FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

CHAPTER 2

Location Unknown

Time/Date Unknown

The sea cascaded gently onto the white sand beach, the waves making a gentle swishing noise as they lapped at the shoreline. The water glistened in the light of the day, but nothing moved across it and it made for a vast expanse of off-blue that made the heart swell and the mind calm.

The sun was high in the sky, but that meant nothing. There was no time here, not in the literal sense. For here the time could change at any moment, not obeying the laws of sunrise and sunset, depending on where one found themselves or what emotions they were feeling. It had usually been peaceful, but not any more. The storms had become more frequent and the birds were fat from their banquets on the unfortunate fish and crustaceans. But it wasn't just the weather that had changed.

This hadn't always been an ocean. No, it had once been the middle of a desert. The sweeping sands once stretched as far as the eye could see to the base of the mountains in the distance, but now the sea had claimed this land and turned it into the antithesis of what it had been. An entire ecosystem had evolved in a matter of days as the ocean had expanded rapidly, and now they called this place home.

Gulls cawed overhead as they fought over the fish and crabs that had washed up onto the sand from the storm, flocking in droves as they picked the beach clean of any form of life alien to dry land. They swooped low and fought amongst themselves for any morsel of food, landing just long enough to snatch it up before taking to the sky once again. They gathered in dense white clouds in the air or in snow-like blankets upon the fine white sand, forever looking for the next unfortunate crab or snail to fill their bellies with.

The small tufts of grass that grew a few dozen metres back from the water's frothing edge blew in the salt-tainted breeze, no sand being swept away with it as it was still to wet from the rain the 'night' previous, compacted and devoid of the usual small divots due to the large waves. The beach was empty, no people crowding the shore in an effort to cool down and making the place seem bare. But the feasting birds and dying sea life were not alone.

Further down the coastline a large wall of sheer rock cliffs stood adamant in the face of the raging water that frothed in great rollers before slamming into the sides in sprays of foam and water. They were the beginnings of a great mountain range that swept along the horizon, several of the peaks easily a dozen kilometres high. They were almost a shade of purple in the haze that resulted from the previous downpour, the tops gleaming white with snow.

A lone animal jogged down the beach, kicking up wet clumps of sand and leaving a pattern of tracks that lead from an area over the horizon. It was a canine the size of a medium-height dog, with tan fur and a bushy tail that swayed behind it gently as it ran with its head close to the sand. The coyote never seemed to tire or grow weary and never diverted from his course, following the surf in a direction that could only figuratively be called east. Its grey and tan fur was short and perfect for the warm air, and its tongue lolled as it ran with its head ducked low to the ground so that its nose could work eagerly to pick up a scent.

A flock of gulls took wing as the coyote ran through them, scaring them up into the sky. It paid them no heed; it was busy. But it did spare a look over at the sea, if only a quick one. The coyote frowned. He had been around when this land had been a dry and barren desert, and the canine found itself missing the large expanses of rolling dunes and the hot climate. Besides, the salt in the air made it difficult to pick up a scent spore and he needed to hurry if his plan was going to work.

The coyote stopped a few seconds to scratch at the faded scar that wound lazily about the front of its neck with one of its hind paws before it took off once more, resuming its mildly hurried pace. Its soft tail, had anyone been around to notice, would have looked to be composed of smoke; the edges fading and flickering in and out of sight. Its eyes, a bored brown that reflected perfectly how the animal felt, flashed as the coyote caught a familiar smell, something that was out of place in this plane of existence but without which the coyote himself would not exist. It smelled the Maker, and he hurried to meet Him.

It blinked its eyes as a new emotion surged to the fore; anticipation. When it opened them again, they were the focused green of a night hunter. Coyote smiled. Soon, all would be set right.

**

Denver, Colorado

0341 Hours, September 20** th ***, 2052*

"I'd rather die first." Alex. His friend. His dead friend, whose dog tags now had a commemorative spot in his pocket.

"You just might. You just might... Kill him, he's of no use to us." Frost. The traitor. The enemy.

"Don't struggle and I promise to make it quick." Frost again. Giving him a pre-execution speech.

