Drom 2: Milo's Mission
#2 of Drom
Drom 2: Milo's Mission.
A three-meter slab of featureless stone rose like a dais above the paved ground of the small walled courtyard. The sun of Drom pierced the chemical-green smog that hung over most of the planet's surface to beat down on the plain courtyard. Once, the clean walls of the courtyard were pearly white, but now the pitted and worn surface was covered in a thick layer of grit. The dust came from the nuclear wastes that surrounded the city, or from the disintegrated city centre. It clung to every surface, turning the silver and white stone into dark greys and dirty browns.
The teleporter's activation was heralded by a gust of wind that blew the loose grit around the pad into a fine mist as cold air mixed with Drom's hot atmosphere. In an instant too small to measure, the empty air above the dais was swapped with the contents of another teleportation pad somewhere else in the galaxy. Atop the pad now stood a two-meter-tall, powered-suit-encased figure. Thick, desert-camouflaged plates armoured every flat surface, while his joints and fine manipulators had thinner, lighter plates that allowed movement. The heavy armour covered his snout and ears, giving him a distinctly canine profile. A large canvas backpack held all manner of equipment to survive on Drom, while the assault rifle in his paws made it clear that he was prepared to deal with less natural threats.
Milo had arrived on Drom.
'Drom. What a hellhole. Why can't unimaginable wealth ever be buried under island resorts with white, sandy beaches, sparkling water and attractive, easy serving girls? Oh no, a dead planet full of murdering cut-throats. Yay.' The bleak sky and worn walls were testament to the destruction that Drom had waged upon itself centuries ago. To some, Drom was a constant reminder that any advanced society's destructive capacity far outstripped its own durability. Milo was just glad he'd missed it.
Stepping off the teleportation pad, Milo was cruelly reminded of the full weight of his equipment as it bounced on his back. While his combat suit increased his strength dramatically, that just meant that the powers that be demanded he carry more.
'Did they really think I would need all this crap?' The devastation of the city was even more evident in the street before him. The fronts of buildings had collapsed, spilling rubble and debris over the smooth metal-paved street. Massive blast marks and twisted, torn metal rails dotted the walkways.
Picking a building at random, Milo crossed the street, climbing over the rubble of a collapsed wall into the first story of a large building. Debris had fallen and blocked the traditional entrance to the room he climbed into, leaving the only way into the room a gaping hole where the wall use to be. With his back secured and a good view of the street below, Milo dropped his pack and planned for the mission ahead.
Milo was on Drom for a single reason. While Drom attracted treasure hunters like a corpse attracted flies, Milo was not here for the extremely valuable salvage of Drom. He was seeking a specific silver briefcase. What it contained he had no idea. He didn't really care. If Milo did not return with the case in 13 days his entire clan, his whole extended family would languish in indebted servitude to a vile lynx named Thomas Hinderson. Milo hoped he could return the case in person to the lynx who was holding his loved ones hostage, so he could ram it into Thomas's head repeatedly until the lynx stopped moving. Then he would start on his other limbs.
Milo had wondered what was worth a entire clan of slaves, but knowing the stories that came from Drom, it was most likely a fancy toaster that Thomas could copy and sell on the galactic market, making trillions. Ironically, any technology that was too advanced would quickly warrant investigation from the Commonwealth, a gigantic galactic power that controlled every other faction in the galaxy. They maintained their dominance by attempting to ensure that only they could harvest salvage from Drom. Unfortunately for the Commonwealth, the millions of teleportation pads around the ruined planet allowed daring individuals to recover the lost technology of Drom and sell it under the table to other governments. The Commonwealth were determined to maintain the technological lead however, and were known to crush entire planets if they blatantly broke the technology embargo the Commonwealth placed on all non-Commonwealth worlds.
'I bet this damn Briefcase will weigh a ton too.' Milo browsed the files stored in his suits computer. He had been given the global positioning system coordinates for the likely location of the case, and a detailed map of the ruined city.
