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Prologue: Lone Wolf

"Well?"

"There's no sign of him."

"The tracker?"

"Here. The bastard managed to get his collar off."

"Damn. The boss ain't gonna be happy."

"He never is."

"Quiet! His spy might be around."

"Nah, he's coordinating the search in the slums."

"Well, we better keep looking. The boss'll get mad if we stop without his say-so."

"Fine. Make sure you keep an eye on the river. Son of a bitch might be hiding in there."

The pair of bulls parted, each going to a different end of the short bridge on which they were standing. They gradually passed beyond sight of the bridge, looking for the runaway. Both were too far away to hear the soft splash that came from beneath the bridge a minute after they left. Neither saw the sodden wolf swim to the man made riverbank, cursing softly as he did so. He had overheard the bulls' conversation from his privileged position, clinging to the underside of the bridge. He smiled briefly. It wasn't a happy smile but was rather a small, tight indication of pleasure in remaining undetected. He hadn't had a genuine smile born of mirth or happiness in a long time.

He tiredly pulled himself out of the murky water and half staggered, half crawled into a nearby alley. He crouched behind some crates stacked there and attempted to formulate a plan. The first problem was one of appearance. Wolves were populous in the city, and his colouring was common enough to not attract undue attention. He had a collection of scars, but his fur mostly hid those. The biggest concern was clothing. There used to be a scrap of fabric preserving his modesty, but that had been lost during his escape. His lack of clothing proclaimed his status, so he would have to steal some, and quickly. His height was average, so finding some that fit shouldn't be too much of a problem. He was underweight, though. His ribs could be seen beneath his fur and gave excuse for his staggering movements and ungraceful fall into the river from the bridge. Maybe, the wolf thought, I can use my slimness to my advantage, as a plan came to his mind.

First clothing, then food, he thought. Then I can take steps to maintain my new-found freedom.

Chapter I: The Fiery Phoenix

The black panther left the auction with a feeling of dissatisfaction. He had spent hours observing sale after sale without buying anything. Indeed, there had only been one item on which he placed a bid, and the price had risen far too high to justify its worth. He would have to come back tomorrow or the next day, which irked him. He found the auctions slightly distasteful, and he had much better things to do than sit through another. The only consolation was that the auction house was open everyday, so he could come back at any time. The jaguar felt a moment of pity for smaller communities where auctions were held only once or twice a week, then returned to thoughts of his own troubles.

He hailed a taxi and was amused to see two cabbies vie for the right to serve him. While not particularly rich, he was known to tip well and was recognizable to almost every cab driver in the city. He was pleased to see the victor of the race was a cabby he knew rather well. He was also very amused by the driver's tactics: he had cut across traffic from the wrong side of the street and parked facing the wrong way against the curb.

"Mister Jackson," the German Shepherd said, tipping his hat to the panther.

"Joel," the panther returned the greeting. "How are you?"

"Very well, sir, very well," Joel replied as the feline climbed into the backseat. "No luck today?"

"No," Jackson sighed. "None of them look promising."

"Well, it's only the second day. Third times the charm, they say."

By this time they were on their way to Jackson's house, the cabby skillfully navigating through traffic and taking the occasional shortcut through the back alleys common to the city. The jaguar had given no word or gesture to tell Joel where to go, but the Shepherd knew his client well.

"How do you know it's day two?" the panther asked. "You didn't drive me yesterday."

"Oh, I have my ways," the driver said, touching his nose knowingly. A moment later he used the same hand to beep the horn and give the finger to an SUV that got in his way.

Jackson chuckled, both at the cabby's enigmatic response and his reaction to the SUV. "Well, I hope you're right about the third time. I'm already sick of the place. Actually, Joel," he added as they came to a turn, "take me to the Phoenix. I could use some refreshment after all that."

"Your boy'll be all right?" asked Joel, making the necessary course correction.

"Yeah, he has some things to keep him busy, and he doesn't expect me 'til later anyway."

"How's he doin'?"

"Much the same. I can't wait until I find a good one at the auction. Someone else at the house will certainly help."

