Commander Hoffen of Foxtrot | #34 | Male | Alleged Schnauzer/Wolf cross | M: Kämpe, Hero, Zadolt, Kordelas

Something in the Kilo dog's eyes unsettled Hoffen. While Hero and Zadolt held nothing but hatred for the pitiful creature he was, (and rightly so) this dog he had never met before looked at him with some sort of feeling. What exactly it was, Hoffen had no clue. But it wasn't hatred. And then he said something inaudible, but Hoffen knew exactly what it was without hearing.

"My fault, not yours."

Hoffen's face hardened, muzzle curling in an attempt to conceal the pain that flashed in his eyes before he succumbed to the numbness of his programming. Head throbbing, he hardly managed to choke out the words he spoke, voice monotone with suppressed feeling.

"You didn't rip his throat out."

As if on cue, he was slammed into by the kilo wolfblood. The nutcase. On instinct, Hoffen let out a low bark of surprise as he stumbled back, muzzle curled in a snarl.

The last thing he expected was the curt nod he received.

And then Kampe came. Cool blue eyes taking in the scene, she looked up at him. She knew. Hoffen was as good as dead. But maybe he could save himself.

Like the coward he was, Hoffen slid out from between the two dogs without a word, and turned his gaze to the two retreating dogs. He had failed to remove them when given the command and now this was his punishment, wasn't it?

Coward.

His back was turned to the wolfdog, that was his first mistake. He had assumed Kampe had it under control. Hoffen had been wrong, very wrong.

All the air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the ground, hard. Fangs met his throat, and the massive dog felt them slide deeper and deeper into his neck. He was as good as dead.

Well, hadn't he been anyway?

Did Hoffen fear death? The answer was yes, or rather, had been yes. Life at Beta was simple: the cowards-those that lived in fear and followed orders- would live. Those that dare defy Beta and question their purpose would die, sooner or later. He was no longer the dog he had once been, with a flame of hope burning in his chest. Hell, his name meant 'to hope.' Hope of a better future, where they were free.

Hope was a fickle thing, and life had a way of turning all of one's hopes and dreams upon their heads. He wouldn't live to see the rebellion, but maybe Kilo would. If only the golden dog could have been alive to watch it happen.

But alas, it was not to be. It was Hoffen's fault. He deserved his fate.

"Do it," the Cull sputtered out those startling words. "I don't have the courage."

Zadolt | Male | Australian/German Shepherd mix | Foxtrot | 28 | Mentions: Hero, Kordelas, Kampe, Hoffen

He let go of Kordelas’s leg, giving him a warning glare. “Fine, but if I see you going back I will knock you unconscious and drag you back to Kilo. Hero, you'd help me with that, right?” He asked, turning around, fully expecting Hero to be behind them. When all he saw was empty air, he cursed the dog out loud. That dog was foolish, going back to try and take down a Cull. “Go back to Kilo. I’ll go get Hero and meet you there." He was already turning around, crouching low to try and be overlooked.

What he saw when he returned made him freeze, everything in his body locking up at the sight in front of him.

Hero had lunged at Hoffen, sinking his fangs deep into the Culls neck. Hoffen had said something, but Zadolt was near the wall, too far away to hear the Cull’s last words. Or what he thought were last words, because what Kampe did Beta would definitely restrict. It shouldn’t have been possible.

She had lunged, ripping Hero off of Hoffen, and cracked her head on the concrete in the process. It didn’t stop her, as she bit down on Hero's throat, all the while tearing at him with her claws. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough. She dropped Hero’s head on the concrete and stepped back. It allowed Zadolt to be able to look at Hero’s injures, see how ragged his breaths were. Hero wasn’t coming back with him.

And yet the dog stood.

He stood, and fought Kampe with his words, not his actions. Zadolt listened to the words of this dying dog with shock. Hero was barely alive, and yet was still challenging the Cull, and for that, he earned Zadolt's respect. He spoke of how, even if he was the one destined to die, he was the true victor. He won not with the death of his opponents, but with the knowledge that he had chosen to give his life for Kilo, that in the end, he believed Beta would fall. And then he said his final words, and collapsed. After a few moments, Hero was gone.

