Winter Harvest
General Disclaimer: This story may contain scenes of a graphic and/or sexual nature. As such it is not suitable for view by persons under the age of eighteen. Please respect the law in your area, it's in place for your own good.
Mission Statement: This story was written and collaborated on by one or more members of TheMishMash. We are a team of like minded friends who strive to bring humor, drama, adventure, and sordid affairs to the masses. Comments and questions are always welcome and we can be contacted through our user page here on SoFurry. Please denote who you're asking for when leaving a message. Sincerely... Ghoti, Bones, and Scratch.
Winter Harvest
Written by: Scratch (Additional Floofiness by Ghoti)
Content: This story contains murder, rape, violence, more murder, more violence, and a plethora of other nastiness. Sexual content is as follows; M/F, coyote, rabbit, violence, knot, blood, death, rape, murder... Not necessarily in that order.
Personal Notes: Scratch says, "So... I'm a little new to this. And I've been out of the writing game for a little while. But when Ghoti gave me a hitman and told me to take him places, I couldn't refuse. With his help, editing and making an admittedly incoherent jumble of action at least a little more cohesive, I present the following for your consideration." Ghoti says, "Go easy on him people. He tried REALLY hard."
ONE
Beneath a full moon, shadows flourish.
Dante Vankuff sits in his bedroom nursing his best spirit. As he savors the taste and effects, he mulls over his past. For most of his life he has been a very successful bounty hunter. He is personally responsible for the capture or incarceration of enough targets to afford him a place in that much coveted lap of luxury. His success had caught the eye of the government some time ago and they had approached him about possibly working some of THEIR contracts, covertly of course. He had agreed, and from then on they had periodically contacted him with classified "bounties". They had paid handsomely, so he did as told and never asked questions. He had traveled the globe, ridding the world of these undesirables by death or apprehending them.
Always the hunter, never the hunted, he had lived and loved his life.
That all changed when his government contact brought him some Intel they wanted investigated. Quite a few prominent individuals had disappeared without a trace, succumbed to untimely natural causes, fell victim to a hit, or by some other method, simply died.
Crime lords, politicians, average individuals, the rich, the poor, all dead. The government was naturally curious, having a few of your biggest supporters up and die on you can cause such an interest. They wanted Dante to see what he could dig up.
At first he had thought the job to be a menial waste of his time. sitting here, both knowing he was safe and knowing nothing for sure, he knew better now. He had been turned on to something big,
As he had went from location to location, trying to gather Intel that wasn't already on file and seeking a connection that didn't exist, he became steadily more uneasy. The shadows seemed to conceal a lethal force focused solely and intently on him.
Dante, an experienced paw at the so called game of 'cat and mouse', never found or saw anything to validate his unease. After having visited only the seventh location, his feelings of disquiet were so great, he began to consider giving up and returning home. After all, he hadn't found anything yet, and seriously doubted he ever would. He personally didn't think there was any connection and the government must subsequently be wrong in thinking there was.
After he finished his clandestine reconnaissance of the thirteenth location, also without a trace of previously uncollected evidence, Dante phoned his contact. He reported his findings, or more appropriately, the lack thereof, and assured them that they had nothing to worry about. "Nothing here," He had said, "Is anything other than what it seems.". He had then terminated the call and returned to his hotel room.
He found a note, placed on his pillow along with a mint, no doubt left there by the help to thank him for his stay, pocketed it, and packed his bags.
The next night, he returned to his slumber in his own bed, and awoke to find that the uneasy feeling which had accompanied him on his travels, now permeated his home. Despite being in the safety of his own house, coupled with the added protection of a few good animals, hired after a failed attempt (or two... or ten...) on his life, he still felt as though Death, or some equally unwavering apparition, stalked him.
Over the next few days and nights, he slowly began to realize the abstract feeling of an outside presence was actually a reality. For the first time in his life, he was the prey. And he was being toyed with by the predator. Six foot two, two hundred and thirty pound, snow white tigers like himself never played the role of prey to another animal, yet here he was.
Now, as he sat in his room with a full moon outside, he heard the distant, mournful howl of a coyote and knew he had been wrong.
The government DID have reason to be concerned.
And now that reason was after him.
The air around him suddenly became ominous and filled with bestial intent. The instincts that had served him so well for so long, told him that something big was about to happen if it had in fact not already transpired.
