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It was raining when night fell upon the Mental Health Division building downtown, but one would never have guessed from inside the massive steel and concrete structure. As with all such mental health facilities, all of the windows had been boarded up, painted on the inside to resemble serene backdrops: snowy mountain peaks, an idyllic lake in the woods, perhaps a warm tropical beach. The idea, of course, had been to insulate the patients from the harsh realities of the world beyond, to put them in a calm frame of mind.

Salomon Redfield had never been terribly fond of that particular change. He had grown to appreciate the view from his desk, the swath of brick and masonry buildings that characterized that particular corner of the city; the buildings, stained dreary with soot from the nearby manufactories, in sharp contrast to the smartly dressed folks that marched up and down the avenue below on their way to the financial district. Now his window was a static and joyless view of what he supposed was some cheery coastal settlement. His objections had gone unheeded, though. Not even staff were exempted from such stern federal regulations.

Not even the senior staff, it turned out. Sal was, in fact, one of the most senior employees of the Mental Health Division. His credentials, displayed prominently behind his desk, still bore the old logo based more explicitly on the seal for the Department of Justice, which had then only just created the MHD. His doctorate certificates and other credentials were arrayed neatly around that most prominent one, the dates on them telling the story of how he had joined the MHD in the year of its founding, almost straight out of university.

In the end, however, he was still "just a doctor", as some of his peers referred to him. While others around him had moved on to fill various administrative roles, some even going on to high-ranking positions with the MHD leadership itself, he had shown no interest in anything other than dealing with his patients. Considered by some an admirable trait, it nevertheless meant that his objections over the faux scenery in his window went unheard, probably filed away in some cabinet and forgotten.

So on that particular night, when rain was beginning to fall on the dingy looking buildings outside of his window, Sal was left to stare miserably at the cheery, sun-drenched coastal village that had been painted in its place. He had finished most of his work for the day, having finished updating a patient file - a particularly deranged anti-government demonstrator who had set fire to numerous public transportation facilities, and had been showing very little progress - the slight, middle-aged lizard was left to stare unhappily at the cheery scene that seemed to mock him.

Before the end of his shift, however, there was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal the face of a marten, younger and considerably more energetic than himself. "Doctor Redfield?"

Sal turned to look at the young man, trying not to show his displeasure at the late interruption. James Jansen was just an intern, bright but a little unfocused at times, who showed a lot of promise; though Sal had never said as much, he silently harbored a hope that the young intern would someday be doing his job while he was off sipping mai tais on a beach. "Yes, Jansen?"

The marten stepped into the room, a medical file tucked under his arm, shutting the door behind him. "A new patient has just been admitted, and the administrator would like for you to take a look at him," he said, a little meekly, snatching the folder from under his arm and holding it out in front of him.

The attempt to look less irritable was failing, and Sal reached across his desk to pluck the folder from the intern's paw with an audible grumble. "I'll have a look in the morning," he responded, dropping the file on top of the others that had been accumulating on the desk.

James seemed to fidget a little nervously, looking back at the door before sighing. "The administrator said it was important that you start with the patient right away."

"There's not even an hour left in my shift," the lizard shot back, glancing with irritation at a clock and verifying that his shift was not to last much longer, at all. "And you wonder why I tell you that the administrator has got it out for me. Ugh. Why me?"

"The patient's a sodomite, sir."

Sal had been in the process of picking the file back up, ready to pull it open and at least peruse the patient's information, but he stopped, leveling a displeased gaze at the intern. "Another one? Come on, can't Beales handle this one? I'm positive he's got less of a workload than I've got ..."

"The administrator insisted that you take care of this one. Besides," the marten said with a slightly forced smile. "You're the best when it comes to dealing with faggots ... uh, sodomites, sir."

The lizard had, indeed, built something of a reputation for himself when dealing with mental illnesses of a sexual nature. There had been a time when he was particularly proud of the fact, happy to tell his colleagues how he had personally overseen the re-orientation of over ten dozen sodomites over his career without a single relapse, but he had grown weary of dealing with them. "Why can't they just go back to the old fashioned way of dealing with these perverts ... crime of nature, throw them in jail, let the prison population deal with them ..."

James cocked his head lightly. "Sir?"

"Nevermind," Sal said, waving his hand and pulling the medical file open, mumbling as he began to read the salient details aloud. "Patient name: Victor 'Vic' Lovekin. Age twenty-nine. First caught in the act of self loving with the aid of contraband homosexual paraphernalia at the age of seventeen. Successfully completed a re-orientation camp, reintegrated with normal society ... married at age twenty-two, divorced at twenty-five ..."

Licking his finger and flipping the page, the lizard continued with a dour little sigh. "Ah, here we go. Suspected of relapsing into homosexual behaviors when his supervisor reported a decrease in work efficiency, inattention to detail, coming in late and retelling of inappropriate jokes. Captured during a raid on a suspected bathhouse downtown. Remanded to the MHD for re-orientation due to this being a second violation." With a wry little smirk, he tapped a paragraph at the bottom. "Ah, look at this one Jansen. 'Subject exhibits extreme anti-government and paranoid behaviors and is considered a risk to himself and others."

Squeezing his paws together, the marten nodded and cleared his throat. "So he'll be in a straight jacket, like the others?"

Sal nodded, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, picking up his wire-frame glasses from the desk and pushing them up his snout as he began to walk toward the door. "You got it. I've seen this guy's type before. Confident, devious, they think they have some kind of natural right to their unnatural behavior. Tend to be rather megalomaniacal. Come with me."

Stepping his way past the intern, Sal pushed the door open and strode confidently out into the hall beyond. Fading, flickering fluorescent tubes lit the passage in unflattering tones, giving the whitewashed walls and plain benches along the way a flat, almost fake look to them, an odd compliment to the painted scenery in the windows. At this hour there was very little activity in the hospital, a single orderly carrying around a tray of medications, but otherwise the only sound to be heard were Sal's own footfalls as he made his way confidently toward the stairwell.

"See, they think they are smart. Mom and dad send him off to queer camp, and wouldn't you know, he comes back cured. Marries some poor dupe of a girl to keep up the facade, but he's probably spending all his time sneaking off to sex-dens and bath houses. We put this guy through the regular therapy, he'll be 'cured' in no time so he can run off and get back to his deviant lifestyle. No, we'll skip all that and go straight to more aggressive therapy for this one."

James, only a few steps behind, nodded enthusiastically, if somewhat confused. "Aggressive?"

By that time they had reached the stairwell, and the lizard pushed it open, growing more confident with himself as he moved, settling comfortably back into his role as he began to ascend to the next floor. "We'll start him off with some thorough aversion therapy. He'll probably claim to be cured by the time we're done tonight, but just to be on the safe side I think we'll keep him here for a week or two. Make sure the only cock he will ever lay eyes on again is his own."

Stepping out onto the second floor, Sal was met by the sounds of the patients' ward : a quiet but regular stream of crying, moaning and wailing. The walls muffled all but the worst of it, and he had been there long enough to be completely inured to its effects. The intern following behind him had not been there quite so long and looked to be visibly unsettled. "Sir?"