"Yeah, some are like that. Well, here we are, Mister Jackson," said Joel as they pulled up outside a bar with a brightly coloured phoenix serving as the only sign. "Will you be needing a ride later?"

"No, I won't drink too much and it's a nice walk home from here. Thanks, Joel," Jackson said, and he handed the cabby his fare and a hefty tip. The panther tipped everyone well, but Joel always got a little extra.

"Anytime, Mister Jackson. Take care."

"You, too. Try not to hit anything."

"Only if they get in the way," Joel replied laughing, driving off with a wave.

The panther waved back, then entered the Phoenix.

The Phoenix was one of the nicer pubs in town. The proprietress was an energetic mouse who kept a clean bar and a hardworking staff. The bar was at the far end of the room, a number of tables were arranged in the middle, and booths lined the walls. Most of the bar was made of varying types of wood, giving it a more old-fashioned feel. The only real exception to the rule were the booths, which had cushions on the seats.

Jackson got a wave from Jill, the owner, and a few hello's from the regulars. He came often enough to be a regular himself. He gave a wave to the bar in general and sat at a table off to one side. One of the staff quickly came to take his order.

"A bottle of Bud and a plate of nachos, thank you. With the beef," he added before the barmaid could ask.

"It'll be out right away, Jackson," the vulpine waitress said, flicking her tail at him as she strode off, deftly grabbing empty mugs on her way to the kitchen.

The panther shook his head at her address. He wondered why she insisted calling him by his last name, but he didn't mind. He sat back and let his eyes roam across the room. Something seemed different, but he couldn't tell what it was. It finally clicked when he looked in the corner by a stairwell that led to Jill's living quarters. The music was different. There were usually popular tunes coming from the speakers in the ceiling, but there was a musician at the piano today. It had been months since the last had left, but it looked like Jill had finally managed to find a piano player.

She's good, he thought as the vixen came back and set a bottle of Budweiser in front of him. He smiled his thanks and returned his attention to the pianist. She was a wolf, and he could see black fur on the back of her neck as her hair was pinned up. The panther's table was far enough over that he could see her profile as he watched her play. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing her white paws and forearms that turned to cream further up her arms. He suspected her legs were the same, but she was wearing long black pants that covered the top of her black shoes. Her head was down, which kept her face in shadow, but he could see her black ears were erect amidst her blonde hair and occasionally flicked back to listen to the bar before returning to focus on the piano.

She was playing a jazz piece Jackson couldn't identify of moderate tempo. Her fingers flew up and down the keyboard as his foot tapped along to the beat.

Jill herself delivered his nachos, so he took the opportunity to ask about the wolf at the piano.

"Oh, her? She came to the bar just this afternoon. Said she saw my ad in the paper and asked for the job. Name's Jacqueline, or Jackie, if you like. I asked her to play a little for me, and damn, she's good, ain't she?"

"Yes, very."

"And she said she could play every night! I hope she doesn't take off with no warning like the last one."

"Yeah, it's good to have live music. Adds a nice touch."

"That it does. Well, Daniel, I'd love to stay chatting all night, by duty calls."

She turned back to the bar, yelling, "BERNEY, IF YOU HOLLER 'YOO-HOO' ONE MORE TIME, I'LL THROW YOUR SORRY ASS OUT ON THE STREET!"

All the regulars laughed, including Berney. Jill threatened to throw him out at least twice every evening. There was no doubt that she could--her small size was offset by her deceptive strength and knowledge of judo--but Berney was one of her best paying customers, so she let his behaviour slide. Mostly.

Daniel chuckled as he enjoyed his nachos, the congenial surroundings, and especially the music. He had taken piano lessons as a kit, and a piano was still gathering dust in his house, but he had stopped taking lessons a long time ago. He enjoyed listening to a pro play immensely. The music shifted from jazz to ragtime, keeping with the bar atmosphere. Daniel dug into his nachos while the door opened.

He glanced up to see two uniformed officers enter the bar. They didn't seem to be there on business, so he assumed they had just gotten off-duty. He looked away from the German Shepherd and ferret an went back to enjoying his food and drink. As much as he like the Phoenix, Daniel wanted to get back home. He registered the police sitting down at the table next to him but took no particular notice.

