Commander Hoffen of Foxtrot | #34 | Male | Alledged Schnauzer/Wolf cross | M: Kämpe

Hoffen laid on his cot, neck arched and head pressed to the wall. It ached, he just wanted it stop. The cull didn't dare go the medical wing, lest the extent of his mechaical failures be discovered. So, like always, he sat through it. The cold concrete and the pressure helped soothe his aching head and the buzzing of his ears that never seemed to cease.

"Tysta! No!"

That pained cry echoed in his ears, reveberating around his skull. It just got louder. He couldn't make it stop. Please, please. C'mon, work for once! Hoffen pleaded to his programming. Even the hollow apathy would be better than this. He just wanted the noise to stop.

It echoed, louder and louder as he pressed his head harder into the wall. The ringing of his ears turned into a shriek, and the pain shooting, as if bolts were being drilled into his brain.

And for the first time since he could remember, Hoffen cried out in pain.

It was a short, hoarse bark roughened by his damaged tongue. With that, he stumbled to his feet and ducked outside, his transmitter flashing as he let himself outside to the yard, where he flopped down on the cool ground, defeated.

The silence and the cool night soothed his mind, as he lay on the ground. Eventually, the sharp throbbing turned into a dull pain. Hoffen lay, feet tucked under him now, and looked up into the starless, empty sky. He had heard stories, long ago when he lived a different life, about glowing things in the sky. He and the other dogs his age would sit out and try to describe them, laughing at outlandish stories of a big white...circle in the sky. What was it supposed to be called, again? He couldn't grasp the name, though it was on the tip of his maimed tounge.

The large dog laid his head on the ground, eyes half-closed. Shadows flitted across his eyelids as he slid inbetween the realm of sleep and consciousness. Both were brutal, cold worlds, although sometimes Hoffen was baited in his sleep by dreams where things were different. Past and present mixed in his subconscious, he was back at the Kilo base, mech parts long gone. His whole, pink tounge lolled as he bowed playfully.

And then there was a roar, a sound that no living thing should be able to make. It assaulted his ears, and he had fangs at his throat. Instead of looking up to a long-dead Beta warrior, he was looking straight into the cold, blue eyes of none other than Kampe. His heart jerked, twisted in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was fear or, well, something else he felt. Whatever it was, it was foreign to him.

Time froze, and he was jerked out of the first dream and into the next.

He was standing outside the walls to the city, something like weird plants surrounding him. He had never seen so many, only the few weeds near the edge of the city that had broken through the concrete. He turned around, and there was a shadow. His heart rate quickened, and Hoffen's eyes widened. It was vaguely dog-shaped, but moved like no dog-or Cull-he had ever seen before. It was jerky, almost a dog but not quite.

Maybe it used to be a dog, now it something else entirely, a shell. Something bad. Hoffen felt it.

Terror, pure terror was all he felt, he had to get away.

And just like that he was running.

His stomach dropped so low, it felt like it was falling out of his body. Hoffen could see the shapes of other dogs, far in front of him. He couldn't catch up to them, they were running faster than he.

And the beast, the thing, was getting closer.

He couldn't outrun it, no, he knew that now. Yet he still tried.

"Coward!"

He ran until his legs collapsed out from under him. The beast grew closer, roaring unilke anything he had ever heard before. Hoffen scrambled to his feet, but one of his mechanical hind legs wasn't working. He couldn't get up, flailing wildly. With a montrous scream it was upon him.

"Coward!" It screeched again, he could barely understand its words in his terror.

The last thing he saw before he jolted awake was a pair of crimson-red eyes.

And then his horrified gaze met blue ones.

Kämpe | Female | Cheif Cull (GSD Kangal cross) | 24 | M: All

Kampe lay with her hindlegs beneath her and forelegs before her, chin resting on the roughly woven fabric of her elevated bed. She positioned herself in such a manner that she could spring up the moment Beta called. They were always there. They always called. She was needed, and relied on. It wasn't responsibility that Kämpe disliked, but the threat of failing, of losing her ability to serve properly. She felt the coming of that day in what was left of her bones. She had known it would be upon her before she could blink, from the moment she could no longer feel her limbs, but rather, phantom pains. From the moment her mind was not her own.

The Chief's sensitive ears pricked, swiveling towards a figure near the far wall. The rhythmic exhalation and inhalation of the culls on their sleep shift rose together in a chorus of metal and air, but she could detect the faintest of tremors in the lungs of one nearby. A quickening of breath. Kämpe didn't move. She only listened.

