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_ _ Lieutenant General Haulder H. Hellock was becoming increasingly aggravated, and the copious amounts of coffee he had been consuming for the last thirty two hours did nothing to ease his building irritation.

_ _ "Alien! Where the hell is my coffee! It's been half an hou-"

_ _ "Three minutes, sir. It's been three minutes. Its Alyn sir, not alien." Interrupted a small white mouse in a quiet, polite tone which hinted of calm experience in dealing with delicate tempers and delicate people. She set down the saucer and cup of coffee well away from the corner of the table, before stepping back. "Black, sir, as you requested."

_ _ "Yes, yes whatever..." The general waved dismissively in her general direction, already forgetting her presence now that he was in possession of his precious muddy water...

_ _ Alyn stood quietly behind the general, who - hunched over the command center's holo-table - was still peering intently at the hundreds of tiny symbols, names, numbers and ID numerals dancing about the hologram map of Ssenka.

_ _ She coughed, a slight Ehh-ehm to announce her continued presence, but the large human officer paid her no heed, his eyes in seemingly endless motion, his face illuminated by the bluish light of the hologram.

_ _ "Sir..." Still no reaction.

_ _ Resigning herself to what was to come with a mental sigh she stepped forward, and standing on the tips of her toes to reach the head-height of the sitting, hunched human she shouted "SIR! CORPOROL FIRST CLASS ALYN, COMMAND STAFF ATTENDANT ATTACHED TO THE 8TH AIRMOBILE MECHANIZED DIVISION, SSENKA, REPORTING IN TO DELIVER A MESSAGE, SIR!"

_ _ The general, as expected, jumped nearly three feet up and out of his seat, arms flailing, knocking the coffee halfway across the room, before finally landing on his feet, facing her in a crouched defensive position, breathing hard.

_ _ She made eye contact, her cool pink eyes betraying no emotion whatsoever, expressionless.

_ _ His own eyes, wild and twitching, eventually calmed under her stare, and he stood, patting ineffectively at his wrinkled uniform as if to straighten it. He stopped, stood straight, and took a deep breath.

_ _ This was the sign she had been waiting for. He would take a deep breath, hold it for two or three seconds, before bellowing at the top of his considerable lung capacity at her.

_ _ "Sir," She said, taking a quick step forward and holding out a large, sealed manila folder â€" the kind used when transferring disks or data chips â€" "The update you asked for, sir, direct from ‘Collective', they have confirmed strikes from all previously designated sections from Operation ‘Shove'. All formations are on point and awaiting you approval, sir. The objectives were completed satisfactorily and the way is open to advance, sir. The Southern line is fractured."

_ _ "Oh - eh... bu - no wai... you can't... oh goddamnit. Fine. I'll call the fielders directly then shall I... oh, and you're dismissed now, ALYN." The general fumbled for the folder she held out before stumbling back to his chair and falling back into it with a dull thump.

_ _ "Thank you, sir." Alyn replied, turning on her heels and leaving the room, a small impish grin graced her rodent snout. Despite all the annoyances and irritations, this day had come through for the better, she thought. With three months of careful planning, coordination and headaches, even she â€" a lowly attendant â€" was relieved that all that effort put into Operation ‘Shove'--had met with success.

_ _ Three months of claw chewing, nervous waiting, praying and tying knots in her tail... anything could have gone wrong; higher echelons of command might've denied them access to the multiple orbital strike platforms they required to implement their plan, the enemy might have found out about it, unforeseen complications of any kind, who knows... the Southerners might have struck first, before their own plan had come into fruition.

_ _ No, it all went well, the line so long held by the Southern army had been fractured, critical points on their defensive perimeter â€" fortifications and the like â€" had all been destroyed simultaneously by orbitally based artillery, paving the way for the amassed NAR 8th airmobile mechanized â€" among other divisions â€" to quite literally, shove the Southerners out of Ssenka once and for all.

_ _ Yes, Alyn would have a very good night's sleep, resting well in the satisfaction of a job well done.

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_ _ Patrick awoke painfully... again; in fact, he determined that he would have to make a point of breaking this new found bad habit. It just was not doing him any good.

