Rache | Female | Doberman Husky mix | Charlie/Foxtrot | 61 | Mentions: All


Rache hadn't slept. She'd barely breathed. She couldn't even think.
She'd just been.
After that annoying mutt, Eighty-Eight had stopped talking, she'd hoped she'd just fade away. She'd hoped it was all just a dream.
Hoped she would just wake up with her sister beside her.
Alta.
When Beta had taken her sister, they'd taken part of Rache away too.
They'd taken away her hope. They'd taken away her mother and father. They'd taken away her will. Now they'd taken Alta, the only thing that kept her from turning as empty as one of them. As empty and heartless as a cull.
Rache had barely heard the words that Ord- Twenty-Two had said after she'd snapped at Eighty-Eight.
But it was too late. Rache didn't feel anymore.
She had no pain to channel.

When the lights came on in the morning Rache stayed curled up, her back to the others. Twenty-Two left while Eighty-Eight was still stretching and getting up.
Even his yawning was annoying.
After that everything faded. Maybe she'd only been laying there for a few seconds after Eighty-Eight left, maybe years.
What did it matter?
Alta was dead and there was nothing left on this world for Rache.
Nothing but serving Beta.
Maybe they could turn her into a cull. Maybe they could make her forget.
Forget who she was and what she was.
Forget everything.

When Rache got up her legs were weak, her tail low and her head hanging. Her eyes stared at nothing.
She passed her food and walked out of the cell.
She didn't see, hear, nor smell. She just let her paws lead her through the well-known halls of Beta.
She didn't know if she passed a dog or many dogs. Maybe some were walking beside her, maybe they were just her imagination.
Maybe she was already a ghost.

Rache stopped right before she entered the pen.
Beta wouldn't want one of its best dogs to look like a lost, sad little pup.
It was a bad example for the other dogs.
She needed to show them that she was a soldier. That the death of Alta had done nothing to her. She was loyal and trained to perfection. She needed to show that she was ready to forget.
Show that she was ready to finally become what Beta had trained her to be.

A cull.

When Sixty-One entered the pen her head was high, her back straight, her eyes and ears forward and her tail relaxed and dominant.
The perfect posture for the perfect soldier.

Aadya | #63 | Female| Pembroke Welsh Corgi | M: All Kilo dogs

The howling made something deep in her chest ache, something that she didn't know could hurt. She would feel her heart pounding in her throat as it faded out, into an eerie silence. What were these dogs capable of if they cared that much. She struggled to maintain the mask of calm dignity, her real feelings slipped through the cracks with every moment that passed.

Aadya wasn't usually an impulsive dog, but something fueled by adrenaline surged through her body, and she bolted.

She made it a point to duck down the narrowest tunnel. These dogs weren't huge like the beta dogs, but they still towered over her. The cull was the one she was most worried about. How did a Cull end up rebelling? That shouldn't have been possible. No, no, maybe Beta didn't make her. But Hoffen-err, Commander Thirty-four recognized her. He was a cull of Beta, therefore she must have been as well.

Scrambling in the dirt, Aadya didn't look behind her, pushing harder and harder down the tunnel. Bigger dogs may have had longer legs, but she could use her size to her advantage in the narrow tunnels.

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

Hoffen was numb. Simply numb. He could barely remember what had happened that night the Kilo warrior attacked him.

It was like a dream, the way bits of it escaped him. Red eyes, those that could only belong to a cull, and the brown ones, filled with shock, as the wolfdog looked at him in surprise. He hadn't fought. None of them really had.

When a cull was involved, there was no such thing as fighting. There were only frantic attempts to delay the inevitable: Death.

Still, it was funny he hadn't been removed yet. Hoffen had been counting down the days, yet they had never come. He was surprised Kampe hadn't ordered his death as easily as she had the others. Something was off.

He could see it in the split second they'd make eye contact passing in the corridors, and in the silence of the night. One thing that seemed to evade Hoffen more than any emotion was sleep. He was running on maybe five or six hours a week, less than normal for a Cull. Most of his time was spent staring up into the void of a night sky, enjoying the cold breeze that bit through his thick, wooly fur. It was one of the few feelings he truly enjoyed.