She wasn't sure if she would have been more unsettled had she been asleep, awoken by his cry, or listening, as she was now. It was a scream torn from the throat, warped with the cold touch of steel. But there was something so foreign, yet so painfully familiar about that cry that stole the Chief's attention.

The figure rose with unsteady steps, finding his way out of the sleeping quarters. Kampe swiveled her head. She could see blue eyes in the darkness, watching, awoken not from dreams, but a temporary program shutdown. For most, a cull's dream was a strange thing indeed, devoid of all emotion but fear. Fear, Kämpe knew, was the only sort of feeling left for the metal creatures. Fear, and nothing else. But Kampe knew the flicker of feeling within the fantasy of her subconcious. And it scared her, more than anything else. She could not feel. She should not.

But Kampe had never heard that sort of pain from a dream. Not the sort of pain that shook through that cull's lungs, that was ripped from his maw. And so the Chief found herself following, claws clicking on the cold concrete. It would not be her patrol shift for another two hours or so, and the night was still, for now. Beta had not called, not yet. Kampe needed time - time to process the day's event, time to let her mind wander, to explore her newfound memories, to understand the flash of emotion that Zadolt had awoken. The cull led Kämpe through a back gateway, into a large, abandoned pen, so vast that one could not catch sight of the wire fencing over the rise of a small hill.

She did not fear him, and she did not fear the night. She had grown accustomed to the lack of light. The inky blackness of night could not overcome the cold blue of her eyesight. It could not instill darkness within her. It was already there. Kampe trusted herself to fight whatever harm may befall her in this eternal night.

She was certain, now, she knew who this cull was. It had to be Hoffen - she had never seen a flicker of emotion on the face of any other cull. They did not feel pain, at least, not mentally - not emotionally. But Hoffen's cry had been born of just that - emotion. She could feel it.

The cull was silent. In this darkness, she could feel it - a sort of notion of safety that shouldn't be there. Beta was watching. Beta was the darkness that crawled about her, but the silence welcomed safety. Perhaps now, perhaps, Beta was vanished into the night it had created. She did not consider Hoffen one of them - she couldn't pinpoint it, but he was different. She found it intruging, really.

The Chief approached, optics narrowed, regarding his dark figure thoughtfully, mind considering, thinking, wondering. His own eyes, not plagued with the usual blue of a cull, sprung open. His gaze was etched with horror, whether from her own presence, or a dream, she did not know. The Chief was silent for a while. She wasn't even sure he could see who she was. Just the uniform blue of them all. Kämpe saw no benefit in indirectness. She didn't care, not now. She had spent enough of her life caring about the correct protocol, of acting according to Beta's standards. They were always watching. Despite herself, there was a flicker of pain within the Chief. Not for herself, for him. Empathy. She was sick of it. Sick of shutting it down. She let it be. Just for now, just for tonight.

"Normal Culls don't dream like you do," she murmurred, cold eyes unblinking. She was silent, then lowered herself on her haunches, eyes flicking away, cast out to the distance. "What haunts you in your dreams?"

Orden | Female | Bravo Border Collie/Majorica Shepherd | 22 | M: Rache, Frosch

On most nights, when the regiments retreated to their cells for the day, Orden would finish her dinner, then retreat to the farthest corner of her cell, in the safety of her solitary confinement. She would let her mind wander, wonder, think, and analyze. She would review the day's events. let her mind disect and prod each topic until she had flipped the day inside out, and she could rest fitfully in relative peace.

Now, that one comfort had been stolen away from her. She was caught in the Cell with a Charlie soldier - grieving in silence, a sort of emotion that spelled danger to Orden - and a sighthound that was far to alive and happy that perhaps he was only a figment of her imagination. What if everything was? Just imagination? What if everyone was no one, and she was nothing more than a mere character in someone's head?

I think, therefore I am, her mind whispered, grounding the dog immediately. If she held the power of concscious thought, then her existance was sure.

Orden was not an anti-social dog. Like any other canine, she could not do without others around her, but she did need time to process information, time to be alone. That one gift Beta had granted to her was stolen away.

There was a flick of a switch, and three slats in the walls pulled upwards to reveal metal chutes. Orden waited.

It was five seconds last time.

She counted to five.

As if on cue, dry kibble poured out, and the slats retracted, leaving only a smooth white wall. Orden waited a moment, eyes flicking to the others. She didn't want to be caught in a scuffle with a food-aggressive dog. None made a move, so Orden stepped forward, carefully beginning to fill herself on the farthest bowl to the right.