_ _ Eventually he managed to orient himself - he was lying face down - before waiting out the worst of the pain. Then, moving slowly, small steps at a time, he pulled himself up on his elbows. Carefully flipping himself over onto his side... then onto his back, he held his position as pain echoed through his battered frame.

_ _ When finally the pain subsided into a tolerable dull roar he was able to discern other sensations, he felt his elbows, bottom, and most of his legs on a pad-like surface, while his feet rested on a slightly lower surface, which provided no give... so probably stone or concrete. He figured he was lying on a thin foam mattress, similar to those formerly issued by the army.

_ _ Opening his eyes, he was forced to close them again, almost immediately. The pink he had seen through his eyelids was a bright light, he had thought it was just the pain clouding his vision. This time he was prepared, cracking his eyes ever so slightly, squinting.

_ _ Patrick found himself on a ratty blue foam pad, stained dark in some places by liquids of unknown origin. The room around him was painted a bright, stark white, except for the light grey of the smooth cement floor. There were no windows in the large, roughly rectangular room, and only one blank, featureless steel sliding door on the far wall. He was in the corner, his right and back to the walls, the door across from him. To his left the room went for about ten or fifteen meters, there were other blue pads, rolled up and unused against the wall.

_ _ He could guess where he was... he just wasn't sure he wanted to.

_ "Shit."_He mumbled, surprised at the state of his voice; barely audible and cracked.

_ _ Looking down again he noted that he wasn't wearing his familiar single piece, digital serge uniform. Instead, he was dressed in three sizes too-small knee length trousers made of some abominable synthetic fiber. They were a hideous brown, the synthetic fabric lending it a slightly glossy look.

_ _ His stomach interrupted his disgust, he was hungry, and his throat reminded him that he was thirsty as well. His captors had thankfully provided him with both water and food... well, water at least. In two steel bowls beside his pallet were the edibles; one filled with clear water, the other with a dark brown muck, which reminded him vaguely of a... aw damn. Omelet. Blood Omelet.

_ Well it's not like they would give me real meat and considering that the predators are... well... predatory, I doubt they would have potatoes or oatmeal on hand._

_ _ His stomach wasn't having any of it though, let the brain be a pussy, stomach can handle anything. Resigning himself to his culinary fate he downed the congealed mess as fast as he could, before trying â€" unsuccessfully he might add â€" to wash the taste away with the water.

_ _ Giving up on the nasty metallic after taste left on his tongue by the omelet, he flopped back down carelessly onto the mattress. Mistake. The slight impact, even padded, brought a whole new wave of aching misery, each and every mistreated inch of his body voicing their numerous complaints all at once.

_ _ When the intense discomfort subsided once again, he let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. Now, with little else to do but lay back, he was forced to face current reality.

_ _ He had been shot in the head by a... black feline... some kind of panther or something. Knocked unconscious, luckily, and then... he reached up and gingerly felt the right side of his face. A thick coating of instant plastic cement, the kind commonly used to staunch wounds during combat, covered a strip of his face ranging from his right temple to his just above his ear. He couldn't feel it; in fact, he couldn't really feel anything for about an inch around the wound.

_ Well... at least they anesthetized me. Uncommonly kind of them... So that wasn't a dream, she really did try and rip my face off._

_ _ ...

_ _ "Shit."

_ _ So now he was in some kind of... holding room? Considering it was a solid-walled structure and not, say... a tent or a temporary brig or something he was at least thirty miles south of contested territory. It was pretty much unofficial NAR policy to destroy anything and everything within thirty miles of a contested zone. It simplified things later on. Their own self-inflicted scorched earth tactic...

_ _ It also appeared to have been in use quite a lot, perhaps recently, and was well suited to its purpose... which, he realized was more likely than not a holding room for prisoners bound for interrogation. He was quite certain he didn't want to be interrogated. Not like he knew anything of value...

_ ...Well, I don't think I do... do I? could I... resist if I did...?_

_ _ He didn't know, he couldn't be sure. Suddenly everything was thrown into doubt... what if something he thought was absolutely normal turned out to be a vital piece of knowledge to the Southerners? Did he know of any future plans? What about his last assignment... he only knew his part, but he could make an educated guess... no, by now anything that was planned would already be happening and what I knew wouldn't matter... would it? How long have I been here anyway...