He was aware of those cool, blue eyes most nights, watching from a distance. Hoffen wasn't sure what that meant. The Chief Cull had never made any attempts to socialize with the other Culls or so much as simply be in their presence more than necessary. Something was...different about her and he couldn't place it.

Whether she knew he was aware of her presence was something he often wondered. Probably. That dog knew everything. Could he consider her a dog? Hoffen thought so. Zadolt-her brother and the traitor-had survived not one but two encounters with her that could have gone very differently. In his mind, that was no mistake. Culls didn't make mistakes, dogs did.

His memories had come back in the past two weeks more than they had in a year, and it tormented him. How he wished to forget the pretty silver shepherd-dog that he had fawned over in his youth. Or his sparring partner, the only other dog close to his size. Maybe they had been related? He wasn't sure.

The daily routine at Beta kept him grounded, for the most part. The days were the easy part, where he could put on his mindless facade, slip into his programming and not have to think for himself. If only the nights were the same.

He had been out in the yard already, simply laying by the fence. Poised, almost regal-looking as he stared down the lane that led to the city's heart, deep in thought. He had been awake for hours, in fact, he hadn't slept more than half an hour the night before. He had opted to eat long before the others and be the one to watch over the dogs in the yard as they arrived, preparing for training.

Dogs practically never approached him in this state, and squabbles among dogs were rare, there really was no reason for a Cull to be out aside from to monitor their morale. How hard could he push his dogs.

One black and tan figure caught his eye as she strutted into the pen. Sixty-One of Foxtrot, trained by Regiment Charlie. It was almost amusing, how much pride she had. Or was it fear? He knew the dog that had lost it and attacked Kampe had been her sister. What was having siblings like? Hoffen could almost remember other dogs that looked like him, but not quite.

There was something hollow, mechanical about her movements that she noticed. She didn't have the programming of a cull. It was a facade. Well, supposedly they trained them well in that regiment. Hoffen was one of the few, if any, Culls to never pass through one of the elite regiments.

His brown eyes tracked her movement across the yard, eyes narrowed. He met her gaze only for an instant, a silent warning. Hoffen had had a feeling that at some point she may challenge his authority. Today he wouldn't have the patience to deal with it if she did. The lack of sleep and reoccuring aching in his head had left him more irritable than usual, even for the past two weeks.

Frosch | Male | Greyhound, Borzoi, Azawakh, Great Dane half-blood | Tango/Foxtrot | 88 | Mentions: Rache, Orden, Hoffen, All

Frosch's sleep was always dreamless. He closed his eyes and then he'd wake up hours later.
Orden had already left, though Sixty-One- he'd call her Grouchy till he figured out her real name- was still curled in a tight ball when he opened his eyes.
He slowly got up, stretching each individual leg at least once, arching his back, yawning. Anything that you could do when waking up, he did.
"You still asleep, Grouchy?" she didn't even twitch when he tried to talk to her. Interesting.
Frosch quickly ate, almost inhaled, his food. He didn't know if it was dry or wet, nor if it tasted like air or like something with taste. He didn't have time to notice the flavor, he just needed to eat.
After swallowing the last bit he let his tongue out and smiled at Grouchy, "I'll see you later then" then he was trotting out of the cell and towards the pen.

When he was younger he used to run as fast as he could through the halls. He crashed into dogs, and even culls, but he never stopped. He was just too impatient. He wanted to get out to the pen and run. Really run.
That ended when he didn't turn fast enough and broke his spine on a corner. Beta had let him feel the pain and forced him to walk around without being able to feel his hind-legs for days. He'd learned then. Running in these halls wasn't smart.

When he entered the pen his metal tail gave a slight wag. Freedom.
He didn't even bother to look who was there or what was going on. He just sprinted, tongue out of the side of his mouth and wind streaming against his face.
He was on the outskirts of the pen when he noticed Grouchy enter.
She looked out of place, with such a stiff perfect posture. She didn't even walk far out, she just stopped where most dogs lined up when their commander called and didn't move anymore.

What he did notice was the big Schnauzer cull looking at Grouchy.
Frosch hadn't seen a dog his size- or nearly his size- in years.
He jumped into a full-speed sprint, kicking up dust as he ran towards the cull before skidding to a halt, nearly crashing into him- though luckily his petal paws allowed him to break much faster than the average dog.