"I'm so sorry, Owen..I'm so sorry... But it's over now. I hope you can forgive me..." A woman's voice steeped in a thick Russian accent; Kirsten. An old friend. A dead one. A forgiven traitor. A missed lover.

His hands felt wet, as if wet with water. But it wasn't water; water isn't red.

His brain was besieged by emotion. Pain. Agony. Regret.

Especially regret.

The pain of an electric current.

"I never really thanked you. For saving me, I mean." Sasha. Her voice was a flare in the darkness.

"You don't ever need to. If you were planning to do it now, don't. It is me who should be thanking you." His voice. He had said that.

"Sasha, you are the single most important thing to me in the world. Don't ever change." Him again, his voice more tender than it had ever been.

"If something were to happen to you... I-I'd... I don't know what I would do. I truly don't...When the dust settles, and the chips are down, I just don-" Another of his tender moments.

"You'd live. You're a hard man to get rid of." Sasha. Dear Sasha... Words couldn't describe how he felt for her...

"You really love her, don't you? ...schhe lovesch you back." John. He had known them for a month and he had seen it in a matter of days. It had taken him years.

"Yes." His response. He hadn't needed even a half-second to consider it.

His mind eased a bit, the siege on his psyche now more of a skirmish.

"Thank you sir, I won't forget it." Marcus. His acceptance into his squad, the 'green' Marcus. He had fought hard for that place. He had earned it.

"And... I've had enough 'a you. Of the 'peditor program." Marcus... The current one. The damaged one.

The doors to the fortress that was his mind broke open.

**

Owen woke up in a cold sweat, his eyes snapping open in the darkness. The night was silent, even Romulus having decided it was time for bed, as he gently eased himself out from under Sasha's arm. She had a tendency to cuddle. He wasn't about to complain, but it always made him reluctant to move lest he inadvertently wake her.

The bedsprings groaned obtusely as he rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Owen grinned as Sasha gave a quiet snort and rolled over, completely oblivious to his awakened state. Good. He didn't want her to worry about anything.

Sasha was a gene project. That meant that she had, up until about two years ago, been a slave. He imagined that every day of her old life had been spent worrying about something, fearing that the slightest misstep could end in a beating or starvation. Now that she was free, he wanted her to have a good life. The world had gone to hell, but he would do anything within his power to give her the life she deserved regardless. Anything.

Romulus looked up from his position at the foot of the bed, but quickly resumed his slumber as he noticed that it was only his adopted father up in the middle of the night. It was something that he had quickly grown bored of after the first few nights in their new residence.

Owen brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. He had lost count of the number of times that he had woken in the middle of the night, heart pounding and eyes frantic. The nightmares were getting worse. Though none had come across as bad as the one that he had experienced in the cabin a few weeks ago, they were close.*

Owen stood up, his back popping as he moved to his feet. Romulus threw another sleepy look his way. He once more turned away, completely uninterested. Owen threw a cautious glance at Sasha. She was still sleeping peacefully, most of her body except for her vulpine nose buried under the large blanket. He gave a small smile as he watched the covers rise and descend slowly in time with her breathing.

Owen took a deep breath, letting it flow out through his nose. He swallowed, trying to wet his parched throat, as he slowly stepped in the direction of the apartment's small washroom. Owen almost tripped over something, and barely managed not to let out a curse before he remembered that Sasha was still slumbering. He took another breath and continued out the door of the bedroom, entering the dining/kitchen area that composed the centre of the apartment.

He thought about grabbing something from the fridge, but dismissed the idea. He wasn't really hungry. He was just trying to find a distraction from his nightmare.

He made it to the bathroom and closed the thin wooden door before hitting the light switch to his immediate right. Stark, white light flooded the room and a small humming started as the fan built into the ceiling sprang to life. Owen stood in front of the counter, his hands balancing him against the faux-wood surface. He looked into the mirror.

His dark hair was a bit longer now than he liked it and it was starting to fall down across his skull. One small area near the back of his head was standing on edge, making it searingly obvious that he had just gotten out of bed. He noticed that his grey eyes had developed small bags and the scar that creased his cheek looked raw and tender. He needed to get more sleep. But with nightmares like the ones that he head just had...