_ _ He wrestled with his uncertainty, his fear, for a few hours... a day, he didn't know... for all he knew he might've been here for two days. He couldn't tell time, the bright lights above him did not hint at its passage. No... he was only given one meal, he was panicking and being unrealistic, he'd only been here for a few hours at most.

_ _ Determined to give up his paranoid mental squabbling, he resolutely closed his eyes and tried his best to sleep. If they interrogated him then he would just have to hold out, wouldn't he. He could do it; he had a duty to fulfill, a country to protect, it didn't matter if he was sure, he simply would. That was it. No questioning it. Quite simple.

_ _ He immediately lapsed back into worry and uneasy bouts of apprehension. Guessing, second guessing, and second guessing his second guessing. Firmly pushing the guesses to the back of his mind, and affirming his certainty. Then wondering whether his certainty was truly certain, second guessing his ability to hold out, second guessing his motives for second guessing his abilities. Wondering if he was going insane.

_ _ Finally, perhaps hours later, he slipped into a tormented slumber, barely below consciousness, even in his dreams he grappled with his fears. He had long since broken into a cold sweat. Never had he thought he would end up like this, in fact, he never really put much thought into what he would do if he was captured... the few times he had considered it, he dismissed the idea, assuring himself that his loyalty and patriotism could stand up to any test. He wasn't quite so sure now.

---

_ Shhhhp... Thunk._

_ _ The subdued hiss of a sliding door and the thump of it slotting into the hollow of the wall woke the unfortunate sergeant from his uneasy sleep. He lay on his pallet for a short moment before the implications of the noise found their way into his addled brain... causing him to shoot up into a sitting position, before the sharp aching the movement awoke within him forced him back onto his elbows.

_ _ Squinting into the bright room, still not quite fully conscious, he saw two darker figures against the white of the room... too late.

_ _ Furred, padded hands fell on his unsuspecting shoulders, pushing him roughly back down into the mat, before holding him down by his upper arms. As his vision cleared and his brain opened for business he saw the figure holding him down was some sort of ursine, dressed in a blue jailer's uniform... the bear's fur was brown and shaggy, her muzzled face set into an emotionless, competent expression. She was huge too, he noticed finally. She must've been seven foot two or something, and clearly would have no trouble holding him down even if he was resisting.

_ _ Suddenly, his attention, previously wrapped around the stony face of the ursine, was grabbed by the appearance of another... the second figure, spearing by his head, on his left. A... raccoon? A raccoon in a white medical suit with a really big injection gun... that was getting uncomfortably close to his straining neck...

_ _ ...

_ _ "SHIT!"

_ _ The cold nose of the injector pressed against his neck, near the jugular... Thwip... and suddenly the whole area... then more, his chest, his head and face... he couldn't feel the cold of the injector anymore, everything was cold now... He had trouble holding his expression... his jaw slid open... it went black for the poor Sergeant once again, the third time in as many days...

_ _ A last thought fizzled into his rapidly closing mind; Shit...

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_ _ "Miss... er..." The small, male canine said, at a loss.

_ _ "Leer, Sergeant Sable Leer, not miss, I'm in the army."

_ _ "Alright... you wish to claim a... slave?" The little brown-furred male was nervous, attention constantly flitting between the larger, irritated cat sitting before his too-large desk, and the hurricane of papers on said desk.

_ _ "No, I just came to talk to you--of course I want to CLAIM MY SLAVE! That would be why I filled out the ‘reserved-property' forms at this blasted containment facility!" Sable was not feeling the love, after spending fourteen hours at the regional ‘war-prison' filling out what seemed like hundreds of sheets of paperwork... all for a single damn human.

_ _ "Yes! Yes miss... uh S-sergeant Leer, of course I understand your... uh, I'm sure we can have it released to you, yes, fine... a human? No problem, you know we just... it's an unusual request... please understa-" A warning growl, deep in the back of her throat. This... this is why males should stay at home...

_ _ "Alright! Alright, I'll just... you see... uh... I'll just call down to have it uh... prepared for transfer then, shall I? heheh... err..." Oh you better hope on your scrawny hide I don't have to fill out anymore paperwork.

_ _ The male reached over the edge of the desk, reaching for the selection pad on the com-feed, he dialed some local net code and held a single digit over the call select; "Uhm... you can go down to pick up your... um... s-slave in the lobby, it'll be there in ten... ten minutes or so... ready for you to, um... sign it out..." He gave a weak smile, and made an obvious effort to hold it under the withering stare of the panther.