'How the hell did Thomas get this?' Milo looked over the map on his helmet's heads-up display. It was detailed and current enough that it must have come from satellite imagery or aerial reconnaissance drones. The only people able to do that on Drom were the Commonwealth.
'Ah, there it is.' Milo soon found the coordinates. It looked like the case was in a small mansion surrounded by scorched earth. Neat rows of empty plant beds indicated what it once held a expansive garden of some kind. The building was built on a rise, looking out over the desolate city.
'Bet that was once prime real estate.'
He entered the location into his navigation computer. His HUD now showed distance and direction from his goal. 'OK, about 15 kilometres from here, that's about three hours travel time . . . But first, time to find somewhere to dump all this junk.' Milo mentally reprimanded himself. If his old drill instructor ever heard him call his field kit junk he'd kick Milo's arse. He snorted as he recalled the grizzled old bear. 'Bastard is probably the only reason I'm still alive.' He panned the map, finding his current location. A few streets over a dried fountain sat in the centre of a side street.
'That looks good, a little exposed but I don't intend to be here more than a day. Besides, no way in hell I'm sleeping in one of these buildings, who knows when one will topple.' Milo shouldered his pack once more. Leaving the building, he darted down a side street, keeping to the shadows as he cut across the lines of buildings and empty streets to the fountain.
'13 days . . . plenty of time. In fact, if I get the opportunity, I might grab some Drom tech myself. I do have a family fortune to rebuild. Lucky me.'
As Milo reached the fountain he got a good view of its surroundings from the ground. On each side, tall office buildings towered over the street, bathing it in shadow.
'Good, less chance my camp will get spotted from the air.' He dropped his pack, pulling it open as he removed survival equipment.
The fountain was large enough for him to stand in, with a handy water feature rising out of its centre to anchor his camouflage netting to. Soon, he had set up a heat/water unit to suck moisture out of the air. His pack and other survival equipment lay about the messy camp, the whole camp covered by desert camouflage netting that stretched from the fountain's lip up to the long-dry water feature.
'I've slept in worse places.' Milo pulled a grenade from the webbing that hung over his armour. He twisted the top off the explosive, pulling off the pin and handle trigger mechanism. It was replaced with a proximity trigger he pulled from a small box at his feet. Milo looked over the device.
'Damn, an interference grenade. Thomas really didn't spare the bling when he equipped me.'
Interference grenades were the big brother of smoke grenades. Most modern soldiers carried some means of rendering smoke and other fine particles transparent, usually by detecting light that was normally outside the visual spectrum. Interference grenades prevented this by remaining solid no matter what wavelength of light passed into them. They even let off a electromagnetic pulse to confuse electronic senses. Only the Commonwealth were legally allowed to carry them.
The interference grenade would detonate if its sensor detected movement within five meters. This would create a giant plume of smoke that could be seen from most of the city. If Milo saw the smoke, he would know that his camp had been compromised and could avoid it. This had an added benefit of attracting Commonwealth patrols, hopefully in the opposite direction that he was heading in. He made sure to set the fuse time to a long 15 seconds, as if he did return he wanted to be have time to defuse it. Setting the device to arm in 10 seconds, Milo looked around his camp, making sure he had all the equipment he thought he would need before activating the timer on the grenade and quickly vaulting over the fountain's lip.
'Right, time to retrieve the suitcase-o-doom.' He summoned the map to his HUD once more. Selecting a likely route through the winding streets, he set off at a determined jog. Without his pack he was able to move much faster, winding down the deserted streets and alleyways towards his destination.
Four and a half hours later, Milo had just reached the high brick wall that separated the mansion grounds from the street. The city had been difficult to navigate and Milo had to retrace his steps several times. That and every damn hour a Commonwealth drone or hovercraft flew overhead, prompting him to hide in the shadows until it passed out of sight.
