Kämpe's cool eyes flicked about her surroundings, taking in all in, analyzing and picking apart the details. It was routine for the cull; call her paranoid, but it had been drilled into her mind long ago she needed to see every single movement that was made, every dog's expression, every soldier's posture. She felt that, if she missed only one thing, she would be left with a missing piece of a puzzle of understanding. She could not afford anything slipping under unwatchful eyes, lest she wished to face the consequenses of her foolishness - and there always had been a looming punishment for the cull; always a consequense that followed her like a shadow. Yes, hyper-vigilant she may be, but for good reason. Privacy and secrecy was not a luxery any of these dogs, the Chief included, knew or could afford.

Kämpe logged the information into her mind as her gaze casually flicked across the pen; she saw and stored her observations with practiced swiftness, almost as if the analytical way of her mind was a natural thing. Over the course of the two or so weeks she had worked in close proximity with Beta and Foxtrot, she had been able to meet and understand the problematic soldiers.

Twenty-two was the brooding collie mix; chronically irriated and judemental, but harmless; the dog was clever, and not to be overlooked, but she also wasn't a primary concern. She had been obediant and responsive for the entirety of her lifetime. Twenty-two, was a dog to be watched - a somewhat rebellious wolfblood, but a manageable dog. This soldier was testy, but loyal to her purpose, and had excelled with a human handler in previous years. Ninety-two, a dog resolutely devoted to following rules. A transfer, and therefore a well-trained dog. Sixty-one, the Charlie dog; she needed to be carefully observed for her reaction to grief, or so Kämpe assumed. The Chief was only just beginning to understand the concept of pain and empathy, but she knew enough to undestand that greiving dogs were either broken, excellent soldiers, or dangerous, reckless creatures. Kämpe always had an eye on that one. And then there was Eighty-Eight. Logically, Kämpe knew he had been selected for a reason, and he had a job to do; but, really, the dog was irritating. He was, at present, chatting with Commander Thirty-Four.

That dog would get himself killed. If so, so be it.

Thirty-Four soon left the tall dog to his own devices, likely with reprimanding words. Eight-eight had better learn soon; Hoffen was far more tolerant that the rest (perhaps not the most desirable trait in the eyes of Beta - really, had Kämpe been the first to recognize that he was different? His soldiers followed him out of respect rather than fear, and that was the first red flag among others). Was it better to lead without instilling fear? No, it couldn't be - Foxtrot was defective, after all.

As the commander approached, the Chief drew herself upward, prepared for a challenge or confrontation. Instead, his words were harmless, a question not neccessairily required for logical purposes. Considering that his inqiury was innocuous, Kämpe decided to let it slide that he had spoken without first being adressed and granted permission to speak.

"Yes. Formerly of the BSDP," was her answer, straightforward as always.

It seemed that the small dog took that as an invitation to speak.

Padda | Male | Swedish Vallhund | Foxtrot | 90 | M: Everyone, though not by name

Really, this was insulting.

First, he was dragged out of his cell (seriously, nobody could have told him that the transfer process was set before dawn? He had no preparation time!). Then, he had to follow the cull while nearly tripping over his paws in his exhaustion. And now he faced a completely new regiment.

He ought to make a good impression while he could. Puffing out his chest and lifting his chin, Padda regarded the much larger dogs haughtily. What would make them like him? He probably ought to go formal, especially with the cull breathing down his neck. Who was she? He hoped she wasn't an important cull. Actually, no - if she was, he could surely just charm her into liking him. He was excellent and persuading dogs - or culls - to like him. And, really, the ladies loved him. Sure, he may have been caught across the muzzle by an accidental slip up of a bite a few times, but he knew how to give dogs space.

He turned to the cull beside him.

"Thanks for the introduction," he said, large ears swiveling towards the metal-dog.

He could see her stiffen beside him, and release a quiet, metallic growl. Oops. Well, whatever - he would figure out how to get on her good side later.