Anfall | Female | Amstaff/Plott hound/wolf | Bravo Wolfblood | 21 | M: Adiv, Sabre, Wolf, others indirectly

Anfall, by nature, was rather grumpy. She could admit that. Her irritability was justifiable, after all - she hated the removal of dogs, and how Beta thought nothing of it. She hated Beta, and she hated herself for her loyalty towards them. But she knew that, in her heart, that Beta instilled within her a sense of belonging, and no matter how her morals clashed, Anfall refused to give that up. She would cling on to that sense of security, even if she had to blind herself to Beta's faults. Unfortunately for Anfall, she could not stay blind for very long, and so she was left hating both herself and the orginization that controlled the city.

But today, she was more frustrated than usual. One dog had been removed, one taken to the lab to die after losing her mind, and two more had vanished, likely never to be seen again. The spilled blood made her stomach churn with anger, especially considering that, in the heat of battle, some of that blood had been spilled by her own fangs. That infuriated her.

After wolfing down her dinner, Anfall had taken up stalking about the cell, muttering to herself. At least there was new blood. A little rat-dog had joined them. He looked completely and utterly terrified, but who was Anfall to judge him? They all had their flaws, and if his was cowardice, so be it. But she felt that it was not lack of courage that plauged him, but a niave sort of fear. She didn't want to pity him - nobody enjoyed pity - but she did, to an extent, feel as sort of empathy towards him. He was so small. It was as though he needed protection, which was an odd concept. Any Beta dog shouldn't need protection.

With a low growl of frustration directed absolutely nowhere, the Wolfblood settled herself in the corner. She wanted to take out her frustration somewhere. On something. Maybe someone. All that was here was walls. Blank, white walls. Blinding lights that hadn't been shut off yet. Bars. It was all closing in. The cell was too small. The corner was closing in around her.

Anfall leapt forwards with a snarl, whites of her eyes flashing. She hated small spaces.

Commander Hoffen of Foxtrot | #34 | Male | Alledged Schnauzer/Wolf cross | M: Kämpe

Blue eyes. A Cull.

Hoffen had lost that same hint of blue. Beta had assumed it was because some of his mech was outdated. When he was younger, with fire and rebellion in his veins, the dog had liked to think that it was because he despised Beta with all of his being. Maybe he could will their control away.

Of course, that wasn't true.

His eyes held that gaze, and he feared it would be his last. Any Cull caught displaying emotion was to be removed. Or worse: sent off to the lab to become a mindless creature. A shell.

Maybe that was what had been in his dream. Maybe it was his fate.

Hoffen held that gaze as his mind, plagued with terror, cleared. Then he realized who he was facing.

Kämpe.

Hoffen would be removed, just like the other regiment's commander. He had been so young, younger than Hoffen or his Chief Cull. And yet, like all the others, his blood had been spilled. Most likely by the dog standing before him.

And of all things, she sat down.

She was the one to break the eye contact, and Hoff's gaze trailed off into the night. The inky blackness seemed to tug at his paws, wanting to pull him in, to consume him. It would be easier if he could just melt away, never be seen again. Yes, it would be much easier if he was never broken, devoid of feeling, of this pain. But really, which one was more painful? He'd be killed by Beta either way, at least he could have his feelings about it.

But the golden dog.

The memory of the crimson arc, falling onto him like a hot rain as the broken body crumbled before him. Hoffen had lost control to something more terrifying than his programming: himself.

A chilled breeze against his burning hot skin brought him back out of his thoughts as the female spoke. Her tone was soft, gentle even. Hoffen was left speechless for a brief moment.

Then his muzzle twisted upward in some sort of lopsided smirk. Why he dared to speak to the Chief of Culls in such a manner, he would never understand. Maybe it was the fear of being removed that loosened what was left of his tongue.

"And normal Cull's don't let useless traitors escape as you do," his ears flicked back, and he shook his head to mask the twitching. Even though his words were harsh, his tone was soft and low. The deep rumble of his voice was anything but snarky as it escaped into the cool night.

"They've never gone away-" Hoffen trailed off, eyes on his front paws as he crossed them in front of him. He took in a sharp breath before answering her question with a humorless chuckle. "Everything. What is there that I don't dream about these days?"

Hoffen told the truth. Sometimes he dreamt about the day he lost his jaw, pinned by a crazed cull, he could never forget the bloodlust in the creature's eyes as it savaged him, tearing flesh from bone. There he learned it, only a Cull could fight a Cull. Or the warehouse raid in general, sometimes even other things. Most recently, the Thing. Coward, its cries echoed back to him. He couldn't recall a time when he hadn't felt split, his intrusive thoughts and self-deprecation locked in a constant battle of wills with the rest of him. Hoffen wasn't sure if it was his programming or himself at fault, and he had never been quite sure where the machine began and he ended.