Milo glanced along the wall that stretched out on either side of him. It appeared to be completely intact, a testament to its sturdy construction. Slinging his rifle over one shoulder he took a deep breath as he crouched, leaping upward to grasp the top of the wall. With a grunt he hauled himself over, landing with a heavy thud on the other side. Rising to his feet, be observed the ground in front of him.
The map really didn't do the sheer desolation of the 'garden' justice. It was just level dirt. There were barely visible divides between the fields of featureless ground that may have once been garden borders, but otherwise it was just two or three hundred meters of almost lunar landscape.
The ground from the wall to the house was utterly without cover. If Milo attempted to cross it, there would be no way to keep his presence hidden from anyone observing the area. Unless he used his personal cloaking device. Milo felt a little jittery, like a child who had been given an awesome new toy as he considered the device. Ever since Thomas's goons had given him the armour he had wanted to try it.
The ability to make the device was way outside even the Commonwealth's ability, so the few that were found were treated like holy relics, given from one warrior to another. Or so the romanticised version of the tale went.
'If Thomas felt the need to give me this rare, irreplaceable device, then I am DEFINITELY seeing what's inside that case!' Milo activated the device.
Milo faded, slowly becoming translucent before completely vanishing. The stealth field was almost perfect. While he did emit a rare kind of radiation while in the field, and small pools of complete black formed where his boots met the ground, these flaws were only detectable by someone standing relatively close to him. However, as the field prevented light from hitting the surface of his armour and reflecting, Milo now faced a new problem. While Drom's sun brightly illuminated the empty field in front of him, to Milo the world was pitch black. His field of view was reduced to a black and white circle directly in front of him, as if he was holding a bright, focused torch on the darkest of nights.
He moved slowly, not just because he could barely see in front of himself, but because any sudden disruption of the skin-tight stealth field would force it to collapse. Finally, the walls of the house came into view. Milo moved down the side of he house, careful to maintain the field's integrity as he approached the door. Once inside the large double doors of the mansion, which appeared to have been beaten in long ago, he deactivated the field. His helmet automatically adjusted its displays to keep from blinding him, but Milo still winced as his field of view suddenly expanded and was bathed in vibrant colour.
The large room he found himself in had seen recent activity. Hundreds of years of wind had covered the floor with infertile soil from outside, allowing clear tracks to form where the long-static soil had been disturbed. The myriad tracks in the soil converged on a solid gigantic staircase that dominated the room. Milo followed the tracks, weapon raised and ready as he made his way around the weathered hallways. Empty rooms branched off from the man-made path, but each was undisturbed in its long decay. At the top of another flight of stairs, he finally came to a rickety door. Despite increasing the sensitivity of his suit's audio sensors, Milo heard nothing on the other side but wind and the creaking of the ancient building. He steeled himself for an unknown and possibly dangerous encounter before busting into the room.
Someone had spent a lot of time making this room habitable. A thick rug covered the dirty floor while a massive pile of faded, multicoloured cushions completely covered one half of the room. The other half had a sturdy table with a few chairs and large boxes of supplies lining the wall. The only other exit to the room was a thick iron door. Through its small, glassless window he saw the green sky of Drom, indicating that it probably lead to the roof of the building. On the table was a silver case. While observably lived in, there was no sign of the occupants.
'Bingo! Pay day!' He shut the door behind him. Approaching the table, he placed his assault rifle next to the case as he examined it closely.
It was not the right case. 'Damn. Well, that would have been too easy anyway.' The make was wrong and this one lacked a Commonwealth seal. 'Well, may as well have a look see . . .' Milo disengaged the locks holding his helmet in place. The positive pressure of his suit hissed in protest as the sealed environment was violated. Placing the helmet beside the rifle, the German Shepherd rubbed his ears. He always hated how combat suits had such inflexible ear housing. Sucking in the hot, stale air, Milo made a mental note to take some anti-radiation pills when he got back. Who knew what was in this air? Still, good to be out of that damn suit.
