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CHAPTER 4

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

0715 Hours, August 18** th ***, 2052*

Morning came as it always did, the blaring sun rising up from over the eastern reaches of the globe to beam gently down upon all that fell under its watchful gaze. Frost from the night previous slowly withered and melted away into the shadows before it was gone completely and winter birds struck up a chord in the deep woods. Deer and other animals woke as nocturnal creatures retreated to their lairs to hide away from the heavenly body's invigorating energy. Clouds swept slowly across the sky and fog cleared from the lower reaches of the valleys. The final call of an owl rang through the pristine scene as the bird flew quietly home from the hunt.

Owen had woke nearly an hour before the sun rose and had walked down to the edge of the lake. He had intended to try his hand at fishing off the end of the short dock, but he had found himself rooted to where he stood overlooking the mountain lake. He couldn't help but think back to his old life. Not just before the war, but to the last time he had gone fishing. It had been the day before he shipped out to Trexton University at the Crandale Military Base to start his life as an expeditor.

**

Lake Nipigon, Ontario, Canada

0618 Hours, June 12** th, **** 2043**

"Haha! Got one! And from the looks of it, this one's a keeper!" shouted Owen, pulling back fiercely on the rod as his father shifted the boat motor into neutral. The engine gave a brief sputtering before slipping into a steady throbbing. The soothing sound of waves tapping the hull took over as the dominant noise. A loon called almost in envy from across the lake.

"That's it, we've got our limit! I can't wait to fry these things up. It'll be the first time we've had fish since your brother went off to Ottawa. That was what, two years ago?" said his dad in his quiet voice.

"Yeah, about that it seems. Now I'm getting ready to go. I'm starting to feel old..." grumbled Owen, slowly reeling the fish towards the hull of the aluminium boat. The fish struggled against his efforts, diving deep under the surface in a vain effort to dislodge the hook from its mouth. Owen pulled the rod up forcibly, dragging the fish back up from the depths.

"Hah! You feel old? I feel old!" the man laughed as he grabbed the rubber net from where it lay beside him on the middle bench seat. He made his way to the front of the boat, clambering past numerous tackle boxes and the large cooler stuffed with their lunch. Even Rex came over to where Owen sat to see their newest conquest.

It was the last day that Owen would be living with his parents. Tomorrow he would be fully moved out to an apartment in Sault St. Marie where he was to take a university course in aerospace engineering. The military-run Trexton University agreed to pay for any student's courses so long as they served a minimum five-year service in the Armed Forces.

For Owen, it wasn't that he or his family were short on money that he had decided to go to Trexton. He figured that he could get a job working for the military as an engineer, provided that he played his cards right in the military. His mother hadn't thought much about it, but his father, a retired RCAF Major and F-42 pilot, couldn't be more proud of his youngest son. As he put it, "He'll design the planes that will replace my old bird, and that's more than I did."

"Woah! That's a nice one!" exclaimed Owen's father, "Maybe we'll even get to keep the cheeks!"

"Maybe, but it's not like we'll need 'em with the luck we've been having."

They had left an hour ago from their house and had drove the twenty minutes to a nearby lake. Another ten minutes and they had started trolling up and down the lake in search of their favourite catch; Walleye. The fish, usually unpredictably evasive, had been biting ever since they had launched and they had hauled in a good bounty already. The fish that Owen was reeling in would have to be their final catch, their lawful limits having now been reached.

"Here he comes, get the net in!"

"Pull him towards me!"

"Ready? Here he is!"

"Oh, shit; missed him! Try again!

"Ooof! Careful Rex! Okay, now!"

"Yeah! Got 'im!"

"Hold the net still, I don't want a hook in my hand... There."

The fish, now quite unhappy, was thrown into the bucket that they had brought with them. Owen's father was always like that; neat and organized, everything having a purpose or use. It was a habit from his time as an officer. It had leaked over into his private life and post-retirement career/hobby of trapping and skinning animals.

"Ready to go now?" asked his father as he rubbed his knee and made his way back to the helm. He stopped to gesture Rex over from the side of the boat, the massive wolf obeying the man's commands and laying in the middle of the boat as to not interfere with the steering.

"I guess so. Man, I'm going to miss it here..." sighed Owen as he chucked the uneaten portions of the minnow into the lake; a snack for some other hungry fish. He folded up his rod and slipped it into its holder before reaching for the cooler. "Want a Coke?"

"Sure, toss it here."

His father caught the Coke in his left hand, his right now intent on steering the boat as it flew across the lake. By the look in his eyes, Owen could tell he was more interested in the reflection of the sun and clouds in the almost-calm lake than his drink. He did that more and more these days...

"Is Frank still taking you up to Northwoods Friday?" asked Owen, referring to his father's oldest friend and ex-copilot.

"Nah. I have to go and check the trap line tomorrow. I'll probably take Rex with me. What do you think about that, boy?" he asked his pet, who only glanced in his direction furtively before turning back to his snooze.

"I hope you get something. Maybe you'll even see a moose. That would make a good meal right about now." said Owen.

"Maybe. It'd give me something to do, that's for sure."

"How come you're not going anymore; the line can wait another day."

"I dunno... I don't think I could stand being in the cockpit with him for an hour." It was a weak excuse. Owen knew that it would be as if Frank were teasing him by being the one to fly the bushplane to the camp. Frank had always been the weapons officer in their old plane, Owen's father being the one doing the actual flying. But he had opted against renewing his pilot's license earlier that year, claiming that he never flew anywhere anyways and that it would merely be a waste of money. He was starting to regret it now, but he'd never willingly show his family that he had been wrong.

"Yeah. I don't know how you dealt with it for all those years. He knows how to ramble." said Owen, deciding to play along.

"It wasn't so bad when you were on a six-hour air combat mission with your insides churning in anticipation and your head spinning as it tracked targets intent on shooting you down. But take the stress out of it, and you'll have a headache in an hour. Well, what do you think Dan's up to now?" said his father, crumpling the now empty pop can and changing topics.

"Probably doing exams. He says his prof's a serious hard-ass who's a nazi in the classroom."

"Pah! Poor guy. I never would have thought him to want to enter into psychiatry. Ever since he was little I thought he'd want something to do with cars. Remember when he used to- never mind; you were too young. But he used to run around with a plate in his hands, holding it like a steering wheel making noise and pretending he was in one of those bloody Indy-500 races."

"Really? I'll have to talk to him about it. I'm sure his girlfriend would love to know that."

"Oh no you don't. The last thing he needs is his little brother bugging the crap out of him while he's wound up in his studies."