He opened the door to his bedroom and peeked out cautiously. Just outside his door, laying facedown in spreading pools of their own blood, were two of the bodyguards assigned to the inside of his house.
Cat quick, he slammed the door, dead bolted it, and whirled around to find a more defensive position. His keen eyes instantly saw the animal who had silently took his place in his chair and was currently imbibing his drink. It was Kitar, a drug lord from the distant, colorful land of Friaca. Dante currently held the contract for the stoat's apprehension.
There beside the wintry weasel stood a coyote with mottled gray and brown fur that Dante had never seen before. "I hear you plan on bringing me down, Dante." Kitar's needle sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
"True enough." The tiger retorted. "Fucks like you aren't terribly hard to deal with, and I have a tendency to get bored."
The stoat stood, his reddish fur standing on end in his anger, and drew a .44 magnum from inside his jacket. He brought it to bear on the tiger as Dante reached into his own coat for his modified.45 handgun and fell to the left as he fired. Twin reports hammered the air followed by contemplative silence.
Kitar lay dead with a neat hole in his pointed head and Dante was on his knees clutching a ragged hole in his gut. The mysterious coyote moved to the critically injured cat, knelt beside him, and pulled his paw away from his wound.
The coyote tsk'd. "Ooh.. Looks bad." He remarked calmly. "That cannon of his gave you a new hole for those you prey on to escape from." He smiled coldly. "But I don't think it matters. You won't be preying on anybody any more."
Darkness edged into Dante's vision and slowly began to fill it. He looked at the interloping canine and could have swore with his last breath that the coyote had donned a dark, visage obscuring hooded robe. And he appeared, in the tiger's fading vision, to be holding a scythe.
Riding the delirium of blood loss induced shock, the tiger now saw the coyote as Death himself, his earlier apprehensions come true. The hooded figure leaned over him and Dante heard him speak in a dry, rattling voice. "I am that which you have brought to so many and which you have THOUGHT you knew so well. Now I have come to collect what you owe."
The last thing Dante heard before collapsing to the floor, his pristine fur streaked and matted with his own blood, was the faint and fading voice of his Death. "Thanks again, Dante."
Two
A week later, the coyote opened his eyes and sat up in bed. He took a moment to look out his three story window at the city he had called home for most of his adult life. "No more of this world traveling for me." He promised himself. "Around here, I'm the biggest and the strongest. All those tigers, bears, wolves, and mountain lions can go to hell."
He reached for the laptop on the nightstand, found it, and brought it to him. Vincent opened it, powered it on, and accessed a secure connection. He had received a few new contracts to pick an choose from or ignore as he pleased. He pored through them and selected a promising one. What the hell, He thought. I'm bored anyway. He looked over the details.
One point five mil to make sure all nine lives of some unlucky nobody were used up to prevent him from testifying against- Whoa now. Some newbie contractor got a little free with the info. Oh well, Vincent would make sure they paid for their mistake and ensure they didn't make it again.
He got up, stretched leisurely, and went to the closet to dress for the occasion.
Some hours later, having taken care of the first half of his assignment, Vincent waited at the mouth of an alley in the less-than-desirable part of town.
A sharp chill hung in the air, but Vincent didn't mind. He'd been out in worse, wearing less, for much longer. Presently, his target exited the building across from him. Vincent pulled his fedora to a rakish angle and began pursuit.
Ever the master of stealth, Vincent followed close enough to hear the opossum talking to himself, but didn't give away his own presence until he was ready.
*****
Raleigh burrowed deeper into his trench coat and stepped into the nearby alley. "Damn smoking ban, causing all us smokers to freeze our tails off." He grumbled to himself as he fumbled a cigarette from his pack then rummaged in his coat for a lighter.
A coyote, wearing his own trench with a fedora cocked roguishly on his head, appeared and produced a flame. He lit Raleigh's cigarette then a cigar for himself. "Thanks, Pal." Raleigh said.
"I've gotten rid of a thorn in your side." The stranger stated
"Heh." Raleigh chuckled. "I should hardly think lighting my square qualifies you for a reward, my new friend."
The coyote slipped a paw beneath his trench coat and Raleigh reached a hand into his own coat in anticipation. "Not that." The stranger said. "This." He withdrew his hand and presented Raleigh with a familiar tail.
"Whoa." Raleigh said. "That's the tail of the wildcat who was gonna testify against me." He relaxed a little. "Tell me. What has become of him?"
