DeSoto slammed against the trucker’s legs, pinning him to the wall as the mechanical wolf clawed for freedom. When Sabina started to see Marcus shuddering again, foot welded to the throttle, she knew she had to calm him down.

“It’s alright Formosa,” she soothed, caressing his cheek. “It’s alright! We’ve got him, and we aren’t letting him go. Relax…relax.”

It wasn’t until she rested her own left paw on his right that he realized.

“Hold him down for me, will ya babe?” he asked softly.

She climbed up into his lap and swung the brakes down, Marcus finally letting up and taking a deep breath. “Jesus God that was close,” he sighed. When he felt the soft touch of his wife and her denim-wrapped thighs, he smiled. “And goddamn do I miss this.”

The red lovers were in a fit of laughter as the memories kept them sane amid the chaos surrounding them. Marcus rested his head on Sabina’s shoulders, eyes turned away from what he was certain was that demonic black gaze.

In the end, half the job had been done by four wolves before Hell Patrol’s ten-hound army arrived. When the light-tan Sheriff Grant learned the exact identities of the gangs from the few prisoners taken, he called up the Commissioner to have their status upgraded to priority targets. Another gang war like this would never happen again, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to Machan while Grant was on duty.

While Val was curious about the dead biker ‘droids, that wretched tan trucker came first. When Brennus and Valentina had found their other duo, Marcus looked winded, and though she had done her best, Sabina was worried as ever.

“I’ll be fine.” the red gladiator sighed, patting his wife’s knee. “Sabina saved me from blowing out the Lady’s transmission.”

“Good on the pair of ya,” Val smiled, patting the red wolves’ shoulders.

“Now let’s see if we can figure out what kinda creep he is.” Brennus nodded. The trucker spat and swore incomprehensibly, the words lost in a vain rage, contrasted by the almost ethereal approach of Brennus, the beatnik-looking beast as steady as the sun.

“YOU’RE ALL MINE,” the trucker bloviated, “ALL OF YOU ARE DEAD MEAT! YOU DIRTY FERAL FUCKING SONSOF–”

“HAI!”

With a chop of his hand across its muzzle, Brennus silenced the mechanical wolf, as the faux-fur faceplate landed with a sickly thud. Marcus clung to Sabina, eyes shut tight.

“Its eyes aren’t black.” Brennus shouted calmly, “But that doesn’t mean the programming is anymore innocent. Remember what Eric said about opening these things up, Val?”

“Every last word,” the lithe white wolf smiled.

Minutes turned to hours as it took them forever to get the thing powered back on in the bed of the white wolf’s Humvee. It was enough time for Marcus to be fully soothed by the embrace of his woman and her calm presence. Soon, in the home stretch of the marathon, the hunters gathered around, and the last switches were flipped. First there came a spark, then a splutter. And at last, a relieved sigh from their jade-eyed leader. “He’s back online. Let’s learn who he truly is.”

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“Two…two rights, two lefts.” Brennus softly stammered, eyes fluttering, suspended in his lucid dream state. “Then a straight shot. Out. Or down. Anything to get away from…from the blood on the sand.”

Eric hadn’t had to perform hypnotism like this in ages, but given the state of his model student for overcoming the tortures of the Colosseum, he had no choice.

The hunters themselves had never been so worse for wear. The gray’s white-furred lover, Valentina, remained haunted by his maddened state. The red Marcus had only just recovered from the shock of discovering the Guard android on the road.

Eric kept the gray martial artists subdued for as long as he could, trying to get as many answers as he could.

“Did you ever catch a sign?” the withered hound asked, thumbs pressed against Brennus’ forehead. “Any sort of marker? An imperfection of a building structure perhaps.”

The gray could only shake his head. Not frantically, but without any say in the matter it seemed. Back and forth, back and forth, the rolling neck left on autopilot. The mechanic lifted his hand, switched off the hi-fi set that had set the ambience with its gentle electric tones, and snapped his fingers. “Out you come.”

When the gray returned from that strange, ethereal plain, it was as if nothing had happened. He pulled himself up from the cot, buckled his sandals up, and shook it off like an afternoon nap. “How’d I do?” he asked.

“Aremort was a code word for the games among the jailers,” replied Valentina from across the room, blankly. “You killed an awful lot. As we all had. And you took two right turns and two lefts before running straight through Haven ‘til you hit the border.”

Brennus nodded. “Anything to it with the bot?”

“Most we got from jail-breaking were scores and general profiles,” answered Eric. “There are small psychological quirks that mark a hound for inclusion. No single identifier, just a germ of something. Still working that out, but we aren’t quite past some of the baked-in firewalls.”

The gray crossed the garage office to sit down next to his lover. “I’m sorry for the fright.” he whispered, tender as could be.

Valentina turned towards him. She didn’t know what to say. But when she looked up into those brown eyes of his, that alluring gaze as strong now as it was in that patch of Martian desert from so long ago, she fell into his arms, weak with that passion all over again, kissing him all over. It was a display Brennus tried to meet with calmness. “Darling, darling,” he soothed. “Easy, it’s alright now. It’ll all be alright.”

Like the engines of their rides, she seemed content to rev up and go full-on with him then and there, something the gray had to break her of the hard way. “FOR GOD’S SAKE GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF!”

The sting of his voice, the tone, finally did. It also brought on the only other emotion Val had left in her; confused grief. Just as she had given into her impulse to love, she gave into her impulse to cry. The gray consoled her best he could, but it was clear something had come undone beyond his repairing.

Marcus, with Sabina alongside, walked up to Eric, the red couple worried for what was left of their leader on this strange odyssey.

“Is there anything doing?” he asked innocently.

Eric stroked his chin for a second before coming to a realization. A rather pertinent one judging by his exclamation of “OF COURSE!” and “Eric, you nimrod!”

 The sudden outburst had even snapped Valentina out of her own tumult.

“What is it then?” Sabina pressed.

“A proper mind-dive.” answered Eric jovially. “Christ almighty, why didn’t I think of it sooner?”

The hunters gathered round as the middle-aged hound explained. “Conventional hypnosis is just one method for reaching the depths of the mind. But there are ways to bore further and cut clear through all the noise. We sit down in a circle, hands clasped, pads of our fingers touching. There will be a pendulum set up within. Once I set it in motion, concentrate on it. Follow it. After a long enough time, you will all be hypnotized, and I can set to work.”

“What for?” came a curious Valentina.

Eric pulled her aside, looking across the small troop of warriors to-be. “Every one of you has been touched by this strange germ of psychosis brought on by the conditioning. We’ve talked about it, come to some conclusions, but we’ve never gotten to the root. All the old attempts to purge it from your minds only suppressed memory, it didn’t erase. I think I can get to the core of each of your traumas using this method. And if we can truly face these, you may find the strength within you to discipline your impulses, and find the answers your minds have locked away. All that feral power, well in hand, and without having to sacrifice a line of memory.”

It was a dumbfounding prospect, one as hard to wrap their minds around as the Colosseum was to hold in their hands. And yet, the willingness to try anything was written on every wolf’s face.

“Begging pardon,” Marcus interjected. “But it all sounds like we’re setting up some kinda strange psycho-séance.”

The mechanic looked at his fellow red wolf, amused. “For simplicity’s sake, consider it magic. In truth it's an extension of extrasensory perception, but the results you will find to be…revealing. Hopefully.”

The “mage” had spoken, and though perplexed, Eric’s sureness convinced them to follow through, though every hound took to the process with some level of trepidation, even a practicing mediator like Brennus. The pendulum was as simple as it got, a polished silver ball suspended via chain from the top point of a pyramid made from stainless steel rods.

All it took was a tap of the sphere, and the pendulum was set in motion. The hunters took their seats, hand in hand, Eric setting the mood with those soft, trance-inducing melodies of his stereo. The music was in perfect harmony with the glistening glowing tone emitted by the swaying orb.

The architect of the whole experience took Brennus and Valentina’s hands in his, completing the circle, and sent the hunters on their way with a few words of encouragement. “Let the sounds wash over you, follow the sphere as it dances, and give your minds up to me. Give up your minds to me.”

Around and around the silver icon spun, each seeing themselves distorted in its reflective surface, each concentrating like their lives depended on it, for at this point, they very well did. Around and around it swung and spun, until the world beyond its sway went to static, and in time, the pendulum itself fell back into the dark of their minds. They were off.

She walked the crimson sands alone, wrapped in a pale shawl. Dry dusty dunes that went on forever. No hills, no plants, just an endless sea of dark red sand. The air tasted of a fog that wasn’t there; humid and yet not a drop of rain to be seen, her muzzle misted by a dew nonexistent.

With each step, each digging of her paw into the dusty earth, a sharp stab of pain rolled up her spine, and behind her, every step of the way, spires pierced the swirling maroon-colored sky.

Beneath the shawl was Valentina, her face vacant in expression. She could only trudge. On and on into the desert dunes with no end.

Then a voice. A familiar voice. But not Eric’s.

It was a voice calling from over the next peak, standing wrapped in all manner of shawls with his flat cowboy hat. It was the voice of the wanderer who had visited Val during her evening drive the night before. Same bulky appearance, same mellifluous British baritone.

“Just round the bend, my child!” he bellowed, echoing across the sands. She was unmoved by the call of his voice, showing neither horror nor joy. It was as if he wasn’t there, though when she reached him, she did, at last, stop.

“Make yourself at home,” the vagabond wolf beckoned, gesturing with all the grace of an orator in the Roman senate. “Close to one as we have I dare say.”

No reply, no thought, she simply sat down. The dark gray wolf, with his stripe of white and light gray muzzle, sat down beside her.

“I suppose you wouldn’t be much for conversation after last night.” he sighed. “I hope the chap is quite alright. I thought an awful lot of him when we first met, all those hazy summer days ago.”

At last those white ears perked up, and a glower ripped across those jade eyes of hers. “The hell you know about him?”

“Only as much as you!” the wanderer snapped back. “Almost drove me into his blasted car with that mind of yours.”

Her glower softened to confusion. “You mean you’re--”

“Who the hell else have you been chatting with since the Old Man died?”

Her waking mind would’ve snapped at the thought of meeting this strange, animating force within her ride. And yet, upon recognizing him, she crawled up and sat in the hound’s lap. Anything for respite from that burning hot world before her. Careful was he to drape the rogue garments from his back about her, cloaking the white wolf  in a cover of darkness.

The chamber smelled of many things. A house baptized in second-hand tobacco smoke, the soft subtle lavender of fields long since lost to time. They seemed to cycle, lulling the white wolf from all her cares and worries. And it was in the black of the makeshift womb that he began his prodding.

“They were mostly animatronic.” came his warm, resonant voice. “They looked and bled real, but that was all for the show of it. If anyone is to take the burden of all this supposed death, it ought to be me.”

“You always have.” she whispered. “But if this is–

“If what? I am but a humble tool beyond this space.”

“But you’re,” she broke off. “You’re all I had left. I can’t–”

“Can’t what? I’m tainted now, is that it?”

“No, no, no!” she cried. “It’s not like that–”

He shushed her like a child, something which made her burn with indignity. Until she felt that soft reassuring caress, and those gentle shades of lavender. It was the thing she seemed to pine for the most. She felt the shiver of a childhood memory in it, of being held tight by that simple old goat she called Papa. She felt her first night with Brennus, their passionate lovemaking wrapped in that tender aromatic note. And in the end, she felt the all-encompassing warmth of being behind the wheel of her cherished ride, the towering Humvee.

“Now, tell me all about it,” the wanderer asked from within the void. “Tell me everything you know.”

And so she did…

It was a crystal blue evening for him. Or rather that’s how the light shone down on Brennus where he stood. He couldn’t see anything past that. It was a true void, antiseptic in sight, scent, but not of sound. Brennus could hear the voice of the sensei who had guided him on many a journey.

“No guise this time?” the gray wolf quizzed.

“Call it acclimation,” answered Eric, the mechanic’s disembodied voice gruffer than usual. “We’ve been here many times before, but never like this. You’ve proven your ability to balance all these tensions within you. But it's not the tension I’m interested in.”

“Then what?” Brennus probed.

“The source. If you’re all intent on facing this haunted ground out in the West, vaulting your pain away isn’t enough. Let’s begin.”

From out the black came a thousand eyes, with red irises and pupils crushed against one another like the lumps on a fly’s compound eye. The roar of crowds echoed across the endless chamber to a deafening volume. And for all his peacemaking, all his meditation, the young martial artist could only curl up on himself, eyes shut tight, clutching his ears and folding them down on themselves. Anything to shut it all out.

He felt his fangs grow and his muscles bulge, paws curling in on themselves. It was a metamorphosis that never finished, always rippling and changing, a pain that throbbed with the strength of the invisible crowd and the stinging gaze of the eyes.

Cleaving through it all, Eric’s voice rang out. “Hermits make easy prey. Those who wish to be left alone will not be by those who wish not to leave others be.”

“IS THAT A CRIME!?” roared the hunter, trying to level his voice above the crowd’s distorted, frenzied cries.

“LEAVING OTHERS TO ROT IS!” the disembodied voice roared back, now less familiar. Brennus muttered “who, who” over and over to himself until the voice answered back. “WHOMEVER THAT MAY BE.”

The gray’s eyes opened as he racked his mind for the answer. The thought of a stone unturned, of a job undone. The thought of Valentina coming apart at the seams, from her first advances to her torturous exorcism by his hand.

The thought of himself shredded by the very utterance of the android repeating his match number in the arena. In Aremort.

“Whomever” wasn’t anyone. “Whomever” was simply whomever. The thought of someone always there, always behind the back, always eyeing him. The hound keeping score, the hound who watched his every move, made the notes, kept the tally, and kept watch day and night, night and day. Why, what for, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was knowing someone was there. And not knowing who, that was the rub.

He turned to face the unending sea of eyes who gazed upon him. And in turn, he stared each and every one of them down. Stared past the grainy, tilled fields of the iris, down the barrel of the black pupil. The second he made full eye-contact, off they popped out of existence, like a great sanguinary bubble. He didn’t know how long he could keep up this manic staring contest, how long it would take to dispel them all, but he didn’t care. It was time to cast it all out.

Restored to form, Eric’s voice cut through the electric crowds as they died away, the eyes dwindling into the black of the ineffable nothing beyond his pupil’s spotlight. “Now, tell me everything you know.”

And so, Brennus did…

It was like she had never left. Same bed where she worked her magic, same trinkets from tricks and Johns gone-by. It felt rather cozy for Sabina, still dressed the part of the bohemian, from the dress and sandals to the cropped red top to the odd assortment of jewelry. Nothing out of order, nothing out of place; the red satin sheets of her bed remade after her latest round with a paying customer, her pill popped to keep her in business. She wished it didn’t have to be this way, but she didn’t mind it all that much either. Sabina could sense that her one true lover was out there, somewhere in the desert, beyond the window. And so she sat, waiting, watching. For whom she couldn’t say.

“Figured you were due for a wellness check.”

When she turned to face the voice, it was none other than the old goat himself, Doc. The scruffy gray gave her the biggest bear hug he had on him.

“Ah, the Big Bossman has his street racer’s cologne on.” Sabina chuckled.

Doc’s grin went boyish at the thought. “Me and the Missus are hitting up a strip later, figure I oughta go out looking and smelling good before the gas and grease get to me.”

“I thought you had the other girls to check on before you left.”

The elder wolf shrugged. “I know what’s gone on through everyone else’s minds, I just want to make sure our desert rose is a-okay. It’s hard a life to live when you got others’ struggles on your plate.”

He could sense her gazing shifting towards the window, looking for something she couldn’t quite make out.

“Little game of I Spy or you got someone out there?” Doc teased.

Sabina turned back to face him. “Whoever it is, I just hope he’s alright. I feel like I can’t ever reach him when I need to.”

“Ain’t treating you–”

“Bad, never!” she snapped. “Oh God! Sorry…just nerves.” She gave herself a chance to calm down before finishing the thought. “I just want him to know I’ll always be there for him, even when it all seems so wrong.”

Doc rested a hand on her shoulder. “He’s a good man, whoever he is. And so long as he knows that and you know that, don’t sweat it.”

“It's taking care of him I guess.” she sighed. “I could spend every day with him, but whenever he comes apart, he can’t always be put back together. I fear that day when nothing can be done.”

Doc held her tight. “I think you got the strength for it though. And you got friends to help y’all along. You got me-n-Belle and Murray for starters, right?”

She giggled in that soft, perky way of hers, her bartender friend guffawing right alongside her.

“Whatever’s keeping you level, keep it up. Keep yourself nice and steady for when the hard times come around. Ain’t a doubt in my mind about it, when you’re together, and you stay with it through thick-n-thin, you two will do fine. I think you told me everything I need to know…”

Chained. Big brutalist chains, the likes of which he had dreamed about. Hooked to the sandy ground, and from somewhere, a flood of raw, rotting meat slashed and snapped at his snout like a bullwhip.

He’d been here before. Every cold sweat, every scream in the black of night, this was it. This was IT!

Marcus stood bare before all. Bare paws, legs, chest. Not even the dignity of a loincloth. He sensed in himself that of an even greater bulge of muscle. Not the feeling of strength, but the sensation of tendons and ligaments thrusting and shuffling in some macabre dance beneath his flesh and fur. And as painful as it was, it wasn’t half as painful as the sight sat before him.

This was it. The Colosseum itself. In as vivid a rendering as his mind could handle. Every arch, every piece of faux stonework, every crowded seat, every grain of sand. The sky was the color of the sand, warm and hazy with the smoke of a wildfire hanging above all. And yet that smoke smelled of that heinous, rotting meat. The smell of bodies burning. Furless, fleshless bodies, somewhere in the distance.

Across from where he stood, chained and gnashing in rolling rage, he saw a sight he couldn’t bear. There was Sabina, dressed the part of a peasant girl from the Old World era this charade had so dutifully aped. Chained up and surrounded by the Guards. The black-eyed androids, dressed in the Roman military regalia, with armored chests and sweeping red capes, the leather sandals that had once clothed his bare paws. The mechanical hounds crowded around, with sickening, lustful growls made at the sight of her. And no matter how loudly Marcus roared, how hard he tried to free himself, he couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t stop her screaming, he couldn’t stop them from tearing her to pieces before his eyes. Howling mad, he at last broke free, only to be met with his own face.

When the androids turned to face him, it was the contorted visage of Marcus sat upon the head of each bot. Uncomfortably curled smiles, elongated eyes, that of a goat’s turned on its side. It froze him solid. But then he saw Sabina, his beloved so cruelly violated, and he bolted to her side. Nothing would stop him for nothing could. He brained each metal monster with his bare fists, that stench of decay rocketing out from their heads. He fought through every bastard between him and the love of his life, as valiantly and as hard as he could.

And yet, his reward would be forever denied him. Every wolf vanished before his very eyes, Sabina included, the only remains of the Grand Guignol tableau were his fistfuls of crimson sand, where the tender woman once lay.