_ _ "Fine." Her voice was low, and was positively dripping with menace.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_ _

_ _ More than an hour later, a fuming cat and a thoroughly unconscious human left through the front entrance of the 'Ackher Lawn' containment facility. The larger black feline was pulling the human along on a wheeled medical board, somewhat like a rolling suitcase, with two wheels at the bottom... or in this case, at the top. The human had been strapped on it backwards, and as such was upside down.

_ Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Dammit and piss! To the pit with stupid hollow-headed bureaucratic male weaseling wankers! Is it so hard.... Sooo hard to understand... I capture human, I fill out paper work, I keep human... rotted bastards! Ten minutes my shit-encrusted tail! A damn hour, an HOUR!_

_ _ Even from a distance it was obvious the cat was not in a good mood, and as such; the few people she encountered on the street at such a late hour â€" around midnight â€" steered a healthy distance around and out of her way.

_ _ She figured she had about a day before the human started waking up, and another twenty or so hours if she used the disposable heavy tranquilizer syringe they had provided her in the basic slave kit. The kit, she had been amused to find out, even had a pamphlet...as she'd guessed. It also came with a large, sturdy looking plastic switch, ten assorted pills... not sure what those were for, a cheap, but strong faux-leather collar and leash, and a one size fits... well pretty much nothing well, blue laborer's coverall - for the slave, of course. It had a tail hole in it though... most slaves were generation slaves, whose parents traced back to the few prey who were enslaved instead of killed all those fifty odd years ago.

---

_ _ Eventually Sable was able to flag down a transport car; which, unlike the others, didn't immediately swerve off at the sight of the human. She made her way to the local civilian air-stop, and managed to get herself on a flight to Affen, nearly a ten hour flight due south. The human had been the main reason she had so much trouble getting a flight - it took her six hours to book one â€" because most airliners either didn't have the ability to put the human in cargo, and/or wouldn't allow it in the passenger cabin... even if she offered to buy a whole row of seats.

_ _ The air transport she had finally able to charter was an old style hybrid cargo/passenger jet, and had a pressurized cargo compartment, which would allow the human to survive in the high altitudes reached during flight. Even then, she had only been able to book her flight on the condition that she use her spare tranquilizer on him before boarding; ‘just in case' as the irritatingly self-conscious male fox, the airline company's ‘desk-representative' at the air stop, had told her. She really did miss the old days, when males rarely held public jobs; they were just so pathetic and... male.

_ _ Her flight home was... well, she'd much rather have shot herself and walked all the way to the depths of the infernal pit than do it again. Sadly, she knew deep down, that she most likely would be doing it again after her leave ended... but then, of course, she wouldn't have the human in tow, and was determined to make her next flight more comfortable, on one of the more reputable airliners.

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_ _

Classified to Level 2 Personnel, Specified office; Office of Adjutant General,

_ _ ''ENT. INDNT: --

_ _ ''TOPC/CATG: Ssenka Cit. RA-3 MOB.FT.DIV Capitulated/TCTCL_DIALGE

_ _ ''DIRC: 4TH Front Command Den â€" Specific LOC; 185.345.456.CD6

_ _ ''DTE: 08/08/.134

CLASFCTION//: Classified to Level 2 Personnel , Specified office;Office of Adjutant General, Royal Army General Staff.

TXT//:

Action Item//: See below.

Ssenka city defenders [Royal Army 3rd Mobile Infantry Division] Capitulated under onslaught of advancing NAR mechanized divisions.

NAR assault began to advance into formerly RA held territory at 08;00 Hrs, 14 hrs after key defensive perimeter fortifications were destroyed by simultaneous orbital bombardments.

Definite opinion of 4th front command analysts that regiment assigned with manning defensive perimeter at the time of bombardment [4/21 composite infantry] is responsible for allowing the line to fracture through gross negligence of duty.

It is the opinion of 4th front command that Ssenka city was lost due in most part to the cowardice and general incompetence displayed by responsible regiment [4/21 composite infantry] for allowing perimeter to fracture and abandoning remaining posts in the face of the enemy.