"Have the orderlies bring him to the electrotherapy room. And make it quick - I would rather not be at this all night."

The young marten nodded and turned to head back down the hall. He might have been young and inexperienced but he was very reliable, quick to do what was asked of him, and that much pleased Sal. In spite of his own annoyance at having to deal with another of these cases, the lizard was already beginning to feel more excited at the prospect of curing yet another deviant of his illness. It was, after all, the reason he had chosen not to climb the ladder. This way, he really could make a difference in people's lives.

Briefly, he made a stop at a supply closet - one that had, in fact, been devoted entirely to his own belongings. He was only looking for two items. The first was a big, clunky slide projector that he had to strain to lift out of the closet, in spite of the carrying case that it was in. The second took a moment for him to find, the lizard sorting through a few different trays of slides, finally locating the one marked "HOMO.AVER.SET1" in big, blocky red letters. With a smirk he pulled it out, and then began to lug the bulky projector down the hall.

Fortunately the electrotherapy room was not too far away. Affectionately referred to as "The Fireworks Room" by the staff who actually used it, it was located on the far end of the building, through a set of double doors that kept it separate from the actual patients' ward through which he had come. Sal was, in fact, one of the few staff members who was authorized to use the room at his own discretion, and had his own key to the room. Dutifully fishing it out and unlocking the door, he stepped in and flicked on the light switch, grinning slightly at the sight.

The room was divided into two. One half, separated by a partial wall with an opening in it, served as a sort of observation area. The floor was raised slightly and there was a table against the wall, facing the opening, with a few chairs there. Against the wall and on the table was device with a few buttons and a dial with increments that were marked out in volts. The other half of the room, slightly sunken, was empty with the exception of one piece of furniture, a wooden chair with restraints and electrodes placed at key locations. It looked eerily like the electric chair that had recently come into use for executions; some of the staff had even taken to calling it "Old Sparky Junior" after its more lethal cousin up the river.

Sal was one of those members of the staff. Stepping over to the chair, his tail flicking behind him, he patted the chair on the arm and chuckled. "Looks like you're gonna get a little fun tonight, Junior," he said, temporarily placing the items he was carrying on the chair. Flipping the carrying case open, he hauled the unwieldy projector out and walked it over to the opening in the wall dividing the room. Carefully he set it in the opening, making sure that it was properly balanced, feeding the cord through the opening so it could be plugged in. There were no outlets on the side with the chair.

Satisfied, the lizard moved back over to the chair and gathered up the rest of the materials, making his way to the raised half of the room, the little observation area, setting his items down on the table. It only took him a minute to get the projector plugged in, turning it on so that it cast a square of bright white light on the far wall. Adjusting it carefully so that the light was cast in just the right spot for an occupant of the chair to see, he set his slides into projector, making sure they were advanced to the correct spot - again, the letters "HOMO.AVER.SET1" on the far wall. A brief little twist of a dial brought it into sharp focus. Again he smiled. All that was left was to get the patient set up.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened up. James, the intern, was the first to walk in, turning around to wave on whoever happened to be following him. First was one of the orderlies, a fairly well-built wolf that Sal did not recognize, perhaps a new employee. Then the patient was brought in, on a wheelchair, and when Sal got a look he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Victor Lovekin was huge. Even the normally brawny looking orderlies - one pushing the wheelchair, the other one following behind to provide help - looked merely average by comparison. The patient, a black-furred stallion with eyes as black as coal, had to be at least seven feet tall, his frame barely fitting in the wheelchair. The straight jacket that had been strapped onto him did little to disguise his physique, either, bulging around the horse's torso and obviously well-defined arms pinned beneath the restrictive clothing. The male looked somehow inherently menacing, and Sal - slender, bookish lizard that he was - could not help but to feel intimidated by the sight, restraints notwithstanding.

The patient locked eyes with him and sneered as he was rolled into the room. "Hey, doc. You're cute."

Sal felt himself flush in his neck a bit, and almost stammered. He immediately realized what his patient was trying to do to him, into his head and throw him off balance. No, he was the doctor here, and he had to maintain a calm exterior, make it clear that he was in charge. Clearing his throat, he referred back to the folder that he still had to distract himself a bit. "Ah, Victor Lovekin. I've been expecting you. Now, I want you to know that the reason you are here is not because you are a bad person but because ..."

"Because I like to fuck guys?"

The lizard looked up with a little hint of irritation flashing in his eyes. "Now, now, there's no need for foul language. You aren't here to be punished, but we won't tolerate that sort of behavior in these walls. Now, the reason you are here is because you need our help, because you have a problem ..."

Again the stallion interrupted with a sneer. "Look, doc, the only problem I see here is that you and I are still wearing clothes."

Aggressive, just as he had surmised, but this patient was taking it to an extreme. He had never had one of his patients try to get under his scales this way before, by making it so personal, and again he almost had a hard time reacting while keeping his cool. "Victor, please, if you'll just allow me to explain ..."

"Name's Vic."

"Fine. Vic." Sal felt his anger starting to rise a little, having to clench his hands into fists to keep it down, breathe a little more deeply before continuing. "Please refrain from interrupting. Now, you've been caught engaging in unnatural and deviant acts, but it is important to realize that this is an illness, not a flaw. Now what we are going to do is have you sit down here and watch some slides, I want you to pay attention to them and think about how you feel as you see each one ..."

The stallion had been wheeled right up next to the chair, the orderlies awaiting further instruction, when he once more interrupted. "How much of it is gay porn?"

"Please," the lizard said, closing his eyes and reaching up to rub at his temples. "Please, stop with these outbursts. I am trying to help you."

"What'd really help is if you'd come over and use that pretty mouth of yours on my cock."

Sal really wanted to snap. He wanted to throw down the folder he was holding and get up in the stallion's face, call him out for the disgusting faggot that he was. He found himself yearning for the days when homosexuality was a simple crime and the dirty perverts were locked away in prison to rot. He would love for nothing more than to cast this particular deviant away, out of his sight, but he wasn't about to let his streak end here. Sucking down a deep breath, he managed to keep himself calm. "Don't force me to have you gagged."

Victor laughed a bit in his seat. "So that's what you're into? Kinky. Well, by all means, have your way with me."

That was enough. Turning with a frown, Sal waved the file folder in the air and stalked his way back to the observation area. "Forget it. Just strap him down in the chair," he called out to the orderlies behind him. "Jansen, come up here, I'm going to need your help."

With more than a hint of irritation, the lizard turned his attention back to the file folder, flipping through it as he heard - but tried not to listen to - the big stallion murmuring some insult or another, perhaps at himself, perhaps at the orderlies who were busily strapping him in. The sounds of buckles being latched rang in his ears as his clawtip slid along the side of one of the pages till he found what he was looking for, frowning. Lovekin had spent three years studying psychotherapy at a fairly prestigious university; the stallion knew what he was doing, trying to get under his skin.