There were no words, no thoughts, just a blinding, uncontrollable rage that he sat living in perpetual fear of. Over the loudspeakers, that callous announcer came ringing through. Jabbering on about points and scores and all the other bullshit that went along with the blackened sport. And clear through it all, the word of advice.

“And remember, champion,” he said, the words wrapped in a crystalline broadcaster’s voice. “It’s all in your head. Everything. A whole world, a whole universe. Yours to sort, yours to wield.”

Marcus picked himself up off the ground, the red wolf scowling at everything in sight, hate etched on his eyes and claws. His body and build had taken on a monstrous form, with razor fangs and ever-elongating digits, he found himself walking on the balls of his feet, the heel rising to form a proper set of wolven paws.

And yet, it was at the height of this manic transformation that the request came. “Now, tell me everything you know.”

For a moment, breath heavy as lead, the feral killing machine stood in the bloodsport’s domain and seemed unable to speak.

“TELL ME!” the announcer’s voice commanded.

From out of the deafening silence, the answer came: “I know now what they’ve done to me. All of it…”

The music died and the pendulum stopped, dead center. Eric stood up, and with a snap of his fingers, out they all came, one after the other. Each couple found themselves clinging to one another, a shivering Marcus on the verge of tears as he held his beloved Sabina tight as he could. Val and Brennus did likewise, though both proved remarkably restrained in their emotions.

Eric called up each to the desk in the office. “Alright, write down everything you know.” Valentina began with a rough diagram of the Colosseum as she saw it and a rough path from the gate. She got as far as her fifth turn. Next came, Brennus, jotting down all the lingo he caught from the bots, from “aremort” referring to the games to the “furrure pera” referring to the participants. He too drew a diagram, noting one odd detail: the mile counter added either five or seven miles from when he broke out to the edge of the city, the detail still hazy.

When Marcus took to his blank sheet, he drew up the Colosseum as if he were its designer. The same precision he had taken to his beading and his small crafts he brought to the illustrations. Every bot design he could recall, the layout, where the berths for participants were in the building, the gate. He hadn’t quite unlocked his path from the exit to the edge of the city, but he remembered going out at least a block before hanging his first right.

With all the documents assembled, there was one last acid test: the android. The hope was for it to confirm any or all of the details, everyone pitched in to restore the strange, unruly looking beast. Eric worked with surgical precision, timing his cuts and carefully reworking the wiring. Gently, he set the switch mechanisms to one setting he hadn’t yet. Upon powering the head on, there was a slight buzz followed by the blinking of its black eyes. Every hunter held their breath at the sight of the machine coming to life. There wasn’t a trace of fear, a strand of anxiety, not a twinge of horror to be found. All simply waited for the machine to come back to life.

And sure enough. “Gladi-Model 298 ‘Charon.’” sounded off from the bit-crushed voice-box, followed by a phrase that set everyone back on their heels.

“Ready for Nero Protocol.”

They were in.

Reflected in the black eye of the beast's head was the warrior who had slain it. The warrior whose shivering body now lay on a cot, tended to by the woman he loved. Were it not for the beat of his heart and the odd twitch of hand or paw, Marcus would’ve been a dead hound by any other metric.

The red lovers remained off in the corner while the mechanic Eric fiddled and toyed with the spine and head of the strange android in their possession. The déjà vu wasn’t lost on Valentina, the white wolven leader conferring with the gray Brennus about the whole affair.

“You’ll be able to do more for him, right?” she asked.

Her lover nodded. “When he comes out of the shock, we can steel him for sure. When he comes out is the key here.”

“Any idea when?”

Those placid brown eyes of his went sullen. “He’ll be out for a while. I can try hypnotism again, but not with that is in the room.” Brennus cocked his head to the dead android on Eric’s operating table.

“If there’s enough room,” Eric called, gloved arms soaked in bloody oil, “maybe lay him in the back of the Hummer and work with him there.”

Sabina looked up to other men and nodded. Val and Brennus helped carry the catatonic red into the bed of her ride. Sabina propped a pillow up under Marcus’ head and climbed up into the back alongside Brennus.

“We’ll be good from here.” he said. “Best keep an eye on Eric and the find.”

She went to add something, but one look from her lover told her it was best to let him focus. When she returned to the office, Eric was already doing quite the number on the body. Limbs lay detached, the torso sat propped up in a chair, and the head. By God, the head, whose black eyes glowered clear across the room.

“Trust yourself to come look?” Eric asked innocently.

Val nodded, the white wolf crossing the room. Even with so much of it broken up, not to mention the damage sustained in the brawl, the profile it cut still sent a shiver up her spine. And yet, once she was there, looking over the whole piece, something spoke to her from deep within.

Face it, the voice said.

She went right for the head, picking it up in her spotless white hands, holding it up and looking into its dead black eyes. Seeing herself and Eric in their reflection. Seeing Marcus in that final moment, the red gentleman made both gladiator and child all in an instant.

Even as the oil and blood had rimmed the bottom of the electric wolf’s head, staining the fur and pads of her hands, the golden ring around her slender middle finger, she didn’t let go. She didn’t avert her eyes. She didn’t let the shock and pain boil over and out of her. She simply stood and examined.

“So that’s it.”

Eric looked at her, puzzled. “What’s it?”

“That’s all they are really.” she replied. “Circuits, wires, oil. Some sophisticated programming cluttered with not so sophisticated thoughts and parts.”

“When unanimated, really seems so doesn’t it?” the red mechanic smiled. “That’s about to change.”

Val set the head back down on the table. “Alright then. Let’s see if it’ll talk.”

It wasn’t as easy as getting into the strange, monitor-shaped contraption they had found before. Programming in androids always had been a complicated affair. There was always a personality masking the machinery, and Eric wanted to get right to the original model’s core. No Glenn Atwood, no scavenger, just the Colosseum guard and “recruiter” he was sure to be.

It took the grizzled mechanic quite some time under the machine’s proverbial hood to get it going, but with a final flick of switches and a few steps back from the work table by both Eric and Val, they were ready.

“It’s all on him now.” the elder red wolf reassured her. And sure enough, it was.

“Gladi-Model 298 ‘Charon.’” Even through the static crackle and the abyss of a gaze, there was something sonorous about the voice they had given it. A slight air of pleasantry to offset its appearance.

“State your mission.” Eric declared.

The black eyes seemed to fleck about, darting in the heat of computation before the head of the android spoke once more. “Procuring participants for combat.”

“Destination?”

Again the head found itself reeling through its databanks for the answers. “Colosseum Storage as part of Comm/Ent operations”

Feeling lucky, Eric went for it. “Exact location?”

“CLASSIFIED.” came the answer in a hideous, fully synthetic tone, that of an arcade sound chip bit-crushed to hell and back.

“But you said it was part of Comm/Ent.” Val interjected, the thin white wolf taking a step forward. “Is that not part of a public-facing operation?”

The answer came packaged in those pleasing tones. “Details of the operation are held on highest security order to maintain illusion of combat narratives.”

Val looked back to Eric. “That Havenese for ‘don’t break kayfabe?’”

The mechanic nodded and turned his attention back to the severed android head. “The switch mechanisms might be one way of bypassing that security, but we also need to be 100% sure which switch arrangement does the trick. This current one is just a universal factory setting.”

Before he could go any further, he felt the clutch of the huntress' hand pulling him back away from the machine. “Let’s see what else is public knowledge before we start playing hacker.”

Valentina pulled up a seat to the work table and sat down in front of the head. She locked eyes with it, her jades placid in the face of those obsidian voids.

“Tell me: you recognize my face?”

The answer was as calm as her question. “Yes.”

“What match was I in?”

The dead eyes shifted and searched once more, at last replying “Match XK9.”

“How many in attendance?”

“Full House: 10,000.”

Val’s body tensed, but her strength never wavered. “Why was I chosen?”

“Shortage of City Talent.”

She went silent, processing the answer herself.

“Any factoring for capability or skill?” Eric pressed.

“Minimal factoring.” came the android’s reply. “Competent driving ability is primary. All other factors are secondary.”

Val looked back to Eric, puzzled. All she got was a nod of encouragement. “How many of you are still talent scouting?”

When the head blared back with “CLASSIFIED,” she threw herself up and away from the table. Eric crossed the room after her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Just that I thought I was on a roll only to hit another dead-end.” the white wolf sighed. “It won’t tell us where the lucky contestants go and it won’t tell us how many of these things are searching for them. Two items that’d go a long way.”

Eric nodded. “Shall we start the hacking then?”

Valentina looked back to the head, its eyes reset and staring dead ahead, into the room itself. She scratched at the back of her own before looking up to her scruffy old friend.

“Just don’t lose him.” she said solemnly. “Whatever you do. Don’t lose him. Last thing we need is more hell raining down our way”

Eric pulled her close. “I won’t Val, I won’t.” He could feel some of her stress melt away into himself. The worry, the hope, the horror. In a way, he was pulling it right out of her and into himself. He saw the ephemeral transference at work when she came out of his embrace.

“Mind if I take the old girl out for a spin?” she smiled. “Think I need some time to just…think. Don’t want to disturb the crew while they tend to Marc.”

He threw the keys at her without missing a beat. When she marched out, Brennus was the first to ask where she was going.

“Off for a quick drive.” Val replied. “Want to get my head cleared.”

“Need any help with—”

“No, not that.” she cutoff. “Would like to keep my clothes on this time.”

Brennus turned his attention back to Marcus, letting out a distant “come back cleansed then” before continuing his work on the sedate red wolf.

At first she didn’t think anything of the exchange, but Brennus’ cold gaze, staring as she pulled away in Eric’s old Apache pickup didn’t sit right. She let it go though. Everyone was tired, everyone had better things to fret about.

The sun warmed the sands to a reddish-orange shade as the old machine rocked and rolled across the plains. Valentina hadn’t driven stick in a while, but welcomed the change. She felt that feral thrill creeping up through her again. The springing of claws, the full-body shiver of excitement as the needle rose and the engine roared.

Soon the dying light gave way to dark, and the huntress knew her joyride had to come to an end. It was on her way back that things began to change.

First it was a feeling. In spite of her quipping to Brennus, she felt as though her jeans were phasing through her, that the hard leather of her sandals was going from suede to sand itself as she held the throttle down. She felt her eyes grow heavier and heavier.

The Apache’s white-eyed headlights lit the patch back to Eric’s garage, the blur of pat-down tire tracks in the sand, stones and brush off to the sides flashing by the white wolf as she ran the truck flat-out. But off on her right, she noticed a boulder. A banded boulder, made up of different red and tan shades of sandstone, perfectly shaped as a sphere.

Though she never turned the wheel or veered off course, the boulder kept revealing itself from the side of the road. Same side, same boulder, over and over again. When she slowed down, she seemed to have passed it for the final time, the rock fading into the red of the Apache’s tail-lights and the dark of the night.

Then came the lights. At first, she could spot the garage on the horizon, further beyond the distant neighbors Eric kept; small homes and the odd shack, all lit in alternating shades of bluish white and orange. What began as no more than three or four distant lights before her ballooned into dozens, hundreds, thousands. Lights growing out from every bush, from the tops of the hills, rising to the heavens themselves to meld among the stars. It was as if the City had come to envelop her.

And then there came the stars themselves. A speck of orange or blue wasn’t uncommon, they were just planets as they hung in the sky.

Except they weren’t.

More and more, they grew red, green, purple, yellow, burning bright and dimming in pulses and patterns. Like the heavens were dying and renewing, all at once, all before her. Hung above it all, rising from the hills; an eclipse. Like the sun was kissing the sky of Earth, it rose with the moon firmly affixed to it. Two celestial bodies in perfect unison, forming a radiant black disc with flaming light whipping and sparking around it.

Alive and alert, Valentina jammed on the brake and clutch, the Apache grinding to a halt, the dust of her short-stop growing from a thin cloud to a blanket of fog around her.

Then, from out of all lights came a figure. As if his back was made of these strange colorful stars. Upon turning around to face the truck, the lights vanished, leaving only the figure of a wolf. Dressed in layers upon layers of ragged coats, black jeans and boots, and a flat-top cowboy hat.

His fur was strange. A dark gray around the mouth, black almost everywhere else, with a single streak of white right down the center of his full-coated face, from beneath the brown hat to the tip of his nose.

Slowly, he walked towards the truck.

Part of Val wanted her gun out and firing so fast the hound’s hat would spin, but part of her held off. Part of her was arrested by the sheer spectacle of it all. With a hand on its grip, she rolled down the window as the stranger strolled up.

“Catch anything?” he asked in a rich English baritone.

Val shook her head. “Wasn’t hunting.”

“You seem to always be though, aren’t you? Hunting?”

She nodded; no sense arguing that. The stranger pushed the brim of his hat up, the veil of shadow lifting to reveal eyes the lightest shade of gray she had ever seen. They were a shade bordering silver, her own jades lit up by proxy.

“Want to add these to the collection?” the stranger quipped.

Another shake of the head was her answer. “That’s not why I hunt.”

“Why do you then?”

“Peace of mind.” Val replied sagely. “Knowing it’ll never happen to anyone again.”

“What makes you think you can stop it?”

“Because it has to stop!” she shot back. “It takes all the sense out of you, makes you a walking atom bomb of rage and death. I wouldn’t wish that on the head of anyone.”

“I thought that’s what we wolves are.” the stranger smirked. “Our fangs drip with blood as we dive into our prey, the mouth written in red as we feast upon the flesh of the beast under our claws. I thought that was all part of the hunt.”

Val dead-eyed the stranger, who looked back to her not in anger, offense, or relished glee. He looked at her dryly. No glower, no emotion as he pulled the brim of his hat back down, the shadow shading his eyes away from her once more.

“When you say ‘feral,’ know what it means. It isn’t just a hand-me-down slur, or a pure madness. It’s what was fighting what is. You’re at war with those who wish to wield what was in the name of conquering what is. Keep the balance if you can. There’s a gray out there fighting to keep his. A gray you know well.”

She absorbed the words slowly, as if they had been poured over her and left to sink below her fur and into her skin. And as she savored the last phrase, horror jolted the white wolf awake.

“BRENNUS!”

The night went black once more as the Apache skidded off road, her paws slammed on the brakes. The strange visions evaporated, with only the dust of her short-stop dancing around the truck. Shuddering all over, Val got the truck back in gear and floored her. The blood-red Chevy hurried towards the garage, the desert made a blur. Pulling into the truck’s berth, she leapt out, frantic as she saw Eric, Sabina, and a now awake Marcus staring into the workshop. The scene within was chaos incarnate.

The body of the android was desecrated beyond recognition, wires littering the room, the metal spine bent in half. The head remained, but with its black eyes plucked and crushed on the floor. Lying there on the floor, reeling in spasmodic fits of verbose revolt and spluttering coughs, was Brennus. His face bloodied, the claws of his hands jammed against the concrete floor, toes knuckled against his sandals. It was as if he was trying to get up but couldn’t.

“I be-rid of you once!” he roared, head raised and brown eyes glowering towards the head on the work bench. “AND I HAVE AGAIN!” His own fell with heavy breath, eyes fluttering in a delirious state, before erupting again. “‘OUT! Out are the lights—out all! And over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall! Comes down with the rush of a storm.’ Those are the words of your final CONQUEROR! WORM!”

He spun himself over, clutching his gut, the agony met with a howl no one had ever heard from him. Marcus and Sabina clutched each other, Eric furiously trying to undo the door of the garage, but the lock seemed to always slip the key.

“GODDAMMIT, DON’T STAND THERE!” Val shrieked. She slammed herself against the door, Eric joining her before the two burst through. Eric went for his first-aid kit while Valentina dropped to her knees over the gray. She picked his head up and pulled him into her lap. “Dear God, why you?”

Brennus looked up from his bloodshot haze to see her. That pure white-furred face of hers seemed to do the trick alone. She could feel his heartbeat settle, the pulsing slowed. He looked up to her, and sighed.

“It knew,” he said, hushed but plain. “It knew me. And I knew it. He was mine. Dear God in heaven, he was mine. The one who brought me to the ring.”

She did her best to quell her shock. She shuddered slightly before pressing on. “How did you know he was the one?”

Those brown eyes of his flooded with rage before it drained into her arms. “Said he remembered my struggle. He remembered how my body felt. Remembered the stripping, the sedation. Remembered locking me away. Wouldn’t tell me how long I was out, where I was hidden between the day I was abducted to the day I was in the ring. But he knew me. Knew my match, knew my number. He knew me. And that was the only thing I had never thought about.”

Eric returned with a syringe. “You trust me, Brenn?” the old red mechanic asked softly.

“Someone set a record on.” the gray replied. “I need to recenter myself. Meditate. Yes, I need to meditate.”

“You got it.” Val whispered. Eric administered the sedative. Once the needle was taken care of, he helped Val lift her lover up and rest him down on a cot. Eric leapt for his tape deck and pulled out a white cassette. Sure it was rewound, he put it on. It was a delicate cascade of old electronic pianos and the dulcet tones of a Native American flute, an earthy and fluid sound that seemed to fill the air. Brennus drifted off into sleep instantly.

Val looked back to Marcus and Sabina. Her reformed red-furred gladiator was shaken by the display, but came rushing to the white wolf’s side as she went to pieces.

“It’ll all be okay.” he soothed. “He made me fine. Now we’re gonna make him fine. I think it’s all been one big shock, that’s all.”

Sabina walked past the two and towards the work bench. “Is…it still working, Eric?” the Latina asked innocently. The mechanic picked up the head of the android and examined it.

“He pulled a helluva number on it.” he said. “But once we’re all back in order, maybe I can solder those wires back. See if there are any answers left to get.”

Valentina stared blankly at the whole display. At once she thought herself all together, ready to face the greater horrors of the road ahead, only to find the one anchor of her team in the sorriest state he’d ever been in. What had plagued Marc now rended Brennus. And as she sat there, distraught in the gentle red wolf’s leather-cuffed arms, the words of that mysterious hound echoed through her mind.

Keep the balance if you can.

“GODDAMNIT YOU’LL KILL HIM!” she cried in horror. Before her the red wolf flailed in vain, his fists and kicks useless against the flogging of the towering gray's bullwhip. It snapped around the red's neck, the leather clenched tight as the scavenger squeezed and squeezed. He savored every succulent second of pain he brought until the poor bastard's eyes rolled back and his struggle ceased.

The red wolf slumped, his head landing smack on a crack in the highway. His pompadour-like scruff was a mess of bloody fur, dusted by the sudden blast of a tailpipe. The steel-colored machine tore off into the distance, the hyena cackles of the whip-wielder’s cohorts echoing over its mufflerless roar, and the rattle of an overstuffed trailer.

The red’s lover, a slender gray herself, came to his side. By the grace of God, he wasn’t dead, just out cold. Out cold in the middle of the desert, with their beautiful deep-blue Cobra damn-near gutted on the side of the road. She propped up his limp body with her own from under the shoulders, and helped him back to the driver’s seat.