"You needn't concern yourself with such trivial and dirty business." The coyote said. "Come, and we can discuss our own business over drinks."
Feeling more relaxed, Raleigh nodded and turned to head back out of the alley. With uncanny speed, The coyote was upon him, using the tail as a garrote pulling it tighter and tighter the more Raleigh struggled. He pulled until Raleigh quit moving then tied the tail around the late mob boss's beck.
Vincent then stood and pulled two guns from beneath his coat. He moved to the door the possum had exited from and prepared to do what others might call "some good". To the cold killer, it was more like a fun diversion or maybe morning exercise. He had the guns and prepared to execute.
*****
Donny Varlow was playing poker, passing the time until "The Boss" decided their next move. As he waited for Raleigh's return, the front door opened a floor below his position. Finally. He thought. The overgrown rat's thought of something to do. The sudden sound of gunfire below ripped his thoughts apart and Donny bolted to his feet. He drew his gun, hugged the stairwell, and slowly started down, determined to investigate the commotion but not eager to catch a wayward bullet in the process. Halfway down, he put his gun forward and let it lead the way.
Doors were flung open above him and he heard the footfalls of his cohorts as they too descended the stairwell to join the party.
The gunfire continued downstairs for a second more, then silence. The pace of the footsteps above him quickened as the mob increased the rate of their descent. Their blood was up and Donny, caught in the middle, didn't have a chance. They rushed blindly down the stairs in a blur of mingled fur and dark clothing, pushing the bewildered mouse in front of them.
As the mob, hungry for action, rushed into the ground floor, Donny was unceremoniously pushed wayward and landed behind the bar. A bare second later, gunfire erupted once more and his pals were all cut down as they surged from the stairwell.
"Like fish in a barrel." Donny heard a strange, and strangely calm voice say.
On some too quiet level of his mind, Donny was aware he wasn't thinking with his best interests at heart as he raised his gun from behind the bar and fired blindly.
A surprised yelp preceded an enraged snarl that filled Donny's ears. Then came the pain.
*****
"Like fish in a barrel." Vincent muttered as the last of the smoke from his guns dissipated.
Suddenly, a single bullet was fired from one of the downed mobsters he'd swore he had shot. PAIN! The round tore through his shoulder and he squelched an entirely unbefitting yip with a deep throated growl.
Some fucking nobody bastard had managed to land a hit on him. Anger rose in the coyote instantly and the blood in his veins flash boiled and pulsed through his eyes as raw, seething fury and he saw everything crystal clear and bathed in red.
Vincent threw aside his guns, sailed his hat into the seat of a nearby chair, dropped to all fours, and leapt over the bar. He landed on the gunman, dug his claws into the asshole's back, and began ripping and tearing through the animal's clothing into his flesh. The pitiful moron yelled and flailed about ineffectively. Vincent grabbed him by the head fur and began to beat his face in on the floor over and over again until he lay silent and still.
"STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Vincent roared as he tore at whatever part of the little shit he happened to lay his claws on. He got to his feet and hauled the body up to face him. It was a mouse of all things. Talk about adding insult to injury. "Scrawny little nobody piece of shit fuckhead." He muttered. He firmly grasped the dead animal's head and deftly tore it from his shoulders before crushing it between his massive paws.
After a few much needed deep breaths, Vincent went to the nearest sink and searched the cabinet underneath. He found a bottle of ammonia and quickly splashed a generous amount of it's contents into his palm. He wrinkled his muzzle against the pungent aroma as he washed his hands, then splashed the foul smelling, but useful liquid on what little of his own blood had dripped to the floor. That done, he commenced a more thorough search of the building.
He found a bathroom on the second floor and went directly to the mirrored medicine cabinet. He opened it, grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, slammed the door, and took off his coat to appraise the damage to his shoulder. The bullet had passed clean through his muscle having luckily missed the bone and major arteries. The alcohol burned his raw flesh but cleaned the wound nicely. He tossed the bottle into the corner and resumed his search of the premises.
Up on the top floor, he came across a metal briefcase. Curiosity bade him investigate and he kneeled by the case to open it. The contents brought an appreciative whistle from his lips. Look Out... He thought to himself. I got just the place for you. He grabbed the case, got back to his feet, and checked the remaining few rooms. A half bath off of a small, dingy bedroom contained a poorly treated first aid kit. Luckily, the only two items remaining in the kit were the only two he needed. He carefully packed the entrance and exit wounds in his shoulder with gauze then wrapped it tightly with a length of athletic wrap that somehow, miraculously still had the ability to cling to itself.