"Hi!"
"My name is Frosch, whats yours? Are you one of the commanders for Foxtrot or Bravo? I'm the new transfer for Foxtrot! I haven't seen a dog my size in well... ever! I was starting to think I was the only one" he chuckled.
"I came from Tango- I was the fastest dog there, you know. What about you? What regiment did you come from? The Commander said she's from Charlie, but you don't look like a Charlie dog... At least compared to Grouchy" he nodded to the dark Doberman Husky mix, "and the commander... I wonder what her name is. Actually both their names. What did you say your name was?" he let his tongue out and smiled at the cull, scratching his chin with his hind-leg.

Afton's weary mind was pierced by sharp barks.

The large dog groaned, shifting his weight, only for his eyelids to fly open, revealing widened amber optics. Something was wrong - nobody barked in the middle of the night, unless some sort of emergency was taking place. Trying to get his bearings, Afton staggered upwards, ears pricked - what sort of danger had befallen them? Who needed help? How could he fix this?

Gin. He needed to find Gin. Afton's vision blurred, then flickered into focus as he adjusted to the darkness of the poorly lit underground chamber. Ah, there the Cull was - saying something... calling a list of names... himself included. The bouvier cross trotted forward, worry-ridden gaze flickering nervously to the tunnels. Nothing was on fire - nobody was hurt - and yet, an alarm had been sounded, and one could not ignore such a thing.

Spring greeted Afton warmly, as was her manner, but Afton didn't miss the worry in her bright eyes. Maybe. He found it was nearly impossible to gage emotions in the darkness.

In only a moment, there was a flash of golden fur, blazing for the tunnels. Afton blinked. That - who -

the prisoner. Where was her gaurd? Who had let the dog go? That little corgi was an enemy - dangerous. She was with Beta, Beta, the orginization that killed Tysta, that broke Arrow's heart, that hunted them down. And this little dog, one of them, was escaping. Afton considered for a moment his course of action. He knew time was running out - if he was to go after her, he needed to go now. Even so, Afton felt he needed to think this through. Ginger had gone through enough today - he ought to listen to her command.

But that dog was running.

Mind made up, Afton shifted his weight back, then lunged forwards in long, powerful strides. He covered the ground she had made swiftly, but then realized that he was at a significant disadvantage. Although he knew the tunnels, and could navigate through with his eyes closed, travel was somewhat difficult with his large size. He just under thirty inches, and the tunnels had to be twenty six at the tallest. Afton was the largest dog in Kilo - and there was a reason they bred smaller canines.

Afton ducked his head as far as was possible, lowering his weight to the ground. It was uncomfortable, and certainly not ideal. He kept bumping his head into the dirt-packed roof, and kept stumbling as he tried to keep his posture low to the ground.

Ahead, he could see that flash of fur.

"Hey!" he barked, only to hit his head once more and release a muffled oof. This was going to be an impossible chase on his part - he couldn't possible outrun her. He would just have to cut her off.

Afton dipped left into a slightly larger tunnel he knew would loop back around to her prejected course. He seemed to have developed a rhythm - a stride, his head hitting the tunnel roof, and a huff or grunt as he made impact.

There! He could see her at the intersection of tunnels. Afton released a volley of barks, deep and threatening. She could twist away in time, change directions, slow down, speed up - he wasn't sure if he would catch her, even if he was barreling towards her at full speed.

Beta had replaced the Chief's broken metal. She was no longer a cull with outdated technology - instead, she was outfitted with the most modern armor - not steel, nor iron. Different. Lighter, far more mobile. She felt she could move much better with her underbelly and neck plating gone - it was as though, suddenly, her body was that of a dog once more, only she had more power in her limbs. Even if her body was scarred and slashed, even if she hurt, she was anew.

After the events of - what was it - two weeks ago? -, Kämpe had been tended to swiftly - powered off, and then powered on again in what seemed to be a few seconds, but what must have been hours. The cull had fallen asleep shortly after, only to awake almost immediately - she could not sleep. Beta had not fixed her programming. She still - at times, especially in the guilty silence of night - felt. In that night, in the cold hallways that the darkness claimed, she had caught Hoffen's eyes; it was always curious, to Kämpe. His eyes, deep and brown, had a soul. She had not noticed such a thing in even some of the dogs. She had seen him at night, unable to rest while the others slept silently. She saw him pace and shift, eyes always cast away, thinking. What went on in that mind?