'OK, what's in the box.' He flipped the latches on the suit case. With a bit of luck, it would be the start of his new family fortune, and not lines of protein bars.
Grasping the handle he lifted the top of the case.
Then immediately slammed it back down again.
'No. It couldn't be. Not here. Why the fuck is that here? No. It couldn't be.'
Milo took a deep breath as he steeled himself. Grabbing a nearby chair he placed it in front of the case, sitting down as he felt his knees go weak.
'I'm overreacting. Open the case and have a good look. It's not . . . . it just can't be.'
He slowly opened the case again. Inside, the top half had lines of syringes in neat pockets. The bottom half had rows of small vials, securely strapped into padded pockets. Each vial was neatly filled with a pale green liquid. He felt himself grip the edge of the table as he sank back into the chair.
Keen. Here, on Drom? But . . .how? The question died in his mind as quickly as it had arisen. It didn't matter. The room almost seemed to fade from existence as the case loomed in his mind. His entire universe soon consisted of only the case in front of him, and the pale green fluid just sitting there. Waiting to be used.
'Milo, close the case. Walk away.' He commanded himself. He knew what this drug was capable of. He had seen it, felt it first hand merely a day ago. That was when he had first been given the drug, first felt its flourish in his mind, its sweet, graceful touch . . .
'No. The chemical had been forced on me. Anything I feel now is just a chemical reaction occurring in my brain.' Somehow the cold logic offered no comfort or resistance to the burning desire that he felt slowly snowballing in him. The craving had only been with him since his time with Anna less then 24 hours ago. Yet every waking moment since then it had been with him, clawing at the back of his mind. A demand, a longing to feel the green fluid flow in his veins once more.
'I will now close the case.' His arms felt heavy and unresponsive as they remained in a death grip on the table's edge.
"Gah! This is ridiculous." Milo growled at his own ineptitude. Why was it so hard to just walk away! And yet, Milo knew why. Because it was not his fault. He had seen what the drug did, felt it, and Thomas did say it was highly addictive. Obviously it had done something to him. He couldn't fight chemicals working in his brain. He just had to deal with this in another way. From another angle. He would deal with it. He was no coward, he faced his problems head on. If he had to do something distasteful, he would damn well do it.
Ok, so he couldn't just walk away. That was a fact. It wasn't like he had control over this. If he took some of the drug, just sated his current need, he could then find the real silver case and get the hell out of here. That would work. That was a solution. Once the daemons of need were quelled he could think more clearly.
Milo hurriedly stripped himself of his combat suit. The interlocking pieces meant he had to remove most of the suit so he could have unimpeded access to his arm. While he knew full well that he could inject it anywhere he could find a vein, there was something attractive about using the same spot the first dose had been given. It just felt normal and right. Soon he wore only his padded undersuit and the helmet interface coif. Once the pile of armour on the table contained all his equipment, he knew he was ready. Although this was all part of his plan, he felt a quiver of anticipation as the last piece was thrown onto the table. With quaking hands he slowly and deliberately withdrew a syringe and vial from the case. As he penetrated the cap of the vial with the needle, his heart stated to accelerate and he sucked in short, sharp breaths. Agonizingly slowly the green solution filled the entire body of the syringe. He felt sweat forming on his brow, his anticipation peaking, as if he was finally about to accomplished a long held goal. With a slight pang of pain he pushed the needle into his own flesh.
The cold liquid flew into his veins, rapidly emptying from the syringe. He felt the solution crawling up his arm, shooting into his body as it journeyed to his brain. Milo sat back in the chair, releasing a breath he had been holding ever since he inserted the needle. He felt his whole body relaxing as a sense of complete calmness overtook his mind. His eyes glazed over as he enjoyed the strange completeness and fulfilment of the moment. The discomfort of Drom's harsh atmosphere, his searing hatred for Thomas, even his apprehension and concern for his family seemed to just .... float away as his craving for the drug was met. Somehow his paw had found its way onto his crotch. He stroked his deflated member, fondly recalling last night.