Hoping that Sasha wouldn't hear it, Owen tapped the neck of the touch-sensitive tap and the water started pouring into the sink. He scooped up a double-handful of the cool liquid and splashed it on his face. The water smelled of chlorine and the aerated tap resulted in a prickling of small bubbles popping on his face. It was, for him, not quite the best experience that he could imagine, but it did more or less what he had wanted it to.

The cool liquid made him wake up a little more and washed the lingering tendrils of the night's dream away with an invigorating wave of cold refreshment. Owen instantly felt better, and he looked up in the mirror.

His heart almost stopped.

He jumped as he saw Sasha leaning in the doorway. She smiled and laughed as he twirled around quickly. She must have padded silently up behind him while he was momentarily blinded by the water.

"What's wrong?" she asked. She wasn't dressed in anything, her fur being more than enough to keep her warm most nights. He cast an appreciative glance over her quickly, trying hard not to stare for too long. Her white coat was a little bit bedraggled, but it was mostly still in order and properly groomed. She reminded him of the first snowfall of the year, when the white snow blankets everything and made the world look silent and tranquil. He had needed the reminder more than he realized.

"Nothing..." he said as his heart rate returned to normal. "I just couldn't sleep." Sasha sighed and took a few steps forward to give him a warm hug.

"Same as before?" she asked. Her fur tickled him, but he enjoyed the gesture and wrapped his arms about her smaller frame.

"Yeah." he admitted, giving her a small smile. She blinked before she closed her eyes and laid her muzzle on his left shoulder, a small 'hmmm' of thought leaving it as they embraced.

"You can tell me about it if you want." she offered, her eagerness to help him making Owen's love for her escalate further even though he had never thought it to be possible. But Owen shook his head. His nightmares were his burden to bear, not hers.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "but I'll be fine. It's just a bad dream. I'm just a little shaken up is all."

"Are you sure?" She looked up at him now, her violet eyes filled only with concern and love for him.

"Positive." he affirmed as he nodded slowly and managed a cocksure smile. He rubbed her back, his hand trailing down her spine and ending just above her tail before reversing the process to start again. She murred quietly, one ear flicking. "It's nothing to worry you little furry head about. You have enough on your mind as it is, and I doubt hearing about a killer clown or something would put you any more at ease."

Sasha cocked her head to one side, a lazy smile flashing across her muzzle before it opened enough to allow her tongue to flick out and graze his cheek. "Owen, sometimes you are a bit... different."

"Would you love me if I wasn't?" he asked playfully. Owen bent down a bit and lifted her off the ground, one arm around her back and the other under her knees. She gave a small yelp of excitement before gracing him with a laugh. Sasha gave him a small lick-kiss on the cheek opposite the one with the scar.

"Of course." Sasha cooed as she gave him another lick-kiss.

Owen chuckled. "That's good to know." He started carrying her back to the bedroom, being careful not to let her hit anything. He left the light on in the bathroom; it wouldn't hurt anything to leave it on for the night.

The way to the bedroom was better lit than what it had been when he had been on the way to it, and he managed to navigate the mostly-dark apartment with relative ease. He was still glad that Sasha weighed just a touch over a hundred and twenty pounds, though. He was still tired from earlier.

Owen gave her a kiss, the feeling of their lips and tongues meeting, once so different and kind of awkward due to the different mouth shapes, now familiar and more than enjoyable. She returned it eagerly, and he felt her tail sway happily and brush against his arm.

"There you go." he said as he set her gently on the edge bed after breaking the sweet kiss. Romulus was on his feet now, yawning and looking around in time to see his owners return. He sprang off the queen-sized mattress and ducked out of the door, his small tail wagging as he set off to find something to chew on.

Sasha gave a small smile, "It really wasn't necessary to carry me." she chided softly in a light manner.

"No," he chuckled, "I guess not. But it was the least I could do." Owen leaned forward and gave her a small kiss on the muzzle, a quick peck. She shook her head and cocked it to one side.