"Whatever... Wow, that was fast. You finally fix the engine?" They had arrived at the landing, their truck and trailer parked in the small lot cleared from the surrounding bush. The boat had made incredibly good time across the lake, a large difference to the chugging putter that it usually managed.

"Yep. Just needed a new carburetter that I pulled from an old ATV. Works good, eh?"

"Sure does. You think Mom would want a bird too?"

"Maybe. The 410 is still in the truck from the last time; maybe we'll see one on our way back."

"Yeah... I'm going to miss mornings like this."

"Me too son, me too."

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

0620 Hours, August 18** th ***, 2052*

Owen watched as the sun rose up in the sky, the fishing rod that he had found still in his hand. He still hadn't managed to cast out his line. Shaking himself from his sudden stupor, he stretched his neck before cracking his knuckles. Some fish would certainly be good today.

Owen unhooked the lure from an eye on the rod and rifled through what little tackle that he had managed to find at the corner store. Deciding on a double-spooned spinner, Owen tied it onto the end of the 10-pound test line with a sturdy fisherman's knot. He had no idea why the tourists coming to the lake needed that strong of fishing line, but he wasn't about to complain.

He flicked the tip of the one and a half meter rod behind his head before cracking it forward and hitting the release toggle. The line made a whizzzz sound as it was dragged by the lure out across the sun-streaked water and plop-ed into the depths of the crystal-clear mountain lake. He waited for a few moments for the lure to sink before he started to work the reel slowly. Click click click.

The lure sparkled under the water as it moved towards the dock in a vaguely linear path. Owen sat on the edge of the dock as the line emerged dripping from the lake and hit the end eye. Chung. When he was comfortable, he repeated his process. It became a mechanical, precise motion that he carried out while he watched the small waves on the lake ebb and flow below the timbers of the dock.

Whizzzzz.... plop.....click click click click click click... chung

Whizzzzz.... plop.....click click click click click click... chung

On the fifteenth try, he had a bite. The line went taught as the fish realized it had made a fatal error. Owen smiled as it brought past memories alive and made him forget about his responsibilities for a while. He laughed outright, rising to his feet, as the trout exploded from the water in a spray of cold water only a few metres from the dock.

Owen allowed the fish some slack, enjoying the inconsequential struggle. He played with it until the fish had grown tired from the fight. Sensing the trout knew its demise was near, Owen pulled it up next to the dock. He flopped down onto his stomach and grabbed the fish by the head, dragging it from the watery haven. The fish would have started to put up its final struggle had it not been for Owen's knife piercing the top of its skull.

The trout opened and closed its mouth a few times before falling still. A few seconds later, Owen's catch started moving its many fins as if it were swimming on the wooden dock, The fish's brain synapses were still firing, making the body move posthumously. Owen ripped the knife from the head of the animal, putting an end to its rhythmic movements.

He made sure the fish was not going anywhere before leaning over the edge of the dock again and cleaning his precious knife. Owen slid it back into its sheath at his thigh, one of the only pieces of equipment he chose to wear with his new civilian clothes. It hadn't left his person in close to two years, and he doubted it would for many more to come. He then inspected his catch.

It was a brook trout that weighed in at about 5 pounds. It was a beautiful marine animal, its body a dark green that was covered in yellow spots. It had a white belly and a line of red merging its green body with the stark white colouring. The red ran the full length of the fish, even colouring the fins with its rich lustre. A few more of these and we can have quite the meal. He thought. He was about to turn back to his fishing when he had the crap scared out of him.

"There you are!"

Owen almost fell into the water. He was unused to being caught off guard, his armour's situational awareness system usually alerting him of the presence of another. That is, it did on the odd occasion that he didn't know already that someone was close to him.

"Sasha? What are you doing up? I thought you were going to sleep in today." Owen gasped as he tried to calm his thumping heart-rate.

She was wearing a simple t-shirt that she had apparently pulled from the store's small selection of clothing. It was green, a colour that Owen had seen a lot of over the past months, and had the resort's logo printed on the left-hand side of the front. For pants she wore a pair of shorts that were a bit too long for her, her digitigrade legs folding the fabric in odd places; they had not been designed for morphs in mind. She wasn't wearing any footwear, the pads on the bottom of her feet more than adequate for the current agenda. It was a big change from the other night, her now washed and groomed fur blowing in a slight breeze as opposed to lying flat on her body from being kept armoured for three days on end.

"I couldn't sleep. Too much stress lately, I think. So, what are you doing up this early?" she answered.

"Just fishing. Can't be that bad today; I've already caught one."

"Oh! You caught a fish? Can I see?" Her now rejuvenated face perked up at Owen's comment. Her tail began to flick back and forth and her ears came to the fore attentively.

"It's no big deal; it's just a little brook trout. Barely enough for a meal." demurred Owen after letting out a small cough, stepping aside to let her see the trout, now drying in the newly-risen sun.

"Cool! And you caught it? How?" Questioned Sasha excitedly, poking the fish's eye with a freshly-clipped claw. Its nerves were still triggering mild bodily spasms and she pulled her hand back reflexively.

"What? You don't know about fishing? Really?"

"Nope," she answered shamelessly, shrugging her slight shoulders, "at least not much more than I have read about. My owners kept us sheltered from others to stop us from knowing too much and asking questions. I guess it backfired though. Even after we were freed by you guys, it never occurred to me to take an interest in fishing. I was too busy playing chess and reading up on history to think of enjoying myself." She stood up, away from Owen's catch, and started eyeing the fishing rod

"Sooo... You have never seen a sport fishing show, or a movie where people went fishing?" asked Owen incredulously.

"No... I guess not. Like I said; I was sheltered. Do you wish to teach me, mon amoureuse?" she added flirtatiously while letting a small grin make itself known on her muzzle.

"Ahh, the vixen is learning fran _ç__ ais_ now, eh? Clever. As to the fishing, sure. I assume we should probably start with the basics. Here, hold this." he handed her the rod. "This is a fishing rod; how you catch the fish. This is the spool, the reel, line, lure, eyes, crank..." He pointed to the parts of the rod as he named them off, Sasha's eyes focusing intently on the various mechanisms. He gripped her hands in his, now far easier that she too had changed into normal clothes, and told her how to hold it. Eventually he stood behind her, his arms wrapped around hers and the back of her head coming up to just under his chin. HE curled over a bit so that it was almost resting on her right shoulder.

"Like this?" she asked, drawing back the rod in the fashion that Owen had told her to, a look of determination set in her face.

