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Victor woke up. He looked around and grabbed the aching back of his head. It felt wet. He brought his hand forward; it was slick with blood. His neck was sore from no support. His mind wasn't operating at full capacity quite yet, but he knew this wasn't where he was supposed to be. He looked down. No clothes. Without even realizing he was doing it; he ran his fingers through his crack. He brought them up and almost gagged. They were covered in congealed, slimy spunk. That was when he noticed the throbbing pain in his rear.

He'd been raped. Multiple times, by the smell of it. All horses, though. He looked around for his sidearm. His phone. Any of his personal effects. They were nowhere to be seen.

At that moment a behemoth of a thoroughbred stallion walked into the room. Also nude. And raring to go. His fourteen-inch-long member bounced with each clack of his hooves on the plywood floor. "Ah good, the bitch is awake."

"What? You didn't seem to mind fucking me while I was unconscious. So, what's changed?" Victor spat. Vehemence poured from his lips. He was pissed. He'd been violated in the most intimate of ways. He opened his mouth to bad mouth the stallion again, but before he knew what was happening, another stallion pulled his head back and shoved his own beer-can-thick, sixteen-inch-long, foul smelling, dripping member down Victor's throat, stripping Victor of his voice and his breath. Then he strapped Victor's flailing arms into leather straps that were on the stainless-steel table he'd been strapped to by a girdle.

"That mouth has a more important job to do," the draft horse commanded, "And If I feel teeth..." He drew his finger across his bulging neck. "Let's just say that my friend here can be overzealous at times. And the closest hospital is an hour away from here. You'd be dead before we got halfway there."

The two brutes chuckled darkly. They'd slipped though. The closest hospital was an hour away? That meant he was in a rural suburb outside the city. It was a clue. An important clue. He wasn't going to risk that thoroughbred ruining his body, though. So, he did his best to avoid scraping the thick hose pistoning in and out of his mouth and settled in. He wasn't going anywhere until this oaf had had his way with him.

Resigned to his fate, he visibly relaxed. This didn't go unnoticed by the brutes over him, "So the bitch finally accepts his place in the world."

***

Kevin looked down at the cracked pieces of Victor's phone. Pulverized by whomever had kidnapped him. It had only been a block away from Richarde's apartment. The car had been graffitied as well. A giant "FTP!" painted in dripping Red Letters spread across the passenger side of Victor's UC cruiser.

The clip-clop of hooves behind him and the nudge on his arm let him know that Commander Wilson had come back. "No idea who coulda done it?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I know who did it. Problem is I don't have the evidence to prove it."

"Don't want to repeat the Jimenez case?"

"No. FUCK!" Kev slammed his fists on the roof of the graffitied cruiser. "These guys have some balls. Nabbing a cop off the street."

"If it's who you think it is, they practically run this city's underground. Even after you killed their leader. The way that Maxim ran his organization another Stallion would have immediately taken over for that asshole. He ran a tight ship."

"And really?! Fuck the Police? What is this? The fucking 90s?"

"Kevin, I know you're going through a lot right now but I need you. Or do I need to pull Grizzoli and Moles off the Zanderson case?"

"NO! I can...I can handle this, Commander."

"Good." The stallion patted him as gently as the large Palomino could. "Let me know when You have a lead, Detective."

"Yessir!" Kevin replied.

***

Richarde sat at the Prosecution table in counsel with the ADA. To his right stood a diminutive dark purple dragon. She was probably no more than four foot three, but as all learned eventually. A fiery spirit in petite female dragons was more than just a funny pun. It was the truth. The little bombshell had nearly overtaken the bailiff when he'd brought in the defendant: a rather gaunt looking, nerdy human man who had a Nintendo and a Play-Station logo tattooed on his shoulder. He'd managed to calm her down. Telling her to let the System serve its purpose, and avoiding the dragoness be held in contempt of court.

This case had been rather emotional for the Naga, considering recent events. He pushed through however much he could. The DA had been adamant that he be party to this particular trial.