The cops seemed relaxed until one nudged the other. They waved Jill over, and Daniel couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"What can I get you gentlemen?" the mouse asked.

"Nothing just yet," the ferret replied. "We were just admiring the skill of the piano player."

"Oh, yes, she's something else, ain't she? We're lucky to have her. Can't find many players willing to play at a bar nowadays. Today's her first day, actually."

"Really?" said the Shepherd, though he didn't sound surprised. "How did you find her?"

"She responded to my ad in the classifieds," Jill responded. "If you like her music, she's going to be here every night."

"What's her name?" the ferret asked. Daniel wasn't trying to listen, but he noticed that the cops were leading towards something. The longer the conversation lasted, the more it sounded like an interrogation.

"Jacqueline. Can't recall the last name just now."

The officers looked at each other, then stood. "Thanks for your time, ma'am," the Shepherd said.

"No problem," Jill said, already distracted by another patron clambering for her attention.

Meanwhile, the officers were moving towards the pianist. Daniel watched, wondering what their interest in her was. Even with the music, he could hear that section of the bar, and he focused his attention there.

"Miss? Miss Jacqueline?" the ferret asked.

"What can I do ya for, officers?" she asked blithely, eyes still on the keyboard. She didn't miss a beat despite the interruption.

"Would you mind stepping outside for a chat?" the ferret inquired.

"Well, I'm not paid to talk outside if you catch my meaning, sir."

"I'm sure the bar can survive a minute without you."

"Is that how long this would take? Couldn't we just talk here as we've been doing?"

The cop's voice softened, and his partner stepped casually behind the wolf. "Look, just come quietly and don't cause a scene. Do that for us, and we'll go easy on you."

"Tempting," Jacqueline said, just as quietly. Her fingers were still keeping up with the song. She ended with a small flourish of notes followed by a diminished chord. "But no."

The wolf stood abruptly, sending the piano bench slamming into the German Shepherd. The ferret made the mistake of reaching for his nightstick. Jacqueline took advantage of the officer's momentary distraction and kicked the ferret in the head. As the ferret fell, she grabbed him by the belt and threw him at his partner, who was struggling to get up. Having temporarily incapacitated the lawmen, she turned to the rest of the room, eyes darting. As she did so, the light struck her face, and Daniel got his first good look at her.

The pin holding her hair in place was a simple silver spike driven threw the locks much the way the stereotypical Chinese girls were sometimes shown with chopsticks in the back of their hair. Some strands were free to frame her face and stray in front of her eyes. Daniel couldn't make out her eye colour from where he was standing, but they looked bright and alert as they looked for an escape. Her rapidly twitching ears were as black as her neck, but her face and muzzle were white like her paws. He assumed the white continued down her belly, but her buttoned dress shirt prevented him from knowing for sure.

Her actions had drawn the attention of every patron in the bar. Her eyes flicked once more over the room, and she took a step forward. Her progress was arrested by the German Shepherd's grabbing the back of her shirt. He had sidestepped when he saw the ferret coming his way and had dodged the worst of the blow. He was ready with his nightstick and swung it viciously at the wolf.

She dodged through the simple expedient of jumping forward. The delicate fabric of her shirt tore around the buttons, and her arms slipped out of the sleeves, leaving the shirt in the Shepherd's paw. Everyone in the bar gasped at what was revealed.

The wolf wasn't wearing a bra. There was no need as the flat chest showed the wolf to be male. The way the fabric of the blouse had fallen had given the illusion of breasts, but it was now clear that his appearance had been a disguise. The reason he had disguised himself became apparent to Daniel when he spun to face the police officer, who was closing for another blow. His back had some still-healing wounds and barely visible scars. Both new and old hurts had been caused by a whip. The wolf must be a runaway slave.

This time, the wolf jumped towards the officer when he swung, coming inside the reach of his weapon. White paws gripped the dog's head, and the wolf viciously headbutted the lawmen. He ran for the door as the cop staggered, dazed. His partner was still lying on the floor. Everyone watched, too stunned to move, as the wolf sprinted out of the Phoenix. The German Shepherd grabbed his walkie-talkie and quickly spoke into it, checking his friend's vitals at the same time. Then, he ran out after the wolf, still speaking into his radio.