'Where's Little Whore when I need her?' He chuckled. A small part of himself was horrified that he now felt so little disgust at the thought of abusing the drug-dominated wolfess. That small part was easy to dismiss.
"Um . . . . .who are you?" A small soft voice came from behind him, harshly forcing Milo back into reality.
Milo rocketed out of the chair. Seizing his rifle, he spun around, bringing it up to his eyes as he sighted down on the intruder.
In the now open doorway stood a cottontail rabbit. She wore a faded red robe, wrapped tightly around her waist. Her large rabbit ears stood at attention, her head tilted to one side as she curiously observed him.
Her large digitigrade feet were covered in fine grey fur. Her lithe legs were shapely and athletic, while her fur was dirty and unwashed, indicating some time spent on Drom unprotected. Large patches of fur around her temples and the back of her head were shorter then the rest of her fur, indicating that they had been shaved recently and were only now growing back. She appeared to be unarmed.
And alone.
The rabbit took in the sight of the naked German Shepherd. "Hi! My names Miska version 658! Or 58 to my friends! What's your name?" She smiled, extending a paw toward him in greeting. She seemed utterly oblivious to the fact a large, naked, armed male was pointing a gun at her in what appeared to be her home.
Milo unleashed a deep growl as he felt his loins stir. His weapon dropped, ignored and discarded on the floor as he took a step towards her.
He felt an uncontrollable, dark desire rise in him. The amount of the drug he had injected into himself was far larger then the small quantity that Thomas had given him. Like some unthinking animal, he felt himself descending into primal urges. Yet it was more then primal. It was true freedom. Freedom from worry, freedom from restraint, freedom from inconvenient empathy. A small part of Milo, deep in the back of his mind screamed at her: Get out. Get out and run now. He could almost feel himself shrink in his own mind as the beast rose in him. With horror he suddenly realized that he was not shrinking but wilfully joining the beast. The small amount of horror became ambivalence and then agreement as the thing that was Milo joyfully embraced its new beastly state. He now was the beast, and it was glorious.
The beast struck with lightning reflexes he didn't think he had. Lunging forward he roughly seized her soft, vulnerable neck with his large paw. He forced her away from the door, slamming her into the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her as she grunted in pain. Her small paws wrapped around the wrist of the large paw harshly choking her. "Please . . ." she gasped. "You're hurting me. My-my friend is coming. He's big and will be back-" The beast snarled ferociously over her, ejecting lines of spittle onto her face. She shied away from him, trembling as the larger male towered over her. He ran his cold nose over her face, sniffing. He seemed to enjoy the scent, the smell of her fear. He growled softly as his slimy tongue dragged over her face, tasting her tears as she made a small, fearful murmur.
He suddenly threw her across the room towards the table. The forced movement caused the small rabbit to stumble. As she fell, her head contacted with the metal table with a wet thud. She cradled her spinning head as the beast approached her. Gripping one of her ears, the rabbit squealed in pain as he roughly yanked her upward, throwing her onto the table. He roughly pinned her neck with one paw as the other tore the robe upward, revealing the rabbit's light underclothes. As she struggled to throw him off her, he released a deep growl. She continued in a desperate attempt to resist her rape, he lifted her body by her neck before ramming her back onto the table. Blood splatted from the rabbit's head wound as she grunted in pain from the impact. She froze in fright, fearing another blow as he emitted another feral growl over her.
The beast literally tore her undergarments off her before pausing, breathing in the personal scent of the scared rabbit, a scent reserved for close friends and lovers. His arousal spiked at the delicious violation. "No! Don't. . . .please, stop . . ." she begged. She screamed in agony as he forced his erect member into her unprepared entrance. He set a brutal pace, mercilessly pummelling her, pleasuring himself with her limp body as he enjoy her cries of pain and fear. The beast claimed his rightful place as a powerful alpha male by utterly dominating the pitiful creature beneath him.