He looked at his coat and felt a fleeting sadness at the fact that he wouldn't be able to wear it home. The bullet holes he could fix, in much the same way as he would fix the related holes in his shoulder, but the blood that had soaked into the garment made it unviable for his trip home. A closet was also set off of the small bedroom and inside he found a tweed jacket with patched elbows. A look of distaste came to his long face, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and it looked like it would fit his wide frame nicely. He transferred all his belongings into the new jacket and put it on over his bloody shirt. He could feel the blood matting his fur in uncomfortable spikes and whorls and again felt a flash of anger at the mouse that had shot him. Having made the best of the surprisingly bad situation, Vincent grabbed his fedora, the metal case, and his pistols and left the grisly scene.
He exited the building and tucked back into the alley. He stepped over the as of yet unnoticed body of Raleigh the possum and continued on his way. Toward the other end of the alley, he dropped to his knees and pried a manhole cover from the street. Acting quickly but professionally, he retrieved a file from the inside pocket of the tweed jacket and jammed it down the barrels of both guns one at a time, scratching the grooves inside. He then dropped them into the swift moving sewage water below and began the near cross city journey back home.
Three
Full dark fell as he roamed the city. The longer he walked, feeling the chill night air dry the blood in his fur to a hard glaze, the angrier he got. He'd already killed the little shit who had shot him, but it was poor consolation. He'd have gladly killed him a hundred more times if given the chance.
The long and the short of it was, that despite the carnage he had brought to the occupants of the pub cum gang house, he still needed to blow off some steam.
He roamed the frigid night in a black rage, making use of the growing shadows well enough to go unnoticed despite his size, until he heard sounds form a nearby alley. He silently crept around the corner and saw two animals in the alley.
One was a young rabbit girl, surely no older than 18, wearing clothing that revealed much of her slate gray fur but did little to block out the cold air. She was "servicing" the other animal, a male otter in a conservative business suit, behind the modest cover of a nearby dumpster. Vincent smiled to himself, this was perfect.
Vincent stayed his ground until the girl finished with her current customer. After all, what kind of hypocrite would he be to interrupt the guy? Neither animal had seen the coyote until the girl swallowed what she had been paid to swallow and the otter zipped up then turned to leave the alley. He noticed Vincent immediately.
"Ah..." The otter began, sounding caught off guard. "She's all yours if you want her, friend." He then instinctively hugged the side of the alley and made himself scarce. Vincent had that effect on people.
The bunny turned to see who her next john was and her pretty mouth opened in an awed expression. "H-hey there, big guy." She managed.
"Young miss." Vincent replied cordially. "Are you still 'open' for business at such a late hour?"
His double entendre relaxed her significantly. Johns were always cracking dirty jokes. "I'm always open for business, big fella." She walked toward him slowly, swaying her hips.
"Aren't you cold, wearing so little on such a nasty winter night?" This too was a clever leading question. Vincent had learned long ago that words could be weapons too.
"Maybe you could warm me up?" She purred at him, saying the words Vincent wanted her to say as if she had read the script beforehand.
"Perhaps I could." He said. "What would I owe you for your company?"
She placed a paw on his chest and laced a leg around one of his. She looked up at him and he saw that underneath the hooker costume and 'I want it so bad' demeanor, she was really quite beautiful. That was good. Vincent liked to break pretty things on occasion. "We can discuss price after." She cooed at him and placed a paw between his legs. "I have a feeling after I ride this baby, I'll probably call it a night."
Vincent smiled at her, then, lighting quick, drove a tightly clenched paw into her slender stomach. The rabbit doubled over, all the breath escaping her lungs in a large plume of air. Vincent angled his next punch and straightened her back up with a carefully pulled swing. He tried to put just enough force and torque on the haymaker to knock her out without killing her and managed beautifully. The girl swooned and then crumpled to the trash littered alley floor.
Aware that she would eventually come to, probably as soon as the pain started, he wasted no time in stripping the girl bare. He tore her too small shirt from her torso, revealing her small breasts, then sliced her shorts open at each side with one claw. He cocked his head in honest confusion when, after removing the ruined shorts, he found that instead of the classic hooker standby thong, or more commonly, no panties at all, the rabbit wore sensible, although sodden, cotton briefs.