He was different - and even so, Kämpe could not request his removal. Not yet. She wasn't sure why - maybe because she saw a soul in those eyes, the soul that was missing in herself.

There was apathy in Kämpe's mind in this morning, the cold quiet she was so used to. The halls were empty - there was almost nobody up as early as she, and so the click of her claws echoed through the silence. She paused, entering the wing of dogs to be transferred. At the eleventh cell to the left, Kämpe halted, standing regally before the enterance.

Request to open cell door eleven-left.

Acess granted.

The door was drawn upwards, revealing a small, sleepy figure. Glaring judgementally at the valhund, she stood in silence for a few seconds. She knew why he was to be transferred - Bravo and Foxtrot were somewhat experimental regiments with a diverse selection of dogs. This small creature would add to the variety.

"Ninety. Your transfer date is set for today. Follow me."

She spun, stalking off to their destination. She heard the scrabble of frantic claws as the dog caught up.

"My apologies," he managed to say. There was a moment of silence. He seemed too sleepy to form coherent sentences, so he opted for silence instead.

The pair made it to the pen of Foxtrot and Bravo swiftly. With authoritive purpose, Kämpe entered through the west gate, the small dog hurrying to keep up. A few had made it out already - Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Sixty-One, Sixty-Five, Commander Thirty-Four, and Eighty-eight.

Kämpe did not take the time to focus on any one dog - she had a job to do.

"Transfer Ninety has joined the ranks of Foxtrot," she annouced, gesturing to the valhund who seemed to have awaken from his drowsy state.

Karin | Female | Portugese Water dog, Portugese Podengo, Vizsla| Bravo | 92 | Mentions: Taipan, Asuga, Rache, Padda, Kampe, whoever else is in the pen

Karin’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the tunnel, her head stiff between her paws. She stood up quickly, never one to waste her time by being inactive, and walked over to a food bowl. She ate slowly, blatantly ignoring the other two dogs in the cell.

The last two weeks, in Karin’s opinion, were some of the worst of her life. She had to share a cell with the rude female for the past few weeks; Karin had ignored the female, but it was irritating, to say the least. And the dogs who were the original members of Bravo and Foxtrot barely knew how to stand in formation! Thankfully she and the other transfers were there to show them how to act properly.

Taking a moment to calm herself down from her thoughts of how disorganized Bravo and Foxtrot were, she walked through the tunnel, uncaring if the other two dogs got up or not. They were not her problem.

Walking out, she saw that some of the other dogs were up, one of them being the Charlie female. Discreetly studying her, Karin noticed her posture. It was perfect; Karin could’t find a single flaw. The one thing that was off about the way she acted was her eyes. While dogs in the Charlie regiment were trained to perfection, they all still had some life in their eyes.

Rache’s eyes were dark, as if they were two of the windows on the houses after the lights were shut off. Karin had never seen a dog look like that, could have never imagined a dog could look like that. A thread of fear wound around her heart.

Rache's eyes were empty of the will to live.

Unexpectedly, Karin felt a pang of sympathy for this dog. She had never lost anyone close to her; she was picked from her litter to be in regiment Tango, and the Charlie dogs must have been close, being sisters. No, feeling sadness for this dog wasn’t logical, for she had never even met this dog before being transferred.

Yet she couldn’t help but give the female a small nod- acknowledgment of her sister’s death, or acknowledgment of her presence? Karin didn’t know, and didn’t bother to try and answer. She shoved that question deep down, where it wouldn’t pester her.

she didn't know if the Charlie female noticed her nod, as her attention was stolen when she saw the Chief Cull. Her message caused curiosity in Karin; another transfer? This time, it was a male, still half asleep by the way his eyes were unfocused. She was close to the back of the pen, and as such couldn’t tell exactly what the new dog looked like. The most she could see of him was the almost wolf-like coat he had.