"Hmph. We'll just have to show that dropout how much more a proper education can teach you," he said, perhaps a little more defiantly than he meant to, pushing the folder shut again and turning to a rather confused marten who was standing at his side. "Jansen. Do you know how this works? I'd like you to operate the console for me, please."

"Ah, yes, doctor," the young marten said, moving over to a chair nearer the device on the table, settling in. "But, I haven't attended a therapy session for a sodomite ... will it be ... obvious when I am supposed to trigger?"

Sal turned to look at the intern with a slightly harsh frown. "Some of these slides contain highly explicit images. Stuff that's covered under both the Federal Decency Act as well as numerous anti-sodomy regulations. You are under no circumstances to view the images themselves," he warned sternly, pointing at the slide projector itself. "The offending images are marked in red. When you see them pop up, you know they're displaying. Trigger then."

James went wide-eyed at the information, but nodded obediently. "Yes, doctor."

"Set the initial intensity to five," he instructed, watching as the intern complied by switching the dial up a few notches. Satisfied, Sal peered out the little observation window in time to see the orderlies finishing up their job. The stallion was already strapped into the chair, thick leather bindings holding his arms and legs in place, the straight jacket having been removed. One of the orderlies had just finished securing the electrodes to the beast's ankles, while the other was strapping them onto his wrists.

Finished, they turned and flashed the doctor a thumbs-up sign. "Thank you, gentlemen," he called out to them, then motioned to the door. "We're finished with you, for now. I anticipate the therapy will take about thirty minutes; I will have Jansen call for you when we're ready."

"Sure thing, doc," one of them called out as they headed for the door, shutting it behind them, leaving the room in relative quiet. Before he began the session, Sal flipped on a switch that piped in calm, relaxing music from an intercom system. Muzak, he had heard it referred to. He didn't particularly care for it, himself, but it would be preferable to mere silence. Turning to look at the intern, nodding to indicate they were ready to begin, he reached over and picked up the control for the projector, clicking the button to cycle to the next slide.

The first few slides were simple, innocuous images: a family at the park, a beach at sunset, the glittering lights of Paris. Many of them were the same images painted on the insides of the windows at the MHD hospital, he thought to himself wryly. Then the first red slide popped up, an image of a young, naked male rabbit in a suggestive pose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the intern reach over and briefly depress a lever on the device, which emitted an audible buzzing sound.

The marten followed the instructions not to look at the image, eyes fixed obediently on the projector, but Sal had to see it in order to make sure the subject was watching. Lovekin had, indeed, been looking at the screen - the orderlies having properly taped his eyes open, immobilizing his head - and sure enough, the stallion was tensing visibly as the jolt coursed through his muscles. Sal smiled to himself; they were underway.

A couple of innocent images, and then a few more of the red slides came up. Two more nudes in suggestive poses, and then one male self-pleasuring. There was a satisfying buzz with each image, and each time the stallion tensed and shivered in his seat. "Raise it to seven," he whispered softly to the intern, waiting to hear the dial go up two clicks, before advancing to the next red slide, two males engaged in a passionate kiss.

The shock was more pronounced, the buzzing sound louder and the way the stallion tensed more visible. The male breathed an audible groan, just as he should. Sal nodded, advanced the slide. Another red one, an image of a naked raccoon with his sodomite partner behind him, reaching around to grope his genitals. Again the machine was fired, and the stallion groaned with the force of the electricity running through him.

To his dismay, however, he saw the stallion beginning to smile after the shock wore off. "Ahh, doc, this is some damned kinky play. Where's that ball gag you promised me?" He ignored the taunt, clicking through a few clean images, when one of two canines grinding together lewdly came up on the screen. Again there was the strong shock, but again the stallion grinned afterward, groaning in an intentionally lewd manner. "Fuck, yeah. Gimme more, doc."

The slides were meant to be progressively more disturbing, ranging from nude poses to kissing and groping to oral sex and, eventually, images of anal penetration and even sodomite orgies. The intent was to crank up the shock as the images became more lurid, and there was some way to go, but he was already losing patience. "We're not going to let him make a mockery of this. Go to ten."

A few more clicks of the dial went by before Sal continued with the slides. A few more clean images flashed by before the next image marked in red, a naked dragon being masturbated by a slender fox. He heard a click, and then a much louder buzz that rang in his ears. This time the stallion bucked in the chair, arching his back some in response to the jolt, his jaw clenching for a moment before the surge of electricity passed. "Ooooh, yes! Hurt me doc, hurt me good!"

He frowned, ignoring the taunt, cycling through a few more images. Two more times slides marked in red came up, and each time the stallion was subjected to a jolt that got him to shudder and jerk in his chair. Still, each time Lovekin let out another lusty moan, licking his lips and coming back with some kind of taunt. "You're good, doc. I'm so fuckin' hard ... come on in here and help me out with that ..."

Sal knew better than to respond, knew better than to let it bother him but the stallion was having some success at getting inside his head. "Make it fifteen," he breathed through clenched teeth.

"Doctor? That's the maximum suggested intensity ..."

"Fifteen," he repeated, clenching his fist. After a moment's hesitation the marten complied, and there were five more clicks of the dial. Fifteen was higher than most of these sessions ever went, even at the end, but Lovekin was apparently no regular patient. Two more images flashed by before another red-marked slide appeared, an overly built stallion standing proud with a rather slender wolf kneeling before him, performing orally upon him. Perfect, Sal though, as he heard the click, followed by a rather angry sounding buzz. The stallion in the chair went rigid, tensing up in the chair, clutching at the armrests and shivering violently. Then the jolt passed, and the horse slumped a bit in the chair, breathing deeply.

"Fuck ... you really got it out for me, don't you, doc?"

Sal knew better than to reply. A few more images were allowed to cycle by before another forbidden image, this time of two males orally pleasuring each other, splashed across the wall. The angry buzz of electricity made him jump as he watched his patient violently spasm in the chair once again, jaws clenched and grunting all the while till it came to an end.

Panting, the stallion shook his head as much as he could move it in the restraint. "Why ... why do you do it, doc? What do you got against me? What do you got against queers?"

He almost responded. He almost opened his mouth to say it is for your own good, but he knew better. He couldn't respond, he couldn't speak up, he couldn't interact with the patient. Whispering for another notch of intensity, waiting for the click, he cycled through to the next image, another similar image of sodomites engaged in mutual oral pleasuring. Again he watched as the stallion thrashed lightly in the chair, tensing in time to the buzz of electricity, panting afterward.

"What'd we ever do to you, doc?" Still he ignored the question, cycling through to the next lewd image, watching as the stallion thrashed in response to the jolt. "Ngh! Come on, doc ... just tell me. Get it off your chest. What was his name?"

Sal felt his own jaw clench a little in irritation at the interruptions. It shouldn't have bothered him so much, but he just wanted Lovekin to shut the hell up, just sit there and take his little punishment. He should have known better, should not have reacted at all, but with a little hiss he demanded another notch of intensity. There was another moment of hesitation before the intern complied, clicking the dial again, and Sal advanced the slides on to the next marked slide, one that showed a lion getting ready to mount another big cat. The crackle of electricity was loud in his ears, and the thrashing of the stallion in the chair was enough to get a gasp from the marten next to him; Sal only watched, frowning, while the big male cried softly in the chair.