The Bailiff announced the entrance of the Judge in the traditional manner: "All rise, The Honorable Judge Macer presiding." Judge Macer was a stout, plump, black mamba Naga who was starting to show some transluscency to his dusty scales. His all-black eyes reflected the fluorescents overhead eerily. Even Richarde, a Naga himself, was always creeped out by his black Mamba cousins.

As the Mamba Naga coiled himself into a perched sitting position, he called, "You may be seated or perched. A reminder for everyone, this is Case Number 556899; The City of Caulder versus George Bergmann. We'll start with the opening arguments."

The ADA stepped forward. And took the floor. "Thank you, your honor." He said calmly. "Your Honor, Members of the Jury, imagine for a moment, if you will, a boy--a dragon hatchling--who like many other children and cubs his age can't wait for Christmas Break; for Christmas morning to come. When he would be able to open that brand-new skateboard that his mom had bought him, or the new iPhone his dad had worked tirelessly at the Steel Mill for three whole weeks of overtime just to afford it. Imagine a boy who like many others his age loved playing two-hand touch football, who played tag and hide and seek. Sadly, this hatchling wouldn't get to open those presents he'd been eyeing on Christmas Morn. He wouldn't get to play with his friends. Nor go back to school in January overstuffed and happy and refreshed. No, sadly, for little Jenner Wayford, Christmas Morning wouldn't come. This hatchling--this sweet, innocent, playful little boy was walking home from school on the night of December twentieth, last year. When the man you see in the defendant's chair, George Bergmann, abducted him, raped him, and then brutally murdered him. Then, seeking a prize from his endeavor, the defendant mutilated the body and took with him the boy's masculinity.

"When I come speak with you again at the end of this trial, the evidence will show irrefutably that this man, George Bergmann, did these horrible things. The evidence you will see throughout this case leads to only one possible verdict. That verdict is that the defendant is guilty. There is no other story that can possibly be true once you all see the evidence that our fearless men in blue have gathered.

"Thank you again, and I hope that you all will make the correct decision. And allow Mrs. Wayford to bury her child knowing his killer won't ever see the light of day again." The ADA sat down, Richarde let out a light sigh.

The Mamba nodded to the blonde human male. His all-black eyes scanning over the room before settling on the flustered-looking, public defender. He stood and took the floor, "Your honor. Members of the Jury. At the end of the day, we all look forward to going home, relaxing, and blowing off a little steam. For some of us that means working out. For some of us that means imbibing in a little of the devil's lettuce or some fire water. For my client, George Bergmann? That meant coming home turning on his custom-built gaming computer, putting on _All Life Dies Eventually--_a common Zombie shooter game enjoyed by many gamers worldwide. And letting the real-world fade away.

"My client was doing just that on the night of December 20th. And through testimony and other evidence, I will show you that George Bergmann couldn't have committed these crimes. He was halfway across the city playing his videogames and relaxing after a long day at work. Thank you." He sat down.

Oh, this would be an interesting case. Richarde knew. The defendant's alibi had been weak to start. And that seemed to be the extent of the public defender's argument.

***

~Calm yourself, Jon.~ Junior spoke into his boyfriend's frayed mind, ~I'm right here.~ He squeezed the young man's hand. As they walked into the main entrance of the school building, the two held their hands with fingers entwined. The myriad students gave them a passing glance and the occasional jeer.

"Hey fags, heads up!" they heard behind them before Junior felt the impact of a cold, plastic cup on his back and then felt the gloopy, slushy contents glop down his back, as the syrup of what he assumed was a slushy seeped under his scales.

He looked over at John. Jon looked back. Horror filled his gaze. "I...I..."

Junior smiled wanly. "That used to be you, Jon. Now, I have you by my side. And with that knowledge, I could be dripping in diet soda and I wouldn't care. I will weather the world for you, Jon. That's the depth of the love I have for you."

Jon smiled ruefully. "I love you, too. Now...let's get you cleaned up." He gave Ricky a kiss on the tip of his muzzle. Then they walked in and toward the gym and its locker room.