"Oh, my knight in battered armour," she said with a mocking, dramatic intonation, her soft tail giving a slight wag, "Whatever would I do without thee?"

"Oh now, my fair maiden, thou would be better off methinks." replied Owen with much of the same accent.

Sasha let out a quiet giggle, closing her eyes and smiling as she sprawled backwards into the bed. He loved that about her; she knew how to take a joke. Any lingering thoughts on the the night's dream were completely dispelled, making the cold water from a few moments before seem like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound. He smiled inwardly to himself, again acknowledging just how grateful he was to have her in his life. Owen knew that without her he would still be as hollow as he had been before that fateful evening in the park; simply going through the motions and almost lacking any pure dedication to his job, to his friends.. to his life.

"You realize that I need to fit in there too." grinned Owen as she spread herself out on the bed, arms and legs in all directions. He crossed his arms in mock annoyance but couldn't keep a gleam of entertainment from flitting across his eyes. She lifted her furred vulpine head slightly, her intense eyes flaring with what Owen knew could only be devilry.

"Do you? I didn't notice." she murred mischievously.

"Well then, I guess I'll sleep on the couch." he countered, grabbing one of the assortment of pillows from the head of the bed. Sasha laughed and kicked him gently as he turned around and made a false step towards the entrance of the bedroom.

"Oh, come on, come back. I'll let you sleep at the foot of the bed." she snickered.

"Nope, too late; it's the couch for me tonight." he said as he half-turned to look back at her, barely keeping himself from laughing. She let out an overly-exaggerated sigh and sat upright, tucking her feet beneath her to sit cross-legged.

"Fine, I guess I could move over a bit." she said as she scooted over to her side of the bed.

"Oh, that's so thoughtful of you!" Owen replied as he came once more to the edge of the bed. He threw the pillow he had picked up back in more or less the same direction of where he had plucked it from, the soft cushion barely making any noise as it hit the headboard. Sasha stood up, her muzzle widening into a soft smile.

"You have no idea how much I love you, Sasha." Owen blurted. He hadn't meant to voice the thought, instead having been planning on keeping it greedily to himself. He didn't care though. Sasha seemed to blush a bit in a fashion that Owen had come to take note of over the course of their relationship; a slight reddening of the ears and a quick, one-two wag of the tail that he found to be unbearably cute.

She came forwards and hugged him again, her body warm and incredibly soft. Owen held her tightly, a part of him wishing that he would never have to let go and that they could stay like that forever. She nuzzled Owen's shoulder, her cold nose sending a slight shiver down his back. Sasha said something that he didn't quite catch, and he had to ask her what it was.

"I'm sorry, what was that...?" he asked in a soft voice.

"I said that I have a bit of an idea."

Sasha stopped and gazed up at him lovingly. Owen almost melted. She meant the world to him.

No; she meant more.

Sasha lifted her muzzle, giving him another lick-kiss, this one landing just to the left of his mouth. Owen replied by gently guiding her to the bed. Their lips met on the way, and Owen knew what would come next.

They sat down together, feeling their love come to the fore as they kissed and snuggled. Sasha soon had enough of the petting that he had been heaping on her though, and pushed Owen backwards so that he was lying on his back. The vixen rolled over slightly as she joined him, coming to a rest partially on top of him with her hair draping down to obscure one of her magnificent eyes. She ran a hand slowly down his chest, clawtips scratching ever so lightly against his flesh, and Owen closed his eyes for a second.

He reopened them and once more their mouths met, their tongues mingling and tasting one another without care or worry about the rest of the world for a moment. Sasha broke off after a couple of seconds and started working her way down his body with small flicks of her tongue, beginning near the phoenix and leaf tattoo on his neck before descending down his chest. Owen thought that she was making a point of hitting every scar that she could find, but he honestly couldn't tell; he had so many that he couldn't remember where they all were.

"You really should take better care of yourself." she whispered as she ended her ministrations near his stomach and nuzzled into his chest, one paw rubbing his side gently. "All these scars..."