He looked over at Kampe, to see if Hero’s words had affected her at all(Possibly, in some small part of his brain, he was hoping they had). But her face was indifferent; as if she hadn’t just seen a dog die, right before her.

Because of her.

Anger had started to swell deep within him, like magma used to hide underground, waiting to erupt, when he saw the Cull biting down on Hero’s throat; it had been added to the long list of what fueled his anger. He had years of things to be angry about; how Beta had taken his sister from him, how they installed fear in every dog that was in their compound, and the thousands of unnamed dogs killed every year. His anger was a fuse, and Kampe’s face was the match.

And so he lunged at Kampe’s throat with a snarl on his face, fully intended to kill her or go down trying, uncaring of his own life. She had witnessed the death of a dog who had stood, had challenged her with his words, and she had looked on with indifference. Like Hero’s words hadn’t mattered, like Hero had been just another dog, easily disposed of. He ignored Hoffen; that might have been a mistake, but he was beyond caring at this point. His mind refused any thought but that of murderous intent, and like he supposed the culls saw when their eyes changed, he saw red; dark red, the blood of Tysta and Hero and all those that Kampe had killed.

Kordelas (Kor) / Male / Doberman Shepherd / Kilo / I.D: 71 / M: Hero, Zadolt, Kampe, Ginger

Kordelas started to nod, but then turned his head to follow Zadolt's gaze. Hero wasn't behind them. Kor sighed, ears flattening with defeat right before Zadolt pushed past him, crouching low to the ground. "Don't-" Kor's words died upon his lips as Zadolt vanished back the way they had come. His brain was torn. He couldn't let them die... the way he had let Ty die.... but he had promised.... Kordelas let out a whine. He thought for a moment longer, then made up his mind. If Zadolt and Hero died, Kordelas knew he could never forgive himself, and it would be worse than death to go on living, knowing he could have at least attempted to prevent not just one, but three deaths. And if they lived, then Zadolt could just be mad at him. His mind made up, he dropped to the ground, creeping up behind Zadolt. He was just in time to see Hero stand up, swaying.

To hear his speech. To see him collapse. Suddenly, Zadolt bolted from his place in the shadows, a snarl on his face. In shock of what he had just seen, his brain was slow to process what had just happened. After a second, feeling started to break through his numbed shell. An anger. Not at Hero. But at himself. He should be the one lying in his own blood. Not Hero. Kordelas' dark eyes turned towards Zadolt, who was snapping at the Cull. And he charged after him. Without thinking, Kordelas ran around the female Cull, leaping on her back with a harsh bark. He knew that a dog couldn't fight a cull... but maybe two dogs would have a chance. Hoffen was all but forgotten as Kordelas's mind was trained on one thing and one thing only: keep Zadolt alive if that was at all possible. He cared not for his own life.

I'm sorry, Tysta... I'm sorry, Hero. I should have been there. You should be alive and it's all my fault. A faint hint of a tear glimmered in the depths of Kordelas' eyes as he hung on with all he could. Please, don't let Zadolt die... Let him return to his senses and get away, please. Take me instead. Leave Zadolt alone. Please...

He should have been dead. He should have taken his last breath. And yet the bloodied, battered corpse of a dog stood in a sea of his own blood.

In the silence, his voice cut like a blade, defiant and true. He claimed victory as death descended upon him; victory as he stood bleeding and weakened. Victory as the blood he spat out choked his words. Victory.

The Cheif knew that it was different this time. That her head spun and that her programming was faltering and that yes, that perhaps he had won.

"You cannot kill a spirit," he said, with a grin of red-tipped teeth. A grin of fierce defiance, a scoff in the face of death. "Machines run out of fuel, but a soul lives on even after death."

