Underdog 3
DISCLAIMER! Read This: This story will undoubtedly be too explicit for children to read. If you are under the age of 18, please navigate away from this page. This story contains adult language, adult situations, and a budding lesbian relationship.
My name is Dog to you; and I don't know how or why you are reading this or hearing this, but you are. It's been a few months now since I've started an underground movement, a resistance, an uprising, a fucking riot. We're growing in rank and number every day, and we've moved past being passive. We're arming now, and we're growing; and they, the humans, some of them are helping or looking like they're trying. It's time to reequip and get new arms, better arms, strong and more powerful arms. It was hard to keep this going after the hit us at home, our resistance. Our jihad. They came for us at night, broke into the shelter and started to black bag everyone. Hoods over the heads, led away for interrogation and execution. They got a good number of us, maybe twenty or thirty; not even a single percent of our strength at that time. But there was one of us they didn't bag or arrest, haul off to some unnamed and unassuming installation for further torture. My wife, my love, my life; Sasha. I watched as we all fled, how she fell behind and turned when she heard them yelling to stop. She turned into a muzzle flash, her body rocking back in shock as it... as she slumped to the ground, to her knees, falling forward onto her face and then her side. I couldn't catch her, I couldn't save her; I couldn't stop the bullet with my own body for the woman I loved. I had to run, I didn't have time for tears. I will have my revenge on them, whoever did this, if it kills me. If I die, I will only rest easy in her arms in the hereafter if I kill them. Father Gregory always said one can't rest unless all debts are paid. We're driving right now to meet our undercover, our spy on the human side. A defector, they call him; aiding and abetting slaves, revolutionaries, and terrorists. He says he's just helping the paying side; and we do pay well. Solid gold bricks lay stacked in a suitcase handcuffed to me; I'm the one financing this operation, making it work. I'm looking out the window as the rain beats fat drops against this aging car; every drop reverberates and echo's in the cabin. Another cigarette is all I can do to keep from crying as I try so hard to block out the memories of her and I laying in bed, of her falling in my arms smiling so happy, of her falling to the floor a lifeless corpse. I shake my head and snap back to where we are right now, in front of an old M923 five ton cargo truck loaded with crates and crates, stacked on more crates. Stepping out, I see our informant and he's not alone; flanked by a small mercenary army, none of them are wearing the same thing. They go through all the trouble of trying to look professional, only to throw it off by wearing different nationalities camouflages. ACU, BDU, flecktarns, sky blue, city, even Cold War era Soviet gear. Getting out, I motion silently with my head for the other cars tailing to pull alongside and get out, guns drawn, and waiting for trouble. I go to our informant, and our pleasantries begin. "A long ride out?" He asks me with his phony smile. "How about we cut out the part where we pretend to care about each other and get down to business?", I'm in no mood to delay, mercenaries are a deadly group to deal with. "Not much on formalities," I can hear him murmur at me. Walking away, he motions me to follow, "I got everything you asked for; from the M4 carbine assault rifles, to the Eastern Bloc RPD's, AK-47's, and RPG's. I even tracked down the Beretta 93R you've been craving. It was a little hard, though, finding the Colt's you wanted... so I went with Springfield instead." He looks at me like this is alright. I set my case down, open it up, and take out two solid gold bricks and chuck them over my shoulder to two waiting compatriots. "I said Colt, damn it. I'm taking that off the final. And if you don't like it, I'll get my arms somewhere else." His guards tense up, and I can hear the charging of weapons on their side, which causes my people to charge theirs. I raise my hand, motioning for them to lower their guns and rifles. I look him straight in the eye as he frowns, nodding slowly. "You still pay better than the humans... Sure." I smile, taking the handcuff off my wrist and passing the case over. I look around at his men and look for any familiar faces, and then I catch one I know, a face burnt in my memory for all times. I motion at him, and order him to move up front for inspection; he, of course, refuses. "Tell your man to come up here, and I'll give you one of the bars I took out of the deal." As if this lord of war would refuse, he almost begins to think it over; then he remembers what mood his best client is in and snaps for the soldier. He's dressed in ACU's, the same kind he was wearing when they raided us. "You've got a problem with me, trooper?" "Not you, ma'am. Just your kind. But you've got the money, so that makes you the boss." "You were there on that raid, weren't you?" I look over my shoulder to my people, leaning in to whisper. "I promise, I won't tell. You fired the only shot, I hear; is it