Ssenka was effectively under control of NAR forces as of 21;00 Hrs on night of NAR advance. NAR holds Ssenka city proper, suburbs and residential, and industrial zones up to Ibbar river. Bridges along Ibbar River were destroyed at onset of siege of Ssenka 3 yrs, 2 months ago.

Request formation of board of inquiry supervised by Judge Advocate General attached to the Royal Army General Staff, in order to determine possible criminal charges of gross negligence regarding the above specified incident.

Lady and Commander, Three Claw General L. C. White of 4th Front Command

_ _ ''''END=TRNSMSN

_ _ //KLTL-

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_ _ Patrick slowly oozed into a conscious state, the near over dosage of powerful tranquilizers weighed heavily on his system. Muggy awareness eventually fortified his momentary slipping grip on the consciousness... his grip held, and he pulled himself forcefully into it. His body could sleep... the chemicals made it, but his mind... his mind was tired of self-envelopment.

_ _ For once he awoke without the pain, though he noticed that it wasn't so much the fact he was painless, but that he couldn't really feel much at all. He didn't know of the second over-kill tranquilization, but he sure as hell felt it. The only discomfort was a slight throb on the side of his head... but that was nothing.

_ _ He went through the now monotonous routine of cranking the rusted machinery of his eyelids slowly open, and clearing the haziness from his pupils.

_ _ It seemed that whenever he woke up anymore he was always somewhere different, last time he'd been in an asylum like room with an omelet of dubious origins, the time before that he'd been in Ssenka city... or what remained of it. This time... he was in someone's living room, sitting propped up against a wall, wearing a baggy blue coverall.

_ _ The floor was hardwood, even his numb ass could tell him that, but his eyes told him it was covered in thousands of accumulated scratches which gave the floor and worn look. It occurred to him that, given the presence of predatory furs during last two awakenings, the marks were probably left by the claws of some careless predator.

_ _ It was morning, the window on the opposite wall told him, and it also told him he was high above the ground. So... maybe he was in an apartment building? Funny... he'd been sure that he would wake up in a dark room with a bright lamp stuck in his face, strapped to a metal chair or something.

_ _ He tried moving, and found he could... to an extent. His hands were bound before him, on his lap. He tried standing, but was pulled back to the ground by a pull on his neck... further investigation led him to the conclusion that he was tied to a metal ring bolted to the wall, by a leash tied to his collar.

_ Great. I have a fucking collar... good boy rover. Oh Gawd._

_ _ Apparently the noise he made falling back onto his ass earned him someone's attention. He heard footsteps sliding over the smooth floor, and the slight clicks of claws.

_ _ "Aw shit." He said, again surprised at the condition of his voice... he coughed to clear his throat.

_ There was a tall black cat, the one who had shot him if his memory served, definitely a panther now that he had time to see her in the light. She stood an impressive six foot four... _well, impressive for a human, he allowed. Anyway, a good three inches above his six-one.

_ _ She wore the same expression she'd wore the last time he'd awoken in his presence, the faintly ‘bamboozled' look only a mildly surprised feline can pull off. It would have been funny... but Patrick's funny-gland was numb... like pretty much everything else... What the hell did they inject me with!?

_ _ "You... you said it again! Damn you! STOP SAYING SHIT!" It was his turn to look surprised. She really had a nice voice, even when angry, it was deep... had a lot of RRRR's that he wasn't sure should be in there...

_ _ "..." He replied, resolutely.

_ _ "Oh... shut up, never mind... pit... what do I do now. Um..." She looked pensive now.

_ _ "Um..." Hell, why not... "You could untie me?" can't blame a guy for trying, can ya'?

_ _"..." She looked at him, eyes wide; as if she â€" again â€" couldn't believe he'd said that.

_ _ "..." Patrick repeated.

_ _"... NO! Uh... right, this is my flat, you are deep within Imperial territory, in Affen, I'm sure you know where that is... and I'm sure you can guess at your chances of escape, even if I let you walk out my front door." She paused for breath, looking at him as if probing for a reaction.

_ Shit._ But he didn't show it, he continued to look at her blankly... the tranquilizers helped with his usually shoddy poker face.