"Yeah... Now let it go back behind your head, like so." He pulled her arms upwards and backwards so the rod was going over their right shoulders. Owen was careful to watch the hook on the end of the line as he told her to relax her arms. "Now, slip your finger upwards so it catches on the cast release... Yeah, like that. Now let me do it first before you try. Watch carefully"

Owen flicked the rod forwards, pushing her trigger finger upwards so that the line would release.

Whizzzzz.... plop.....

The lure landed only about a dozen metres from the dock, the awkward positioning of Owen's hands over Sasha's making him fumble the cast somewhat. "See? It's easy. Now start reeling in. There. Not too fast though! You want to let the fish bite it. Make like you're teasing the fish; fast enough to attract attention, but not so fast that the fish can't catch it. That's it, you're fishing!" Owen backed away from Sasha, instead turning to clean his catch.

He was in the middle of cutting the first fillet off of the trout's side when Sasha had retrieved the lure from the lake and was trying to cast for herself. She wound up nicely, but had failed to reel it in right next to the end of the rod, resulting in the hook slipping unnoticed under Owen's sweater's hood. She flicked the rod, much like Owen did, but didn't happen to flip the trigger up far enough to release the spool. Owen felt a sharp tug around his neck as his sweater was pulled backwards. He was bowled over as she whipped the rod forward, the line tugging him back. He fell backwards swiftly and none to gracefully.

"WOAH!" shouted Owen, who was now sprawled on his back on the dock. Sasha twirled around at both the resistance in the line and Owen's shout. She laughed as she saw him looking up at her confused.

"Whoops! Sorry! Are you alright?" She knelt down next to him and began to paw at him to roll over.

"Huh? Oh, I guess so; yeah. It's certainly not the worst situation I've found myself in. Besides the view down here is pretty nice." he said, looking above him to see Sasha looking back down at him.

"Oh, shut up." she chuckled, "Now come on; wheres the hook?"

"Hmm... On the end of the line, duh."

"Hahaha.... You're hilarious. Seriously, where did I get you?"

"In a park about three years ago. But if I remember correctly; I was the one who got you."

"Oh come on..." she sighed, knowing how this would play out.

"Cum on what?" Owen grinned mischievously. It was probably the worst joke he had ever made.

"Owen, please..." Her ears were down now, and Owen took the hint.

"Okay, okay! I'll stop. It's in my hood." Owen rolled over onto his stomach, letting Sasha tug the hook out of the thick fabric.

"There, it's out." she said as she tugged and the little barb came free.

"Thanks, that's much better." He stood up and plucked his knife up from where it lay only a few centimetres from them edge of the dock. He turned to her and scolded the vixen in a mocking tone. "Now try reeling the end up closer to the rod. And watch where you swing."

"I won't make any promises, but I'll try." said Sasha, grinning from ear to ear as she went back to casting. Her tail wagged slightly as she started to get the hang of it, and he was glad she was enjoying herself. Owen went back to work on the trout to the sound of Sasha fishing, recoiling slightly at the rising smell of the fish's entrails.

Whizzzzz.... plop.....click click click click click click... chung

Whizzzzz.... plop.....click click click click click click... chung

He was just trimming off the last of the fish's scales as she yipped in excitement. "I think I got one!" She started to reel in, but the line just shrieked and refused to be pulled in. Her ears went back as she reeled furiously, but nothing seemed to happen.

"It's a snag. If the drag weren't set so loose you'd be in the water right now."

"A snag? What, you mean it's caught on something?"

"Yep. I don't think we're getting that lure back." He laughed as he finished his work, sliding the filets into a clear plastic bag that he had grabbed before leaving the cottage.

"So... What now?" she frowned.

"Start pulling; try and rip that sucker out of there. Either you get the hook back or the line will break. One way or another we need to free the rod." Suggested Owen, laying down on the dock before looking at the sky. Nevermore was once again safely back in its sheath, the small bag of fish at his side.

She started pulling on the line after turning the drag up, hesitantly at first, but slowly gaining with force. She let out an 'oomf' as the line broke after a particularly powerful tug. She careened backwards as she tripped over herself. Sasha landed on Owen in a tangle on the dock, causing him to wheeze mightily as the wind was knocked out of him.

"I know you're falling for me, but this is ridiculous." chuckled Owen as he finally drew breath and Sasha tried to get up. He wrapped an arm around her stomach playfully as she leaned forward, and she fell over again onto the wood next to him after a slightly lighter tumble. Sasha made to get free, but he stopped her by hugging her tight and whispering in her ear. "I wish the world was as peaceful as this place is. And hey, its beauty could learn a thing or two from you."

"Oh, Smith, you smooth bastard." She sighed in a mockingly lusty tone. She stopped her struggling, instead flipping over onto her stomach, coming to a rest atop Owen. Her soft white fur tickled him a little where her arms brushed his head. She lay there on top of him for a while, the pair just staring at each other, before answering.

"You know," she said, a thought rising in her mind, "we could stay here. We could leave the whole war behind; it would be easy. It could just be us."

Owen sighed, his head flopping gently back onto the wooden planks. He stared at the clouds passing by overhead, large, white, and carefree. He couldn't help but see the resemblance between them and her, but he pushed it from his thoughts. He thought her little proposition over. He would like nothing more than to stay here, in this place, and be free of all the fighting. To just be... normal. And yet...

"Honestly; I've thought of it. I truly have. But I can't. If you want to, feel free to do so: I can't tell you to go back. I would never do that... But I'm leaving. I need to. I helped start this thing, this... abomination, and I want to finish it. I need to finish it."

Sasha cast her eyes downward, staring at the dove pendant dangling from her neck. It was still as pristine as it had been when he had given it to her, the gold plating glinting lightly in the rising sun. His eyes caught it as well, and he imagined they were thinking the same thing. She broke the small reverie with a wan smile. "I had a feeling you'd say that. But you know what? I agree. I can't let others do this for me."

Owen smiled, proud of his 'girlfriend'. "It's not all bad; we'll have each other." He wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, hugging her tightly in a loving embrace. Her whiskers tickled as he leaned in close to her, but there was no way that was going to stop him. A low grumble passed through her and he felt it as she moved her head forwards. She kissed him deeply and he returned the affection, even rubbing her back as they both let their love for each other show in the early hours of the day. Owen's hand crept under her shirt, about to kick off their first sexual experience with each other when a sudden realization struck him.

"Mm- wait," he groaned as he broke off a kiss and pulled his wayward arm back as if it had touched a hot stove. "Sasha... I hate to sound like a complete ass, but do you know what you are doing?"

He had stopped because he had remembered something about gene projects and their classes.