The openly weeping rabbit wrapped her arms around her head, repeating "no ... no ... no ..." again and again as he forced himself into her over and over. Every part of her body was now his. His property to abuse as he pleased. He took the small, soft neck into his jaws as he forced her dry entrance to take his knot with a brutal thrust. She screamed in agony, her flesh tearing as the knot forced it's way into her. Clamping down, he tasted blood as she weakly squirmed in his jaws, desperately attempting to escape the searing pain consuming her busied and bloodied entrance.
His orgasm was weak, short and faded. It was little more then a pleasant side effect of the intoxicating power he had over his rabbit. A whole other being utterly terrified of him, bowing to his rightful place as her master. He tore his inflated knot from her, forcing another scream of agony from the rabbit as he released her and stood back. The shaking, terrified rabbit collapsed off the table into a heap as she wept. He ran his paw over his deflating member, collecting sexual fluids and her blood. He seized her head, rubbing the soiled paw harshly over her muzzle so that she would reek of his dominance and her own weakness as he forced her to look him in the eyes. The beast drank in the sight of her cum-, blood- and tear-soaked muzzle as she cowered before him. He felt his erection already returning. Forcing her muzzle open he pulled her onto his growing member. It was going to be a long day. For her at least. He intended to enjoy every moment.
Milo awoke with a start as a helmet clanged onto the ground beside him. He was lying naked in the pile of cushions. He shook his head as his senses slowly returned. He soon became aware of the the helmet's owner, a lion towering over the prone German shepherd. The lion was encased in a blue combat suit, the insignia printed on the suit's shoulder indicated that he was a high-ranking Commonwealth security solider.
Adrenalin shot into Milo as he scampered backward. The lion didn't react, allowing Milo to better examine his surroundings. The Lion's combat suit was filthy, covered in dust, grit and black scorch marks. The lion's mane looked ragged and unkempt. Most striking were the lions eyes. They seemed to look straight through Milo, unblinking, unfeeling, almost dead. For what felt like the longest time Milo locked with those eyes, searching for some hint of emotion. Finally, the lion slowly turned, proceeding to the iron door. It opened with a squeal of protest before the lion made his way up a small flight of stairs, out of Milo's sight.
Milo wasted little time contemplating the silent lion, leaping to his feet and diving for his equipment. As he withdrew a pistol from the pile of gear, he became aware of a small sound. It was weak, yet constant. It almost sounded like someone whimpering . . . .
Looking up, Milo saw the rabbit. She was cowering in the furthest corner of the room, her eyes tightly closed as she whimpered with pain and fear into her paws. Covered in purple bruises, a thin stream of blood ran from her swollen, quivering lips onto the floor. One of her legs were limp and swollen, bent at an impossible angle away from her trembling body.
He had broken it to prevent her running as he slept.
The pistol fell from Milo's numb fingers as he staggered backward. The events of the night before flooded back to him. He recalled it all clearly. He recalled how he raped her, again and again. Forced himself onto her as she begged him to stop. Beaten her just to hear her scream. He remembered how her pleas and agony made him feel powerful and dominant. How good it felt to see her utterly defeated, lying before him limp and unresponsive as her own will was completely beaten out of her.
How her blood curdling screams as he broke her bones gave him an erection.
What kind of monster was he to enjoy the pain of another? It couldn't have been him. It wasn't him. He was not a sadistic woman-beater, he was no rapist. Yet he could not lie to himself. He saw her, her blood, her pain, her pleas and her agony. He saw it all in his mind and he knew exactly who caused it. Nausea overcame Milo as he fell to his knees, vomiting.
His groin stirred as he the image of her bloodied, beaten face forced itself into his mind.