_ _ "Err... Now then, you are my Slave, I trust you know what that means, you will do everything I tell you to, you will do what I say when I say it, you will not speak unless spoken too, or have something truly useful to impart unto me... your mistress. You will be respectful at all times, you will not look at me in the eyes... like you are doing right now... stop it." She sounded like she had memorized that little speech, and Patrick was more than a little proud he could break her concentration without saying a word.

_ _ "You... eh...uh- You Patrick Tell, formerly in service of the Northern Allied Republics, are now my property... and, uh... are stripped of your name and past until I, you mistress, say otherwise. Uh... Got that? I... uh... have a whip, you know..."

_ _ "I-I'm a slave? Whathafuck!" His formerly blank face broke into a jaw-wide expression of disbelief. Of all the things, he'd expected to wake up to torture, to the barrel of a gun, or not at all... but since - the hell - when did predators take prisoners of war and enslave them... in their living rooms!

_ _ His shock and disbelief lent her an air of confidence, seemed to fuel her conviction. "Yes. You are my slave, now close your damn... well I was going to say furless, but that seems to be changing... mouth."

_ _ That caught him off guard, yet again. Now she was reminding him he hadn't shaved for... um... how long had it been? No! Wait, no! This isn't right!

_ _ Most POW captured by the southerners were sent to the infamous ‘disposal camps'; the POW would be forced to work until death took him, usually through starvation or disease. If he refused, then they shot him on sight. They really were meant to get rid of the prisoners... that's why they were disposal camps after all. So... he had never heard of a prisoner actually becoming a slave, unless you call the extended execution of being worked to death slavery... but again, that was just another way to die, the Southerners could care less if any work actually got done.

_ _So what the hell was he here for? Why him, why was this goddamn oversized house cat trying to enslave him? He didn't know, but he was half drugged up and was not in the mood... he was a third generation warrior, his father, and his father before him had fought the Southern aggressors to their last breath, so who was he to interrupt the pattern?

_ _ "Well? Anything you want to add slave? I give you my express permission to voice your opinion..." she said slyly, the prey-toying instincts were taking their toll again; she twisted the flexible plastic switch in her hands. It didn't look pretty.

_ _ He tried his best to ignore this. "No! I will not be your slave... Uh... I am a Sergeant Patrick Tell of the NAR army, identification number 8032-1603-82. I will not submit, I will never be your slave! We can do this the hard way or the easy way, you beat me black and blue-no, you can beat me bloody with whatever you damn well please, but you might as well just KILL ME! I am not going to lift a fuckin' finger to serve your stupid furry arse! If you want to try and enslave me, then you better always keep two eyes on me, always keep me tied to the wall, and you'd best not fall asleep, or let me near your damn food... I will smother you in your sleep, poison you or stab you the first chance I get, so no! I repeat, I will not be you slave you dirty sava- AGGH!" The plastic whip interrupted his rant with a quick blow across his shoulder.

_ _ "I! HAVE SPENT! TOO MUCH! TIME! AND EFFORT! TO GET! YOUR! STUPID! BALD SELF! HERE! FOR! THIS!" She literally shrieked at him, advancing, laying a stroke with the wicked switch with each advancing step. The hard, but flexible plastic leaving a curved bloody welt behind with each pass.

_ _She continued to wail on him like this for about thirty seconds, each fraction of the time seeming like hours to the human, trying his best to shield his head with his bound arms.

_ _The numbness had decided to go on vacation; it seemed to him, as he was damn sure he could feel each and every lash in exquisite detail, even through the work coverall he wore. Patrick was beginning to wonder if he truly could hold true to his vow, if she kept on like this, and this is what he felt like with powerful tranquilizers in his system, then he was seriously doubting his ability to hold-out if forced to face this for extended sessions.

_ _ However, before he was forced to surrender to himself, he was saved by the... err... chime. The cat, snarling in mindless rage as she beat the smaller human, eventually heard the repeated chiming of some sort of electronic device from another room. Her strokes slowed, then stopped, before she stood straight, corrected her expression and took a deep calming breath. Before huffing indignantly over the cowering human and stalking off into the other room.

_ _ Patrick slowly uncurled... and overheard the panther answer the call. She barked a sharp "accept" at the â€" what was most likely a vid-phone â€" and he heard the affirmative double beep.

_ _ A faint voice; ˜Sable? Sable! Are you alone?"

_ _ "uh..."