Class-A were the most intelligent. They had enough grey matter between their ears to be the equivalent of a normal human being, if slightly furrier, provided they had been taught in the manner any human child was. In Owen's opinion, many exceeded the equilibrium between the creator and the creation; he had seen both incredibly stupid humans and incredibly smart furs over the course of his career as an Expeditor. It took an exceptionally rare string of occurrences for a Class-A to be born to parents of a lower class, and only the most prestigious gene corporations could boast the ability to produce them in a lab. This class was commonly referred to as the 'fine wine' of genetic engineering with just cause; they were rare and incredibly expensive. Usually only owned by the wealthy (though it was not unknown for one to be in the possession of a regular citizen due to a clerical error in paperwork of one kind or another as a direct result of unnoticed potential), they were commonly purchased as companions, major domos, or just incredibly intelligent pets. Sasha, as well as every other fur in the squad, were Class-A gene projects.

Class-B were those that provided most of the manual labour and outnumbered the Class-As about six to one. Sadly, they were all restricted in one way or another by a neural inhibitor, the exact manner of function of which were far beyond Owen's basic grasp of biology. They filled roles that were seen as trivial, menial, trying, or even just downright dangerous. They were far less expensive to procure than their smarter cousins and made up the vast majority of the gene project population. To put it gently, they knew about as much as their job entailed. Anything other than that was beyond them mentally due to the inhibitor. Putting it bluntly, they had only a small bit more smarts to them than a person who was mentally handicapped.

Class- C were those few unlucky enough to be just above a common animal. They were as cheap as a dog and almost useless for anything besides. Owen caught himself thinking as such, and kicked himself mentally for his bitterness.

But what did all three find themselves subject to on many occasions the world over? Why would he think of that?

Sex slavery.

The sex slave trade was kept more to the aft of society's focus despite the fact that several corporations developed gene projects specifically for the purpose in question. Mostly ignored by the vast majority of the populace, it was nevertheless a thriving industry that was worldwide. But it was not that which had made him pause; he had seen her classification papers and knew she had no such specific purpose.

But that didn't mean that she hadn't been... used as such.

"I'm not stupid," she purred, running a freshly-groomed nail across his brow in a show of affection, "I know what sex is."

"Yes..." he sighed, "but have you ever...?"

She barked a laugh despite herself. "You're wondering if I'm a virgin, you sicko!"

Owen had no answer for that. He found himself thinking that she was a Class-A for a reason and he felt his ears growing hot. Her violet eyes met his and she smiled. It was one that suggested a small hint of embarrassment on her own part. "To answer your question, Owen, no. I haven't."

He still found that he was on edge. She spoke up again to erase the hesitation she felt in him. "But there's a first time for everything." She leaned in to kiss again and everything was fine for about a grand total of two heavenly seconds.

Then he remembered something else. A voice in the back of his head screamed at him to just shut up, but his conscience prevailed. He broke the kiss again and Sasha murred in annoyance. "Sasha... Are you in heat?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Now just shut up and loosen up a bit." She winked at him, the little green flecks of her irises catching a faint glimmer of sun.

He had no further objections.

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

1731 Hours, August 18** th ***, 2052*

John woke with a start as Romulus leapt atop his resting form. The small wolf sniffed around his face for a while before pawing at his nose. John groaned and held the animal's paws to stop it from bugging him. He blinked a few times to clear his eyesight, his eyes finally settling on those of the canine's. The dog tilted its head before surging froward and licking him on the nose.

"Good morning to you too, you little bugger."

"John," laughed Lily, who he had just now noticed was standing above him, "He's right. It's time to get up. It's twelve o'clock."

John let Romulus go and the pup whined and pleaded until Lily picked him up and scratched it behind the ears. John then shook himself mentally, trying to get the image of the night's dream from his head. It was the same as the one from the previous night, the one where the world had burst into flames. The door opened in a cacophony of noise as the other two entered the house.

John sat up on the couch and watched them head towards the kitchen. They had a bag of something wet and a fishing rod that looked as if it had seen better times. Both Owen and Sasha looked slightly tired but full of energy at the same time. Sasha's fur was slightly mussed and one side of her blue blouse was torn from the bottom up. I wonder what they were doing... Hah! As if I need to guess...

"We caught some fish. You want 'em now or later?" asked Owen, hoisting the bag of fish that they had caught that morning into the air. They had managed to catch two more after their interlude, Sasha had even managed to catch the largest of the three and had bugged him doggedly about it.

"So that's where you went. I thought you were looking for a high-powered radio." said Lily as Romulus squirmed in her grip. She let him go and he waddled over to the other two. He sniffed eagerly at the fish before trying to snap at them from where they hung by Owen's side.

"Looks like even the little guy's hungry. Is that right Romulus, you want food? Oh yes you do!" Sasha murred at the canine. He wagged his tail eagerly as she bent down to pet him. She fetched a bottle of re-hydrated milk from the fridge before taking a seat on the couch, Romulus sucking hungrily at the bottle. "Speaking of food, when can he start eating kibble? It has to be easier to find than dry baby formula."

"Hmm.. Anytime now I think. I'd start with canned stuff first though." replied Owen, trying to think back to when Rex was little.

His father had brought him home inside of a sweater, quietly cooing as they entered the house. Owen's mother had asked what he had caught to which his father replied 'only a fox'. He had showed Owen and his brother, Daniel, the injured animal and told them not to tell their mother as they were hurried upstairs. They had promised as he set about tending the animal's wounds in the upstairs bathroom.

The animal had a broken foreleg and a serious case of dehydration, both of which could spell death in the wilds of Northwestern Ontario. Owen and Daniel had watched as their father took a straight piece of timber that he had fetched from the woodshed and tied it to the whimpering cub's leg. He then wrapped medical gauze around the entire foreleg, effectively immobilizing the limb. The animal stopped whining to drink deeply from a dish of water that Owen had obtained from the tap.

Owen still remembered what his father had told them before he went downstairs to tell his wife, even though he had been only seven. His voice was low as to not wake the now-sleeping pup, and it had carried more passion than anything else he had ever said to either of them.

"I want you two to know that you are the most important things to me, and that you always will be. And for that reason I want you to do what you feel is right when it comes time to make your own decisions. Just remember that all the choices that you make will impact the world around you and that no decision, no matter how beneficial, is perfect. It is up to you to live with the consequences of your actions, so make sure to choose the answer with the most manageable outcome."

The boys' father then went downstairs and warned his wife, who was petrified of dogs, that they had a new pet. A small fight ensued, but eventually his wife relented and the wolf was allowed to stay with the family. Eventually they had named him Rex and he had won over even the doubtful matriarch of their family with his apparent wit and canine charm.