It would be a while before he came through, the long hours dragged by the sun’s ever-creeping descent. All she could think of was everything they had planned and hoped for, all ripped and torn away.

They’d been honest in their forage for iron and steel. It was always the derelicts they asked for, the junkers no one wanted. They had always been decent enough to ask, and twice as decent if the answer was no. And yet, here they found themselves the victim of the very same behavior they so loathed. And it had almost cost them the love of her life.

Just as she thought it was all over, the sun set to kiss the desert soil, she heard a roar of engines, and saw at the head of a metallic pack, a giant beige Humvee. Behind that a Mustang, and behind that a Space Age DeSoto, all too well-kept to be any of her kind, good or bad. And much to her surprise, they were pulling off to the side of the road, right in front of their Cobra.

Valentina was the first out, the red couple Marcus and Sabina, then Brennus.

“Is he alright?” Val asked.

The gray scavenger let out a meek “I don’t know” before going to pieces. Sabina came to tend to the gal while Brennus checked the pulse of the red scavenger.

“I think he’s gonna come around any moment.” he said softly. Sure enough, the scavenger did. “I’ll fucking kill ‘em” were his first words.

Marcus joined Brennus in checking the hound over as he came to. “Kill who?” he asked.

“Glenn Atwood.” he groaned, shaking his head. The scavenger felt his lover fall onto him. “Easy Doll, easy.”

Val hit the couple with two questions. “What you got for names, and what’s this Atwood’s deal?”

“Ed Baxter,” the red replied, running his paws through his bloody scruff. “My gray gal’s Doll Harris. And Glenn Atwood is a punk sonofabitch. The kinda cat you wouldn’t spit on even if you were an inch from him.”

“He the guy who did…this?” Marcus asked innocently, gesturing towards the battered and beaten Cobra. Baxter nodded.

“All the work, all those plans.” Doll wept, the soft hand of her man caressing her gently. “And they almost took him too.”

“With bastards like him on the prowl,” Baxter growled, “No wonder most cats’ll spit on us when they find out we scavenge.” Sure enough, the last word sent Marcus, Sabina, and Val’s ears bristling.

Brennus was quick to calm everyone. “I think we can help you to a mechanic’s shop. And I think, if everyone pulls together, we can fix Mr. Atwood for good.”

Once the sting of the word vanished, all three of the disgusted wolves returned to their senses. “I got a tow-rig on my Hummer.” Val offered.

“And you got a free pick of who to ride with.” Brennus added. “Room in all three. Depends on how you wish to travel.”

“Mind if I ride in your ‘Stang?” Baxter asked. “Ain’t been with a rod like that in a long while.”

Brennus smiled. “Sure thing. Let’s get everyone going.”

Just like that, the Cobra was hooked on Val’s Humvee, and Ed rode shotgun with the kindly gray wolf, his lover sat in the back. The entourage knew just the wolf to take the ride to without getting their heads torn off: Eric.

When they made it to the elder red wolf’s cozy autoshop, now refurbished after their bout with the nanobytes, the grease-furred mechanic welcomed all with open arms, guests very much included. His customary round of coffee helped smooth things over and get everyone talking.

“Cobra ain’t gonna be too bad a fix.” Eric nodded. “Just be glad they ripped at the ornamentals and not the engine. Hell, if they left the pedal assembly and the gearshift, you probably coulda drove here.”

Valentina nodded. “What I want to know is what we can do about that Glenn Atwood. I dealt with enough jack-off scavengers, but I ain’t ever seen a display like this one.”

Marcus started slid his hands into his shorts before coming out with “Well they’re usually all ali—”

“Hold it right there,” Brennus cautioned. “Pick your words wisely.”

The red tugged nervously at his Hawaiian shirt before finishing. “What I mean is, these cats, the kind that go banging on anyone they care to, they usually got go-to hubs. Little compounds out in the middle of nowhere. I’m sure this punk’s got one too.”

Everyone chewed on the thought for a bit before Baxter came to clear the air.

“I get it.” he said, running his thick digits through the quaffed scruff of his head. “I know what all THIS is. I know it because I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t on the bitch-end of it. What WE do is getting what we need the right way, what THEY do is cold-blooded bullshit. We ask nicely, and we can take no for an answer if that’s the final word. The blood on my hands is my blood. My blood because I been doing the right thing every year I been on the road. And if I could, I’d cut every Atwood down to size with a chainsaw.”

Doll tried to soothe her lover, but Baxter was on a roll. “None of this used to be dirty work!” he roared. “Anyone who ever nicked a spare part off a junker was a scavenger. Only difference is now we live on the road. And I’m sick of bastards like Glenn Atwood giving every wayfarer a bad name. So let’s keep it on the level: I’m a junkyard dog, a creep, a hobo, scum, shit, piss, and the fucker everyone wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole! And I’m all that, because of Glenn Atwood.”

For the hunting party, the air was beyond clear.

“Well then,” Brennus nodded. “Let’s nail ‘im to the wall.”

The Cobra now safe with Eric, the team tried to trace Atwood’s steps from the attack the next morning. The wind hadn’t fully wiped the tracks off the sand, so there was plenty of headway to be made, much of it deep off-road.

The scavenging couple rode with Val this time, who had taken quite a shine to them. Helped that Doll was quite the talker. “We had always wanted a Cobra. Everyone goes on about ‘Vettes and ‘Stangs, the big guy here included, but when I popped the idea of a Cobra, Eddie was all over it. There was this sweet old man who gave us the body after we helped fix up his house, we had a buncha parts from all over.” The gray gal was beaming until the thought of their prized pet laid up hit her all over again.

“I think she’ll be a peach when she’s back on her wheels.” Val smiled. “We ain’t gonna let no one get away with what they done to her or you two. Or to the rest of them.”

“You can say that again.” replied Harris. “Only reason we knew him was by the bullwhip. Heard he cut a cat’s head off with it one time.”

Valentina nodded, and opened the Humvee up wide, the cavalcade behind her throttling up in unison. Baxter got a kick out of the leader’s gusto behind the wheel. “Drive just like a rally,” he teased.

“Only way my old man taught me.” the white wolf winked. As the dusty lines dragged on through the bushes and brush, her mind shifted gears. “This is a crapshoot, but any you remember the old blood-and-oil matches? Bots and rods over in the City?”

At first the couple’s faces were blank, but something came to Doll’s mind. “Didn’t…Glenn say somethin’ bout those?”

Ed shook his head. “Just threatened to throw me in one. Don’t mean much since they was on the tube back when I was a kiddo. Went off around the same time. I’m sure he saw ‘em too.”

Val’s jade eyes leapt through the rearview. “What exactly did he say?”

Baxter paused, cocked his head to the roof of the Humvee, and came down with the answer. “‘I will strap you down and let every bot out West rip you apart in the ass-crack of Comm/Ent.’ Something like that.”

“Where you figure that?” the white wolf pressed.

“Beats me.” the red scavenger shrugged. “How bout you darlin?” Doll didn’t know either. Her dead-end line of questioning came just in time for the tracks to vanish. The trio kicked their brakes and swung their cars alongside one another.

Marcus slapped the wheel in defeat before fixing his boxy shades. When he got out of the cream-colored car, something took hold of him. Not a figure or a force, but a scent. A strange, deranged scent. Like grease, blood, and smoking wire.

“Everyone’s rods alright?” he hollered in a panic, feverishly checking over the DeSoto. Val and Brennus hopped out and checked their beasts; both were fine, though Val could begin to smell the grotesque fragrance herself.

All the same, Marcus grew more and more frenzied. Sabina slid out of the Adventurer, both ring-laden hands taking him by the shoulders and pulling her lover close. “Formosa, darling, what is it?” she asked, holding him tight.

He was shaking fiercely until he realized. “None of our rides are flaming, right?” Val and Brennus gathered around him, Ed and Doll following close behind.

“Everyone’s fine.” Brennus reassured. “Your Lady, my stallion, Val’s Hummer, they are all fine.”

Marcus turned his attention to Ed. “Hey. Where did he hit you hardest?”

The red scavenger was confused, but felt himself over. “GYAH—right there oughta do it. Right on my stomach.” he winced.

Marcus leapt towards Baxter, landing on all fours like a frog. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he drank in the scent. Ed recoiled, but not far enough for Marcus to lose the scent.

“He hit ya there alright.” he growled. “I think I got him by the smell.”

When Marcus stood up, he was surrounded by the most baffled looking pack of wolves he’d ever seen.

“Everyone thinks I gone mad again.” he sighed. He fell back onto the driver’s seat and hung his head.

For a moment, no one knew what to do. Of all the abilities heightened by the Colosseum’s wicked conditioning, elevated scent had never reared its head. Valentina turned to Brennus, who simply cocked his head to Marcus. “You can smell it too, can’t you?” he asked with a sniffle in his voice.

The white leader nodded, walking over and lifting his chin. “It’s true Marc, I smell it too. You ain’t the only one.”

When he looked up, that strange boyhood half of his shone through clear as day. Not a madman’s eyes, not the eyes of the beast when enraged; that rare gentle light that always filled them whenever made something he was proud of or when he held his lover near. “I just never had it ever hit me like that before.” he sighed. “You think it’s something to go on though, right? I ain’t gone off?”

Val gave pause to the thought before answering. “Have Sabina drive. You keep your head out the window and lead the way. Focus all your attention on it. If you’re sensing it so effortlessly now, putting your back into it ought to help us get our man.”

Val got up and let Sabina sit down next to her husband. “Marcus, mi amor, look at me.” The red-furred Latina guided his gaze into her loving eyes. “You just let it get hold of you too much. You have a terrific gift. And we want your help through it. You just have to control yourself.”

She held him tight before sliding him into the passenger seat and climbing behind the wheel. The red couple put on a brave face, and the rest of the hunting party returned to their rides.

When Doll and Ed had returned to the Humvee, there were certainly questions to be had, to which Val regaled the duo of their plight. The torture, the prisons, the black-eyed devils who enabled it all. And at the end, she left the scavengers with a word of warning: “What we are is beyond feral. We don’t know what it means. It is what we live with, him and I. Pray he can keep using it for good. I wouldn’t know what to do with him if he went completely mad.”

The couple were left praying for the length of the chase, the determined hunters now led by a wretched scent.

The DeSoto veered wildly on Marcus’ order, the red working hard to keep his new-found radar on the mark. Sabina, for her part, was as faithful as she could be, her husband finding himself getting closer and closer to the scent. Val and Brennus kept up with the blind chase.

“You think he’s really on it?” Baxter hollered over the Humvee’s roar.

The white-furred huntress nodded. “Contrary to that display, he’s sharp as a tack. A keen eye for detail, and now a keen scent.”

“It’s funny.” Doll added. “Glenn said the Cobra smelled nice. Wonder how far off he was when he smelled ‘er.”

For the moment, Val didn’t dwell on the thought. She hadn’t time to; the compound of Glenn Atwood was in-sight. And while Marcus’ idea of the compound were the usual tents and rods, hurtling into view for all to see was a true compound. One of rusting metal and withering concrete, a private fortress all its own. The kind one could easily set up shop in.

Valentina waved off Sabina, who let off the throttle and let the great sand-colored machine rush past. “If you ain’t already, buckle up” were her last words before the hammer came down again, hands gripping the wheel and claws sunk deep in the leather of her caligae sandals. Closer came the great metal door. In the brief flashes of her mind’s eye, the gate of the Colosseum stood there. Her heel lifted, her grip tightened, her jade eyes could’ve melted through steel.

Off the hinges it came in a deafening crack. She pounced on the brake with both paws, Brennus and Sabina following suit in their cars. What greeted them in the compound was a sight of pure horror. Like a morgue tipped on its side, dead wolven raiders lay all over the encampment’s floor. Stranger still, upon further inspection was that not a drop of metal remained on anyone. Neither necklace nor button were safe, only the rebar in the very walls holding these souls in.

Doll and Ed could hardly bear the sight, but when the red scavenger did, he realized who had been killed. “He did them in. By God, he killed his own crew!” It was a girl in particular that drew his attention, and the sight of a single, devastating wound, carved into her bulbous, lifeless stomach. Doll clutched her own in horror. Marcus and Sabina held each other tight. “His own bitch too.” Baxter seethed.

Then came an engine’s rev echoing from behind the compound’s wall.

“Someone ain’t getting out of this easy!” Marcus roared. He leapt back behind the wheel of the Adventurer, Sabina followed close behind, and whipped out and around, leading the charge as the steel-plated Mercury went racing off into the desert. When all three of the hunters’ rides had caught up to each other, Atwood paid them all no mind. He kept his boot down, and his mind at ease, his machine made completely metallic, from the wheels to the furnishings. It wasn’t until he felt the bang of the cream-colored DeSoto on his bumper that he started playing with his new toys. He’d take them off-road, on-road, and off again, he’d give them free reign to fire on him, just to take the chance away with a cut of the wheel. It carried on like this all down the stretch of highway.

Val swung herself out the window of the Humvee, firing at the Mercury’s wheels with her Mars, only to find them impervious to the electric lead. Sabina tried the couple’s buckshot, but to no avail. All Marcus could do was keep his paw down and not let the gray ghoul out of his sight, left waiting for just the wrong move.

It came with a single turn of the wheel. The silver convertible’s wheels locked and the car went tumbling into a roll, the Mercury finally resting on its wheels. Atwood got out, dazed but unfazed, and shook it off. All three cars came to a dead stop. The women had their guns trained on Atwood, while the men got out to hold the hound down. Before they did anything, there were some questions in need of answers.

“This all you wanted that for?” Brennus said, pointing to the upturned car. “You were willing to waste your own posse for it.”

“Not just for her.” Atwood grinned. “For me.” He threw both Marcus and Brennus off of him. The gray wolf smiled, popping his jacket and puffing up his chest. “I need it. The way I’m now. I need it. I can drink it, eat it, but it needs to be inside me if I want to keep on living.

“You ain’t an android?” Marcus growled, blood dripping out the corner of his mouth.

“Just augs.” Atwood grinned. “Might as well be. Who wants to try me? You could’ve run me down, but I got you here, so let’s just go for it.”

Ed Baxter, without a moment’s hesitation, socked the metal hound one in the jaw, only to take two in the gut. Brennus charged on Atwood, his martial skills put to the test in a flurry of kicks and punches before diving into a full-on wrestling match. Atwood found the upper-hand and threw Brennus against the grill of his own Mustang, the thin gray hunter left gasping for air.

Just when Val and Sabina were ready to shoot their way to his weak spot, there came a horrific, savage growl.

It was Marcus. His teeth were barred, his body tensed and shivering, and his claws sharp as blades. He threw his Hawaiian shirt and shades off and onto the DeSoto’s hood. With the brown leather of his gladiator sandals and the beige of his shorts, he cut a barbarian’s profile under the desert sun. “Let me at him” was all the women needed to hear before the red wolf dove onto the metal scavenger.

He throttled him with primal fists and foaming jaws. The metal he bent and tore, and the flesh and fur he shredded. And for all of Atwood’s strength, no matter how many times he slammed the red wolf down on the road, kicked his head, or tried to break an arm or leg, Marcus kept coming back.

When Atwood made the mistake of throwing Marcus against his silver machine, the red wolf grabbed the bullwhip flung from its hook on the shotgun-side door. He unfurled it, and found, there on the grip, a button. He switched it on and heard a buzz. He looked up to Atwood, who realized what the red had learned.

In a single, blistering crack, Atwood let out a metallic howl as his body arched back and convulsed from the electricity. He dropped to the road with a thud. Marcus leapt on him, a knee jammed deep in Atwood's crimson-soaked back, and bloodied paws wrapped around his neck. His muscles bulged as he pulled with all his might. In a short, swift twist, Atwood's head came free and Marcus leapt to his feet in a roar of gladiatorial triumph. The electric raider's head and synthetic spine dangled in the desert sun.

When Marcus looked up to the severed head of the scavenger, he was met with a face that made his blood run cold; the face of a guard. One of the black-eyed devils, those cruel, torturous machines, sat in the blood-stained hands of the feral red hunter. He dropped the head down on the crack of the highway and curled in on himself. He began to weep, a frenetic cry mixing horror, joy, and rage that left the wolf inconsolable, and his Latin lover distraught.

In the heat of his rage, he had unearthed another horrifying discovery; the warriors of the Colosseum were out in the desert. And he had slain one. One of perhaps hundreds. As Val and Brennus joined in trying to snap their friend out of his shock, only one thought came racing across the white wolf’s mind:

The Hunt was back on.

“If secrets had weight, this prick’s loaded.”

With Marcus’ last grunt, he and Brennus set the strange mechanized screen down on the work bench with a thud. The red and gray wolves mopped their brows and gathered themselves. Eric stood by, impressed with the find, while the women were off to the side.

Though Sabina was amused by the three-ring circus, a perpetual glower sat on Val’s face, aimed at the machine. Her trance was broken by the jingling of bracelets as Sabina rubbed her shoulder. “Take it easy, my dear. You’re bound to burst a valve staring that hard.”

“If only you had telepathy Val,” chuckled Marcus, tugging at his aloha shirt to cool off, “Bren and I wouldn’t have had to haul this sucker.”

The white wolf relieved herself of the baited breath. She felt the pat of Eric’s hand on her back.

“I know it’s quite the first clue,” he said, “But it’s here, it’s with us now, and now we get to pry it open and see what makes it tick.”

And pry they did, Eric dissecting the machine with precision and skill. In a way, they were a magician’s hands doing the work, careful and slight. The hunters looked on, mesmerized, the strange device emptied before their eyes. At the end of it all was a massive motherboard tucked behind the screen. Entangled entrails of wires laid strewn about as Eric dismounted the board.

“She’s primitive, but she turns the trick I bet,” he said. He had emptied the servos from the long, slender arms that had been dangling at the thing’s side. The digits and palms were all coated in a strange, faux-fur texture. “Like doll’s hair,” Eric ruminated as he continued his disassembly.

Val went to feel its palm. The second the pads of her paws touched the fabricated hand, she tensed into a shiver, falling back into Marcus and Brennus who caught her. She didn’t pass out, but a horrible shock rolled right through her.

“Easy my love.” Brennus soothed. “It’s dead. It can’t hurt you.”

Her gray lover’s gentle touch and demeanor slowly pulled her from near-catatonia. Marcus went to touch the machine’s hand, only for Val to stop him. “Don’t! Just don’t.”

He obeyed without hesitation.

Eric locked up the arms in the work desk drawer, a broken-up miniature hover engine following behind. “Besides,” he continued, “We’ve got bigger fish to fry with this sucker. Sabina dear, grab that remote mouse. The one on the computer desk.”

The red-furred Latina brought it over, Eric quickly plugging the receiver into a port on the motherboard before reassembling the back of the screen. “Should be safe to tap into, I imagine its creators loaded up a basic menu for quick and dirty programming.”

He pulled an old keyboard from out of another desk drawer. He went to plug it in, only for none of the ports to work.