"Ahhh, shit! He must have really hurt you, doc ... what did he do to you? You can tell me," the stallion cried out, continuing to taunt him. Still Sal refused to acknowledge him, moving forward to another image, one of filthy sodomites fucking on the floor, and he smiled grimly when the horse cried out loudly at the surge of electricity. When Lovekin spoke up again, however, he found himself frowning anew.

"Maybe it's not what he did to you ... maybe it's what he didn't do ..."

The lizard hissed softly at that, the baseless accusation really getting him angry. He almost spat out a retort, but instead turned to the intern and jabbed his finger at the console. "Set it to maximum."

The marten blinked, looking a little slack-jawed at the command. "But ... doctor, it isn't safe."

"I said, set it to maximum."

"Doctor ... I don't think I can ..."

Sal hissed lowly again, turning his anger on the poor marten. "You do value your internship here, don't you?"

There was a brief moment of tension in which the only sound that could be heard was the Muzak piping in from the intercom and the quiet panting of the stallion in his chair. Slowly, hesitantly, the intern nodded and reached for the dial, twisting it hard in a clockwise fashion till it came to a stop. "Maximum intensity," he said quietly, eyes fixing on the slide projector once again.

Sal responded only with a curt nod, turning his attention back to the other room. He clicked through a few more clean slides, another happy family thrown in, one of a friendly government official assisting a citizen - the lizard reminding himself in the midst of his ire that he needed to include some more pro-government imagery to help counteract the paranoia - before finally clicking to the next lurid image, some kind of grotesque male threesome. A grim smirk of satisfaction crossed his face when he heard the click of the trigger next to him; the bastard of an equine would get what he had coming to him.

The satisfying buzz of electricity was shockingly short, however, before it all ended in a loud, abrupt pop. A sudden shower of angry blue and green sparks erupted from his left, from directly in front of where the hapless marten was sitting, filling his vision and briefly blinding him. Beneath the popping sound he thought he heard a scream, and then a loud thud, but the lizard could only guess what it was as he flailed about wildly himself, clutching at the table in front of him while his vision recovered.

The acrid scent of ozone and the pungent odor of singed fur tickled his nostrils when his vision did begin to return, and even then it was dark. The first thought that came to his mind was that a fuse must have burst, the lighting in the room having shut off. To his irritation, the emergency lighting was fickle at best, a flickering fluorescent tube near the exit that did little to illuminate the room. Further sparks snapped and popped to his side, and Sal reflexively jumped out of their way, gaping at the sight of the control panel having been blown clean off, exposing an array of wires and electric components that he didn't recognize, hissing and spitting occasional little sparks as if it were alive and angry.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, shaking his head at the sight of the gutted console, when again the unpleasant odor of singed fur wafted across his nostrils. Glancing downward, he caught sight of the intern, lying in a prone position next to his chair, a lazy line of smoke rising up from beneath his armpit. With a grimace, Sal reached down and curled his fingers around the marten's neck, only to feel the lack of a pulse. "Shit," he repeated, a little more loudly.

Standing upright and waving the acrid smoke away from his face, the lizard peered out through the observation window and tried to get an idea of what condition the stallion was in. When the light flickered on again, he was shocked to see the chair was quite empty, no sign of the patient whatsoever. Briefly the wild image of the beast being electrocuted so thoroughly that he burnt to ash ran through the lizard's head, but he shook the idea off. Not even the real electric chair could do that - could it?

Stumbling out of the observation area, he peered into the rest of the room. In the dim light he could make out the chair, quite empty, no hint that anyone had been there at all. Turning to the door, he opened it up and stuck his head out into the hallway, about to call out for help when a loud cracking sound overhead caught him by surprise. The emergency light in the room had abruptly shorted out, but in his agitated state he imagined that it was something much more dangerous, and instinctively threw himself to the floor. "Help!"

No one answered. The room behind him had been cast into pitch blackness at the shattering of the light, but the hall outside was not in much better shape. Perhaps the entire fusebox had gone out; the only light in the hall that he could see was an emergency exit light, at the far end, though it too was blinking a little erratically. The hall was eerie in the darkness, but worse was the silence. "Hello? I need some help here ... a medical emergency!"

Still there was no response. Remembering the intercom system, Sal stood up and felt his way over to where he knew the nearest intercom was, mashing the button down with his hand. "Hello! This is Doctor Redfield ... there's been an accident in the electrotherapy room. Please send help!" Not even static responded, and he realized the intercom was quite dead. Not terribly surprised, but somewhat disappointed, he shook his head and turned toward the exit at the end of the hall.

Already, he was trying to sort out in his head how he would respond to the inquiry he knew was coming. The accident would be one thing; it would not be the first time a doctor had lost a patient in the course of treatment. But to physically lose an entire patient with no trace was unprecedented, and the death of an intern? Tenure would only carry him so far in this particular inquiry. He was certain that he had more coming to him than a mere reprimand, this time.

His brief reverie was cut short when he felt a sudden prickling sensation in his thigh, followed by an acute burning. With a little gasp he reached down and swatted at the spot, his hand swiping against something relatively small dangling from his pant leg. Plucking it out of the cloth, he pulled it up to his face to look at it in the dim, flickering light. For a moment he could have sworn he was looking at a pen, but as his eyes focused, he realized with a sudden cold chill that he was holding a syringe.

A sense of panic flooded Sal's brain as he looked around. Somehow he had wandered into the little pharmacy that was on the second floor. He had no idea how he had managed to stick himself with a needle, but worse still, he had no idea what might have been in it. There were scores of different drugs in the pharmacy; stimulants, depressants, anti-psychotics, hallucinatory agents, the list went on. His breathing shallowed and his hide suddenly felt hot, flushed. Fumbling, he reached forward, his shaking hands bumping against any number of bottles and containers. His fingers latched onto one, pulling it closer so he could see it.

Amylobarbitone, the little vial read. It was opened; could it have been what was in the syringe? His mind spun as he tried to remember the particular compound. He tried to read the vial but the light was too dim and too intermittent; the smaller letters would not resolve in his vision. He seemed to remember it was a sedative, and in anger threw the vial down.

It could have been anything, he reminded himself, again reaching out to see if he could find another open vial, some other clue. Instead he fumbled in the darkness, pitching forward with his arms flailing, completely knocking a shelf from off the wall and sending dozens of little glass vials crashing down, skittering off the floor, rolling about in a noisy cacophony that set him to yelping.

He didn't know where the needle had come from, how he had gotten it stuck like that, what could have been in it. His eyes widened in the dark of the little pharmacy, wildly searching for some sign of what was going on, someone who might be able to help him, explain what was going on, but there was nothing but shadow and flickering light from the hallway beyond. As he turned to head back out the door his foot landed squarely on one of the vials, promptly skittering out from under his heel and sending him crashing to the floor.