Rex had died six years ago, but Owen remembered him fondly. He knew that it was indeed possible to train a wolf to live with humans and how to do so. And he intended to do it with Romulus. Owen knew the canine could be a good friend and faithful companion.

"I'll see if I can find some when I look for a radio. I'll search after we fry these up. I'm thinking there's a deep fryer in the restaurant where I can batter them. I wonder if I can find some cheese..."

"Huh? Cheese? What for?" asked John, "Coating the fish?"

"No. Just something else I was thinking of making. Trust me, you'd like it." he turned so he was facing the others. "So, when do you want to eat?"

"I can wait a while its only..." John looked at the clock hanging from the nearby wall, "Woah! Five o'clock? Really? I slept that long? Oh well... Anytime now would be good I guess."

"Lily?"

"I am getting kind of hungry. You want help cooking?"

"Sure. You good at making gravy?"

"Huh? Oh! I get it now... Cheese... I guess I could make some gravy."

"Well then, Lily and I are going to the chalet. We'll catch you two later."

Lily and Owen left the room, Owen still carrying the bag of slowly drying fish. Sasha looked at John and he looked back. She let Romulus go and headed towards the bathroom to wash up. "I'm going to take a shower. Be out in five."

John nodded assent, figuring that she probably needed one. He sat there watching the wolf as it prowled around the house looking for something to play with. He found a shoe in the entrance closet and dragged it out victoriously. Romulus yipped and growled as he pawed and snapped at the helpless shoe. He managed to pull the white tongue out and started to parade around the condo full of pride. When John tried to grab it from him, the wolf jumped away from his outstretched arm and landed bunched up a foot from his hand.

Romulus crouched low, his tail wagging and eyes glinting mischievously. He slowly crawled forward on his stomach until he came within reach again and wagged his hindquarters anxiously. John tried again to wrench the piece of shoe from the cub's jaws, but again Romulus evaded his grab and leaped backwards. He repeated this several times before John managed to get a hold of the tongue, Romulus letting out a muffled yelp. He managed to pry it from Romulus's grip and laughed as the pup lunged for it. He missed but was far from discouraged, jumping again at his toy. Soon John was whipping the shoe tongue around as the cub made a desperate attempt to regain his prize.

Romulus, being as young as he was, grew tired of the game quickly and so resorted to his secret weapon; whining. He stood up straight, his tail tucking between his legs and ears flopping back in a gesture of subservience. He then proceeded to make a piteous mess of himself. The whining and keening finally got to John and he sighed. John relented and he threw the tongue across the wide room. Romulus's innocent show stopped immediately and he sped after his toy, his nails skidding on the hardwood floor.

"Having fun?" asked Sasha from the hallway leading to the kitchen and bathroom. She was dressed in a white tube top and grey sweatpants that she had punched a hole in to allow her tail to have some freedom. Her fur was damp, clinging to her neck and face; obviously there wasn't a hairdryer to be found in the bathroom. Her hair was swept behind her in a ponytail, except for her bangs which had been swept away from her face. Her violet eyes were happier than he had seen them in a long while, sparkling in the sun that filled the room because of the large windows. She looked like a completely different person from the tired fur she had been the night before. "How's the little guy?"

"Having fun apparently." said John as he pointed to where he lay tearing at his prize in an errant sunbeam. "He is pretty cute."

"Tell me about it." laughed Sasha, sitting in the recliner across from the couch, her tail folding neatly beside her.

"So?" started John.

"So what?"

"What do you think of this place?"

"Oh. Well, it's a nice change from Denver; that place is quite the wasteland now. But I still can't say I like it. Probably because I was denied coming here for so many years." Her voice grew more silent as she said it, and a question came into being in John's mind.

"If you don't mind; what was it like being... owned?"

"I hated every second of it. How would you like it if every waking moment of your life, you were expected to be completely moronic and submissive to someone who cared nothing for you? If, in a second, you could be deemed unworthy of food and thrown away to be replaced by another, younger pet?" she snorted contemptuously.

"Not much, I guess..." he said, casting his gaze back to Romulus and avoiding her glaring eyes.

"Then you'd be right. There were times where I wished I were dead; my eighteenth birthday for example. I was beaten within an inch of my life because I had gotten a gift from a kid who lived next door. Another time, I was hit with a belt for talking to my sister. Then, when I did manage to get away, it was with a man who killed for a living and who would one day help to start a global civil war. But I am glad that my sister and I were found by Owen; we would have been killed otherwise. Or worse."

"And you never would have fallen in love." smiled John, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey! Well... I suppose not..." smirked Sasha, her ears glowing red as they swept back into a defensive posture. "I must say, John, that I never liked you. When Owen dragged you into the station, I had wanted to shoot you myself. But now... You're a different person. A good person."

"I don't think I was ever bad..." huffed John.

"I guess not. Stupid maybe, but not bad." She chuckled softly. "But that's all behind us. Owen trusts you, and I guess that means I do too. You know, I never thought I'd say that."

"I'm glad you did. Thank you." he said, her words comforting him and making him feel a little less awkward. Something that, he was sure, would be a blessing in the future.

"Don't mention it... Really; don't mention it."she smiled, her teeth showing just the slightest bit. John found that it didn't bug him anymore. Slowly, he had come to see furs as people. Slightly disturbing people at times, but people nonetheless.

"Whatever. So, here is the thing I never understood, why are you the leader? I mean, the Colonel has more experience; he even saved you."

"Oh, that's actually pretty easy to explain. After a few months of harassing the local Humanist groups around Colorado and managing to obtain some high-up allies and friends, Warren and Tyler stumbled upon a predicament that led to a drastic rearrangement in our operations..."

**

Denver, Colorado

1323 Hours, January 23** rd ***, 2050*

"Stay close, slave." said Tyler cockily, enjoying his temporary position of power over the brooding coyote morph. He drew a growl from his superior, but nothing more. They were in public and needed to fit in. That meant Tyler got to treat Warren like crap for a while. "Come on! If I have to tell you again, it's the belt when we get home!"

Warren, suppressing his rage, clenched his fists but let out a convincing yelp of feigned fear. He noticeably folded his ears back and cast his gaze downwards at the carpet. They were in an upper-class mall outlet pretending to shop for clothes for 'Mr. Cole". In reality, they were merely watching for a target who was supposed to show up here in a minute for a meeting with some yet-unknown members of the Humanist movement. The duo was tasked with figuring out who the others were, and had been placing observation devices around the store as they drifted from rack to rack of dress shirts and pressed pants. So far, they had managed to place 15 of these devices and 'Mr. Cole' was in the process of planting the final bug. For good measure, they released a fly-sized SASU, Semi-Autonomous Surveillance Unit, to drift around the shop and record all it found.