Commander Hoffen of Foxtrot | #34 | Male | Alleged Schnauzer/Wolf cross | M: Kämpe, Rache, Frosch, Padda

His gaze was torn away from the stoic charlie warrior as a new dog entered the yard. Who? He questioned the mechanical buzz in the back of his skull. This dog was huge. Well, more like tall. He looked like Hoffen could knock him over if he breathed too hard. So skinny. Was he malnourished? His programming wasn't paired wirelessly to the main system like the chief's was, but he still had files on all the dogs. Regiment Foxtrot transfer, formerly of Tango.

Why would a fast-dog be transferred to one of the fighting regiments? Before he got the chance to ponder that question, the massive dog was barreling straight for the Cull. In an instant, his programming took over, and almost involuntarily, he was on his feet ready to stop the dog with force if need be.

He didn't need to, the dog somehow managed to skid to a stop a breadth away from Hoffen's bared teeth. Somehow the skinny-dog seemed unfazed by his silent show of dominance. Something hummed in the back of his brain. This one had a history, it seemed, he deduced as the dog introduced himself--by name. Very enthusiastically. How did a dog with such high spirits manage to stay alive in this hellhole?

A sharp pain shot through his head, forcibly shutting down his thought process. If one looked close enough, they could notice the hard blink of his eyes as he reset. Every bit of his Cull programming wanted him to discipline this dog, he deserved it. No, Hoffen wouldn't. Instead he gathered himself, trying to seem taller. He wasn't used to a dog being larger than he. That was one thing the tall-dog had been right about.

"I am Commander Ho...Thirty-Four of Foxtrot, and you will address me as such." Had any other dog spoken over him in such a manner, he would have shut them up real quick. Hoffen found this dog amusing, somehow. How innocent could a dog like this be? He only had limited knowledge of the messenger regiment, but he could guess their lives weren't half as harsh as the other dogs of Beta.

This dog, what did he say his name was? Frosch? Even thinking of a dog's given name felt wrong. He was to address and think of dogs by their number and their number only. Yet, Hoffen reveled in the small rebellions. He had been counting down the days to his death anyway. Frosch had asked him if he was Charlie. Was he supposed to say he had been? It was uncommon for a Cull, especially a Cull who led one of Beta's fighting regiments, not to come from an Elite. Would he know that?

Yet, somehow, he let his guard down around this dog. There was something so disarming about his innocence. "No. I was...selected from somewhere else," he murmured, voice low. It took only a moment for his face to harden once again. "You will address me as Commander..." his voice trailed off as he watched Kampe lead a new, small dog into the yard. It looked almost like the other one, maybe they were siblings? Although his coat was wolflike, almost. Odd.

"And just some...advice. Most dog's around here don't appreciate invasive questions. Be glad I'm not a different Cull, you would have bled for that."

Hoffen turned away from the tall-dog, and moved in long strides toward his Chief. Making eye contact for only a split second before he broke it, the Cull spoke, mechanical echo in his voice. "New transfer, Commander?"

Aadya | #63 | Female| Pembroke Welsh Corgi | M: Afton

The deep voice behind her only increased her frenzied attempt to escape. The rational part of her brain urged her to stop, this dog had longer legs, he would catch up to her. She needed to save her energy. But the adrenaline won over, and the small dog pushed harder and harder into the tunnel, she had to use her size to her advantage. Had he caught her she was dead. Beta did not tolerate rebellion. Why would these dogs be any different?

Not daring to look behind her, the grunting and heaving of the huge dog pushed her on. Aadya had never allowed herself to be in such a position of vulnerability, and for the first time perhaps ever, she felt true fear. Terror.

After a while, the grunting and thumping of the huge dog got farther and farther away, and the adrenaline started to drain from her bloodstream, leaving her a shaking mess. She could still hear him, but he didn't seem close. Aadya had to cling to the little control she had left, she needed to collect herself and work her way out of these tunnels. It was just like the maze exercise, yes.

What was that? She spun around, facing another tunnel. Nothing there. Had she heard something? Maybe she was imagining it.

Or not. While her back was turned, the massive dog came thundering out from another tunnel, paws slamming into her full force. A harsh, pained yelp escaped from her muzzle as she frantically struggled, trying to bite the dog's paws through the thick fur.

Somehow she managed to wriggle free and duck into the smallest tunnel entrance she saw. She only got a few strides in before she skidded to a stop.

It was a dead end.