He refused to look at the rabbit as it dawned on him that he was the beast. Keen was merely an enabler. He felt his body start to tremble as he felt sick to the bottom of his now empty stomach. He tried to push what he did, what he was from his mind. He didn't want to think about it. About what he did. He didn't want to think about anything. Standing, he fled the rabbit, bolting through the iron door and up the stairs.
Most of the roof had collapsed into the top floor. Bare, crumbling supports held up what remained of the roof. An entire side the top floor had fallen away, allowing an unimpeded view of the ruined city below. In front of this magnificent vista a small data pad, sat on a table, while the lion slumped in an ancient armchair atop the jumble of roof tiles. Under the table, Milo saw the silver briefcase that had brought him so much anguish. Milo fixated on the briefcase, forcing it into his mind's eye. He attempted to think of nothing else as he slowly approached the lion. Nothing else mattered but the briefcase. There were other people involved, other people would suffer if he didn't complete his mission and retrieve the briefcase. Milo focused on that fact. If he didn't, then everything he had done, everything he now was would have been for nothing. That case was now the only thing that mattered.
"I saw what you did." The lion's raspy voice broke the silence. Milo froze. He felt his body begin to tremble again as images of the screaming rabbit flashed into his mind.
"I have one last wish. The last wish of a dead man. Do what I could not, stranger. Do what I lacked the courage to. Kill her." The Lions voice wavered, as if he had great trouble forcing himself to continue.
Milo was about to respond to the lion when a single, loud crack reverberated abound the ruined top floor. A fountain of gore shot out of the lion's head as his body gave a sudden, violent jerk. His body slumped in the chair as a pistol rolled from the lion's lifeless hand.
Silence returned to the building as the stunned German Shepherd could only stare at the lion's corpse.
'Pull yourself together,' he told himself. 'One step at a time. His problems are not my problems. Step one: get the case.' Milo continued toward the case. As soon as it came within reach he seized it. It was large, almost a crate. He expected to feel some sense of accomplishment, or at least grim satisfaction as he finally grasped the case in his paws. He just felt numb.
Milo attempted to ignore the lion's corpse as a blinking light caught his eye. Inspecting the data pad, he found stored recordings ready to play. The display indicated that it had been played over and over, at least forty times. It seemed the lion had spent some time up here, watching the recordings again and again. Milo ran the recording.
Milo's heart froze in his chest as the rabbit appeared. The animal in the recording was utterly unlike the creature downstairs. It was the same rabbit, but she held herself with a completely different bearing. Glasses perched on her nose, she wore a tidy lab coat, identification badge dangling from her breast pocket.
"I'm sorry, Daniel. This is the only way I can contact you without being censored." She removed her glasses. "I ... I have decided to go ahead. What they want to do is, well, it's monstrous. Protecting society from itself is one thing, but this ..." She shook her head. "I just can't be a part of what they are doing now. I know we will disagree, Daniel, but you can't do this without me. I want to be involved and this is something only I can do."
"I don't think I will be caught. But you know me." She smiled. "Hope for the best, be prepared for the worst. I have made arrangements for our children. They will not be implicated. But if they somehow do discover me, I think you should be aware that they will most likely use my body against you." The rabbit visibly shuddered. "'Forced neurological repurposing'. Please, Daniel, if they ... if they take my mind away from me, I need you to do something for me. I love you, Daniel, and I know that you love me. For that reason I am going to ask of you something that no one has the right to ask for."
"Kill me, Daniel. I will not be their pawn. I will not be a sex slave, or a mindless worker. I will not be an empty vessel that they fill with propaganda. Please, Daniel, I know it will be hard, but this may be my last wish. My only wish. You fulfilled all my others." The rabbit smiled tenderly as she reached out toward the recording device. "In case we don't see each other, thank you, Daniel. Thank you." The recording ended with the rabbit reaching out, smiling at her lover.
The image blinked as the next record played, this one lacking video. The Lion's voice, quiet and emotional, played from the computer.