true?" He looked nervous, but I stayed calm and almost played it off joyously. "C'mon, I won't tell. You were the one who shot the leaders girl, right? That big dyke mutt?" It is right here where I lose it, when I see this sly smile creep across his face and he nods, almost proud of himself. "Bitch didn't even see it coming. Right between the eyes; it was amazing." On their own, my fists begin tearing into him; I can feel his jaw break with the first blow. He falls down on his ass, onto the ground, and I begin pounding his face into the mud, breaking his front teeth in as hard as I can. I don't feel the pain throbbing in my hand, or the yells of people around us. It's a Mexican standoff, everyone pointing a gun at everyone. Nobody is shooting just yet, but here I am beating this kid to death. I lift him up and throw him against the truck, his body limp as he tries to block the fury in my blows. I grip the hood and begin kneeing him in the face over and over, not stopping as I feel hands wrap around me, trying to pull me off. I keep burying into him again and again. It takes three of our largest equines to pull me off his body, and the bring me to the back and sit me down behind our cars. My eyes are shifting rapidly, to them, to the others, to nowhere. I'm hyperventilating. I'm shaking. I've just beaten him to death. They give the two other bars over as payment for what I've just done. Mercenaries. No matter what you do to them, you just don't feel bad. They don't care about each other, they just care about money. I just beat one of their own to death, and as long as they get paid, they don't care. My mind is lost inside me now, traveling back two, three months. I'm in our old shelter, laying in her big strong arms. She's with me, and she's kissing me tenderly. She tells me how much she loves me, how she wants to live her life out with me. That I should just give up the fight, that we can run away together and leave this fight to the army I've built. I told her, "I can't abandon them now, not when we're so close. They will see us as equals, of the same God. But right now, where we are at right now... I can't rest knowing it. We may be of lesser gods to them, but we will fight and we will win and we will have our freedom. I won't sit passively by, waiting for them to see us as people. It took white humans forever to acknowledge black humans as part of them. Way back when, a group of Boers were out hunting and saw a San person, a bushmen... a black man... Lined him up, shot him, cooked him, and ate him because they didn't see him as human. They saw him as an animal, like they see us now." She pressed her fingers to my lips softly, silencing me. She nodded her head, silently understanding why this fight meant everything to me. It was right there that she laid me down, and we began to seduce each other. There's never time for foreplay, though, is there. When we were just about to start grinding against one another, just before we started to mate, we could hear the screams. The excited footsteps. We could smell the gas. We clothed in a hurry, and ran outside to see what was happening. I saw him, the bear who saved us in our last fight, David, get bagged. He was taken down with blunt force trauma to the head, his body being dragged off to detention vans. He was tortured, interrogate, and killed later on. We turned to each other, fear frozen on both of our faces. She insisted on going back for the children hiding in fear, and I insisted we fled. I, being a coward, ran. A scared little girl. I fled. And she died because of me. All my fault. What have I done? What did I do? My whole reason for living, I watched, was murdered before my eyes. The air horn blares and shakes me out of my dream. I stand and find the arms runner and his gang gone, the lifeless body left behind to rot or be food to my feral kin. The cargo truck pulled forward, and the driver looked right at me with this almost pity filled smile. Somehow, I could tell they knew why I snapped. Maybe I brought it on myself, I figured; maybe I was looking for someone to be the killer so I could convince myself I had gotten revenge. Maybe I just saw what I wanted. But this one, this furre, almost knew why I hurt so much these last months. My alcoholism, my insomnia, my nightmares that cause me to awaken screaming. They and I are the only ones left now; they waited for me for hours to snap out of it, to come back to earth. "This isn't over, love... I won't abandon the fight." I climbed into the cab silently, closing my eyes as we rumbled off into the night back to our shelter. * * * To quote the Narrator from Fight Club, "I wanted to destroy something beautiful." My life, as of late, has been irritatingly poor and very devoid of happiness. I figured, this way, I can introduce a new character. What character, you ask? One of your own design. Taking offers for the new character. Male or female, I don't care. Your own personal fursona, written into a new chapter. I guarantee the next chapter to be very hardcore, so I need a list of kinks/fetishes you want thrown in. I think the character, Dog, has gone crazy, or hasn't. It's up in the air. Maybe it was the one who killed Sasha, maybe not... Read the next installment, won't you? Follow me deeper into my insanity.