Sal's vision filled with brightly colored points of light as his head bounced against the ground, setting his ears to ringing and cutting off the cry that had been forming in his throat. Groaning incoherently, he rolled to his back and reached up to clutch his head between his hands, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ward off the dancing little lights. He tried to sit up but was overcome with a rush of nausea, and instead the lizard rolled back onto his stomach, dragging himself out of the pharmacy, whining out a pitiful little "Help me" as he went.

In the distance he could see the slow flash and flicker of the emergency light, though in his vision it had become blurred and indistinct; a fuzzy point of light that seemed to slowly blink in and out of existence. The buzzing in his ears had begun to fade, but as he pulled himself back up to sitting, leaning heavily upon the wall, he realized that the dizziness he was feeling was only increasing. Was it from the knock on the head? Was it an effect of the substance that he had been injected with? His mind raced numbly through the possibilities, trying to remember how those kinds of drugs worked, what they did, what symptoms they caused, but he could not. With some effort, he managed to pull himself back up to his feet, turning to face the flashing light and the exit that it signaled.

The lizard moved hesitantly, slowly, resting one hand against the wall to keep himself from falling over. His feet were beginning to feel heavy and strangely indistinct, thudding to the floor in a clumsy fashion. Some effect of the drug that he had now running through his veins, he reasoned to himself - or perhaps it had just been the fall. "Dammit," he whispered to himself softly. He'd almost forgotten the fall already; confusion was definitely setting in.

Ahead of him, the light continued to blink dispassionately in the darkness, refusing to resolve itself, a murky halo that blinked in and out. He held his hand out in front of the light, catching the vague silhouette of his fingers against the blurred light up ahead, blinking, blinking. He waved his hand against the blurred light, watching the shadow of it moving slowly, leaving behind weird little trails behind them in his vision. He was definitely drugged.

Letting his hand fall back to his side, he pushed himself forward through the haze that the drug was filling his mind - or had it been the fall? "Dammit," he whispered to himself again. "Dammit, dammit ... someone help me!" He looked, waiting, hoping for someone to materialize out of the darkness and help him, but no one did. There was only the incessant blinking of the lights ahead. Blink, blink, blink.

Breathing deeply, Sal picked his foot up again and pushed it forward. It felt like dead weight, a brick attached to his hip with string, falling heavily to the ground in front of him. With some effort, he picked up his other foot and repeated the chore, willing it forward before it fell to the ground once again. The light ahead of him flashed in and out; again he stepped forward heavily. Blink, step, blink, step.

His head was pounding. Had he hit himself that hard? Was it the medication he had taken for the pain, for the headache? He paused as he tried to remember what he had taken after that fall ... or had it been before? He remembered the syringe, and cursed under his breath. "Dammit!" He couldn't remember. Again he picked up his foot and lurched forward.

Blink.

"Goddammned lights," he hissed to himself, waving his hand in front of his eyes. Their blinking was dispassionate, constant, unwavering - blink, blink, blink. He waved his hand in front of him again, tried to ward them off, but the shape of his hand was indistinct. Blink, blink. Again and again he shuffled forward, each step heavier than the last, falling to the ground with a heavy little thud. Thud, thud, blink.

Still, the light ahead of him seemed to have not grown any closer, in spite of his insistent shuffling down the hallway. Waving his hands in front of him, the lizard trying to banish the methodical flashing from his mind, he involuntarily hissed in their direction. His feet grew heavier and heavier, and soon felt too heavy to move. All he could do was lean against the side of the hallway, squinting into the light. Blink, blink.

"Someone fix the goddamned light!" Sal's voice had grown thin and ragged, a weak croak that seemed to have trouble penetrating the darkness. It had to have been caused by the drug that was coursing through his veins, though he couldn't remember what it had been. The fall had robbed him of that memory, hadn't it? Blink. His legs felt like they were growing weak, too. Exhausted, he let himself slide down the wall, till his rear end came to a soft rest against the ground beneath him. Blink, blink.

"The light," he complained again, even weaker, squeezing his eyes shut to try and ward them off. The blinking was making him dizzy, but even closing his eyes didn't help. The light filtered in through his eyelids, lit up his vision in dull, unspecific red. Blink, blink. When he opened his eyes again, the light seemed suddenly so much brighter, so much more insistent. Hissing again, he threw his arms out in front of him, his hands casting indistinct shadows that flickered with the blinking light. Light, dark. On, off. Blink. "Someone help me ..."

The light seemed to have grown closer, after all. He felt like he could reach out and touch it, and he tried just that. Squinting, he gasped a little and tried to look away, but found that he couldn't move; perhaps the drug was robbing him of that ability. Either that, or the light was just too compelling. Blink, blink, blink. He had been drugged, right?

"Help me ..."

There was no response, save for the impassive, unwavering flash of the light in front of him. On, off. On, off. Light, dark. Light, dark. In, out. In, out. Blink. Blink.

Blink.

"Doctor."

The voice came out of the darkness, unexpected, but at first Sal did not respond to it. He couldn't look away from the steady flash of the light in front of him; the sound hardly registered to his mind. Then the light seemed to morph, wavering, broadening, darkening in the middle, taking on a new shape. No, not a new shape - it was a silhouette, a figure standing in front of him, the outline fading in and out, in and out. "Doctor. Can you hear me?"

Help me. "Yes," he whispered weakly.

"What is your name, doctor?"

It was a strange request. Simple, but strange, and it only made sense to grant it. "Salomon Redfield."

"Salomon Redfield," the voice repeated. The silhouette shifted a little in front of him; it was the source of the voice. "How about I just call you Doc?"

"Yes," the lizard whispered in agreement.

Again the silhouette shifted, slightly. He could swear he recognized the voice, he had heard it before. "I have some questions for you, Doc. It's important you answered them."

Hardly thinking, Sal merely nodded where he sat. "Yes," he agreed again.

"You were hurt when you were young, weren't you? Hurt by a sodomite ... a homosexual, weren't you?"

The question struck Sal as being strangely personal, as if the silhouette had no right to ask him, and he hesitated. "I ... don't know what you mean ..."

The shadow blinked in and out of existence for a few times. "It is important for you to be honest with me, Doc. He hurt you, didn't he? What did he do to you?"

Still, he wanted to hesitate, yet he felt oddly compelled to answer the question, the words seeming to just bubble up inside of him. "He ... I can't remember ... hurt my feelings," he said, surprising himself slightly. They just seemed to easy to say.

"That's better, Doc. Who was it? Who hurt your feelings? What did he do?"

"I ... can't remember," he answered, honestly enough. He'd never had his feelings hurt by a homo before, had he? The drug was making him dizzy, making his memory feel strangely foggy. Or maybe it had been the bump on the head ...

"Sure you can, Doc. Just go back. Back to school, back to college, back when you were a young whelp ... just look, past the darkness ... it's all there inside of you, Doc. You just got to look ..."