And that was the difference, wasn't it? Dogs were inferior to culls - weaker, slower, duller. And yet the fought, struggled, and prevailed. Again and again, they defied odds. Kämpe had wondered why Beta kept living dogs among their ranks. They ate up resources - food, water, cells and pens. Dogs were fragile and lived only about fourteen years at most - even the most minor of injuries could ruin them. And yet, despite all, the dogs were selected for most missions - and this was why. They had a heart. Culls were hardwired to work of statistics and probability when making decisions - but the living and breathing canines had a soul and gut instinct. The entire point of their existance, it seemed, was to defy statistics and prevail at the most impossible of tasks. They loved; some dogs loved their human handlers enough to do anything for them, and by the sheer force of will, they would find success. Unless recieving direct orders, culls wouldn't do anything for humans if the odds weren't in their favor.

They had souls, and she did not.

The cull hadn't moved since the dog fell. Mere indifference was etched on her feature, but within, her mind was spinning. Beta was arrogant enough to assume a cull wouldn't injure itself; and so the copper wires that bound Kämpe to her masters were fragile. They ran like a network of veins near the surface of her skin so that tweaking wires was not a difficult task - however, any impact could cause damage. The Chief had hit her head on the concrete, this she knew - and her programming had subsequently been damaged. Beta was still present in her mind, but not with the same calm surity as before. In flashes, her program wore off from time to time as the system aged, but nothing like this.

This hurt. Hero's death seized her chest and dug claws into her heart - it was her fault. Her fault. Her fault. She saw herself, fangs marred with crimson, blood eddying about her paws, posture rigid and face taciturn. She saw a monster. A murderer.

She shadows leapt - two of them. One launched himself onto her back, and the other seized her metal-clad neck. Former Twenty-Eight of Foxtrot, and the Kilo mutt, off to avenge the death of their comrade. Foolish dogs.

She needed to kill one, take the other into custody - preferably the native Kilo one. Beta would want them to bleed and suffer and give up. But in this moment, the Chief was not Beta. She didn't know who she was - a righteous soldier, a monster, and mindless beast. She could not tell, and her skull throbbed trying to understand - cursed emotion - she wished for the apathy of her unharmed programming. But that was her brother, and she had killed enough today.

The cull bucked and spun, jaws snapping. Her eyes flickered - ice to crimson, crimson to ice. Beta. What were Beta's orders? What would benefit them? Murderer - that's what she was. The emotion - too much, all at once, everywhere and nowhere, distant and near. Beta. Beta. Her brother. She needed salvation from this onslaught of guilt and the sudden presence of a conscience. Nothing made sense. Nothing. Apathy - she so desperately wished for it - was she a coward? Beta. Beta. The odds were in her favor. They always were. She was a monster, and metal beast. Beta. Brother. Beta.

"Run." She snarled, face twisting. Her head pounded. "Run before I change my mind."

Zadolt - her newfound memories of him, first from the initial lapse in her programming's consistancy, and now after her wires were damaged. A half-brother, a friend. Traitor, her internal technology system said. Brother, her heart whispered.

"I don't want to kill you, brother." The words hurt to choke out - she was betraying Beta. And yet, even so, they felt right. "But I will. Run."

Her voice rose into a bark.

And despite herself, a growing conviction had buried itself into her heart. She wouldn't - couldn't kill him. He was her brother, and in this moment, with Beta not present in her mind, she would not be his death.

Zadolt | Male | Australian/German Shepherd mix | Foxtrot | 28 | Mentions: Hero, Kordelas, Kampe, Hoffen

(I got permission from Boundless don’t worry)

His fangs made contact with the plating surrounding her throat, and Kordelas leapt onto her back at the same time. With their combined weight, she fell, landing on her right side. He could still see the scratches from Hoffen’s malfunction in the Training room on the metal of her throat, and he idly wondered if his attack would leave more, or if his attack would finally kill her. He didn’t care.

And when he heard her words, telling him to run, he didn’t react. His face stayed set in his snarl, his eyes stayed cold. Her words meant nothing to him. He had locked away any emotion other than this burning, raging desire to avenge Hero, to kill her so she couldn’t make him want to avenge someone else. He didn’t care that she was his half-sister. A small part of his brain screamed at him- This was how a Cull thought, this uncaring of words, this emotional detachment- but he paid it no heed.