A shocked silence filled the room, and Daniel found his appetite was completely gone. He left enough money to cover the meal with a little extra for a tip before leaving the bar. He slowly walked home, thinking about the slave at the bar as well as slavery in general.

Slavery was predominant throughout the world. Only a few countries had abolished slavery while a few others only abolished international slave trading, keeping only locals as slaves. Some countries had harsher or more lenient laws regarding it, but the vast majority had the same basic rules.

There were three ways to become a slave, excepting unusual circumstances. Firstly, a free fur could be sold into slavery. Until they reached the age of majority, which differed from place to place, a fur's legal guardians could sell them for either a set amount of time or for life. Once past that age, the slave could sell him or herself with the same provisions. Secondly, criminals could be sentenced to varying lengths of time of slavery, depending on the nature of their crime. Thirdly, children could be born into slavery if their parents were slaves.

There were ways to free slaves, of course. After going through a number of legalities and paying a fee, a fur could be freed by his or her master. There were exceptions to this process. Criminals had to serve their sentence whether it be a set amount of time or life. Certain lifers also could not be freed for varying reasons. The process for releasing children was somewhat different but similar in the essentials. However, unless their family was released too or the owner decided to keep the child as a free fur, they were sent to an orphanage with no guarantee for finding a home. There was a stigma in modern society against adopting slave-born children.

The law was incredibly lenient on what could be done with adult slaves. There were few restrictions on what work could be demanded of them and what punishments could be administered. There were laws stipulating that certain things, such as hard labor or sexual acts, could not be asked of children that worked in a tiered system. Once they reached certain ages, more and more provisos dropped away until the age of sixteen, when the government recognized the slave as being 'adult' enough for anything their master wanted. Some furs merely ignored the laws regarding child slavery, and it was difficult for the government to enforce. Occasionally, however, the lawbreakers were caught and either fined or slapped with restrictions on what slaves they could own.

Other than those laws, the only other of importance was that private owners were not allowed to kill of permanently damage slaves. The uses for a slave were restricted only by the master's ingenuity or imagination. They were used for everything from hard labour to housework to store clerks to bed partners, and much else besides.

Daniel currently owned one slave, who mostly did housekeeping duties. He wasn't a bad worker, but he had difficultly being alone for long periods of time. That was why the panther had been spending so much time at the auction house. He wanted another, more independent slave to help out at home and stay with his current slave while Daniel was at work.

The wolf at the Phoenix was clearly too independent. At least one of his former masters enjoyed using the whip. The wolf's back had been well used, and no one was sadistic enough to lash someone so often unless they were constantly disobedient. Moreover, the wolf had run away. Based on his ill treatment, Daniel guessed his master wouldn't want him back, so the wolf would be retrained and sold again. He shook his head at the wolf's folly and arrived at his front door.

He unlocked it and stepped into his two story house. He moved his shoes in the foyer and called out to the house, "David! I'm home!"

Scampering feet greeted his proclamation, and a Newfoundland dog rushed into the front room at the same time as Daniel, who walked in more sedately. The canine tried to stop before he ran into the panther, slipped on the slick floor, and barely kept his balance. He knelt before Daniel, the tip of his tail wagging slightly as he looked up at his master.

"Well, I guess that means you did have time to mop, then," commented Daniel dryly, a barely visible smirk on his face. He glanced around the house. "Did you finish everything on the list?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, Master," David replied happily. "I finished the last load of laundry a half hour ago."

"Did you eat? I didn't expect you to have time to finish everything and thought some of it would be left for tomorrow."

"I ate," the dog replied a little defensively. His master often reminded him to quit working long enough to eat. "I had some of the leftover sandwiches from yesterday."

"For supper, too?" Daniel asked suspiciously.

David opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking down in embarrassment.

"What am I going to do with you, Newfie?" Daniel asked rhetorically.

"Take my food away until I know better?" David suggested, head still lowered. Daniel guessed correctly that he was now hiding a smile rather than embarrassment.

Daniel clouted the dog playfully on the back of the head. "Don't talk back to me, slave. Go, get yourself some food."