Images swept around unbidden in his imagination, temporarily melding with the evanescent silhouette in front of him. People, places, long forgotten welled up like a twisted version of his slideshows, flickering on by. "Johnny." The name bubbled up in his throat, again, spilling out over his teeth, the image beginning to solidify in his mind's eye, fading in and out with the light. An equine shape. Browns and whites. "Johnny Moss."

"Johnny Moss," the silhouette echoed his words, in a very matter of fact fashion.

"Yes," the lizard whispered, seeing the image come together in his mind. Johnny Moss, the handsome dappled pony from grammar school. Athletic, genial, and well liked in spite of his attraction to other boys. It had been in the days before sodomy had been outlawed, but homosexuality was still looked down upon. Johnny had flaunted it, anyway. Perhaps reckless, perhaps simply brazen.

"Johnny hurt you? Hurt your feelings?"

Sal had admired the young pony's conviction. No, it had gone beyond mere admiration; it was more like jealousy. He wished he had enjoyed the same convictions as a youth, the ability to not hide behind lies and deceit. "Yes."

The silhouette in front of him continued to fade in and out with the light. "And what did he do to you? How did he hurt your feelings?"

Briefly, Sal's mind balked at the question. It seemed to be forbidden, something he was not to discuss, not with anyone, not with himself, but the memories percolated to the edges of his subconscious, invading his imagination, images coming back unwilled. It was more than merely Johnny's convictions that he admired. He admired the youth's good looks, athleticism, his figure. He wanted that for himself ... no ... no, he wanted Johnny for himself.

The memory came back with a bitter taste in the back of his throat. That day he had swallowed his pride, had overcome the fear, had dared to approach the youth in a moment of weakness. He could almost see the little hand-scrawled note, could almost see the words that eluded his memory. He'd asked the young pony out on a date; he'd gotten a laugh in the face instead. "He rejected me."

Slowly the shadow in front of him blinked in and out, while the memories continued to come writhing up from the depths of his mind. He'd been rejected, embarrassed. He'd promised revenge on that heartless young pony, revenge on the heartless homosexuals who turned him aside. Sal could feel his fist tightening even as the thoughts welled up like bile in his throat.

Before it could become too acidic, however, the silhouette spoke again. "That's too bad," the voice spoke, and the figure moved. For a brief moment the outline looked vaguely equine, and again the lizard thought he recognized that voice, when it spoke out again, this time much closer to him. "I want you to go back to that moment, Doc. To before he hurt you, before he rejected you. To the moment when you first opened yourself up to him."

The images in Sal's mind fluttered again. The thought of Johnny, that heartless, cruel sodomite bastard, softened again. Malice gave way to a genial smile, gave way to a handsome figure, an object to idolize, hope for. "What if it had been different?" The shadow spoke again, close to him, almost in a whisper. He thought he could make out eyes in the darkness. "What if he had accepted you?"

The notion cut through his thoughts like a sharpened blade. His mind's eye imagined the youth responding with a flattered chuckle, a teasing smile. A quiet fire of sorts rose up in the pit of his stomach, and in the darkness he looked again at what were a pair of eyes, near his own, the vague outline of a muzzle in the flickering light, equine ears - a horse? "Johnny?"

"Tell me what you want, doc."

The voice in the shadows was quiet, strangely seductive in the way that it slipped through the widening cracks in his mental defenses. He balked at the question again. Some unspecific sense of alarm tingled at the fringes of his consciousness, some fading warning urging him to deny the silhouette, to cry out for help, but he could not. Just as he could not turn away from the slow blinking of the light, just like he could not move. "I want you, Johnny ..."

Again the shadow moved, seemed to draw closer, the equine features beginning to resolve themselves a little in the strange haze. He felt a touch on his shoulder, strong and insistent. "I'm here, doc. Tell me what you want."

Was it really Johnny? His mind was starting to have a hard time finding the boundary between the forgotten memories that now swirled around in his mind and the muddled shadows of the world around him, but the touch seemed real enough. "I ... want you to want me," he confessed. His mind recalled the image of a farm behind the school, a big red barn full of dirt and hay. It was where the kids at school went to go find a little private time. "Hold me."

The silhouette moved closer, close enough to see some glimmer of an eye there in the murky light, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. "Good boy, doc," he whispered. The touch on his shoulder squeezed - no, pushed, pinned him down. Somehow he had wound up on his back and now he was being held down, back to the concrete - or was it tile? Hay? He couldn't remember. Another hand was on his snout, then, turning it so he was looking forward, and then the shadow leaned in. He felt warm lips on his own.

Oh, Johnny, he wanted to groan. He was back in that barn, where all the kids went to sneak off and make out, and now he was being pushed back into the hay by the focus of his teenaged fantasies. It was what he wanted, what he had always wanted, right? Reflexively he reached up, slid his hand against the equine's arm, clutched at a bicep that was too big for him to even get his fingers halfway around.

Then there was a squeeze on his jaw, forcing his lips open. A thick, muscular tongue forced its way on past his lips, past his teeth, insistently pressing against his own. There was nothing romantic about it; crude and forceful, sexual. The hand that had been on his jaws slid down, over his stomach, and deftly unfastened the button to his pants, pushing its way in against his groin. The lizard could not help but to arch his back and groan loudly into the forceful kiss. He'd never seen the kids making out in the barn doing this.

The horse leaned back, the thick tongue sliding back out of his maw. Sal panted quietly as he watched the silhouette slip back a little, fading in and out with the light, his eyes wide as he tried to focus on the shape hovering over him. "Do you like this, doc?"

Of course he did. It's what he had wanted, wanted so bad, and more. To have caught Johnny's eye would have been enough, but now the horse was fondling him to a quick erection. Yet, he knew, it couldn't have been Johnny. The voice was wrong, the build was all wrong. In the dim, flickering light, he thought he could make out midnight colored hair. He recognized this silhouette. Victor Lovekin. He knew he was supposed to be revolted, he knew he was supposed to cry out for help. "Yes," he groaned, when his mouth opened.

Vaguely he was aware that the big equine was moving again. He could see the silhouetted form leaning back a little, then he could feel hands at his hips, grasping his pants by the waist and tugging downward. "Would you like more?"

He knew the correct answer was to say no, to demand the horse leave, to call out for help. The correct answer, or at least, the one that he ought to respond with. But again his mind shifted back to the invented image of Johnny kneeling over him in that barn, the way he would have liked it. "Yes ..."

"Why do you want more?"

The question caught him off guard. He didn't know how to answer; didn't know what the correct answer might be, but his tongue began to move all the same. "Because I like it."

His pants were off, and he felt big, powerful hands beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt, as well. Without so much as thinking about it, he moved his arms to assist with taking his shirt off, leaving him nude and aroused on the ground. "And why do you like it?"

"It feels good," Sal answered simply enough. "I want you. I want more ... give me more, Johnny ..."

"That's a good little faggot." The statement was as much an indictment as it was praise, and triggered a kind of virulent revulsion somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind. The reaction was lost in the haze, however, little more than an echo in the midst of his wandering, muddied thoughts, and when he suddenly felt something warm and hot against his erection the thought completely melted away.