“Either it’s rudimentary or we’re in deep shit.” Marcus said, pulling Sabina close.

“Try primitive as a flint-and-steel,” Brennus gasped.

The four wolves leaned in as Eric surveyed the screen. It was a simple menu, basic items laid out in black-and-green, but with item numbers beyond deciphering. The cursor moved line-by-line, highlighting items such as:

213890-27% - Y-N
213786-51% - Y-N
213879-97% - Y-N

“Someone jot this stuff down,” Eric ordered.

Her hands now steady, Valentina pulled a pad and pen off the computer desk and wrote everything down as fast as she could. “What does it mean?”

“Means they don’t want us to know a thing,” came Marcus’ bitter reply.

Eric nodded gently. “That, or it’s just a different coding language, not designed for anything beyond its single purpose. Confusion might be a piece of the puzzle, but these look like calculations to me, the percentages being the tip-off. And Y-N isn’t anything cryptic either: ‘Yes or No.’”

“So it has a question to answer for every calculation?” Sabina asked.

The red mechanic smiled. “Query: what are some common factors you see here, besides those previously stated?”

The hunters looked long and hard at the string of menu items.

“All the numbers begin with 213,” they chimed in unison.

Eric clicked and dragged, selecting the first three numbers of “213879-97%,” and with a right-click came a drop-down menu. The menu made no mention of the numbers, but gave four commands:

Code: 000-N
Code: 001-Y
Code: 002-X
Code: 003-SEO

“Another decision to be made,” Eric said. “Can you guess what SEO means?”

It was Sabina who made the connection. “Sanguis et Oleum.”

Just as Eric clicked on Option 003, a string of numbers flashed on the screen with the word SEND at the end of the line.

“We got coordinates!” barked Eric. Val’s hand flew across the pad of paper trying to jot them all down.

“Almost there, almost—”

BANG!

The machine went up in blinding fireworks of sparks and smoke, all five wolves sent flying backwards.

“Quick, the extinguishers!” barked Brennus. The red couple were on it, Sabina darting for the red canister and throwing it to Marcus, who pulled the pin and doused the flaming monitor. The fire never stood a chance. But to Val, it was all up in smoke.

Eric and Brennus helped her to her feet. “Look at me,” Eric said softly. At first, she could only see the dusted ruins of her find. Then the red mechanic took her head in his hands and pulled her to face him. Her jade eyes were glazed over.

“That little machine just gave us more than you realize.”

Still nothing.

“It has taught us HOW,” he said firmly. “In fact, let’s go to the real computer and punch in those half-written coordinates. If they don’t tell ya where the last find was, they might tell you where that find is heading…The Colosseum.”

She looked to him, then to the pad clutched in her hand. Her white-furred fingers uncurled, and at last she realized. She handed it to Eric as Brennus took her in his arms.

“I know it’s happening all so fast,” the gray wolf soothed. “But we did something incredible here and—”

She hushed him, looking up to meet his warm brown eyes. “I just needed a moment, Beautiful. Thanks for giving it to me.”

They embraced as Eric fired up his computer and navigated to his geolocater. Everyone gathered themselves and looked over the mechanic’s shoulder.

“The latitude, 33°26.9028’ N,” read Eric as he typed. “That’s in line with Haven alright! And I know we didn’t get the full number, but let’s try 110°39' 19…”

Eric trailed off, the smile withering from his face.

“What’s wrong Eric?” Marcus asked.

The old machine’s fans whizzed as the application ran with the information, and soon, a point appeared on a flat-white map. Everyone stared stunned at the screen; it wasn’t Haven.

“Machine’s GPS was still live.” Eric sighed. “Close the doors, grab your guns, and file the three rides in. Might’ve just set Hell loose on ourselves.”

Like wildfire they moved, the hunters bringing their rides into the garage and double-checking their guns. Whatever was coming, no one would take it lying down, and all would see to the closing of their Pandora’s box.

If it could be closed.

The night had come and gone without incident, the hatches still battened down at Eric’s Garage, and all four wolves put up on cots in the office.

“Rise and shine Warriors,” came his cheerful call, “We got four cups of black brew with your names on it.”

The smell alone brightened the spirits of all as, one by one, each rose. First Sabina was peeling herself off of Marcus’ body, the red wolves nuzzling each other before getting up. “You make a mighty nice pillow, Formosa,” she teased.

Val had slept alongside Brennus, the gray having fallen asleep with his arms around her. The white wolf nibbled playfully at his ear before the two got up and got dressed. And while everyone were having their coffee, taking a moment to refresh themselves with all they had learn, a slight whir came in on the desert wind. Everyone’s ears perked instinctively, but no one paid it much mind.

Until it drew nearer.

The whirring became a buzz, and the buzz into a static, the sound of a radio on the fritz. And when the five wolves pulled themselves from their review, the sight that greeted them was mesmerizing, and terrifying. As if a channeless fuzz had leapt off a television, a cloud came buzzing furiously upon the garage. Mouths agape and eyes wide as a canyon, the hunters looked on at the swarm.

“Nanobytes.” Eric grimaced.

“I’ve never seen so many.” Val replied.

The red mechanic flicked a switch which set the garage humming; his answer to the monolithic hive as it drew nearer and nearer.

The hum came from the posts surrounding the garage. Invisible arcs of electric power coming to a point above the building. Many of the cybernetic fleas began to spark and shimmer, falling dead into the dust, the popping and crackling growing louder and louder as more and more came from the horde.

At first, it looked like it would hold. Then came more. More and more and more. Darker and darker the light grew as more and more came to rest in a crystalline grave of sand and the growing mountain of them. When the last ounce of the sun’s light was blotted out, then came the awful snap.

The shield blew out and sent what seemed like millions of the grotesque electric flies cascaded down around the garage, covering everything within the shield’s field of protection. And not all were dead.

“Quick, hit the footswitches and stand back!” Eric barked. “They’re at every door.”

Sabina and Marcus tapped the ones by the garage doors, Brennus got the front door, and Valentina the back. Eric flipped another switch, and the electric hum came back on once more. The hunters drew their guns as the wall of black beads came rushing in towards the room once more. At first, the defenses held, the nasty little machines falling as they had just before. Only this too wasn’t to last.

Slowly, as the nanobytes began to build up underneath the doors, spilling in like coffee grinds from an upturned pot, the mounds began to vibrate and shutter. Everyone backed away into the center of the room. Sabina grabbed for the fire extinguisher while Brennus leapt for two large blades on a work bench.

“You think the doors will give way?” the Latina asked.

Eric shook his head. “No, but those micro-bodies will.”

“What happens if this many get on you at once?” Marcus asked.

Brennus looked to the red couple solemnly. “I’ve only seen that happen once. It took more than a shower in the Elec Tube to clean the body for burial.”

The gravity of it all now instilled, the hounds waited. The crackle of the bodies grated their ears as their mindless brethren heaved and shoved, until

SNAP!

The floodgates opened as the black mass raced through in a roar of shrill buzzing. Between the sawed-off, the Auto Mag, the Mars, the room glittered like the back of a compact disc, the rainbowesque laser-fire cutting down as many of the nanobytes as it could. Sabina froze them out with short blasts of the extinguishers while squashing others with the bottom of the can. Brennus sliced through the air, halving arcs of electric insects in swift, clean cuts. They all drove the bugs away from the center, but not away from the house.

Slowly, they came rolling up the walls. They took to the workbenches, the windows, the tool racks. The walls went black, thousands of the synthetic wasps filling the room, nestled in every nook, cranny, corner, and edge.

“They’re gonna cut off the air!” Val warned. The room grew darker and darker, the walls lined inside and out with nanobytes. One by one, the team began to gasp for air. Marcus and Sabina held each other tight, Brennus and Val searching for one another in the growing dark before finally meeting. They could each feel one another, their hearts beating slower and slower as, with a final spark of electric anguish, the lights went out.

Darkness. Nothing but the cruel void filled with a fuzz-filtered chorus of grasshopper chirps that could strip paint. Two couples, five friends, all left to die in a tomb of Wasteland filth.

Then came a violent ZAP!

Plasma, the deepest shade of purple imaginable, roared out from the center of the room in all directions. Electric arcs missed the hunters’ heads by millimeters as the windows blew out, ejecting thousands of black bugs. The plasma extended into the forcefield, the deafening shriek of the nanobytes now a shock wave.

The lights came back on. There stood Valentina, Brennus, Marcus and Sabina up to their knees in nanobytes. Dead nanobytes. Eric was in the pile too, stood in the center of the room. And while the hunters leapt out of it in disgust, quick to undo their sandals and empty themselves of every wretched creature that had fallen into their pockets and under their heels, he didn’t move. His breath was heavy, nostrils flared, eyes afire with rage, the whites of them faintly tinted the color purple. It was only after looking around and realizing the final blow dealt that he could quell his fury, the whites becoming white once more.

“Well,” he sighed. “These devils aren’t gonna clean themselves out.”

The funeral pyre was well underway as the hunters gathered around their mechanical Mage’s microscope.

“Always wanted to see one up close.” Eric said, adjusting focus. “Never bothered fishing them out of the Tube when I’m done showering. Now I never have to.”

It was strange. It truly was an insect, but through the microscope, the metal endoskeleton could be seen clear through the shell, the tiny metallic rods that granted it movement were fashioned from sterling silver. Eric gave each hunter a chance to look. Marcus was fascinated, Brennus curious, and Sabina revolted.

Val could only stare. “Why all of these for that one damned box?” she growled.

Brennus turned to look to Eric, the gentlemen having come to a peculiar conclusion the others were not privy to.

“‘I will bring locusts into your country tomorrow,” Brennus began. “‘They will cover the face of the ground so that it cannot be seen. They will devour what little you have left after the hail, including every tree that is growing in your fields.

“‘They will fill your houses,” continued Eric, “‘and those of all your officials and all the Egyptians. Something neither your parents nor your ancestors have ever seen from the day they settled in this land till now.’”

“Book of Exodus?” Brennus quizzed.

“Chapter 10, Verses 3 through 6.” nodded the red mechanic. “If it’s a goddess with which you deal, she will use that power to whatever ends she deems worthy.”

“But why!?” barked Valentina.

“Locusts bring death on all whom cross their path.” Eric explained. “They take away every chance at living. Crops, the earth, the air. But nanobytes are a byproduct of A.C.E.S and any decay within her eco-system. They are the dead, the dying. The only thing left after it all fails. Therefore…”

Silence hung in the room before Valentina surmised. “They were what’s left of those roving machines. We caught the last of the abductors.”

Eric nodded. “So it means there won’t be any more kidnappings via machine. Or at least via these.”

“But there’s still so much out there, I know it, I just—”

“This trail is the only one that ends.” the red mechanic said. “There are many more to traverse. I think it’s time you all pack up and get ready for them.”

They did so, loading up their rides and getting ready for the road. Before she got behind the wheel, Val sat down with Eric in the garage.

“You got any idea where to take this all next?” she asked.

Eric nodded. “Well…I see two options. Number 1. You march on that crazy neon town out West. Number 2. You keep scraping up more about procurement. They couldn’t have just been using machines, because even then they weren’t as purpose-built like our little tube TV here. Maybe it’s time our hunters start looking for the folks who came for the big game.”

It was the openness of it all that frightened her, but when she saw Eric smile, she knew something big was going to give. Never how, only that it was possible.

The last she’d see of Eric for a while was him waving goodbye to the cavalcade, and vanishing into the shadows of the garage.

They were on their own once more.

The rev and roar of the bikes bled their ears drier than the dust, the sun strobing as each passed the boarded windows. The white wolves huddled in the shack’s center. The man of the house, a thin homesteader in plaid and denim, held the rifle tight in his fist as he thumbed the tears from his wife and boy’s eyes.

“Ain’t no one gon’ hurt us, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Josiah, be careful,” the wife pleaded.

His only answer was the sweetest kiss they ever shared. Whatever Josiah Sumner met on the other side of the door, he was prepared to fight it to the last. He walked up to the door and gave a final look through the keyhole.

Streaks of black and red whizzed by long enough for him to see who they were.

“Got-damned scavengers,” he muttered to himself.

He loaded the rifle and went for the handle, when a sudden volley of laser-fire came rocketing around the house. He readied his gun as quickly as he could, taking one last peak through the keyhole to see.

“They ain’t shootin’ at us?”

From beyond the threshold of the lock came thin lines of orange knocking wolf and machine down in an instant, the scavengers returning fire, but to no avail. Those that weren’t dead were tucking tail and bucketing away. The last dog, white with grizzled fur, cried out, “THIS AIN’T THE END SUMNER! TELL THEM GOONS JUST SO, YOU SONOFABITCH!”

He didn’t know what to do. Josiah slumped down against the door, looking to his woman and child with a foreign gaze.

“They’re gone, right Pa?” the boy asked.

The white wolf snapped out of it and sat back down with them.

“They’re gone Chet, they’re gone.”

Suddenly, a voice rang out from outside. A softer, feminine voice. “It’s alright folks, we ain’t with ‘em.” There was at once courage and a quiver of fear on her tongue. The quiver grew to a shiver in a male’s voice.

“We saw you were in a spot, and came to help!”

Josiah went up to the door and barked loudly.

“I want names! I want ‘em now.”

He looked through the keyhole to see four wolves. A pair of reds, one gray, and one white. They were a strange sandal-footed crew. The reds were dressed like tourists, with their exotic shirts and shorts, the gray like a beatnik with his black long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and the white like a ramble-on hippie, with loose-fitting blue denim and a brown belt. It wasn’t exactly a sight that instilled confidence.

“The name’s Valentina,” the white wolf started, “This here’s Brennus, Marcus, and Sabina. We ain’t here to hurt you, honest.”

The father sighed as he unlocked the door, the bright light of the desert sun filling the room.

“Guess I gotta start with thank you, don’t I?”

After Hell Patrol had came and went, the dead dragged off to meet a pauper’s grave, all four were welcomed into the Sumner home. The wife, Elisa, poured each a cold drink.

“Where y’all folks from?” Josiah asked.

“Little ways further West,” Valentina started, “Been on a hunt.”

“Like for boars and bears?” the giddy Chet asked.

“Sorta,” she chuckled. “It’s a…bit more personal than that.”

“We’re laying traps.” Marcus added. “We proof-proofed ‘em, made ‘em all magnetic too.”

“Trappin’ bots?” Josiah chuckled.

Brennus grew quite serious. “Yes and no. We’re not sure how much of them is organic and how much is android.”

“Been about three days on the road, so far.” Sabina chimed in. “Still nothing, por dios.”

Elisa grinned. “Jo knows it best, huntin’ ain’t for the impatient.”

“I’m learning though!” the Latina perked up. “A pretty good school to learn from too.” She wrapped her arms around Marcus, playfully pecking at his cheek.

Josiah still looked skeptical. “So you’re not sure what it is you’re catching, just that you want it caught, hmph?”

Valentina shot him a cold look. “To level with you sir, we’re after a kidnapper. We figure he might be in the area. Takes both ride and rider. We just don’t know if he’s a ‘droid or not.”

Elisa pulled Chet close to her, Josiah sighing defeatedly. “If thems rebel-rousers wasn’t enough.”

Brennus looked curious. “Begging pardon sir, but who exactly were these people?”

The white wolf grumbled as he slid out of his suede vest. “Liz and I rock a Cougar. Gal’s out back. Gets us everywhere we gotta be. I know us down-homers don’t look like artistic types, but I’m a cameraman. Went on a drive, cooling my jets when I stopped to snap a couple of shots of the landscape. Little did I know we had a pack of scavengers rolling our way. They start going for her like I wasn’t even there, and I whip around and fire a warning shot with my Remington. Shot didn’t take so I dropped one of ‘em on the spot. Rest went running scared, I jumped back in her and hightailed it home. Did everything to make sure they didn’t tail me, and for a while, they were all yesterday’s news. ‘Til just about now.”

Valentina looked to her team, all three wolves staring right back at her. The four nodded before turning their attention back to the Sumners.

“How four extra sets of hands, guns, and rods sound?” Val offered.

Josiah and Elisa couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“Are you folks all bent in the head?” he barked. “Them’s a standing army right there, just damned lucky you even shook ‘em off.”

“But we shook ‘em,” Marcus shot back. “Lord did we shake ‘em! Mister, we are not trafficking in diplomacy. We promised ourselves the second we set out on this to help anyone who needed it, and I see three folks who’ve got a cannonful of crap, pardon my French, heading your way!”

The red-furred barbarian shivered furiously, Sabina doing her best to soothe him.

Josiah took a deep breath. “It ain’t that I don’t want the help…I don’t need no one dying on my account. Not no more.”

Val wanted to ask, but she hushed her crew instead. “We ain’t gonna. We’re skilled. And we’re capable. And we ain’t doing ourselves any favors by twiddling thumbs and pretending like we have a full trap to run off to. We ain’t with Hell Patrol, we ain’t with the Force. We’re out here for our own sake, and the sake of any who need us. We won’t help if you don’t want us to, but I want to see that boy grow up into a man.”

She turned to look at the soft-eyed child. “I betcha you want to see the world with Ma and Pa one day, right Son?”

He shook his head, gladly, Elisa smiling a distant, knowing smile. “I say we let ‘em Jo. I figure they’re good people.”

They looked to one another before Josiah looked back at his son. “Whaddya say Partner? Think they can do it?”

“Bet my bottom dollar.” he nodded.

He tousled his son’s fur playfully. “Alright Sport, let’s try ‘em on for size,” extending his hand, and shaking on it with Val, Marcus, Sabina, and Brennus. Even if his head was still unsure, Sumner’s gut told him he was working with the right people. Now they had to prove it.

The sun had finally set, Elisa having cooked for the visiting crew. Marcus proved quite the entertainer, regaling young Chet with tales of adventure he and Sabina had been on, while Val and Brennus talked with the parents on some of the truth of their plight, having grown comfortable with the family.

“We’ve so many questions unanswered,” Val sighed. “We tried coming up with every plan of attack, but it’s like trying to catch a ghost in the palm of your hand.”

Brennus pulled Val closer to him. “We figure this kidnapper might be able to give us an inkling of what we’re up against.”

“Mighty sorry it happened to you three.” said Josiah. “There is a little trinket of info I can give you on the thing’s front end.”

Val was all ears at the very thought, leaning in close. Brennus gently brought her back to his side before the father went on.

“I was a kiddo when they did, but for about…ten years or so, they broadcast ‘em terrestrial. The sangy-et…”

“Sanguis et Oleum, Señor.” Sabina chimed in.

“Gracias. But yeah, they showed them over-the-air. Anyone with an antenna and a TV could see the matches, as well as the full-length programming blocks from Comm/Ent in Haven.”

Val looked to Brennus sharply. “Why didn’t Eric tell us?”

The gray wolf smiled gently before saying, “Honey, that dog hasn’t touched a screen in the ten years I’ve known him.”

The Sumners chuckled at the thought. “Besides that,” Elisa added, “They stopped all broadcasts about five years before then. Eric wouldn’t have had the chance. How’s my favorite mage, anyhow?”