His acute nose picked up the mingled stink of several different males' sperm when he pulled the garment off her. He then tore the t-shirt into strips and stuffed the panties into the girl's mouth before tying the gag in place with the shirt strips. Her arms and legs he left unbound, she was far too small to do any damage to him.
Vincent took one last look around the alley to assure himself he had all the shadows he needed to stay hidden, then undressed, carefully laying his clothes out on the closed lid of the dumpster. He then crouched beside the girl and spread her legs. Underneath the mingled man-stink, he could smell the girl's sex. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the singular gift bestowed to him and all canines. He inhaled deeply. The girl was clean. So were all the men who had paid whatever price necessary to use her pussy as a cum receptacle. Gunshot notwithstanding, luck was on his side.
At the thought of the wound in his shoulder, Vincent's anger rose once more. Having determined that his use of the pretty young rabbit wouldn't be the death of him, he positioned himself at the entrance to her money maker and sent it all home in one thrust.
The girl's reaction was instantaneous and entirely understandable. She popped right out of the black daze his punch had placed her in and began to scream into her gag and flail against him. Vincent hushed her with a ferocious growl. When the coyote let the volume on the old growl box go up, people listened. She began to cry instead and punch him weakly as he continued to ream her used cunt with his considerable cock.
The girl sobbed uncontrollably as she was stretched beyond her limit. Vincent scented the blood as it began to flow and grinned mercilessly, the moonlight flashing off his smile like a sickle blade.
He pumped faster, using the girl's reluctant lubrication to ease the friction. Little sobs and whimpers escaped from behind the gag each time he slammed his knot against her tortured maidenhood. She slowly stopped struggling and fell limp in his arms. Vincent rode high on her sounds of anguish and embarrassment and fucked the girl hard and deep.
When he felt his climax approaching, he leaned in and placed his muzzle around the rabbit's neck. He saw a new level of fear rise in her bright eyes just before he clamped down on her throat. Her scream made an interesting vibration in his mouth as he increased the pressure until his upper and lower canines punctured her skin.
With one final thrust, Vincent knotted with the girl, causing her to black out from the pain, and carefully released her throat before he crushed it in his massive jaws. He sighed heavily as he sent his seed inside her then sat back on his rump, bringing the girl's limp body with him.
He shook his head in mild frustration. "I remember when hookers were loose enough they didn't get stuck." He muttered. The girl was out cold, and since she HAD been a good little fuck, Vincent took pity on her. He placed a claw on one side of her neck and with a quick slicing motion, let her blood out through a neat incision. He placed a paw between her breasts and felt her heart slow, then stop. "Trust me." He said. "You didn't want to live through what's next." He then began the unfortunate, and unfortunately messy, business of cutting the girl off his knot.
Some time later. Having licked most of his and the girl's blood out of his fur, his from his unlikely gunshot, hers from her unlikely rape, Vincent re-dressed and opened the dumpster. With little thought besides quick concealment, he picked up the dead girl and placed her almost tenderly inside.
Then he went home.
Four
Vincent awoke to the sound of his cell ringing, it would appear he had an urgent contract. Vincent winced at the tenderness in his shoulder and reached for the phone.
He answered it and listened to he robotically camouflaged voice. "Check your E-mail now." It said then disconnected the call.
Vincent went to his laptop and did just that. He had two new E-mails in fact. One was marked URGENT and the other bore no title only the prefix RE:. A forwarded hit was an anomaly, but an URGENT hit was, well, urgent. He opened the more important message first and learned from it's contents that he had a somewhat difficult job ahead of him.
Someone he had worked with many years ago in a nearby city that made his own bustling metropolis seem rural, had been captured on an operation and was being held and presumably tortured. This was a problem.
The individual in question was one of the fold. If his tormentors managed to break him, they could make a sizable dent in the ghost world in which Vincent moved. Those in command had opted to send the coyote in to either liberate the objective or destroy both the objective and all who had heard what it had to say.
Vincent logged off and closed the computer before making a call on his cell. He ran off a mental list of what he needed to the voice on the other end while he got dressed and gathered what he already had. When he was finished, he hung up and walked out the door.
Ending Time Stamp: Tuesday, January 4, 2001, 9:51 am