Though he could not see what was going on; he did not have to. Warm lips were wrapping around the first couple of inches of his flesh, big sturdy hands were kneading at his thighs right below his crotch. He could feel the heat of the stallion's breath spilling out from his nostrils, against him down there, and Sal could not help but to groan loudly at that. He'd never in a million years imagined that Johnny might go down on him like that ... never in a million years imagined just how fucking good it would feel, either.

The blinking light filled his vision without the horse's silhouette to block it. His mind filled the alternating black and grey void with the image of that handsome young pony, eyes smiling up at him with a heated, romantic lust. Subconsciously, Sal reached down and pressed his hand up against the equine's cheek, feeling the shape of his jaw while that muzzle pressed downward till big thick lips kissed right at the scales of his crotch, till it enveloped his cock completely.

Again the lizard could not help but to stifle a groan. The silhouette was starting to suckle on his dick, those thick lips drawing up and down his length, that big muscular tongue pressing against the underside of him, seeking out the most pleasurable little spots. Hands on his thighs conspired to heighten the sensation, kneading firmly. The haze in his head made him lose all track of time, and in what felt like a flash he was brought to the very edge of an orgasm, the tension mounting in his loins, leaving him breathless and gasping when once again he felt the cool kiss of air against his erection; the male had stopped blowing him.

"Don't want you losing it just yet, my little faggot." The voice was lined with something like disdain, a harsh edge that made Sal want to cringe, yet at the same time it was deep, sonorous, sexy. He wanted to hear more of it; he would get his wish. "You want more, don't you?"

"Yes," he groaned helplessly. Of course he wanted more. He wanted badly to reach for his own arousal, to stroke it a few more times and finish himself off, relieve the need for release that was now just below the surface. Powerful fingers kept massaging at his thighs, between his thighs, straying against his perineum and pressing there, eliciting another groan from the lizard.

He could hear Vic snorting in response to the groan. "Good little faggot, hungry for more. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you ..."

Strangely, Sal was not certain what he wanted. The haze in his mind, the weird blinking of that light, it was all making it hard to think, hard to sort out his real thoughts from the strange echoes bouncing around his head. "I want more," he muttered incoherently.

"Now, now," the horse responded, nickering to him. "You're going to have to try harder than that. Tell me what you want."

What did he want? He wanted to reach down and stroke himself to completion. He wanted to cry out for help. He wanted that stallion to suck on him again, suck him until he came. He wanted to get up and run away. None of it made sense; all of it felt so good. "I want you."

"Of course you do." There was a sneer to the response, and then the silhouette reappeared; Victor's shadow loomed over him, close, close enough to become half-focused in the lizard's vision, close enough that the blinking light behind him created a strange hose-shaped halo. "But you're going to have to tell me. Dig deep, doc, dig deep. Think hard. What do you want, most of all ... that you've never had, that you've always denied yourself ..."

He knew he was supposed to fight back. He knew he was supposed to get away, that what was going on was very wrong. The thought failed to hold fast, though, lost in the haze of his mind, all while he was doing just what he was told. Thinking back, far back ... his mind once again inserting the image of Johnny in place of the silhouette in front of him. Thinking of himself lying naked, aroused, wanting on the hay there beneath that gorgeous boy. Thinking of what he would want most.

The answer was there, tucked away deep in the recesses of his memories. A desire so forbidden that he had locked it out of his consciousness, locked it away so deep that even he had forgotten it, but in the mist the psychological locks were snapping, melting away, letting the answer rise to the surface. "... fuck me?"

The silhouette - Victor - obliged by moving downward, back to the periphery of his distorted vision. He felt hands on his ankles, under them, pushing up and forward so that his feet dangled in the air before coming to a rest on something firm, covered in a soft pelt. The stallion's shoulders, no doubt, as the silhouette was once again looming over him. Something hot and hard pressed against his backside, smeared something slick against his scales, before settling into the little depression of his anus.

It happened all at once. His virgin tailhole was forced open, stretching reluctantly around a cock far thicker than his own. Sal screamed painfully into the hall - or, at least, thought that he screamed - as his eyes snapped shut. The blinking light once again reduced to a dull flashing red, matching the deep burning fire that he felt suddenly stabbing him, spreading out from between his thighs. He couldn't help but to tense, to clench his whole body; his jaw tightening down around the pained groan, his fists into little balls, his back arching against the floor, even his ass squeezing down around the invader. In spite of the pain he was still aware of how it felt, inch after inch after inch of prodigious horsecock forcing its way into him, not stopping until he felt the stallion's body press firm against his ass.

Letting out another sharp cry, he realized that he could feel tears slipping down the sides of his face in spite of the fact that his eyes were closed. Opening them again, the lizard peered into the blurred, distorted, flashing silhouette in front of him. Again he could see Johnny in the darkness, his now-lover's handsome equine face hovering over him, lusty but caring, hungry but apologetic. "Relax ..."

He wanted to relax, he really wanted to. Sucking in a deep breath, Sal tried his best to relax, tried his best to calm down, but the horse didn't give him much of a chance to get used to the feeling of being so stretched, so full. A moment later the big stallion's hips were moving again, pulling back several inches before pressing in, again, again, again ... hardly giving him a chance to breathe. "Oh, Johnny ... you're so ... big ..."

The insistent, unwavering thrusts were slowly doing the trick, slowly stretching him out. The fiery pain was gradually subsiding. He could hear the big stallion nickering softly as his hips moved, grunting a little, holding him by the calves. Each thrust forward, thudding wetly against his backside, brought back a little of that fire, a little of that pain, each thrust a little harder and more eager than the last. "Talk to me my little faggot ... tell me how you like it, tell me what you want."

"More," he responded, a little lamely. He did want more. More of that beautiful pony, more of that raw pain that was slowly giving way to a perverse sense of pleasure, more of that big thick dick pressing against him deep inside in ways that really made him squirm. "More ..."

"More?" The horse grunted a little more loudly, the lewd thump of his hips against scales starting to become a regular sound. "More what? You want it harder ..."

Sal had always imagined that it would be slow, romantic, tender his first time, but the words he heard were less a question and more a statement of fact, and the more they echoed in his head, the more true they seemed to be. "Harder," he repeated.

The horse seemed to oblige by redoubling his efforts, each crash against the lizard's backside a little more fierce and angry than the last. It was just enough to keep the little fire between his legs from going out, just enough that there was a constant thread of pain hiding just beneath the twisted pleasure that he was feeling. Crying out softly, Sal found himself speaking without being asked, once again. "Harder ... faster," bubbled up from his throat.

"So eager? Good little faggot," the equine sneered through the darkness. The thrusts came quicker, then, a regular slap-slap-slap echoing in the darkness, each one forcing the lizard down against the harsh concrete of the floor, each one spreading his raw undertail open, each one pressing against spots inside of him that he didn't know existed, that made him cry out in pleasure.