"They did it, Sara. They took your mind away from you. Your body is a shell, an empty tomb. Every time your body speaks I am reminded of that fact. They put some fabricated child, some manufactured simpleton in place of my intelligent Sara. They left you here with me. Alone with some of that filthy drug. I'm sure the sick bastards intended me to shoot up, become a monster and ... and destroy your body with my unbridled urges. I wanted to. So many times I wanted to just take the damned drug and have the pain flow away. But there is something they didn't count on. Something they forgot. I was there when we did that to the leaders of the Kelvin 9 rebellion. What they did to their own wives and children ... and then we let them live with the knowledge of what they had done. What we made them do. I was still taking the pills that blocked the mental trauma. By the third day out here without them I had full recollection of what we made them do. I will never commit a crime of that magnitude again."
The recording ended. The next recording was two days later. The Lion's voice returned, now sounding as if he had been weeping.
"I ... I couldn't do it Sara. So many times I tried to carry out your final wish. I just can't do it. Every time you look at me I am reminded of our children. Of the first time we met. Of the look on your face when you were accepted into the Commonwealth Academy of Sciences. Of the first time we made love. You're as beautiful now as the first day we met. Even if it is no longer you. I wish I could do it Sara. For you. I just ... I just can't. I'm sorry. I so very, very sorry."
The Lion's voice hardened.
"I'm going to join you, Sara. The real you. I know they are watching the mansion. I will go out. I will kill as many of them I as I can. If I kill them all, I will return here, and meet my end at my own paws. Soon, Sara. Soon we will be together again."
The device went dark as the recording ended.
Milo sat back on his heels, cradling his head in his paws. All he could think about was the rabbit. She was a real person. She had children, lovers, desires and fears. And he had violated her brutally. Repeatedly. Enthusiastically. Milo began to shake uncontrollably as he became overwhelmed with emotion. With his own self-hate and loathing.
'Get a grip of yourself.' He told himself. He fixated on his anger. 'They did this to me. They gave me the drug. They forced this on me!'
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" Milo screamed into the silent air. He felt himself teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. He forced himself to think.
"Ok ...Ok ... step one: The case ... good. Step two: The... the rabbit." He spoke aloud to himself. "She wanted to die. Suicide. She said so herself. Once that's done . . ." Milo felt himself begin to calm. He was taking action. He was dealing with the situation. "Once that's done, no one will ever know. It will almost be as if it never happened." He emitted a small, hysterical giggle. 'It's not like she was still a person. She wanted to die. It's not murder if they want to die.' Milo desperately rationalized.
Milo lifted the heavy case. Turning his back on the lion's body, he forced one foot in front of the other as he made his way back down the stairs. Like a mantra he kept repeating in his mind. 'As if it never happened, as if it never happened, as if it never happened'.
As soon as Milo entered the room, the rabbit started to shake in fear. She tried to pull herself away from him, wincing in pain as her limp leg dragged along the floor. As he retrieved his pistol, Milo began to repeat to himself over and over.
'It never happened. It never happened. It never happened.' He entered a trance-like state as he forced all other thoughts from his mind.
He raised the pistol.
"Please . . ." A small quivering voice emanated from the weeping rabbit, barely above a whisper. She still held her head in her arms, eyes tightly closed as she quaked in fear. "Please . . . .don't hit me again."
Milo's arm refused to stop shaking. He dropped the case as he gripped the pistol in both paws.
"It never happened." He whispered as he pulled the trigger.
Milo sighed as he injected himself with a small amount of the wonderful green solution. He just needed a little more. He was almost at his campsite. Once he collected his gear, he would head for the teleporter, silver case underarm. Just a little bit more of the drug so that he would stop shaking. Milo felt the events of the past day slip from his mind as the concoction took effect. For the first time since he left the mansion, he almost felt at peace. The quivering that gripped him finally ceased. It wasn't so bad, he could deal with it. All he needed was a little bit more Keen . . .
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Edited By Hyenakona, many thanks.