"I try to," he shrugged in a lackadaisical manner, "but others don't quite think the same way that you do." Sasha gave a small 'humph' of amusement and nipped him carefully but rascally. She was now positioned so that her head was just above his stomach and the rest of her furred body continued down past that, warming his legs.

Sasha started gently pulling down the pair of chequered, blue and white pyjamas that he wore, her movements slow and gentle. Owen was steadily growing more and more aroused now.

"Remember the dock?" she asked as she started tugging on the waistband.

Owen thought back to that, their first time having sex. He had hesitated then, but he lacked any sense of that insecurity now. They had had a few weeks to learn each others' likes and dislikes since then; time that Owen had thoroughly enjoyed and that he knew that Sasha had as well.

"How could I not?" he sighed happily.

She didn't reply, instead letting a hand-paw drift ever lower. Owen smiled inwardly. She always knew how to make any situation better.

**

Denver, Colorado

0752 Hours, September 20** th ***, 2052*

The sound of gunfire woke John from his restful slumber and he sprang to his feet faster than his brain could wake up. His hand darted beneath the bed as his body ran through the motions, his mind lagging behind and still trying to process what was happening. His hands found his gun, an old Armtec D30 submachine gun, and it was pointed at the door in half a heartbeat. When he finally woke up and thought about it, he realized that the gunfire was coming from outside.

From the firing range.

Damn it.

John groaned. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get used to the sound of 'harmless' gunfire. Two years in a destroyed city fighting for his life had made him develop instincts and habits that were now unshakeable. Gunfire meant duck and cover with your gun pointed at anything that moves. To hear it now made John feel as if it was somehow... out of context.

And it was totally wrecking his sleep pattern. Sighing, John flicked the safety on his gun back to the on position and tucked it once more beneath the bed beside his combat knife and a ratty and creased porno magazine that he had gotten off of a bobcat fur in one of the recon and control teams and a box of random junk that he might be able to trade for something useful.

John thought about going back to bed, but soon decided against it and began to get dressed in more than just his boxers. He pulled on a pair of relatively-undamaged jeans, some socks from a fresh pack of them he had traded two sticks of deodorant for, and a simple shirt with the logo of some skateboarding company scrawled across it in faux-spraypaint. He grabbed his pistol and its holster from a nearby wooden chair and slipped it on along with a leather belt. John had learned that it is never a bad thing to be too safe.

He looked over to the other side of the small university dorm room that he now inhabited. The bed opposite was empty. It wasn't that there was anybody else living in there with him; it was an old habit that still remained from when he had attended school here. It seemed like such a long time ago...

Another smattering of gunshots brought him back to the present and he headed for the door, deciding to go and what was going on. Stepping into a pair of shoes,he exited his little cubicle of a room, coming out into a musty hallway that, despite not having any students present any more, still smelled of youth and old, unwashed clothes. He had been living here for the past few weeks and the musty smell still irked at John, making his nose crinkle slightly and a frown of distaste flicker across his mouth. Some things never changed, it seemed, because it had smelled the same way when he had lived here once before to attend classes.

The man heaved a sigh and stalked slowly down the corridor, in no rush due to today being one of the scheduled rest days for Phoenix squad. They had been busy, sure, but there was far more time now to relax and take a breather now that the war had, for the most part, been taken elsewhere. In fact, it had been almost a week since John had last been on assignment, and the same held true for many of the units stationed at the University. Though, the relaxation bit was almost exclusive to him and his comrades.

As he exited the building, he had to suppress a smile at the sight that presented itself to him.

"Move it, move it, move it! You want to be shot? No! Do you know why?! It hurts more than getting hit in the balls by yours truly, that's why! And I can hit pretty damned hard! No laughing, save your energy for the running! Let's GO! You call that a sprint? My grandfather can walk faster than that, recruit! Up and over the wall, that's it! Now do it again! Back to the beginning and do it again! I heard that! I now want forty push-ups from all of you, courtesy of Lefivre here! Yes, that's right, get mad! I hope you learn to run quickly in this session, Lefivre, because they are going be chasing you down to murder you for that!"