Tyler had just tuned the bug when their target approached from outside the glass windows and entered the store. He was a seemingly normal middle-aged man with greying hair and rimless glasses. He wore an expensive suit and tie, easily marking him as someone who would frequent the store. He was truly a snake in the Garden of Eden. Tyler and Warren took that as their cue to leave, exiting the store in a meandering fashion, not wanting to appear interested in what was going on behind them.

Since they were the only others in the store before their target had arrived, the store clerk, after talking to the man briskly, closed up the glass doors. A "Sorry, we're closed" sign was hung on the inside of the door, the clerk looking to make sure the man wasn't followed before retreating to a back room.

Tyler and Warren walked slowly down the hallway towards the food court, Tyler lording over Warren the entire time. He even smacked him on the back with a rolled magazine that he had purchased at a kiosk as they passed by. Warren bit his tongue and tried to appear submissive; quite the feat for someone who used to be an intimidating bodyguard. It didn't help that Warren was a good three inches taller than Tyler and a hell of a lot more muscled.

They managed to find a relatively clean table in a secluded area of the food court and sat down, Tyler berating him further, saying that he was useless even when it came to carrying bags. Making sure that they were alone and not to be overheard, Tyler talked to Warren in a hushed manner that suggested to anyone else that he was furious at the fur.

"What do you think? Will the bugs work?"

"They did before, and that was on the KGB. It will work." shrugged Warren.

"I hope so. I don't know of any more ways to ridicule you. This is hard work..."

"You think it's hard?! Try being me!"

"Hmm... no thanks. I don't have the patience for fur; it gets everywhere. How long should we wait?" Tyler threw a quick glance about the mall before turning back to Warren. So far, nobody had taken notice of them.

"I'd give them another half hour, maybe an hour and a half. We'll have to see when the door opens again to be sure."

"Sounds good. Now if I ever catch you slacking off again, I swear I'll beat you to within an inch of your God-forsaken life, you useless wretch!" Shouted Tyler as somebody drew close to the table.

The man who had walked by, and who had made Tyler curse at his fellow soldier, just nodded and continued on his way to stand in line at a burger joint on the other side of the atrium.

"That's right you keep walking, you ignorant ass..." hissed Warren as he passed. The man noticeably straightened up as he went on his way.

"You think the SASU has that much battery life?" asked Tyler, who was seriously considering ordering a burger as he watched a middle aged woman carry a tray laden with all sorts of greasy foods pass by.

"I dunno. But I have to go take a leak. See you later."

"Err... wait! Do you... need me to come with you?" called Tyler somewhat hesitantly.

"No, master, I can hold my own dick, thank you." replied Warren, his voice dripping in sarcasm. Tyler chuckled quietly as Warren took his leave.

Warren wandered around for a bit before spotting the familiar blue stick-figure sign showing where the restrooms were. He followed the signs up a floor to a veranda overlooking the food court below. The roof above was a large glass pyramid that was tinted light green. Soft sunlight pressed through the large window and illuminated the large, open area below that was ringed by various different fast food restaurants. People milled about enjoying themselves on this Saturday, teenage children being the most common.

Warren looked around before finding the male bathroom across the way from the stairs he had just ascended. He went through the door and found an empty urinal. He then proceeded in relieving himself, humming silently to himself as he did so.

The door suddenly flew open again and admitted a spattering of teenagers looking for trouble in all the wrong places. They howled as they spotted Warren, their riotous mocking grew intensely as Warren cursed under his breath at his misfortune, or rather, their misfortune. He slowly did up his fly, flawlessly shifting from his timid posture to the arrogant son of a bitch he had been known as back in New Mexico.

The teenagers would not be cowed, however, and one even went so far as to shove him into a wall. He wore a green flight jacket over a graphic tee. A gold chain and beanie finished off the 'urban gangster' look. "Hey there, FREAK! What, you think you're my equal? You think you can piss in my urinal? Well then, prepare to be reeducated, bitch!"

The punk then went to punch him in the muzzle, but his fist collided only with air. "What the-" the teen stammered before he was put down by a fierce right hook hitting him in the side of the forehead. The teen collapsed in a heap, his head landing in a urinal basin with an audible splash and thud. The other three looked first at their knocked-out friend then slowly shifted their attention to the coyote, who was now smiling.

Warren had spent most of his life under the heel of oppression so courteously provided by those humans that saw him as nothing more than an exotic breed of pet. Any chance to show his 'superiors' what he had thought of the treatment was something that Warren enjoyed to no end.

One of the remaining goons pulled a pocketknife from inside his sweater pouch and began to back him towards the stalls where several other men watched frozen in rapt amazement at what had just happened. Had the morph just hurt a human?

The other two, one in just a t-shirt, the other in a sweater similar to the knife-holders', stuck to the sides of the wall and advanced behind their comrade. Warren shifted his attention between them all, his tail flicking anxiously behind him. He decided to take out one of the flankers first. He crouched low before suddenly jinking left and grabbing the boy's sweatshirt under his neck, tossing him at the teen holding the knife. The teen stumbled as he struck the knife-holder, the teen with the blade having to whip his right arm out to avoid skewering his friend.

Warren moved quickly in his muscle shirt and khaki pants, his bare feet gripping the cool floor quite well despite the water that had been dripped onto it. He reached the second teen who was still trying to figure out a course of action. The teen looked backed into a corner, which he truthfully was. Behind him was the row of sinks and mirrors preventing him from dodging backwards and in front of him was a 180 pound, pissed off coyote morph with a wicked smile on his face and an attitude to match. The only place to go was sideways.

The boy tried to dodge right, but Warren caught him in an outstretched arm and lifted him clean in the air, utilizing his massive momentum to drive the teen over the counter and into the mirror. It shattered spectacularly in a million shards of glistening refractions as the teen was slammed heavily into the wall three times, knocking him out cold with his ass in a sink, his body slumping over and a gasp escaping his lips.

The other two had regained their footing and turned to face the intimidating morph. "Who's next?" smiled Warren, being sure to flash all of his teeth. He was enjoying this little skirmish even though it was terribly one-sided.

The teen without the knife looked scared shitless and eyed the door in between glances at Warren and his only remaining friend. Warren was in a merciful mood. "You can leave and never pick on a fur again, or you can stand up for what you believe. It's your choice. I've made mine."