Taipan / Male / GSD x Golden Retriever / Mike - Foxtrot / I.D. 76 / M: All

Taipan waited until the Chief left before he stalked to the cell assigned to him, sitting in full view of the entrance so he could learn whose numbers were whose... Well, two of them, at least. To his hidden surprise, the canines were the females from earlier. He thought it interesting that Beta would place two dogs who seemed to dislike each other in the same cell, but then realized that this could be a test from the Chief. A test for Taipan.

To see whether or not he could keep these two from attacking each other. To see if he was worthy to become a leader. If that's the case, Taipan told himself, then I'll pass it. I shall not fail. The golden retriever mix gave a brisk nod to both females, though his face stayed emotionless and his topaz eyes stared at them, secretly analyzing the canines he had been placed with, evaluating possible weaknesses and strengths alike.

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Sabre / Female / Wolfdog (wolf-GSD-alaskin malamute) / Foxtrot / I.D: 65 / M: All

Sabre lay curled up in one of the back corners of the cell that she had been assigned to. Her sharp eyes were gazing at the small dog with curiosity. Why had the Chief placed such a small thing in here? Was he being punished? He looked scared. Raising her head, she quietly spoke. "If you want, there's plenty of room over here. I'm not going to hurt you or anything, if that's what you're worried about." Her eyes were gentle as she looked at him, her youth showing through. It did not show much; Beta's training had taken away her playful pup side, replacing it with a warrior... and yet, she couldn't completely suppress it. She gave the small dog a genuine smile before glancing at Anfall, who was stalking up and down the cell's length. To her surprise, the older wolfdog suddenly lunged at no one in particular.

Sabre leaped up, calling an apology to the small canine, and dashing over to Anfall. She stayed far enough back to be out of danger, yet close enough to talk so only the wolfdog could hear. "Anfall! What happened? Are you okay?" she asked quietly, her eyes showing concern. No, she did not let her emotions show much... but when she did, they were strong. Suddenly, Sabre had a theory as to why Beta hated dogs showing emotion, but she shoved it down for the time being. She needed to make sure Anfall was okay.

Adiv

Male | West Highland Terrier | Hotel/Bravo | 86 | Mentions:

The little dog had felt his heart nearly stop when this Cull assigned him with the Wolf-Dogs. He gulped nervously as he obeyed and followed the Wolf-Dogs. He looked at the gloomy section where they were. Where was the toys? The sunshine? The view? He then looked to find bowls of food, and happily went to see what was in it, but contorted his head in confusion as he looked at the dry kibble. What was this? He took a bit of it and swallowed it feeling nauseous he groaned. It tasked like sawdust. He wasn't use to kibble and never had laid his maw on it. His Beta always gave them only the choicest selections of meat and the most luxurious bed you could find and the best toys.

He had set himself up in a corner, and he looked as the other dogs interacted observing them, but the male was shocked when one dog a pretty fluffy dog talked to him. She was kind ! Maybe their was hope in making friends. He gave a friendly tail wag before licking her nose, but she was distracted by the dog who was seeming to snap. He then realized it, she's claustrophobic and he looked curiously as the other one called the dogs name. He got over and gently walked to this dog.

He put on his best brave face, and he looked innocently at the female dog, "U-Uh, ma'am are you claustrophobic? I used to be scared of tiny places until I realized how fun it is to sneak through them. But what helped me was breathing and thinking of something good and fun. For me it was my shiny things I liked to find. What's your happy place? Think of it if you can! If not dream !"

He was kind and gentle in his words to the older dog, and he hoped she didn't hurt him for trying to help. He branched himself for the worst

Kämpe | Female | Chief Cull (GSD Kangal cross) | 24 | M: Hoffen

He was talking back.

That's how a conversation works, her mind muttered dryly. She hadn't really had a conversation since her limbs were replaced with metal. The others spoke in a vernacular dialect, in only commands and orders. Why not him? What was so different about him? She knew, or, rather, assumed that his mech was faulty. It was the only logical conclusion. Beta's work with cull wiring was nothing short of perfection, she had been told. But she knew firsthand the lies that they knew not were on their tongue. Despite all, memory can overcome programming with emotion. Age can rust copper and gold wires. Kampe was young, yet she knew her wiring had failed. Once, twice. Not often, but enough. Enough to scare her.