“He’s ferrying us on this voyage,” Brennus replied. “Great health, staying fit as a fiddle.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Very good.”

“What’d you mean by mage?” Val asked.

Elisa looked rather surprised at the question. “He’s got a bit of a reputation as more than a medicine man.”

Josiah chimed in with his best campfire horror voice. “Some say he has the ability to levitate, read minds, predict the future, and cure the blind!”

“Josiah Edwin Sumner, you cut that out!” Elisa scolded. “He is a very spiritually minded man. Just has a special way about it is all.”

“Babe, babe, c’mere.” her husband coaxed. She came to rest in his lap where she looked him in his sweet brown eyes. “I didn’t mean nothing by it Darling.” he smiled. “Besides, you should hear him after a good ale at a card table. He’d tell you the same thing, and the way he tells it, I believe him.”

She couldn’t stay mad if she tried, the two pecking at each other sweetly. Val and Brennus snickered between each other before turning to look at Marcus and Sabina and the worn-out Chet.

“El niño está muy cansado,” she whispered, cradling the boy in his arms. Mrs. Sumner hopped off her man’s lap and scooped him up from Sabina.

“Natural born mother,” Elisa smiled. “I’m surprised either pairs of you haven’t had kids yet.”

“We ain’t rushing things,” Val snickered, looking to Brennus coyly.

Sabina blushed, a flutter in her voice. “It’s not been for…for lack of…trying.”

Elisa looked to her as she tucked Chet in, coming back beside the red wolf as her lover held her dear.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Part of it’s me, Ma’am,” Marcus added as he hushed Sabina, “We don’t know how much of the change is genetic. Anything coulda happened in the blackout. She miscarried some, but we ain’t felt safe trying after my time in the ring. I ain’t always this together.”

Elisa held both reds’ hands, thumbing each as she tried to find the words. “You are so young yet. You got plenty more time to try. No matter the hurdle, just don’t give it up.”

Sabina dried her eyes and smiled. “Thank you so much, Señora.”

Josiah looked upon the crowd in his home. “I think, considering where Chet’s at, everyone catch some shuteye. Our outlook notwithstanding.” He shook hands with Val, the first of the crew to be on watch duty.

“Yessir.”

With that, Sabina and Marcus piled into their DeSoto and Brennus into his Mustang. Everyone locked their doors. Val stayed back for a cup of coffee.

“Brewed this up cowpoke style,” Josiah smiled, “Strongest I could.”

It was a cup of Joe built to kill, and she loved every drop. They sat for a while on the swinging chair outside of the cabin, to give the Missus a chance to sleep.

“Truth be told, you ain’t the hunting type.” he started. “But you sure got the tenacity for it.”

“I’m doing this so no one else has to go through it,” she said between sips. “Marcus is about the worst off, I’m a close second, and Brennus is the only man who’s got it all on a leash. But even he said it took ‘em a good long while to deprogram.”

“Why don’t you guys?”

“His answer was selective amnesia. You can’t end what you can’t remember. And even then, he only remembers the damn thing being called ‘Aremort,’ so now we got to fit that piece in the jigsaw.”

Josiah nodded. “Well, wish you all the best. And thank you. I know I’s been a bit cold about things, pay that no mind. This shit’s made for a long day. And I don’t want it to go on any longer for my wife and boy.”

“If they don’t come ‘round in three days time,” Val promised. “We’ll leave y’all to it.”

They shook on it as the white wolves parted ways. But before she got too far, he flung the keys her way. The chain hit the ground as she stopped to look. She was puzzled.

“If they’s after anything, best be in the thing they’s after.” Josiah said.

Val saluted and took the keys. Walking around to the back of the cabin, it was there she met the Cougar. She was a ‘67 in maroon, automatic; a true classic. She slid behind the wheel, the window facing the desert beyond. She rested her sandalled paws on the pedals while looking her pistol over. Her Mars had served her well all this time, and she had a feeling it would tonight.

Before settling in as lookout, she decided to pull the Cougar out front, seeing as the front door was the scavengers’ only way in. With a twist of the key, and a few gentle revs, the cat slunk out of the overhang to stand guard over the Sumner home.

When Josiah saw her parking the beast, he went to protest, but those jade eyes alone reassured him as she turned the engine off. He went to sleep without another word spoken.

Val enjoyed looking into the night from behind the Cougar’s wheel.

“I can see why they love you so,” she smiled, stroking the wheel. “You make anyone feel right at home.”

At first, the hours crawled by. No light safe for the stars, and no motion safe for the rustling of her crew in slumber. She could hear a little shaking coming from the DeSoto, but the smiling Adventurer wasn’t telling any tales with her tinted windows.

She turned her attention back to the land. East, West, North, South; all barren, only distant hills and splashes of greenery silhouetted by the starlight of the New Moon. Until, a single spec of white darted across the horizon. The land-bound shooting star was gone as soon as it appeared. Val figured it must’ve been a trick of light, especially since it wasn’t coming their way. However, the seven that followed would.

Valentina cocked her ears towards the grumbling and revving horde of engines. Three of the lights revealed themselves to be bikes, but the other four came in the form of two cars. All were roaring their way towards the Sumner home.

She whipped out her pocket radio, clicking three times before saying “Ignis, Ignis. Everyone up.”

“Incendo,” answered Brennus.

“Incendo,” answered Marcus.

Quick as she could, Val fired up the Cougar and slipped her back behind the Sumner home. As she darted back to the Hummer, she could see the scavengers drawing near. The second she climbed into the cab of her beige behemoth, she sent a final message on the radio.

“Malleo eos.”

She turned the key, Brennus and Marcus following suit, their six lights flashing in the dark and sent flying towards the seven. The scavengers knew once they saw them.

“IT’S SUMNER’S GOONS, KILL ‘EM!” cried the white biker.

The fire in Valentina grew, the cruel feral twist came screaming out of her as she threw the throttle to the ground, claws digging into the leather of her caligae as she steered the Hummer directly into the path of the scavengers. The bikers were quick to move. The cars were not.

The engines scrunched and buckled as she barreled through them, blood staining the windshields from within. A fireball ripped through each car as the Hummer kept forging ahead, pushing the two away from the house as far as the ride could take them.

The bikers came for the Mustang and Adventurer. Two black bikers eyed the DeSoto, rearing up on their wheels before slamming their weight into both sides. Marcus pinned his foot to the floor as Sabina readied the gun. The bikers got the red wolf swerving behind the wheel as he tried to shake them off. Back and forth, back and forth their Lady rocked and revved, trying to shake the twin-V fleas off her back. Sabina slapped the window crank, the handle spinning madly as the window raced down. The shotgun-side biker met both twin barrels as she blew his head off. Marcus spun his around as Sabina tossed him the sawed-off.

“Vale Canis,” he spat as he pulled the trigger, the other biker sent hurtling off into the distance as Marcus slammed the brakes and swung their Lady around.

Brennus gunned for the white wolf the second he got close, only for the rider to completely blow past him.

The gray hopped on the radio. “Headcat’s eyeing the Cougar.”

Both the DeSoto and the Hummer spun around and went racing back towards the cabin. There stood Josiah Sumner, shotgun in hand as the white biker raced fiendishly towards him. His laser-powered Remington took shot after shot, only for the biker to weave his way around them. Shots to the bike, body, and head, all missed. And when the white biker came around, it wasn’t the father he took aim at.

In his hand was a machine gun, its barrel aimed at the shack. With a single spray of electric lead, he could riddle the house, Elisa, and Chet into an afghan of splintered wood and bloodied fur. He raised the gun, and as he went to fire...

BANG!

Josiah blasted the gun clean out of his hand. The shock gave Brennus enough time to swing in and knock him off the bike. The bike fell into Val’s path, where she tore over it, its gas tank detonating as she did. The white biker’s head fell right under the DeSoto’s wheel. Marcus punched the button for 4th on the gearshift panel and slammed his paw down on the accelerator. The scavenger wouldn’t be coming back from the mess he made of him.

When the three rides returned, Josiah stood both horrified and grateful, only for his smile to sour upon seeing the state of Val and Marcus as they exited the vehicles. Marcus was trembling, stumbling over himself as Sabina propped him up and sat him back in the driver’s seat, unbuttoning his Aloha shirt and resting her head on his chest.

Valentina was no better, tripping onto the desert floor as she exited the Hummer. Josiah and Brennus leapt out to help her up, resting her on her ride’s running board as her gray lover checked her pulse. He rested his head on her chest, her breath growing heavy before, finally, relaxing. Her pulse slowed, and at last, she was back in control of herself. They embraced, as did Marcus and Sabina.

Josiah could only look on, stunned. “What is all this?”

Brennus looked to him, “A hell of the mind. A hell we try to use for good.”

The morning brought with it a cool air. Elisa fixed the biggest breakfast she ever had for the team. Hell Patrol had already been and gone to scrape up the remains, and the more honorable scavengers came to pilfer the wrecked metals. But within that quiet little cabin, Chet was being spun the biggest yarn of his young life by the chipper Marcus.

“And that’s when your old man, right when it all looked awful, blew the gun right out of his hand.” He pantomimed a rickety Tommy Gun as the boy clapped with wide-eyed awe.

Josiah blushed as his wife pecked him on the cheek.

“Marcus, you’re liable to have to take that show on the road.” she chortled.

“Never say never, Ma’am!” he teased in kind.

After they had all finished, the parents shook hands with their perfect strangers, as the son embraced Valentina, Brennus, Marcus, and lastly, Sabina. She crouched down and looked the young man in his eyes.

“You be good for Madre y Padre, ¿Sí?”

“Sí, Señora.” he beamed.

“Turning my son bilingual now, are we?” Josiah chuckled, patting his kid’s back.

“Never hurts to learn a few new things,” she grinned.

“Can’t argue with that.”

As the crew piled into their rides, Josiah went up to Val one last time.

“If you ever need a thing, and happen to be cruising the neighborhood, pop these in the computer.” It was a tinplate with coordinates.

She shook hands with the white wolf one last time. “You can count on it. I hope to see y’all someday soon.”

As he playfully saluted and walked off, Val fired up the Hummer. As soon as the computer systems came back on, a five-alarm scream came from the GPS tracker. Everyone heard it. Everyone also heard the whoop of glee from Valentina.

“WE GOT SOMETHING! It’s Trap 4, it’s locked in good, it’s metal and…it’s got a signal unlike anything I’ve seen yet.”

Without missing a beat, the trio of rides thundered off into the desert, each driver waving by to the Sumners as they peeled out. The land became a blur as the thrill of Valentina’s discovery dragged everyone on at top speed. And when they reached Trap 4, they were greeted by something no one could have expected.

It was electric, but not an android. It had the hands of a wolf, down to the fur, but not the body of one. Its body was a monitor, and its arms metallic tubes. When Valentina stepped out to look closer, each hunter joining in her amazement, there was only one question on her lips.

“Who are you?”

Spinning wheels.

That’s all it seemed anyhow. Not that she didn’t enjoy the time spent with that strange yet loving couple, but Valentina couldn’t help the urge to walk the thousand miles back to her dreaded Haven of civilization. Days dragged on, and for all the comfort and affection Marcus and Sabina could spare their guest, they too realized they were getting nowhere by recuperating in perpetuity.

One golden morning, Marcus walked Val out to the Humvee, the red wolven gentleman patting her beast on the hood, his unbuttoned shirt bellowing in the cool breeze.

“I’ll keep stewing,” he said softly, thumbing the ride’s fender, “Go’on and give yourself some space. Come back ho—”

He caught himself, shying away with that schoolboy innocence of his. Val smiled gently.

“It’s as good a place to call home as any.”

Marcus perked up as he held his sister-in-arms tight.

“We’ll find it, I just know we will. We’re just missing a little piece of the puzzle, that’s all.”

Val nodded and clambered up into the mighty steed.

“I’ll be coming back. With any luck, maybe with some of that piece too.”

Marcus patted the Humvee once more before walking back to the house, leaving the white wolf to pull away into the wild once more.

The drive came as a great relief. Blue sky kissed the beige upon which she rode, her powerful companion well in hand as he rambled on. Cacti, colored a weathered green, peppered the land, the spectral custodians of life standing idle in the desert sun.

Her mind turned to the matter of her hunt, the damned crusade that had stalled so. She felt the restlessness of her wandering soul, the torment that wracked dear Marcus, and the sensitive love of his dearest Sabina. She felt it all, and all of it clouded her mind.

Should I even get ‘em involved? They been fending alright by themselves. And Lord knows I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to Marc. He’s just...dammit, I wish he was reined in is all. Someone put a lasso on that mind of his and pull it back to port. Someone put a lasso on mine, too.

Lower the throttle descended under her sandalled paw, her mind growing lost in the cavalcade of thoughts. Slowly, her vision grew marred by the haze of static, the kind of shuffling particles one sees as they zone off into the distance. She had flown well past the horizon by now, and could only see those far-off lands beyond her view. It could have lasted forever, were it not for

“Shit!”

She kicked the brake hard and swerved. The Humvee lurched and swayed violently, threatening to topple before resting on all fours as it ground to a halt.

Time stopped. She didn’t dare move, she didn’t dare blink. Shivering in shock, she looked over, worried half to death over what she almost hit.

It was a Mustang. She was black, a slender fastback with a little dust on her, but no worse for wear thank God. She got out and darted over to the car, all the terror of having rundown a stray animal crawling up inside of her. She looked the machine over, gently patting the hood with her trembling gloved hands.

“Gee, you’re far out here, ain’t ya Girl,” she smiled softly, “Wonder where your driver is.”

“Right over here,” came the call.

She looked to the sands in the distance, well past the muscle car, and there stood a gray. Clad in black, with tan work boots kicking up dust in a light sprint, her image reflected in his jet-black shades. She hesitated, the faint visage of her black-eyed demons in the back of her mind. His sheathed eyes left her holding one hand over her holster as he drew nearer and nearer.

But then he spoke.

“Hope she didn’t scare you. Was just out here on a drive, thought I spotted some ruins worth jotting down.”

His enunciation was crystal clear, no drawl to speak of. It was the warmest voice she’d ever heard. And in a way, the warmest face she had ever met.

Slowly, she pulled herself and her words together, stammering a bit before saying, “I just didn’t want to hurt her. Got kinda lost. In thought that is.”

“Well, no harm no foul.”

He could see her shaking still, the blushing sensation filling her with embarrassment.

“How about I take you to my shack? Get you a cup of tea, help you ease the nerves? Honest Miss, everything’s alright.”

Even the gesture brought forth a silent standoff within her. For God’s sake, she just met the man and was already being brought into his home. There wasn’t any noble exchange, no “you saved me, I saved you.” If anything, the refusal to admonish only tripled her suspicions.

Yet in a moment, all was diffused.

The stranger lowered his shades, revealing eyes that could stop the hands of time dead in their eternal march. They had strong eyes. Serene eyes. They were the most arresting brown eyes she’d ever seen.

“Alright” she said, gazing deeper within.

“Follow us.”

In a flash, he hopped behind the Mustang’s wheel and turned her over. Her engine was pristine, a healthy roar in her as the beast flew off and away. Valentina got back into the Humvee and with a twist of the key and a kick of the throttle, brought him up to speed. The tan machine soared close behind as the stranger guided them through the drifting dunes, across the rougher terrain.

Before her was the desert she had yet to see. The sands held within them an orange glow, untouched by the weathering scorch of the sun. It wasn’t grass, but the Martian quality carried with it the richness of flora so missed by the land. Even the cacti seemed rejuvenated in its presence.

The journey brought them to a small wooden house sat upon a hill. Single story, borderline single room too, safe for the garage on the side. With it came the faint scent of hazel filling the air. The fragrance filtered through the air conditioning of the Humvee as they approached.

“Beautiful, ain’t it Bud?”

The Humvee could only rumble in quiet agreement as Val drank it in.

“Come on in,” came a tap at her window.

The stranger helped his guest down from her steed and into the house. The orange sand she walked upon felt soft and light. Fine was the word for it; the finest sand she had ever sunk her wandering claws into.

When the door opened, the cabin revealed was nothing to turn your nose up at either. Though the scent was hazel, the wood was oak clear as day. Or at least a synthesized form, though she never cared to split the hairs on the matter. Oak tables, chairs, even an oak-paneled television, albeit a small one.

“She’s sanctuary,” he smiled softly.

Val turned to look at him. A grin of her own curled across her face, eyes locked with his for what felt like ages. The silence came a touch awkward, broken by the stranger’s perplexed chuckle.

“I haven’t told you yet, have I?”

Valentina braced herself.

What, did he have a wife, a hot date, some nice harlot who dwelled in this fine little home of his?

She caught herself before descending deeper into the thought.

What the hell am I doing!? You’re better than this Val, pull your dumb ass together you stupid bit—

“The name’s Brennus.”

Those three words were all it took to snap her right out of it.

“And yours,” he nodded.

She stuttered on the V for what felt like an eternity before the word “Valentina” left her lips.

“Strong, yet lovely,” he observed. He went off to start fixing a kettle before finishing his thought, “Powerful little lady, aren’t you?”

Valentina chuckled.

“In a way, yes,” she smiled, “So’s the name Brennus.”

“Powerful or lovely?”

“Both,” she blurted out, a nervous “uh” clinging to her lips.

“Take a seat, ease your mind,” he soothed, “Trust me, that ‘70 Ford’s been through worse. She’s a tough nut to crack, really.”

Val took her seat. What began as a cup of tea, dark and rich, grew into a full meal before her, as savory and as rekindling as anything she’d ever had with her old man. The sun dimmed into darkness, and in a matter of minutes, hours had passed.

She couldn’t stop looking at Brennus all the while. The way he carried himself, the way he cooked, the diligence. Something about him held her attention. His features were fine yet firm, his demeanor soft yet stable. A wolf of incalculable contradictions.

When it came time for true conversation, she had to draw the words out of him, but when they arrived, they tickled her ears with a timbre all their own.

“Long road to where I sit,” Brennus humbly intoned, “Lotta trekking beforehand, but me and the Duchess made our little patch where we wanted it to be.”

“Wish I could say the—”

Valentina caught herself, drawing breath as she recalled the airy days with Marcus and Sabina.

“I’m staying with two wonderful friends right now,” she smiled.

“Always good to have them,” he nodded in kind.

The conversation took many courses, soon landing on the topic of professions.

“You’ve got that tiger on your bracelet,” Val pressed, “Why’s that?”

“She’s a symbol I’ve come to admire in my craft,” came the reply, “A sort of independence and cunning I’ve come to rely on. When I fight, when I hunt, when I drive.”

“Fight?”

Val couldn’t imagine the gray hurting a fly. Brennus sensed this, amused.

“I’ve done some of the local tournaments. I instruct too from time to time, but that’s Boss Kusanagi’s jurisdiction, not mine. We spar for fun though, him and I. Kick each other’s asses all the time.”

He chuckled to himself before continuing.