The teen with the knife started pacing towards him, his knife flipping from one hand to another. "You don't scare me, freak!" With that said, he lunged over the still-motionless body of the first hooligan and stabbed violently at Warren's centre of mass. Warren merely caught his fist, the knife still held tightly in the teen's grip. It was a pathetic attempt from the teen.

Warren let out a low laugh. "I should." He then squeezed the teen's hand as hard as he could. The sound of cracking bones echoed about the now-empty bathroom, the spectators and the final teen having fled the scene while Warren was occupied with the last 'gangsta'. He ground the teen's knuckle bones together evilly as the teen cried out in pain. It wasn't long before he was actually crying and calling for his mother.

"I'm going to let you go now, okay? And you aren't going to bother another fur ever again, are you?" He spoke in a low and gentle tone to make his point. Almost fatherly, he noted. The boy, now on his knees, nodded as his mouth opened in a stammered promise that Warren didn't quit catch. "What's that? I'm afraid I didn't hear you." He squeezed tighter and the teen screamed.

"I-I p-promise! I-I'll neve- ahhhh! Never do it again! I swear! P- ahhhh! Please st- ahhh- stop!"

"Good... Good. Now go and tell you're other friend. And don't forget about your... resting colleagues." He finally let go of the teen's hand and the knife clattered uselessly to the ceramic floor. Warren washed his hands calmly in the one sink not covered by the fourth troublemaker and left the bathroom. He saw several heads outside turn their heads in his direction but he otherwise ignored them as he descended the stairs again.

He emerged into the food court just as Tyler looked up from his watch. He gestured Warren over with one arm, trying his best to look absolutely furious.

"What took you?" asked Tyler, his voice raising, "That'll be twelve lashes!"

"Look, master, we have to go. I'm afraid we'll be late for your appointment at the orthodontist's." urged Warren, pulling lightly on his arm in the direction of the shop.

Tyler's eyes widened momentarily as Marcus used the safety phrase for "we have to go NOW". He quickly packed up the tablet he had been messing around with and tucked it into his pocket. They quickly made their escape back the way they had came, stopping outside of the high-end store for a moment.

A small, encrypted data packet was broadcast from the bugs inside the store, whose doors were still closed to the public, and was downloaded straight to Tyler's tablet. "I've got it. Move." he said as he slipped the Samsung device into his pocket once more.

They exited the mall in a burst of air tinged with the scents of exhaust and air conditioning. The duo found their vehicle, a brand-new, blue Honda Civic, and clambered inside. Tyler drove the vehicle from the mall and onto the roadway, stopping at a red light. "So, what did you do this time?"

"Beat up some kids" said Warren flatly as he reclined in his seat.

"You did what?" replied Tyler incredulously, almost running a red light as he heard what Warren had said. They strained against their seat belts as Tyler slammed on the breaks.

"Some punks were looking for a beating, so I obliged."

"So, you're saying that you risked our mission for some street justice? Why in the world-"

"Shut up Tyler. You wouldn't understand..."

"You're damn right I don't! What is the Colonel going to think? What if we only got half of the meeting? Damn it!" He thumped his fist on the wheel, eliciting a small honk from the Honda as they stopped at the intersection.

"Settle down. All we need is the voice print from the data we gathered. We've got what we came for." mumbled Warren as he closed his eyes.

"We'd better have! This is our second attempt in two weeks... We can't afford to keep missing these opportunities, you know that!"

"Yeah. I do. So stop your incessant yammering and drive! The light's fucking green..."

The car sped off towards the nearest safehouse. They pulled up to the suburban home, the car finally stopping out on the curb. "We're here, now how are we going to explain this?" asked Tyler.

"Let me handle it. You go check on something. Pass me your tablet." sighed Warren, holding out his hand. Tyler hesitated a second before drawing it from his bag.

"Good luck." he said as he exited the vehicle and walked around the back of the house. Warren really didn't feel all that lucky at the moment, but he knew that he had to face the music.

Warren took a deep breath, thumbing the tablet on and looking at the data package that showed up onscreen. He hoped there was all the relevant data needed on it... Finally gathering his courage, he stepped out of the car and walked up the steps to ring the doorbell. Tom, the new pilot that Owen had hired a while ago, answered the door. He was a good man, but Warren was in no mood for his humour.

"Hello, Warren. Looking for Owen?" asked the pilot.

"Yep. He here?"

"Yeah. He's in the study. Come on in." Tom opened the door and left it open as he went back to the kitchen.

Warren entered the house and made straight for the upstairs study. He heard Angie chuckle as he strode past where she sat in the den watching television, her sea foam green eyes watching his tail as he started up the steps. Warren pretended not to notice; some stuff was strange, even for the likes of him. She was good company, but the way that she looked at him sometimes... it was one of the few things that gave him pause. He reached the second floor landing and proceeded down the hall towards the study.

He could make out Owen's voice as he was talking on the phone, his voice betraying the annoyance he was obviously feeling.

"What do you mean it's already gone?.... Well who bought it?.... Who?.... Hmm... I see... You think he'd sell it?... No- I understand. Just get me the next step down, what was it again, the price?... 1600? Okay, look; I need a support weapon, Jeremy, you know lives could depend on it.... No, the 29th will not do! I needed this gun yesterday!... Whatever, I'll find another way of doing it... Yeah I still want the rest of the shipment.... Oka-yeah, I got it. I'll have your money ready for you. You know what to do... I'll talk to you later. Bye."

Warren entered to Owen placing the receiver down on the phone cradle, his breathing deep and focused. He could tell that Owen was trying to suppress his current rage. Come to think of it, this was the angriest he had seen him during their years of service together. Owen looked up as Warren knocked on the door. "Yes, Warren? What did you learn?"

Warren sighed and practically collapsed into the chair in front of the desk. It was now or never. "You were right about Nastrom. He's one of them. Beyond that, all we have is on this data packet." He placed the tablet on the desk and shoved it towards Owen.

"So I take it it didn't go so smoothly?" sighed Owen, reaching for the tablet. He looked it over quickly before sending the information wirelessly to Daystar, who was acting as his secretary for the time being. Warren wasn't sure how he felt about that. In his experience, civilians always seem to get in the way. And he didn't even want to think of the amount of highly classified material that was passing under her nose. If any of it should get out...

"Yep. I'm sorry Colonel, but there was a... complication. We needed to make our escape before the meeting was over. But, it was long enough to get voice pattern matches on several other attendees. I haven't checked who yet, though, but I am sure that there were at least five other high value targets."