The dog rose, standing a few inches taller than the panther. "Do you want anything, Master?"

"No, I ate at the Phoenix on the way here." David nodded, familiar with the pub. He had accompanied his master there a few times. "I told you not to worry about me and assumed you were old enough to feed yourself."

"I am," David said as he walked towards the kitchen. "I just wasn't hungry, I guess."

Daniel shook his head and went upstairs to his bedroom. Once there, he exchanged of his semi-dressy clothes for more comfortable sweatpants and a plain blue t-shirt. Then, he headed downstairs to the living room and flicked on the television. He was watching the news when David finished eating and came to sit on the floor beside Daniel's armchair. Daniel absently scratched the canine's head as they spent an hour and a half staring at the screen. David fell asleep partway Kelly's Heroes. Daniel noticed and decided to finish the movie before getting the two of them to bed. It wasn't long before Daniel succumbed to sleep as well, however, the sounds of gunshots in his ears and thoughts of the runaway in his mind.

The wolf in question was curled up in a ball with his tail touching his nose. It was past time he went to sleep, but he couldn't. The pain kept him awake. If past experience was any judge, he would manage three hours of sleep, four if he was lucky, before being woken for more "training." The wolf snorted at the misnomer, then choked on the blood than ran through his nose in the process. Calling it training was akin to calling euthanasia a cancer treatment. The slave trainers' basic philosophy, as far as he could tell, was abuse the slave enough and it will do whatever they say to avoid more abuse. It worked in most cases, but there were some, like the battered wolf, who would not, or could not, submit to force. This lead to a cycle of pain: abuse, retaliation, more abuse, et cetera. The wolf had a grudging respect for their skill if not their methods. They knew how to inflict the maximum amount of pain without causing permanent damage.

Permanent physical damage, that is. Even scars fade with time, but the mental, emotional, and even spiritual damage were irreversible. Positive experiences could help him to forget, but the wolf knew he would never be as he once was. There would always be the shadow of distrust and cynicism no matter how much things improved. The wolf had no reason to assume anything would get any better, anyway. He would still fight, though. He didn't have hope anymore, but he was too defiant and stubborn to give up or give in. Besides, he had made a promise, and if there was one thing he prided himself for, it was his honesty, his faithfulness. He never made a promise he wouldn't keep or said something he didn't mean. Forthrightness, he had quickly discovered, was not desirable in a slave, but it was the one thing he could hold onto. No matter what insults or offenses were piled onto him, no one could say he wasn't honest.

For all the good that does me, he thought. He wasn't angry, merely resigned. Both emotions brought out the worst in the trainers, so it didn't matter which he chose. If he was angry, they tried to beat the defiance out of him. If he was resigned, they tried to beat a reaction out of him. He could have pretended servility to stop the beatings, but that was a form of deception. Apparently, the wolf thought with a smirk, honesty is not the best policy. Black humour indeed, but he had to find his laughs where he could. Slavery was not given to happiness or laughter.

He finally fell into a fitful sleep and began to dream.

There was no pain. That was the first thing he noticed. His body was whole, unblemished. He felt himself, looking for his old scars, but even they were gone. Already a part of him realized he was dreaming, but he impatiently pushed the thought away. _ Let me enjoy this, _he thought. Keep me away from reality for a while.

He looked around to find no skyscrapers, only trees; no pavement, only grass; no highway, only a river; no city, only nature. It was idyllic to the wolf. He breathed in deeply through his nose and listened to the sounds of nature. He couldn't remember feeling this happy. A voice a ways off caught his ear, vaguely familiar to him. He smiled and started walking towards the sound.

He awoke. There was no sound or light to wake him, but his internal alarm clock warned him. His tormentors would be coming soon and the wolf learned quickly that it was best not to give them a chance to wake him up. He was crying when he awoke, which would seem odd, given his dream. It was better, though, not to dream. Bad dreams prolonged his suffering, and good dreams reminded him of what he couldn't have. He wiped the tears off of his muzzle when he heard footsteps. He didn't want to give the trainers the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He heard a key turn in the lock and braced himself for what was to come.