“But yeah, I was a street fighter, but I’ve studied more than martial arts. I’ve been working in meditation for...goodness, going on ten years next month.”

“How do you do it all?” she giggled, “I’ve never seen someone stay as calm as you. You could burn yourself and no one would hear a yelp.”

“Practice,” he stated plainly, “Practice and patience, the best cocktail there is in my field. Patience for the energy and its cultivation, patience for the prey, and practice in the motions. You haven’t time for either, have you?”

Val blushed.

“Well, I do, it’s just that I haven’t the patience for, well, patience. Everything has to come out, happen now, and get done.”

“You don’t strike me as such,” he observed.

Val went sullen for a spell.

“I was, at a time. Something kinda changed that in me.”

“Maybe...maybe I can help,” Brennus smiled.

“I dunno if you can,” she dejectedly intoned.

Brennus reached his hand out, only for her to shy away on instinct. The resistance stabbed sharp as a pin within her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like this. I just...”

She trailed off into her turmoil, the muttering of “God it’s been weeks hasn’t it” escaping her. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold it back. Whatever it was. The months that had wracked her with an electric buzz of brutality, the bodies crushed under her wheels, the trigger-pulls that bought aggressors a one-way trip to the grave. It had her in a vice.

In an instant, her mind flooded with the blood she had drawn, the crimson trail traced all the way back across the dunes, back into those cursed streets and that awful arena. It stood an ocean upon which she could only look and cry.

Brennus crouched down beside her and held the stranger tight.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me” were the only words she could get out.

“It’ll be alright,” he hushed, “Allow me in, I’ll help. I can draw you out of it, whatever it is.”

Valentina looked him in the eyes, her primal mind cleaved by his look of care.

She wanted it so damn bad. To be rid of it all wholesale and move onto whatever the hell there was after. She thought herself a damned fool to be acting this way in front of a...a stranger.

This man was no stranger.

In those few moments, the gray had become a familiar face. Someone who really cared. She saw a touch of Eric in his eyes as she broke away to look him over. He was kind, he was welcoming. He held her at a time she didn’t know what to do, what she was doing. It was in that moment that she realized, by God, he really did care.

In an instant, primal gave way to carnal, and a kiss slipped from her lips onto his. She sat shocked by herself before turning away, embarrassed. Fear and shame washed over her mind, berating her for the act, for having let herself get close to anything or anyone. The compulsions throughout the day had grown to horrify her, the horror of having lost control herself the greatest terror of all.

Yet Brennus wouldn’t let her turn away.

“Val,” he whispered, “You can’t hurt me. I’ll be here for you. You just have to let me in.”

The white wolf fell into the gray’s embrace, weak with passion. She could sense he knew, but any idea of how he could’ve known the thoughts swirling about her head, how he could know it was the violence she feared, all vanished with the warmth of his body touching hers.

He neither advanced nor receded in his intimate expression. He merely held her, caressing her to soothe in whatever way he could. Slowly, he felt the nip at his neck, and he too began to relish in her affection.

When she hit the bed, it all erupted into a fountain of romance.

In the blur of hours, the full moon rose high in the sky as Brennus lay with Val, the soft blanket cloistering her from all but his own body. By now, she had given up apologizing, her lover still holding her close.

“I’ve dealt with types like you before,” he chuckled, playfully nuzzling her in the blue of the evening.

He could sense her quizzical gaze, though he never locked eyes with it.

“I’ve got a way to ease your pain if you’d let me.”

Valentina wanted to bristle, but she couldn’t. She nodded gently as she cozied up to Brennus’ chest.

“What did you have in mind?”

The gray wolf smiled.

“We go for a drive.”

He had finished wrapping the gauze around her right hand before taking a seat on the passenger side. The Mustang was cooled by the evening breeze as Valentina sat behind the wheel. Every inch of her white fur was on full display; a detail she still wasn’t sure about.

“We’re working to alleviate primal urges,” he said softly, “That means returning to an ancestral state of being for a moment.”

It made sense, but the bulging discomfort in the back of her mind grew nonetheless. Brennus thumbed her cheek with care.

“We’re alone out here,” he soothed, “No one will find you indecent. I’m at least meeting you halfway myself.”

He chuckled as he pointed to the only garment on him, his shorts. She couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of both him and herself.

“It’s simple really,” he continued, “Keep your pads on the surfaces at all times. When you’re in the state, you won’t be able to come out until I make contact.”

She nodded as she twisted the key of the Mustang, engine roaring to life. She placed her right paw on the throttle, the left on the clutch, the sensation cooling but never cold. Her left forepaw met the steering wheel, and her right the gearshift. As she felt the evening’s cool through all fours, a thought rang clear across her mind.

It’s just like the cell.

As the realization dawned on her, she looked back to Brennus one last time, shades of nervousness all over her.

“You’ll see things...feel things. These things are transient. They are the troubling sensations as they slip away. It may hurt, but the clarity afterwards will be immense.”

Brennus kissed her one last time before she descended into the state.

“Enjoy the freedom as it arrives.”

She dug into the clutch and brought the car to top gear. She drew three deep breaths before pinning the throttle down.

Then came everything.

Claws and pins sunk deep into the rubber of the pedals and the leather of the steering wheel. Her spine straightened, limbs stiffened, and her pupils constricted into nothing, the whites of her eyes glowing. In her embedded state came the roar of time upon her, memory after agonizing memory, goring upon goring, every shred of ancient rage, fiendish thought, wanton lusting. The cacophony came with the sounds of spaces recurrent, the voices of all the cruelest, most hideous thoughts leaping at her from the dark.

Then came the thoughts of the Colosseum. She could see the visages of the grays with their spears slip, the audience vanish into a black hole of nothingness, the blood that ran red upon the sands evaporating. She wanted to be rid of it, and yet in her trance state cried “STOP STOP STOP! GODDAMNIT, DON’T GO!”

The cry of “Go” echoed in perpetuity, the run-out groove of her mind slamming the words against her skull, the gray matter, the backs of her eyes, the edges of her ears. The word “Go” rattled the cage to no end as she let rip a banshee cry. No words, no meaning, just a primordial scream for peace, for relief, for...darkness.

The mind’s eye went black. Nothing. No feeling, no memories. No pain, no joy.

Empty.

Until a voice came clawing up from the abyss.

“My beautiful, you’ve made a great step in recovery.”

Slowly, the world swam up from the vortex, and the first thing Valentina saw was Brennus. She saw a gray who sat startled, impressed, and mortified all at once.

“What was that” she asked in her glazed-over state.

“Dolor Evanescens,” he sighed, holding her close, “Trick of texture and mind.”

“How much have I lost?”

“Only as much as you could,” he answered, “But you held on to some thoughts. Why?”

Valentina rose, feebly, and looked Brennus deep in his eyes.

“Those were all I knew of it. Without them, we haven't any way of finding it.”

“What is it?”

Valentina stammered once more, the “C” forming a chattering of her teeth.

“Colosseum.”

Brennus bore a look of sorrow he had not felt in ages. It was knowing, and it was deep.

Valentina wanted to scream, lash out, rue him for having turned against her, against her plight to destroy the hellish chamber where she once sat, caged and brutalized. Yet she couldn’t. In an instant, she realized the release valve she had been treated to.

Her rage had been tempered.

She looked to Brennus softly, a warmth returning to her voice as she reached out from the near-catatonia.

“It’s not that I don’t want your help or that I don’t want to be rid of it all dammit, but...I need that pain. I need to see what it is we’re after. I need to turn it into something we can use.”

“We,” ventured Brennus.

“I’m...not alone in this. I know someone who...shit, if you think I’m bad now, he’s in worse shape.”

“You’re not only in his company,” came the quiet reply.

Drawn from the glove box was a pair of leather sandals. Dark brown straps that gracefully wove around one another. Valentina looked to Brennus, and he to her.

“I went through the hell of it, and I went through the hell of undoing it. Eric helped me with the undoing. He sat where I am now. I had hoped some romancing would’ve eased you into it.”

Valentina held Brennus close.

“Do you remember any of it?”

The gray sighed and shook his head.

“Only...the name.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Aremort I believe was the phrase...it was on the announcer’s tongue anyways.”

Valentina whispered tenderly into his ear.

“Come with me. Be the rock to anchor me. To anchor us. We can unlock the memories, use them, and you can keep us whole. I just...I don’t want to live in madness. Sometimes I don’t want to live at all. I kill and I can’t stand the way it makes me feel. It feels good. Too damn good.”

Brennus looked at Valentina and locked lips with her once more. She wept into near-silence as he held tight to her, like she could ascend into the sky at any moment.

“Let me help you live then,” he soothed, “I saw you in the mirror every time I awoke. I saw you for years. I don’t want you to see that anymore.”

She looked into his eyes as they held each other close. Neither let go. Neither felt they could. And in their undying devotion, a single thought crossed Valentina’s mind.

I think I found our missing piece, Marcus.

It was in the early hours of the dawn that the claws of peril took a swipe at the vagabond Valentina.

She had parked the Humvee by a dilapidated home for the night. Pistol within reach and still in her jeans and tank top, the white wolf sat peacefully asleep behind the wheel. Though her faithful beast protected her from weather and weapon fire, the Humvee’s tinted windows made him a uniquely appetizing sight for scavengers of the Wasteland.

They were weather-beaten, dirty hounds. Always on the lookout for every measly bit of scrap they could get their mitts on. Be it for money or materials, it was one of the many ways to make a living on the desert plains. Most had the good sense to check for owners, and to leave them be should any show themselves.

Others, like a particularly cruel lot on this warm early morning, couldn’t have cared any less, with no interest in anyone’s well-being beyond their own pockets. They had just laid eyes on the juiciest pile of pennies they had in ages: the Humvee.

Most of the band traveled on foot, barring one lone biker. All set about the preliminary work of procuring their haul. Some merely eyed what hardware would catch the most coin at a dealer, while others tried in vain to nab the bits and bobs of choice. Val and Eric had fortified the hulking beast tremendously so. So strong was he, that one would be forgiven for believing the body to have been baptized in an alchemical cocktail of tungsten and titanium.

The Humvee rebuffed every attempt to pull at his bull bar and pry off his doors. He kept his master safe, best the immobile behemoth could, but when the guns were drawn, his chances against the horde waned. With barrels aimed and hammers cocked back, it was at this precise moment that a peculiar pair came into play.

A long slender automobile came screaming across the horizon. She was an Adventurer, a cream-colored four-eyed DeSoto with a smiling bumper. She was brought to a grinding halt by the red wolf behind the wheel, the passenger patting the driver’s back.

Inside the car were a pair of red wolves. The man, sitting passenger side, was thin but fit, with an unbuttoned red Aloha shirt, long leather cuffs, beige shorts, and a pair of dark brown gladiator sandals, laced up all along his calves. He slipped his rectangular glasses to the edge of his snout and reached into the glove box. He produced a sawed-off shotgun and proceeded to pack the bullets in as he turned to the gal behind the wheel.

The driver dressed the part of the voluptuous Bohemian from head to toe, her long red skirt reaching halfway down her calves, both brown sandals resting on the car’s long brake, and her top completely cropped, from jacket to shirt. Her hands were decorated with an assortment of rings, her wrists bracelets, with a pair of anklets and a toe ring on her right foot to complete the ensemble of exotic jewelry. In and among it all was a wedding band on her left hand; the exact same one on the exact same hand that the man wore.

“Eric said she was palling around in a Hummer, right Baby?” asked the man, his voice smooth as silk.

“You think that’s the one Marcus?” she quizzed in a soft Latin timbre.

“He’s the spitting image, Sabina. And it looks like the gal’s got herself some pretty rotten company.”

“You up to it? You’re still weak from the las—”

“Baby,” he cut off, “I don’t matter. You know what those bastards will do to her. If they don’t knock her off first, they’ll run right through her.”

Sabina nodded solemnly.

“Lemme catch one for ya,” she grinned.

“We’ll call it target practice Baby,” he reciprocated.

The pair shared a passionate kiss before manning their positions, Marcus readying his gun and Sabina throwing the car into gear with the push of a button. She dropped the hammer, claws digging into the suede and leather of her sandals. The car spat out the desert sand, roaring towards the scavengers. Her slender eyes locked onto the guy working the back end of the Humvee.

Before anyone knew what was up, the scavenger was.

The body rolled onto the hood and Marcus gave it to him, both barrels. Sabina tapped the brakes to drop him off before thundering right over the body. Marcus laid waste to the rest of the crew, shot after shot felling every one of the iron-starved bandits.

Safe for one.

That one got the squeeze courtesy of the Adventurer’s bumper and Sabina’s lead foot. The buckshot Bon Voyage from Marcus was just the blood-soaked cherry on top.

With half a dozen of the vagrants down for the count, Sabina brought the car to a halt. Both cocked their ears to listen for any signs of life. It didn’t take long for the faint rev of a motorcycle engine to catch their attention. The two looked at each other and nodded. The DeSoto tore away after the two-wheeled survivor.

As they thundered after him, Valentina had begun to come to her senses, awaking from her slumber to find the massacre that lay before her. All the more terrifying is what stood in front of her...the only other remaining scavenger. A tall gray with a macabre gaze. His left eye was black as night, his right held within it a piercing red device. She froze for a moment in pure fright.

As the wanderer stood trapped in her fear, Marcus and Sabina’s pursuit was coming to its head. The Adventurer nipped at the bike’s wheels playfully, bearing down on the hog with every turn of the wheel. Sabina shot a quick glance to Marcus, giving him a nod. He reciprocated. She looked towards the bike with a devilish grin.

She punched in fourth gear, a makeshift button tacked onto the end of the shifting panel before burying the throttle into the floor. The last words she had for the vagrant came from a phrase inscribed on her right anklet.

“Vale Canis.”

With a burst of energy, she had knocked the scavenger off the bike, sending both man and machine tumbling over before them.

Sabina slammed on the brakes to give Marcus enough room to finish them off. He gave one parting shot to the biker’s back and the other to the bike’s tank. The explosion was immense, and it wasn’t long before the pungent odor of gas, oil, flesh, and fur came careening out of the smoke. Content, the two shared another loving kiss before Sabina whipped the car around and headed back towards the Humvee, just in time for the final execution.

Valentina had broken free from fear’s icy grip and threw the massive vehicle into reverse. She got a good look at the android before braking hard. The mechanized menace raised his gun, and that was all it took for Val’s instincts to go into overdrive.

The gear was shifted, the accelerator dropped, and within seconds, the last of the scavengers was decimated, pulverized into the rubble of the abandoned building. She backed off to get a good look at the damage. It wasn’t as bad as blood, but it was still an uncomfortable sight. All the more disconcerting when a match came from seemingly out of nowhere, and the remains ignited.

“They’ll piece ‘emselves together if you don’t Ma’am, the rat bastards,” came the call from Marcus.

Valentina, cautiously, brought the Humvee towards the full-sized hardtop, gingerly rolling down her window.

“Musta caught you while you were catching your 40 winks,” he continued, “The scavengers that is. Lucky for us, we were in the neighborhood. Name’s Marcus Ma’am, and this is my lady, Sabina. You’re Valentina, right? Eric put the good word out to give you a hand whenever you need one.”

Valentina was perplexed at first, but one glance into the rearview mirror was all it took to show her that she was damn well surrounded. She smiled softly at the couple.

“Thank you,” she piped up.

“Think nothing of it really,” Sabina grinned, “We were on our morning drive, stretching our girl’s wheels. Haven’t had breakfast yet, care to join us?”

Valentina could only chuckle at the nonchalance of it all. It was as good an offer as any at that point, she figured it would be nice to get a better idea of who her strange saviors were. With a shift and a kick, the caravan set off down the desert trail, towards a small single-story abode, and a much more pleasant morning.

Sabina was something of an enigma to Valentina.

Everything about her screamed seductress, and yet Sabina proved a most welcoming homemaker. She cooked like a world-class chef, had the table set to perfection, and had pivoted from a piss-and-vinegar fueled fighter in the desert to a loving housewife by the time food was ready.

After the refreshingly good meal, she walked over to Marcus, who greeted her with a kiss and proceeded to, of all things, take her skirt off. The airy red garment dropped to the floor, revealing a pair of cutoff jeans underneath.

She nipped at his snout in kind.

“Make me something real special, Formosa,” Sabina said.

“Your wish,” he teased, kissing all along her arm, “My command.”

With that, the red wolf moseyed on over to the desk in their living room, the space sitting adjacent to the kitchen and dining area. He sat down and threw open a drawer, one filled with neatly compiled beads, gems, strings, and other assorted details. Valentina could only smirk at the tableau.

Here he was, a gentlemanly sort, dressed like a Spartan vacationing in Maui, sat at a desk messing about with beads and leather strands.

Sabina could sense their guest’s lingering gaze.

“He’s a true artisan,” she grinned, rubbing Val’s shoulder, “Leave him to his craft.”

Val obliged and the two strolled outside.

Sabina walked with an assured swagger, the kind of confidence of a gal who presented out of pure habit. She slipped on her husband’s shades before taking a seat behind their Adventurer’s wheel. Valentina stood outside the car.

“What are we doing here,” she inquired, perplexed.

“Just figured you could do with some time to talk,” Sabina replied, “I know I could.”

Val shrugged.

As she got in, Sabina turned the engine over, basking in its hum and the bright glow of the desert sun.

“Bear with me,” she warned, “He taught me how to drive, but I’m still learning every time I get behind the wheel.”

“Can’t be too bad if you saved my sorry ass,” teased Val.

“Hey, duty called,” she replied in kind, slowly turning her affection towards the car, “Besides, anything to give Mamacita’s little hot rod a workout is fine by me.”

Sabina kissed the wheel and laid a patch, roaring away from the house. The sheer momentum locked Val back into the seat, much to the amusement of the chuckling driver. Sabina rolled her window down, letting her long, lush brunette locks dance about in the wind as her jacket billowed, filling the driver with the coolest breeze.

Once Val had recovered, she gathered her words.

“How on Earth did you two come to be,” she asked.

“Oh, little ol’ me with big ol’ him,” she scoffed, feigning incredulity, “Simple: you've been to a solar joint before?”

“Yeah, plenty of times,” Val replied.

“Well, I had a room at Doc’s,” she continued, “Kick a few coins my way, nab me a drink, and I’m yours for the evening. Guy, gal, don’t matter to me. I’d love ya ‘til the night’s end.”

Val nodded, a knowing smile working its way across her face.

“He just happened to be there. But there was something about the way he…the way he carried himself, I guess. He dressed about the same as you see him now. But he talked to me like a friend, like we had known each other all our lives. We had a nip of Doc’s gin, and when it came time, he just knocked me out.”

Sabina kicked the throttle to the floor, arms tensed up. The momentum locked both her and Val back into their seats. She let off, giggling like a schoolgirl.