John slowly strode out into the courtyard and took a seat at one of the wooden benches that lined the lockstone path that wound about the edges of a small field. The sun shone brilliantly and the air was warm. John smiled as he watched Cpl. Tyler.. er, no, Sergeant Tyler Purchason yelled at a half dozen military recruits in olive-drab fatigues in his rich Australian accent as they ran through a tough-looking obstacle course for the fourth time today. His voice was almost comical when it was paired with the 'drill sergeant' tone that he was inflecting in it as a show of authority.

"He sounds hilarious, doesn't he?" chuckled Paul as he came up and sat down on the bench beside him. The sniper was dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of baggy shorts that showed just how slim and lanky he was in comparison to the others.

John raised an eyebrow, not having heard the man approach. He moved over a bit as he replied. "Yeah, he does. Though you don't sound too much better." Though it was a joke, and both of them knew it, Paul's and Tyler's accents were almost identical. But if you asked either of them, they insisted that they sounded nothing alike. It had everything to do with 'the local's ear' as they put it, and nobody as of yet had cared to drag that explanation out for fear of an extremely boring conversation.

"You wish. My voice is as smooth as the finest silk, his is as gruff as a troll's on its daughter's wedding."

John laughed and shook his head, cracking his knuckles by force of habit and producing several small clicks and pops. He looked around and saw that most of the other members of his team were hanging out in the courtyard as well. On the far side by a maintenance shed, Tracer was busy instructing several bored soldiers on proper weapon maintenance. When one looked away, he received a quick cuff to the back of the head from the giant ursine. Needless to say, the chestnut-haired boy payed attention after that. That, and he looked a bit more dizzy than he had before.

Lily was curled up nicely beneath a tree a little farther down the pathway from him, a book in her lap and a small wag to her snow-white tail. She was smiling as she turned the pages to the obviously old book, and one ear flicked to scare off a fly that had landed on it for a brief moment. John was glad that she had healed up from her wound so well. It had been touch and go for a while when they had gotten back from the resort and she had been rushed to the nearest doctor in a veritable storm of activity and strained nerves. Only Owen and Sasha had been permitted in the operating room, but he and the other members of the team had waited outside in the waiting room for several hours until Owen had come back out and told them that she was going to be okay. John hadn't realized the breath he had been holding until he had released it at his commander's words.

But now she was okay and she insisted the only thing that remained of that day was a scar from where the bullet had hit her and punctured the flesh. John's gaze lingered in her direction for a few seconds, and that was enough to get the wiry sniper's attention. "You have a thing for her?" he asked in his peculiar accent.

John started and turned his head to face the older man. In his late thirties, Paul was the oldest member of Phoenix Squad. He didn't ever talk much, not even under the influence of alcohol, and had a sort of fatherly attitude to him. John didn't know his backstory yet, and honestly didn't know the man enough to ask, but the rumour mil that ground and turned in any military encampment suggested that he had been a mercenary previous to being absorbed into Smith's squad that had worked out of New Zealand. It was hard to imagine him as somebody adept to combat, what with his seemingly caring green eyes and scrawny limbs, but John had seen him at work a few times. He was lethally efficient at what he referred to as 'dealing death at extreme ranges'.

John coughed to clear his throat before answering. "Huh? Oh, no. I'm just glad to see that she has healed up so well." Paul's eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter momentarily, as if he saw something more to it than that.

"Mm.." he mused. "From what I hear, that was one hell of a fight." Truth of the matter was that not one of the four squadmates that had been holed up inside the chalet was keen on talking about anything surrounding that day. They had kept it to a 'we survived' attitude and didn't speak about it that often. John imagined the simple fact that they were so in their shells about that day had said as much, though.

"Yeah," John responded, "It wasn't pretty, that's for sure."

Paul made a noncommittal grunt and decided not to press it any further after that and dropped it. "Well," the sniper said as he stood up, "I'd best be off. I want to get some range practice in today to make sure that my rifle is all tuned up and proper. I'll see you later." The skeletal soldier walked off after that, John watching him go after saying a curt goodbye.