But he responded in a manner that did not befit his rank - a challenge, almost, but with no mal intent. Traitor. Twenty-Eight was a traitor. He deserved punishment for his treason to Beta, and she took satisfaction in the clarity of that. But what Kampe found of interest was that he dared not regard her as normal either. What was normal? Was she normal? It was the fault of her programming that Zadolt was let free. She was nothing more than her programming, and though malfunctions were uncommon, it seemed as though a mech error was to blame for Zadolt's release - not her. The cull flicked her eyes back to Hoffen. She had always carefully considered her words. Both language and lack thereof were weapons. Words could pierce the armor of a soldier, with an aim true to the heart if wielded correctly. Then words could heal that very wound the next moment. Kampe was a clever creature, with a particular aptitude for manipulation. It wasn't emotional intelligence that lended her to such a skill - even the very concept of feeling was unfathomable to her - but, rather, just the simple cunning understanding of a word's weight. It was only right to carefully consider her words before speaking.

But in the darkness, where the silence reigned over the kingdom of night, she felt no obligation to consider what she was saying with such caution. It was the simple absence of Beta in the moment that freed her from this thoughtfulness. Night seemed to have that effect.

"He is a traitor, yes." Her eyes were cold. "And he is also my brother."

She spoke truth, and in that, there was no room for emotion left.

Hoffen continued, speaking of his dreams. Though his explanation was vague, there was a sort of depth to his words. Everything. Past, too? What might he remember? Did he remember his past? If so, her assumption would be confirmed - there was something about him, his programming, that was broken. Dreams were an interesting thing. They brought forth the thoughts you dared not consider in daylight. Kampe did not wish to sleep this night. She knew Zadolt would be there, and the memories. Through the memories, emotion was brought. And through this, came the realization that Kampe did indeed have the capacity for emotion. And feeling soon followed.

Almost to herself, Kampe spoke. "I have always dreamed of monsters. It didn't take me long to understand it was I that was the demon that terrorized my subconscious - that it was myself I feared." In a contemplative manner, she stretched out her metal limb, regarding it coldly. She could drown in the blood she had spilled. "I am a monster. And what I fear, more than anything, is that I accept it."

A cull, supposedly, could not feel anything. But Kampe knew that there was fear within them all. Nothing else, but a slight thread of fear that Beta used to control the monsters they created. It was then that it occured to Kampe that Beta was afraid. Afraid of the dogs, of the people, of the culls. Fear was the only way. She knew this, and it made sense.

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

"Huh,"

Hoffen trailed off, something like the most suppressed of amazement crossing his face and tugging at the corner of his lip as he looked up at the dark sky. Culls had no families, no weaknesses. This he knew, because this was the lie his own mind had told him daily, for many years. That signature blue in his wide eyes faded away not a few weeks after he woke up in the lab, unable to move. Beta had claimed it was because he was young, almost too much so to be made into a Cull.

It would come back, they said. Funny how it never did.

"So, you aren't."

Again, his tone carried that soft even-ness. At this point, he felt like he was floating above it all. There was something dream-like about the night, and the way both canines spoke their minds, perhaps for the first time, without fear.

Had Hoffen been right?

All the dog had run on was a gut feeling and some fleeting look in the Chief's eyes. Maybe he was insane. Yes, that was it, most definitely insane.

It wasn't like he had anything to lose.

His gaze trailed, ever so slowly, to the stern, sharp features of his fellow Cull. He pondered for a moment, then spoke once again. His voice was almost inaudible, but not quite.

"So," Hoffen spoke slowly, as if untangling the jumbled words in his head. "I think it would be safe for me to say that I think--I think he's going to be alright. He's smarter than one would assume."

He broke the indirect eye contact as easily as he had made it. There was something so disarming about the night, so peaceful. It was a miracle of sorts, Hoffen's nights of late had been filled with nothingness and hollow pain.

And he had always claimed to not believe in miracles. It was almost comical how fate had a nasty habit of turning Hoffen's world upside-down.

And she replied, lacking...something in her tone that the Cull had never heard her speak without. Guarded cunning. Maybe, just maybe, she spoke the truth.

There was a twinge in his chest. He ignored it.

She spoke of monsters, of the monster being herself. Was she a monster? Were they monsters? Or were they nothing more than pitiful creatures bowing under the weight of mankind's sin?

"Then," he paused, looking her straight on for the first time. "then why don't you do something to change that?"

It was a question he had asked himself numerous times. He was too weak, but maybe--just maybe, he wasn't alone this time.

As if Hoffen had been forcibly awakened from a peaceful dream, a hoarse voice shattered whatever feeling had taken ahold of him and jolted him into action. He was, after all, still a thing of Beta. A plaything, almost. They could do what they wished with him and toss him away as if he had been nothing.

But he had no time for such thoughts now. His programming sputtered to life and he was in action mode.

On his feet in an instant, he called out into the darkness. "Who goes there?" I know that voice, but from where?