“But he wasn’t like everyone. He was kind, he was sweet. He cared. Honest to God, he cared. Every time we hugged, it’s like all he wanted was me to be there. To be with him. Well, he whisked me away, we got hitched, and I came to live with him at his house. He taught me the ins-and-outs of driving as I never had to learn. Doc put me up good, got me a nice room, offered me meals, so I just stayed in the building, grooming myself, writing a little. Just small things. He got me out there, showed me what there was to be shown, and we just enjoyed our company and his friends’ company too.”

“Sounds nice,” Val piped up, coming out of the speed-fueled stupor.

“It was, up until a point,” Sabina solemnly intoned.

“Don’t tell me he got abusi—”

“—Don’t even finish,” she cutoff, “We wouldn’t touch a hair on one another’s head if it wasn’t in the most loving way. No...he was snatched away in the night.”

Valentina sat still as a statue, her heart sinking into her gut.

“He likes to drive for a bit after we go at it,” Sabina continued, “I usually go with him, but I was just so tired that night I couldn’t. He got up and drove off. Then I woke up the next morning; he wasn’t there. I called up all our friends; he wasn’t at anyone’s home. He was gone for two days and two nights. On the second evening, screeching tires woke me up; hers. I ran out, barely dressed, and there they were. Her sides and grill were stained this horrible red, and when I opened the door, I found him bare as the desert floor. Only these monstrous lacerations. I could still hear and see him breathing so I went to the only man I knew that could help.

“I got in, propped him up against the seat, and booked it for Eric’s. I wrapped my arm around him to make sure I could still feel him there. Feel him breathing, feel his beautiful beating heart, his frame holding. Dios mio, I was scared. Eric said it was mostly just exhaustion, the bloodletting wasn’t bad, but I stayed with him day and night, and I could tell he had just...changed. Then, some news came out of the City that a bloodbath had happened at a blood-and-oil match, and I put two and two together. He’s never been the same.

“He’s a good man, an honest man, a loving man, but he started to act...odd. Sometimes like a child, sometimes tough-as-nails, and if anyone mentions laying a hand on me or him, he gets terribly protective. The only thing that soothes him is his bead-work. He figures he’s got a little of the Old World tribes in him and we’ve been scavenging around for any texts about the region in the real old days. He studies religiously and tries to make the most authentic jewelry possible. That choker of his was his first. He’s been working on mine for ages. I myself have taken up Latin as a hobby.”

Valentina stewed in the revelations. Her heart went out to both the woman before her and the man she cared so dearly for. Something in particular irked her about the whole affair, and she decided to press the matter.

“What’s this blood and oil stuff,” the white wolf quizzed carefully.

“They actually use a Latin name for it,” Sabina answered, “Sanguis et Oleum. Fancy, right? Basically, they send these automated cars out to fight these big beefy fellas. All the trimmings and trappings of an ancient festive Roman affair are brought out.”

“Yes, but you mentioned you tied it to him?”

“I did,” she replied curtly, “Marcus would never speak to me about what happened. Eric said that there could have been other things, but I’m no fool. I say he was nabbed for some twisted idea of entertainment. Throw him and the Lady in the ring, just to see...just to see what the hell they’d do. They don’t care enough about us out here, might as well be playthings to them. Only thing they didn’t count on was him getting out. We never found anything modified on her, but I swear something went down. I just know it.”

“He’s not alone,” Val said in a low tone.

Sabina’s eyes widened as she brought the Adventurer to a stop. When her eyes met Valentina’s, she grew warm in her demeanor.

“My child,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“—It’s fine,” Val interjected, “No harm meant. I’m just glad to know it wasn’t all some cruel fever dream.”

A silence hung over the ride and the women within. Having stewed long enough, Sabina perked up. “Hey, can’t let it get to us too bad, right?”

Valentina sighed and put on as brave a face as she had. “I suppose,” she answered.

Sabina nodded, shifted gears, and sent the slender car bucketing along just as before. She couldn’t stand to see her guest so down and out and put on the best show her limited skill set behind the wheel could handle. It looked like it was working fine.

It was about an hour or so later that the girls were back to the house, where the man himself stood. Arms crossed, a pair of circular shades on his snout, his red tropical apparel traded for blue, and one laced-up leg kicked up against the threshold of the door. Marcus playfully shook his head as Sabina brought the car to an abrupt halt, killing the engine and letting that elementary giggle of hers rear its head once more. He sauntered over to the Adventurer as she rolled down the window.

“Making the Lady live up to her model I take it,” he teased.

“Just gotta show her off,” she replied with a cherubic innocence.

“You can keep my shades for the day, but get the skirt back on,” he continued, “Want to show our friend The Spot.”

“Do I have to this time?” she begged, “It feels so nice letting my legs hang out.”

Marcus cocked his head in confusion before sighing. He leaned into her ear and whispered ever so sweetly. Her eyes widened and a big beaming smile shot across her face.

“Oh Baby, of course I will!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. The red wolf leapt out of the car and bolted for the house. Marcus chuckled as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“What’d you tell her,” Val asked.

“I told her I finished it,” he winked.

No sooner did he reply when his Latin lover stepped out the front door, crimson dress reattached, and with the most beautiful necklace Val had ever seen. A four-lined choker, fashioned with an intricate array of red, black, orange, and yellow seed beads and ivory hair pipe, and a glorious set of concho medallions of turquoise embedded in their center, strung along the bottom line. The first thing she did the moment she got up to the car was drop onto his lap, wrap her long lush hair around his neck, and she gave him a tender kiss on the lips. She pulled away and looked into those baby blue eyes of his.

“No puedo dejar de amarte,” she intoned with that ravishing voice of hers.

“Todo mi amor eres tú,” he soothed in kind, “Get in.”

She did so gladly.

Once everyone was settled, Val riding shotgun as the wolven lovebirds snuggled up to one another, Marcus turned the engine back over and gently revved the car up.

“Hang on,” he said wryly as he punched in first gear and gingerly accelerated. The Adventurer rolled off and away with all the grace of a merry little stroll down the boulevard.

Sabina sat in utter incredulity.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

“I dunno, just felt like taking it easy this morning” came the reply. Marcus shot a wink Val’s way. The guest could only grin.

Confusion clouded his wife’s head. After a while, Marcus started whistling a coy little tune while fumbling about with the radio. And in that moment, incomprehension gave way to impatience.

“We’re gonna be on the road all day at this rate,” she complained before planting her left foot down on his right, dropping the accelerator to the floor. Marcus outright began to guffaw. Val couldn’t help but chuckle when he did.

“Third time she fell for that one,” he chuckled before turning to Sabina, “Now let off Lupe.”

Marcus effortlessly popped his wife’s leg off of his with a flick, tapped the brake, slammed on the Adventurer's fourth gear, and plunged the throttle back into the floor. The cream-colored sedan tore away at a tremendous rate, knocking both Val and Sabina back into the seat, but leaving Marcus standing still as a statue, both hands on the wheel. The Lady played favorites it seemed.

At first, Sabina looked ready to erupt at any second, but one side-eye from her lover, with his blue irises and gentle grin, was all it took to lift her spirits. She softened and merely cuddled right back up to him, joining in on the laughter.

“I’m 0 for 3 with you, is that it,” she snickered, wrapping her arms around him, “Don’t forget, I wouldn’t be a real speed demon without ya.”

“With the way you run her,” he teased, “How could I? Ah hell, look at me now. Got my claws going and everything. You know we don’t do that in public.”

The moment he nipped at Sabina’s nose, Valentina had just about had it. She was all but sure she’d die in this hot rod of pure laughter.

The ride to The Spot was as smooth as a rough riding couple like this could manage. Marcus found his station and a wash of slick grooves, thick guitar tones, and infectious synthesized chords bathed the car as the sonic confections shot out of the radio. It all felt right. The world was alright in this pocket of bliss barreling along at 100 miles an hour.

That ever-smiling DeSoto ground to halt, sliding into a parking space along the vacant backside of this joint. The party stepped outside and walked up to the door just a few feet off to the side.

“Are we allowed in this way?” Val inquired cautiously.

“Of course,” exclaimed Marcus, “I got it in good with Doc. Loves the pair of us, don’he Hun?”

“With all the old bastard got left in that heart of his,” Sabina replied. The name Doc naturally set off all the right bells for Valentina.

“This the one and only,” she asked Sabina.

“You bet your bottom dollar.”

The trio walked in and were pummeled by the rich, smoky smell of the joint. It was not an unpleasant scent, but the fumes were certainly potent, conjured from years of cigars, cigarettes, and the odd joint or twenty. When they made their way through the quiet backrooms and into The Spot proper, the rustic fragrance grew all the more potent. They strolled past tables, every other one sitting a couple of patrons. Some families, some singles, some young lovers too. Arcade cabinets sporadically lined the walls, a couple of kids trying their hands at everything from fighting to flying to racing.

In the main area, a vacant stage stood idle, awaiting its talent as a jukebox sufficed for the time being. She was a real bubbler, spinning rock-n-roll for the guys and gals sat at the tables.

Then came the bar itself. Every gin, tonic, wine, beer, and beverage fit for any and all inebriate purposes imaginable, lined up against a towering oak wall. The place was jumping midday. The kitchen off to the side, nestled away from view as it was, was certainly busy too.

An old dark gray was wiping down the countertop. He was half-past wizened, his fur groomed yet scruffy by nature. But his denim bedecked appearance helped him rock whatever time threw his way. The faded yellow street racing T-shirt beneath his jacket showed he was a true old-timer through and through. When he looked up from his arduous scrubbing, the old man did as most men his age did and got that gorgeous gleam in his eye. The gleam of youth and vitality brought on by the sight of an old friend.

“Well say can you see,” he exclaimed with his deep booming drawl.

“Not quite by the dawn’s early light,” Marcus replied, winking at Sabina, “How you doing, Doc?”

“Oh y’know. Yours truly is hanging out there, in there, but not up there yet. Or down there if it comes to that.”

Doc’s sense of humor was on the up-and-up and very much appreciated by the troop. He greeted each woman with a tender kiss on the hand. Sabina batted her lil’ ol’ eyes at her old friend while Valentina calmly nodded.

“What’ll it be for y’all on this fine high noon,” he asked.

“You know my usual,” Sabina seductively intoned.

“You’ll have to settle for the synth stuff this time,” Doc warned, “That rock-hard vodka of yours ain’t easy to come by these days.”

“Suits me,” Sabina nodded, “Val?”

Valentina pondered it for a moment. She hadn’t had a good drink in weeks.

“Think you can fix me a Jack and Coke,” she asked.

“No need to think m’dear,” Doc reassured, “Consider it done.”

“And a glass of milk with a nip of your best rum,” Marcus ordered.

Val turned to Sabina in total bemusement.

“Well, he is driving after all” was her only reply.

Their time at Doc’s was a good one. They talked cars, music, and plainer things. They all had fond things to say of Eric, as well as many of their old friends. Marcus, for all his quirks, was about the sweetest man Val had laid eyes on and seeing him with Sabina made him all the more beautiful. All the more comical when the martini started to hit, and Sabina’s top began to slip. Her husband simply covered her back up and thumbed at her cheek.

Marcus dropped the cash on the counter and gave a casual salute to Doc before walking away. Doc returned the gesture, and the party began to make their way to the car. Valentina was following their lead when she noticed something didn’t feel quite right, like something had slipped out of her pockets. She gave a tap on Sabina’s shoulders.

“Going back to the booth to double check something,” Val said, “I’ll be out soon.”

“All good,” came the reply, “Take your time, we won’t leave without you.”

Valentina made her way back through The Spot.

Outside, the couple took their seats within the Adventurer. Marcus dug his big hand into the depths of his pockets, finally producing the key. He slipped it into the ignition, and with a quiet roar, the car had started. He was just about to put her into gear when it happened.

A long barrel glided into through the space left by the rolled-down driver-side window. Its business end pointed squarely at Marcus. Another came through the passenger side, sitting but a few measly inches from Sabina’s head.

“Cash...now,” came the curt demand.

Marcus wasn’t one to play with highwaymen, but he could also feel his blood boil at the sight of his beloved sitting so close to the edge.

“Take the piece off the girl,” Marcus stated coldly, gently inching his foot towards the edge of the long brake.

“All fours where I can see ‘em.”

Marcus seethed as he planted both feet on the brake’s center and raised his hands above his head. He looked over to Sabina and gave a subtle nod of his head. She followed suit. Just as it seemed they were in for a frisking

BANG!

The accomplice on the passenger side of the car got one right in the eye. The laser cut clear through, the wound smoldering and codifying in milliseconds. The tan wolf dropped dead in that instant. Marcus’s man snapped towards the source of the shot; the back door, where a trembling, enraged Valentina stood, pistol firmly in hand, covered by it.

The pressure had reached its boiling point within Marcus, and before the robber could even ready his aim, Marcus threw his hands up and out of the window. Claws leapt from his fingertips, and all eight of his sharp pins plunged deep into the neck of the robber. The gray gasped in shock and horror as his payday dug deeper still, drawing blood that died both men’s fur a deadly red.

“Marcus, stop!” cried Sabina in vain, but he was too embedded in the trance to snap out. It wasn’t over until he said it was. And with the corpse of the highwayman still hooked on his claws, he had yet to complete his subconscious task.

Marcus threw the body onto the ground and slammed down hard on the gas. The car lunged forward and whipped around. The robbers’ heads were perfectly placed for what came next.

The enraged red wolf stomped down once more, the car rocketing at top speed. They went like melons under his hammer’s weight. He backed onto the accomplice’s body, burning out something fierce on it, sending short shots of misted blood splattering onto the hot desert ground.

Valentina had seen this before. She had done it before. And it was haunting her then as now. She couldn’t turn away. The same forces that possessed her in her own violent state seemed to grip Marcus tenfold. She just wanted to pull him out, away from the brink she found herself gazing deep within more and more with the passing days. And the only person who wanted to pull him back more, was Sabina.

The cream-colored car rolled off the corpse and came to a stop, mere feet from the backdoor. Sabina, weeping at the state her lover was in, held him tight.

She was just in time to catch him. His bloody hands lost their grip on the steering wheel, the sharp claws that protruded from his hands and feet shot back within him, and as the red wolf fell into his dear woman’s arms, he descended deeper into a black void...

“He’s comin’ round now.”

The red wolf’s eyes flickered as Doc adjusted the cold compress that sat upon his head. Marcus was laid up on a bed in one of the motel rooms that were a part of The Spot’s operation. His sandals and shades had been removed. In fact, the only thing left on him were his shorts for decency’s sake.

A basin sat on the nightstand, filled with water muddied from the cleaning of his hands. Valentina sat next to Doc, both observing intently his condition. Sabina was lying on the bed, cozied up and resting alongside him. Her snout beneath his, her bejeweled hand softly rubbing his chest.

The flickering gave way to his eyelids raising themselves. He broke through the bleariness and malaise that clouded his head.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“You dispatched some ne’er-do-wells,” Doc ribbed, “Sabina squared things away with Hell Patrol. They were on their tails for quite some time anyhow. You did ‘em a solid.”

Marcus’s expression was blank, acknowledging the facts of the matter with a simple nod. In the middle of the gesture, he felt his lower jaw rub up against Sabina’s snout.

“Lost my head again, didn’t I Baby?”

“A little Formosa,” she soothed, “You gotta watch your top.”

Marcus chuckled as he took her lover’s hand and held it within his.

“Howdy Stranger,” Val chimed in.

“Gone from stranger to friend to madman all in a day, huh?”

“Only stranger to friend,” she reassured, “I’ve got something I want to talk with you about.”

“What’s that?”

“Sabina told me a little about why you act the way you do when threatened, at least how she sees it. I feel the same way too. I felt the same way when I took care of the guy on the passenger side. Rockets right through you, the rage that is.”

Marcus drew breath, ready to protest, but all he could muster was a sigh and a defeated “yeah.”

“I’ve been there. The holding cell, the arena, I’ve been to it all. I tore through it just as you had.”

Marcus’s eyes widened.

“I can’t stand to see what it has done to you...and I can’t stand what it’s doing to me. And you know what I say?”

Marcus, shuddering, proffered a feeble “what?”

“We fight ‘em. We find it and we destroy it. I don’t care what stands in our way. Come hell, high water, or Lord knows what else, we will crush it. You think you’re up to it?”

Sabina’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you know what kind of hell that’ll bring to him,” she furiously fired back, “Can’t you see the anguish he already goes through.”

Marcus hushed her, caressing her face as he did, drying every tear he could.

“Easy Babe,” he soothed.

In a valiant show of resolve, he rose off of the mattress, holding Sabina tight to his chest. He stared deeply into Valentina’s eyes, his rich blues descending within her passionate jades. What followed was a rapid-fire interrogation, with Marcus putting the lamp on Val.

“You don’t know where it is?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t know where to start?”

“I don’t.”

“Do you remember the bars of the doors?”

“Thick, black, forged of whatever iron they had.”

“Do you remember the crowds?”

“Loud. Ear-splitting loud.”

“Do you remember them?”

“With those black eyes, how could I forget?”

“Val.”

“Yes?”

Marcus extended his right arm towards her. She clasped his forearm, and he hers, both survivors gazing deep into their eyes once more.

“I’m in.”

“Excuse me? Ma’am? Ma’am?”

A gentle tap came on the driver-side window of the hulking beige Humvee. Rapping upon the door was a middle-aged red mechanic, his loose denim and gentle features reflected in the blackened glass.

He stood back, tapping the toe of his work boot on the dusty floor of his garage.

In time, he could hear the gentle rustling from within the Humvee, the occupant having come to her senses. With a soft yawn, she finally spoke.

“What’s going on?”

“Making sure you’re alive for starters,” he quipped.

“The hell’d this blanket come from?”

“Well, you weren’t decent when I found you,” he teased, “I threw some stuff on the passenger seat if you can reach it. The sandals were already in there.”

“Yeah, yeah...give me a second.”

He sighed as he leaned up against the wall, scratching at his back. After a few minutes, the Humvee’s door parted and out stepped the clothed Driver.

She was pure white, the tank top blending in with her fur, and the ripped blue jeans and Romanesque sandals revealing cuts and scrapes on her knees and drops of blood on her feet, all dying her pure fur a brutal red. The Mechanic’s jovial nature evaporated, leaving only a concerned stoicism.

“I hope you don’t mind me bringing you here,” he started, “The desert wasn’t exactly the kindest last night.”

The Driver looked over to the only other vehicle in the shop, a dirty but sturdy red pickup truck.

“Yeah, the Chevy did all the heavy lifting,” he smiled, breaking the ice, “That big fella of yours wasn’t easy on her, but my Apache got him home just the same, tough old goat she is.”

The Driver flashed a brief grin before returning to her confused demeanor. The Mechanic cocked his head to the door.

“Hey, come in for some coffee,” he encouraged, “You look like Hell was just beat out ya.”

The Driver nodded as the two made their way into the shop’s office.

It was just as a garage office ought to be; messy beyond comprehension, but with plenty of room for conversation and a cup of Joe. The Driver took a seat opposite of the Mechanic at the cluttered desk, papers and plans strewn about. The Mechanic raked in a massive stack and slipped them into an overstuffed drawer.