Owen gave him a look that suggested that he knew that he was holding something back, but thankfully decided not to press for details. "That's alright Warren; you did your best. It couldn't have been easy being Tyler's gene whip for the day. It doesn't matter anyway; that plan is going to have to be cancelled, or at least delayed. I just got off the phone with Jeremy, our contact, and he says some other guy bought the last AMAC. We have limited personnel; I'm not taking any chances sending you in without some heavy support."

"What? Who bought it?"

"I dunno, some guy from the suburbs. A Mr. Sato, if I remember his name correctly. He's some gun collector or something that lives in the city. He can kiss the darkest part of my sorry ass as far as I'm concerned. If I lose someone over this debacle, I swear I will make sure he knows-"

"So we have no LMG?" interrupted Warren, sensing Owen was going to go off an a tangent.

"We could get a Type 453, but I don't trust Chinese weapons; they jam too much."

"So what now?"

"We keep gathering data. We can't show our cards yet; it's far too early. We have to play it close to the chest for now."

"How about we- never mind."

"Huh? What is it?"

"Nothing. Just a thought."

"Well, what is it boy? Is Timmy stuck in the well? Huh, is he in the well, boy?" laughed Owen, his mood shifting to a lighter aspect almost in an instant. "You should know by now that I'll listen to anything the people under my command have to say, especially one of my senior officers."

"What if we... well, started the propaganda campaign?"

"You know, I had considered it, but we need a figurehead if we're going to be successful. We can't make a cause without hero; a William Wallace, if you will. People love heroes." Owen pulled his chair to the desk and steepled his fingers.

"It can't be one of us. We can't have our faces plastered on every street corner if we are going to hunt people down; it would be suicide." said Warren as he leaned back in the chair.

"Sir, I ran voice checks on the audio files and there are some high profile matches here..." Daystar had stumbled into the room in a whirlwind of paper and white fur. Amidst the mess, Warren could see that she was carrying a laptop with something on the screen that she intended to show to Smith. Her gaze was fixed on the screen, but she caught Warren out of the corner of her eye and stopped. "Oh, you're busy! I'll come back later."

She was about to leave when Owen spoke up, stopping her from leaving. He had look of of a man who just realized something painfully obvious and smiled, nodding his head almost imperceptibly. "Hey, Daystar. I may have a name for you. How's Sasha? It means 'defender of man'."

"Sasha... Sasha...," Daystar mulled it over for a moment before deciding. "I like it! Good choice, Mr. Smith. My favourite so far! It might just be the one for me."

"Speaking of defending humanity; how would you like to be our poster child? Our... Queen of England, so to speak?" asked Owen as he smiled at her from behind his hands.

A look of puzzlement overcame her features as she tried to understand what he was asking. "What would I need to do?"

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

1755 Hours, August 18** th ***, 2052*

"So that's how it happened? You were volunteered? Wow," said John, "you deserve a Nobel Prize in humanities for that one. You know that you were the most wanted hostile in the city before I switched sides, right?"

That wasn't an understatement. The entire Humanist 'army' was aware of Sasha's, or more specifically, Daystar's, leadership of the opposing side. What they hadn't known was that she had been mentored by an Expeditor, the fact that John had just stumbled upon. How exactly she had gotten to be in charge of such a large force was completely baffling for the members of the Humanist command, but John could now see that her rise to power had been far from her own devising.

"I know. But I kind of liked it; being in a position of power for a change was incredible. One moment I'm scrubbing floors only to get beaten anyways, a few days later I was the new face of a rebellion! If I could go back in time, I would still have said yes, I think." She looked as if every word she had said was true, and John didn't doubt for a moment that they were.

"That's pretty sudden alright- Romulus no! Shit!" cursed John as he leapt up from his seat and grabbed the little pup. The innocent creature had been about to relieve himself on the floor but John, against all odds, managed to get him to the newspaper that Owen had laid out before he started.

The pup hunched over and began to urinate on the paper, ironically over the image of a pro-Humanist speaker who was probably long dead by now. When Romulus was finished, he ran over to Sasha and started playing with her bare feet. She laughed as he licked at her toes. She couldn't take it for very long and picked him up, his small body squirming as he was lifted in the air towards her chest.

"So I take it you like Romulus then too?" John asked as he decided to check the suits' power packs. All nine of the batteries were lined up against one side of the room, green indicator lights flashing as they charged. All of them were plugged in to a power distributor by way of specialized low-resistance cords that extended from the upper left quadrant of the plate-like cells. All of them were receiving the proper electrical current and charging at a good rate, so he sat back on the couch to relax a bit as Sasha answered.

"I still can't believe Owen's keeping him, but I think it will be good for him. Good for all of us, I suppose. A person can only take so much, and with this war... Well, it isn't the best time to be around for. Romulus is our version of a stress ball, just fluffier."

"I guess so. It reminds me of being sick when I was little. My sister's cat would always fall asleep next to me. In a way, it seemed to help." he shrugged. Sasha's ears perked up and she stopped playing with Romulus for a bit to enquire about his family.

"Oh, you had a sister? What happened to her? Where was she before the war?"

"Six feet under." he said in a flat tone, nodding slowly.

"Oh- Oh my god... I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. You didn't kill her. She had skin cancer and died when she was twelve. I've... moved on since then." He was too far gone past that to cry, but he certainly felt something tug at him from inside. On the other hand, he was glad she hadn't been around to see the state that the world was in now.

There was a pregnant pause as both Sasha and John tried to think of something to say. The only noise came from Romulus's soft growls as he attacked Sasha's jinking hand with renewed vigour. John finally broke the silence. "So why did Owen want gravy?"

"Oh, that. He's trying to make poutine, no doubt. It's kind of his tradition." she smiled, enjoying the new topic. It had been a while since she had last had the oh-so-Canadian meal. It wasn't her favourite, but it was pretty darn close.

"Poutine? What's that? Some sort of pudding?" He cocked his head as he said it, completely confused at the foreign word. She laughed.

"No, it's not pudding. He insists that it's the best thing ever to come out of Canada other than insulin. It's more or less a heart attack waiting to happen."

"So.... What is it?"

"It's french fries covered in cheese and gravy. Trust me, it sounds gross, but is by far one of the best thing he can make. And that's saying a lot. That man can cook almost anything."

"That sounds... odd..."

"That's what I thought, too. At least at first. Surprisingly, it's pretty good. This will be the first time we've had it in... what? Over a year at least. Ooh! I just can't wait; I'm starving!"

"I... probably can." Said John, a mock frown appearing on his face. Sasha laughed again at that.