It was hardly the romantic escape that he had locked away in the back of his mind. This was more raw, more guttural, more bestial; they weren't making love, they were fucking in the basest sense of the word. It shouldn't have felt so good but it did, and Sal ached for more. He was sure another plea for more rose up from his throat, and then another, caught between the hoarse cries of pain and pleasure that he could not stop from uttering.

Again he was not sure how long it lasted. The haze in his mind blurred the moments together, the rough, bestial thrusts, the grunts, the way his lover was talking to him, dirty phrases that he would not have thought up on his own. The poignant rise of pleasure in his loins, however, was impossible to ignore, the sense that he was rapidly approaching a climax once again. "Harder," he groaned hoarsely, leaning his head back and writhing as he was pounded, moaning without any forethought, as if it were someone else's voice. "Harder ... oh, Johnny, fuck me ... fuck me ... ahh, yes, yes, YESSS!"

Even if the voice were not his own, the climax he felt was undoubtedly his. As if by instinct his back arched and his jaw clenched once again, the throbbing need inside of him rushing outward in one blissful wave after another, each one drawing forth a loud, hoarse groan from the lizard's throat. He could feel his cock spasm, could feel his own spunk spattering wetly on his tummy and on his chest. For several seconds he was aware of nothing except the intense sexual energy coursing through his body.

Then, as abruptly as it had started, it had stopped. His climax ebbed, but more than that, the horse's own thrusting had stopped. He could hear hoarse, ragged breathing, could smell his own musk on the air, but as Sal opened his eyes and regarded the silhouette hanging over him he could tell that it was over. Had the horse climaxed as well?

"Ahh, what a good fuck," Vic all but growled. The horse pulled out rather unceremoneously, all those inches pulling back all at once leaving the lizard feeling suddenly vacant and bereft. The undeniable gush of something wet leaking against his backside and over his tail was proof enough that the stallion had, indeed, spilled his load. Somehow he had simply missed it.

Not that Sal cared, anymore. "Oh, Johnny ..."

"Yeah. You're a good lay, doc," the big stallion said, apparently standing up. Sal could only just make out the shape of the silhouette, pulling his pants back up in the intermittent darkness. "But, you know, I don't think my boyfriend would approve of me keeping you around. Not a guy like you. Not after what you put us through ..."

The words were largely lost on the lizard, who was still basking in the afterglow of the rut. He wasn't sure what the horse was talking about, wasn't sure what he meant by another boyfriend. He was just in some kind of mental ecstasy over the fact that Johnny had not only accepted him but had taken him so far, had made love to him, had become his lover.

"Can't stick around, doc." Abruptly Sal's vision became more sharp, more clear, and he was vaguely aware that Vic had replaced his glasses. He couldn't even remember them having gone missing. It was easier to make out the horse's features now, even in the low, intermittent light. He could see the big male - so fucking gorgeous - stretching a little as he stood back up. "Your friends will probably be back here any minute now. Do be good and give them my regards."

With that, Victor's shadow fled from the periphery of his vision, leaving him alone with the flashing light. Just as abruptly, however, the flashing ceased, and was left on in a steady state, quickly beginning to resolve itself into a rectangular field. It was not until after he heard the stallion walk away, the door shutting behind him, that Sal realized the light he was staring at was, in fact, the projection from his therapy slides. The image currently displayed was, fittingly enough, that of a horse having his way with a dragon of some kind, buried balls deep. He might have wondered how he had wound up in the therapy room once again, staring at the images, oddly tilted in front of him, if it weren't so damned arousing.

Without thinking about it he reached down and began to stroke his cock that was quickly growing aroused once again. The haze in his mind had not fled, however, and minutes passed without his being aware of them; he had already finished himself off once more, spattering his scales with a fresh offering of his spunk, before he heard the door open once again to his side.

"Lights are still off in here," he heard a voice call out from somewhere behind him. "Projector is working though, so power is up. Lights might have burned out when the power surged."

Another voice, disembodied, vaguely familiar spoke up. "What the hell is that smell?"

"Burned out electronics? Look over here, the console looks like it's ... oh, shit, shit ..."

"What is it?"

The first voice spoke again, agitated. "Over here, it's Jansen. Shit, he's dead. Get medical down here."

The sounds of footfalls filled his ears for a moment, but Sal remained where he was, lying on the floor, basking in the sexual afterglow and staring at the lewd image on the wall. "Jesus Christ, what happened? Looks like the whole fucking console blew up in his face," the second voice responded.

"Where the hell is Redfield?"

"Oh, shit," the second voice cursed, and again there was the rapid sound of footfalls. Then another shadow entered his vision, a wolf, one of the orderlies. The wolf reached down and pressed his fingers to Sal's throat before speaking up again. "He's alive. He might be awake ... Doctor Redfield? Doctor?"

Still the lizard did not respond. The voices, the sights around him unfolded a little distantly, lost in the haze still gripping his mind, as if he were a spectator rather than a participant. Another form entered his vision, a dragon, older, wearing a suit. It was the assistant administrator, snapping his fingers over his face. "Sal? Sal, can you hear me?" The dragon grimaced a little. "He looks catatonic. Where the hell is that patient? Lovekin? Why the hell isn't he strapped into the chair?"

The orderly moved out of his field of vision, leaving only the administrator there, apparently inspecting him. "The straps are undone," he heard the wolf call from off to the side.

"Undone?" Briefly the dragon looked away, in the direction of the orderly. Sal thought to himself that the dragon was fairly handsome, as well, and wondered what might happen if he asked him out, now that the stallion was gone. "What do you mean, undone? Who secured him in the first place?"

"Uh, I did," the orderly responded, meekly. "Me and the new guy."

"What new guy?"

"The new orderly. What was his name ... Smith, I think ..."

The lizard was still only vaguely aware of the exchange, somewhat amused, but found himself increasingly attracted to the dragon hovering over him. Lewd thoughts were beginning to fill his imagination, even while the administrator growled. "New orderly? We haven't hired any new ..."

"Oh, look at this," the wolf cried out, interrupting, and for the moment the dragon stepped out of his field of vision, leaving Sal to watch the still image on the wall for entertainment. "Someone shorted out the contacts on this thing! Any current from the console would have gone straight back to the console ... that might explain why the damned thing blew right up ..."

"Well, shit. Isn't this a fine mess." The administrator sounded rather more resigned than angry, however, huffing a sigh. "I want you to go and cancel the call for medical, there's nothing we can do about Jansen. I don't want the police getting involved in this, either. I also want you to go and fetch my secretary. This is going to be one hell of a writeup."

"Yes, sir," the orderly replied.

Once more the dragon came into view, looking down at him with a dour sigh and a little shake of the head. "Oh, and one more thing, I want you to have Doctor Beales sent in here, after you take care of the rest."

"Beales?"

"Yes," the administrator said, kneeling in close and touching a fingertip to Sal's stomach, scooping up a bit of the fluid, sniffing at his fingertip and then cringing. He wished the dragon wouldn't cringe like that. He looked so much more handsome, otherwise.

"Tell him that he's got a new reorientation patient."