He picked up his freshly brewed pot and two plain mugs, pouring some out into each cup before passing one over to the Driver.

“We obviously ain’t making it by Old World rules, but I got sugar if you’d li—”

But before he could finish, his guest downed the scalding black brew like a cold glass of milk. She shook her head and smacked her muzzle before taking in and letting out a deep breath.

The Mechanic poured some sugar and gingerly sipped from his mug, a look of bemusement and confusion sat on his face.

“Now that you’re fully awake, I hope, what kind of ghoul are you?”

“Frankly, I don’t know anymore,” she replied, looking down at her mug, “If I told you how I got there, you wouldn’t believe me. If I told you what had happened, you wouldn’t understand. If you knew what I did, you wouldn’t look at me the same way again.”

“Well you won’t know ‘til you try, now will ya,” he pressed, “I know we’re strangers here, but I think you owe it to yourself to let it all out.”

And so she did.

“I’ve been a bit of a vagabond ever since my old man kicked it. He left me plenty of gas, as much food as he could, and the Hummer. The Big Guy’s the only family I got now. I’ll even chat with him every now and then, his engine grumbling and revving in reply. But all I am is a wanderer. Not into hunting anyone down for money, screwing around with the Duellists. Hell, haven’t gotten laid much. Might’ve once or twice at a solar joint, but that was that really. Just me and my machine taking it to the redline, going wherever the hell we wanted. Then one night, that all changed.

“I was sleeping. Hand to God, I locked his doors. I was always on edge on the road. Don’t ask me how, but I learned to sleep with my claws out, so if anyone came at me at night, one good kick and scratch and they’d be on their ass. But for some reason, that night, my guard was down and the last thing I saw that night was a rag over my mouth...I still can’t figure how long I was out for. Could’ve been a few hours, maybe a few days. Hell, I don’t know how strong the stuff was. But soon enough, I woke up, and what I woke up to was a...a nightmare.

“There I was, in the driver’s seat, with not a single thing on me. Someone had taken my boots, my denim, my shirt, everything. I was there...totally exposed. And when I came to my senses, I realized not only am I stark naked with only my fur still on me, but I’ve got leather straps holding me back to the seat. I look out the windshield and see two heavy chains draped over the Hummer. So not only am I being held down, but so’s my only friend. And there...THEY were. We’ve thousands of eyes on us. Spectators in seats like we’re some circus freaks about to go on display. Not to mention there were these tall grays, hung like horses, armed to the teeth, staring right at me with these black eyes...oh God, those piercing black eyes...

“I saw them standing and staring, holding up everything from these bizarre blades to guns and Lord knows what else. When I saw ‘em, Lord have mercy did I panic. I tried to get myself out of the straps first. I tried to brute-force my way out, but they only stung and scraped the flesh beneath my fur. I tried to calm myself down and took a shot at slipping my hands out first so I can undo the rest. Thankfully I could, hurt like a bitch getting them free though. I undid everything, freeing myself up. The first thing I felt was how cold he was to me. I put my hands on the wheel and both feet on the pedals, and all I felt on my pads was cold. We must’ve been sitting in...storage or something for ages.

“I took a deep breath and turned that key, cranking like mad. He came through and roared to life. I threw him into Drive and started pounding on the throttle. He was jockeying like mad. I could hear the chains rattling and clanking above me. I threw him in Reverse to see if that would help to put stress on them, but then...it happened.

“I floored him...and heard a scream and a crunch. I looked back. There were grays in my holding cell too and I...I had just knocked one of them over. I could see those black eyes looking at me from the dark, only beady reflections to reveal themselves to me. I yanked my foot off the throttle, but in a split second, the thought rushed into my head. ‘It’s us or them.’ With that, my mind just emptied. I didn’t think, I didn’t feel, I just did. And then...I just lost it.

“I rocked him back and forth until those chains finally gave way, and then I just started mowing over these guys. They aimed for his hood, I knocked them over, nails sunk deep in the wheel, claws in the throttle. They tried to harpoon him from the back, I whipped them into the walls. Last straw came when one of these harpoons managed to get through his door. It sliced across both my knees. They didn’t cut through, but when I saw the blood start to trickle, I yanked the bastard in, and popped it back out. First guy who came for us got it in his throat.

“I could hear the crowds cheering callously, the announcer saying some crap about points or something, but then my eyes locked onto a gate. Oh man, when I saw that gate, I zeroed in on it like it was the only thing in the world. I backed over bodies and busted weapons to build up speed and I just began wailing on it. His bull bar kept him safe from real damage, but I just felt nothing but unhinged tension. Each time my foot hit the floor, it felt like an earthquake. It was on our third ramming that we broke through. And you’d never guess where I ended up.

“It was the City. The damned City! My old man told me to never, ever, not in a million years go there, and here I was, bloodied and out of my head, in the City. I couldn’t even stop to marvel at it all. I just pinned the gas to the floor and careened down the streets, looking for the border. When I finally did, I was kinda surprised to see it was just a chain-link fence. Praying to God it wasn’t made of titanium, we pressed on, and I ripped through it like tissue paper. I could see the lights of police cars in the rearview, so I knew just to keep him going as fast as he could. We almost went off the cliff and into the Marshall Settlements, but I kicked the brake and swung him away.

“That night might’ve been the first night he made it to 120 too. But I just kept him firing off on all cylinders for the next few hours. Must’ve been 3 or 4 in the morning when I finally dropped both feet on the brakes like a ton of bricks. When we came to a full stop, I turned off his engine, and just...fell apart. I’m surprised you didn’t find me in a puddle of tears when you towed us here. I fell asleep saying ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over again like a madwoman. I can’t remember if I was apologizing to my dad, the Hummer, or myself. I was just...I was just done. I’d had it...”

The Mechanic sat, soaking in the story she had laid bare. The Driver dried some stray tears, the memories still fresh and painful in her mind. He reached out and patted her hand.

“Well you did a fine job bugging out,” he started, “You’re well over a hundred miles out from the place. And as for what you did—”

“—Don’t say a damn thing about it,” she cut off, “It was an act of survival, and—”

“—Survival is what we’re all about out here,” he reassured, “If you knew how many shitbags I wasted with just me and my gal alone, not to mention my peacemaker, you’d call me Jack the Ripper, not the other way round. You don’t have to love it, you just need to know when to do it.”

The Driver looked up, her eyes now fully dried. The Mechanic smiled softly at her, still patting her hand.

“If you want, lemme get those wounds healed up as best I can, then I’ll take you for a ride to cool off,” he said, “The garage has two doors at both ends, so we’ll let the big guy rest, alright?”

She smiled sheepishly and nodded as the two finished their drinks.

The Mechanic dug out a makeshift First Aid kit from one of his kipple-filled drawers. In no time, the Driver was well-bandaged, and the Mechanic led her back out to the Garage.

“She’s a tough little lady alright,” he smiled, patting the truck’s hood, “Been on this here Earth for longer than the pair of us have.”

The Mechanic winked as he rolled up the backside garage door.

“Want me to take it easy, or show you what she can really do,” he grinned.

The Driver was silent for a moment before flashing that soft grin of hers.

“Show me what makes her tough.”

The Mechanic was beaming from ear-to-ear.

“You haven’t lost the spirit,” he said, “That’s good to hear at least.”

His truck was small, sitting rather low compared to most, but her thick tires and side pipes suggested that toughness he kept alluding to. They clambered into the cab, the Driver pushing the seat back the moment she got in, allowing her to fully stretch her legs. The Mechanic’s was already stretched back about the same length. When he dropped into the seat, he immediately hit the clutch and turned the key, and within seconds, his baby roared to life. He pounded out some monstrous revs, his boot banging on the metal footwell like a hammer on an anvil.

“Enough showing off, right?” he smirked.

The Driver smirked back. With a shift of gear and a kick of the throttle, the mighty half-pint spat the desert sand back into the garage and tore off into the plains. Shifting furiously, the Mechanic had her running hotter than Hell; just how he liked it. The Driver’s nerves were melting away with each gear, and soon she was just as cheery as he was. The Mechanic, throttle flat on the floor, stuck his head out the window and started to howl like mad. By now, he had her in stitches at the display. When he pulled his head back in, he saw the smile on her face and nodded, content he’d finally smoothed her over.

“For the record,” he stated, “I’m just as much a clown in the company of friends as I am with strangers.”

The Driver simply chuckled.

“Two questions for you,” he continued, “First off, and I probably shoulda asked you earlier, but what’s your name?”

“Oh yeah, right,” she said, “Valentina. And you?”

“Eric,” he replied, “Just plain, simple Eric. No surname too, eh?”

“Not much use for ‘em out here, right?”

“Guess not. Now hang on a quick minute, alright?”

Eric slammed on the brakes and swung the truck around.

“Now the next one is a biggie,” Eric began, “If you don’t mind me saying, you’ve been through a lot, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind hanging ‘round here for a bit?”

Valentina looked puzzled by the invitation.

“Now this ain’t an overture to anything,” he continued, “Just long enough so you're healed up well and good, and we can get that beast of yours cleaned up and repaired. Big fella had quite the workout. If you’d like, I can bring you around to some of my clientele. I’m something of a travelling repairman during the day. Will break the monotony of laying on the Murph all day.”

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“—I’ll even throw in an all-expense-paid self-defense course.”

“In plain English please,” Valentina chuckled.

“I got guns. I got ammo. I did some dirty hand-to-hand fighting myself, kept my claws sharp as pins, but sometimes, a .44 caliber farewell is the only way.”

Valentina paused, mulling the options over. She raised her head, took a deep breath, and held out her hand.

“No strings attached?” she pressed cautiously. Eric simply smiled and shook her hand.

“No strings,” he said, “No need to be a dick out here. That’s what the land’s for, right?”

With a wink to one another, the deal was settled. When they returned to the garage, Eric hopped out to grab his tools from the bench on the wall. Valentina strolled over to the Humvee. She smiled at the behemoth, who stood idle and stoic, no worse for the wear he had endured. But as she stroked her cherished beast, something caught her eye. Something she hadn’t noticed.

“This isn’t right,” she said to herself.

“What isn’t?” asked Eric.

“The windows, they’re all black,” she said. Eric looked up at her.

“That’s the way I found him,” he replied, “You’re saying your old man never tinted them?”

“He never did,” came the reply. An eerie silence fell over the garage.

“So I could see them...but they couldn’t see me.”

Chilled, Valentina looked at the Humvee.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it Old Boy.”

She gave the Humvee a tender kiss on the grill before walking back to Eric’s truck. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, even as she took her seat in the cab. After glancing back at her ride himself, Eric loaded his tools in the bed of the truck before piling in and heading off.

The next few days were calm ones. Valentina grew to know the many faces on Eric’s route. Simple folk, often kind in spite of their burly and rugged looks. Not too dissimilar to her father’s friends, though she wasn’t in the same neck of the woods. Those days on the road were contrasted with long nights patching up the Humvee with the flames of a welder’s torch. The only things that remained unchanged were the Humvee’s windows, a lingering question that Valentina simply had no answers to. Eric’s good spirits helped to keep her mind off of the past all the while, and when the day came for her to take up marksmanship, little did she know how pivotal that day would become.

“Right,” started Eric that morning, “I got a little something for you. A rare gal like yourself deserves a rare breed of weapon.”

Eric opened up a chest in the office and produced a handgun.

“Val, meet the Mars,” he proudly proclaimed, “An Old World beauty that packs a mean little punch. And thankfully no recoil these days.”

The two walked outside into the hot desert sun. Sitting but a few yards away was a tin can perched atop some crates. Eric walked Valentina through the loading process with a gentle hand.

“The laser tech means this here bullet is the only one you’ll ever need. You can recharge it in the sun, which we have plenty of, and you can keep her locked and loaded for days.”

He loaded the cartridge for her before handing the gun off. She cocked the hammer back with great care and took aim, her hands trembling. Eric stood behind her, holding her arms in place.

“I know you’re nervous,” he whispered, “But it ain’t that hard. Line the shot with the sight and press that little pad of yours against the trigger.”

With a deep breath, she did just that. The tin can evaporated, shrapnel scattered to the four winds. Eric nodded in approval and took the gun back.

“Let me get you something real quick,” he said, “Wait here.”

In a split second, he darted back into the office and produced a holster for Valentina. He wrapped the brown leather strap around her belt and placed the pistol into it.

“Fair warning, I leave the bullet in so if you have to use it in a pinch, all you have to worry about is the safety, hammer, and trigger,” he said, “You think you can handle that?”

“I think so,” she reservedly replied.

“Alright then, let’s go for a ride.”

The pair made their way over to the truck. When they got there, Eric clambered into the passenger seat. Valentina shot a puzzled look his way before he cocked his head to the driver’s side.

“Your turn” was all that he said. She giddily slid into the driver’s seat and proceeded to turn over that little truck of his.

“Where to,” she inquired.

“Just go for broke,” he smirked.

And so she did, pinning the throttle down and thundering off into the distance once more. It was a thrill she had almost forgotten about, but not quite. The endless expanse of sand, sun, and sky welcomed her with open arms as she pushed that Apache to her limits. It was on that horizon where they met trouble.

A smoke cloud grew in the distance. Thinking nothing of it, they continued. As the billowing gray gave way to flaming reds and oranges, they kept going, now provoked by pure curiosity. It was only when they got there that they realized what had happened.

Murder. Cold-blooded murder.

They saw what remained of the car’s driver and the car itself, but what proved most startling was a red wolf who emerged from the fire, seemingly unscathed, with a sadistic gleam in his eye. He was bare-chested, the fire having singed his pants and boots. Whether he was a bandit or madman, he must’ve been the one behind it. At first, flight was the thing that came to mind and Valentina threw the truck in Reverse. However, she stopped and looked dead into the eyes of this killer. The eyes of those depraved grays, their blades and barrels held aloft, flashed through her mind.

Suddenly, flight turned to fight.

She could feel her claws digging into the leather of her sandals, her nails into the steering wheel. In a split second, she shifted gears and floored the truck. The Killer rolled onto the hood and was ejected just as soon as she hit the brakes.

For a moment, there was silence, only the flames before them. She breathed a sigh of relief.

A premature relief.

The relief was pierced by the faint, withered cry of “help” that came from Eric. The Killer had him in a choke hold, a knife readied for any number of depraved mutilations. As natural a reflex as she ever had, Valentina drew her pistol. The safety was off, the hammer was cocked, and she put one between his eyes like she had been at it for years. The blood flew out the back of his head as his whole body slumped onto the desert ground, the crimson pool complimenting the fire’s light.

Eric looked over to see a distraught Valentina. She slumped onto the steering wheel, sobbing, uttering “Oh God” under her breath. He patted her back gently and pulled her face towards his.

“Look at me,” he said softly, “You just saved my life. And you did it just about the way I would’ve. She’s my first line of defense, the peacemaker always comes second.”

She was still inconsolable.

“Look at me,” he soothed.

The tears stopped as she saw the warm smile of her friend. She looked over to the fire before them.

“I’d be crying for them too,” he observed, “That’s the kind of rough shit you get out here. No helping though...c’mon, let’s head back. Gotta file a report with Hell Patrol about this.”

She nodded calmly as she threw the truck into Reverse and punched the gas. She looked behind her all the while before whipping the little red beast around. From then on, she wouldn’t look into any of the rear-views, not for love nor money. She feared her carnage above all, and it was just that with which she cut the silence.

“All...all it is...is,” she started, fighting back everything within her, “It happened again. My mind empties, and I kill. It’s like I lose it all.”

“In self-defense,” Eric consoled, “No one said it was easy, but then again, no one said living here was easy.”

Valentina eased up on herself. Once they got to the garage, she brought the truck to a stop and fell into Eric’s arms. He held her gently, nuzzling her a little.

“You’re not mad,” he whispered, “And you ain’t going mad. Just remember that, alright?”

They stayed embraced for but a moment longer, letting all of the emotions of the day out in the solace of his abode.

Valentina’s final day at the garage came as a bittersweet one. Over their morning coffee, Eric produced his final parting gifts.

“Well, you know I ain’t a sap,” the red wolf smiled between sips, “But I’m gonna miss you. You’re a good kid. Christ, kinda showing my age saying that. But it’s true. A good kid, and I’d say a good friend too.”

Valentina could only grin as he spoke.

“And I know I showered you with loads of bullshit,” he continued, “Some necessary, y’know, like clothes and a piece, and some unnecessary, like making you drink this horseshit.”

The young driver almost choked on that one.

“Hey, don’t kill yourself, it wasn’t that funny,” he quipped, “Anyways. I got three things I want you to have. First off are a pair of these.”

Eric slapped a pair of brown, fingerless driving gloves on the desk.

“Gets you just a bit more grip when you’re bombing around.”

Valentina slipped them on. A perfect fit that she fell in love with.

“The second,” he continued, “Is something I think fits with what’s been going on. I’m a bit of a student of history, real Old World stuff, and I noticed that you’ve been palling around in caligae, a type of old Roman sandal, they just opened the toe for you. So, I felt it fitting I’d make a kind of Roman trinket, a bracelet. Give me your hand.”

Valentina extended it, and received a shining bracelet upon her wrist, practically made of gold.

“It’s not the real stuff,” he acknowledged, “But it’s close to it.”

Valentina didn’t care, the gesture meant more than the metal’s authenticity.

“And lastly, these.”

A small metal plate with numbers inscribed on it.

“What’s this,” she asked.

“Coordinates,” he replied, “Remember, you’ve got a bouncing baby GPS system in that big boy of yours. If you ever need anything, just punch in those numbers and he’ll lead ya right back here. Lord good enough to keep the satellites going for us.”

This just about broke Valentina and she came right around the back of the desk and gave Eric the biggest hug she ever had.

“Easy Val,” he teased, “Don’t snap my back.”

They embrace a little while longer.

“Alright, let’s load you up.”

And he did just that, helping her pack everything into the Humvee, who sat outside the friendly little garage. When they finished, Eric ran down the mental list.

“You got everything,” he asked, “Pistol, bullet, gas, food, drink, jeans, shirt?”

“Check every box down the line,” Valentina nodded.

“Take care Val,” he replied in kind, “Take care.”

Her parting shot was a gentle kiss, right on his lips before hopping into the cab of her beloved beast. Even a fellow like Eric couldn’t help but blush.

She fired up his engine, it roaring to life after a well-earned rest. Before she peeled out, he tapped on the window. No sooner did she roll them down than she was flung a pair of shades. A nice gold-rimmed pair of Aviators.

“Keep you from burning your retinas out on the road,” he winked.

In an instance, she slipped them on and smiled. She gave the Mechanic a firm salute and tore out away into the Wastelands beyond.

Having left her only safe haven, the Driver set off to strike it out on her own, yet never would she suspect the fury and passion of the quest upon which she would ultimately embark on.

It was to be a true Hunt if ever there was one.