John sat back into the bench lightly, watching the events of the courtyard with an idle eye. The troops were still running through their drills or being taught how to clean an M7 carbine, A flock of birds came to rest in a poplar tree not far away from him, chirping and tweeting sweetly. The sun was warm and a few light, flossy clouds drifted by overhead silently. But John couldn't help but notice how his gaze kept drifting back to Lily, seated as she was under her tree with that old novel in her lap.

**

Denver, Colorado

1043 Hours, September 20** th ***, 2052*

Private First Class Shawn Eryn collapsed on the ground in a heap, his limbs leaden and his chest heaving in the warm summer air. He was panting and trying to catch his breath during the break he and his fellow recruits had been granted from running the obstacle course. Nearby, the other trainees flopped onto the various benches or, like him, sprawled out in the grass, not one of them free of the sweat and grime that built up after a brutal session of drilled exercise.

The red fox closed his eyes for a second and tried to calm his breathing, little by little regaining control of his heaving breath. His eyes remained closed and he just listened to the noises of the courtyard. Birds chirped somewhere on the far side of the open area and a squirrel chattered away somewhere nearby, probably angry at being disturbed by a recruit tossing small pebbles its way. The huffing and gasping of the others was slowly receding and Sergeant 'SH' Purchason was strutting about and growling at the recruits who had decided to take the downtime to complain.

"Do you want the Humanists to hear you complaining, recruit? I think you do, so they can come here and put you out of your misery! In fact, whine louder, they would save me the trouble of whipping you whelps into shape!"

The recruits had nicknamed the sergeant 'SH' because it meant two things. First, it stood for Southern Hemisphere, where the man had obviously been brought up. Second because 'sh' were the only two letters you could manage of 'Shit, here he comes.' before he was in their face and yelling at them to do something, anything, so long as it wasn't relaxing or having a good time.

They had been placed under him, one of the vaunted 'Phoenicians' for training after signing on to what was being called the New Denver Army that had been established soon after the Humanists had been driven out of the region and the people in charge had been given enough space to breathe and get organized. Personally, Shawn liked their commander. He had known that military life was about the unit, not the individual, because of his past 18 years of being raised by a martial family in Boulder. The Sergeant's 'punishments' were meant to instill that in each of them, and Shawn saw it as perfectly fair. But he wouldn't dare voice his opinion in front of the others.

The vulpine had enlisted on his birthday, which, though only about a month before, seemed like an eternity ago. Since then he had been through countless drills and exercises that had slowly eroded every single ounce of fat from his body and replaced it with the sinewy muscle and vigour of a soldier. He could say that he was in the best shape of his life if it weren't for the fact that he went to bed every night with aching muscles and drop-flat-on-your-face weariness.

"Hey, foxy?" came a voice from above him. He recognized his own nickname, the sort of ill-thought out name you earned in a barracks, and the quick, jaunty voice of Private Richard 'Richy' Lefivre. Richy was, for all intents and purposes, both the sergeant's favourite verbal chew toy and the group's comedian. Shawn could easily say that he was his best friend in the unit, too. The fox opened his eyes reluctantly, hissing at the sun and shielding them with a paw.

"What?" Shawn growled, the words not so much a vocalization as a grumble.

"Er.. sorry about making you go through the course again."

Shawn curled forwards into a sitting position, turning his upper body to face Richard. The other recruit was as haggard as he was, the human male's shirt damp with sweat rings and his hair wet and matted. He was a tall man about his age with pale skin and a foolish streak to him. Shawn looked matched Richy's brown eyes with his own green ones and shrugged. "It's fine. You know how SH can be. He would have found any reason to make us run it again."

"Hmm." sighed Richard as he put his hands on his hips. "Maybe, but I'm sorry all the same."

Shawn shrugged again. "Don't worry about it." It looked like his friend was about to answer, but he was cut off by Sergeant Purchason yelling at them again.

"On your feet recruits, we're running it again! Move it, move it, move it!" the Phoenician barked. With a multitude of heaved sighs and groans, the fresh members of the New Denver Army got up and took their places at the beginning of the obstacle course.

**

*See When the Dust Settles, a short story that explains Owen's past with Alex, Frost, and Kirsten.