The vallhund then addressed the rest of them.

"Hate to interrupt your morning routine or whatnot, but I'd like to say hello. The name's Ninety. Glad to meet you all," he said with an easy smile.

Again, that growl from the cull beside him. Except this time, she spoke.

"Learn your place, soldier, before I must teach you."

Jeez.

Obediantly, although somewhat reluctantly, Padda shut his mouth. The Cull continued on.

"I am not waiting for any other dogs. Commander Thirty-Four, please assemble both regiments. Comander Twenty-Five will arrive shortly," she said, turning away, expression cold.

What goes in in that head? Is she even a dog anymore?

Padda huffed, giving up. He'd figure out this mess later. Still on a quest for a good first impression, (although he may have already butchered it), Padda stepped into line next to that large grayish spotted dog.

"Hey. Name's Ninety, if you didn't catch it. So, what goes on around here?" He asked casually.

Afton was almost caught off gaurd when he slammed into the smaller dog - he had half expected to miss her. The Kilo dog struggled to grab the corgi's small and agile body. She somehow managed to bury her little fangs into his paw before taking off again, vanishing into a small tunnel, a tunnel in which Afton could not possible fit.

He shoved his head, and some of his shoulders, into the tunnel, snapping his jaws, only to realize that she was not running.

Dead end.

Trying to intake all the oxygen he had forgotten to inhale, Afton stood there for a minute, catching his breath. He had done his job. He had caught her. More or less, anyway - trapped may not be the same as caught, but she could not escape and harm Kilo further, and that's what mattered.

"Give up," Afton growled, deep voice echoing throughout the tunnel system. "If you stay, I will wait here until you starve. If you try to run, you will not make it out." Afton did not issue threats lightly; he was a dog of his word, and took great pride in his promises.

His voice grew softer, though still firm. Now, though , there was a flicker of pain in his golden eyes. "You have hurt our dogs. You have fought with the orginization that has killed two of us in nearly the same day. Your dogs have broken hearts, ripped away life. You are not going to be free now, not after what you've done."

Afton was known for being a kind, gentle soul - but he had always hated his enemies. They were cruel monsters, and did not deserve a second chance. He did not think he could ever forgive, or ever trust her. How could a good dog stand with bad people? It didn't matter the intentions or means, only that she choose to be a part of Beta, and therefore was a heartless creature, just like the rest of them.

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

Taipan had eaten quickly, marched out of his cell like he'd been taught. He sat at attention, looking around at the myriad of dogs that were coming out of their own cells. One of the dogs came padding in with perfect posture... but from where he was sitting, he could tell there was something wrong with her. Her eyes didn't look right. He mentally added a note to keep an eye on her... Then, a tall dog zipped out, straight for Commander 34. Taipan watched, interested as to what the Cull's reaction would be.

The Commander stood, spun, and bared his teeth right as the tall dog skidded to a stop, almost nose-to-nose with him. Then, oddly enough, 34 seemed to calm down. Taipan narrowed his eyes slightly. There it was again. There was something different about this Cull. Something he had never seen before in another. He watched until the he heard pawsteps and swiveled his head to see who it was. The Chief Cull. A small dog with a wolfish pelt trotted along behind her. It looked like he was half-asleep. But then, something changed.

The Chief introduced him as number 90, and the small dog seemed to wake up. Taipan watched in disbelief as both Commander 34 and then the small dog spoke out of turn to the Chief. Did these two have a death wish? And then she let them go, too. What was going on here? Did the Culls not have any control over these dogs anymore? It seemed as if few of the soldiers had the respect that was expected of them.

Foxtrot was unruly. And the Chief simply gave a growl in warning. Just a growl. Taipan's ears flicked. He wasn't a cull, and he couldn't tell them how to do their jobs... but, in his opinion, this was how Foxtrot became so defective in the first place. Lack of discipline, or so it seemed. This was what he'd been transferred for, though. To bring order back into what had become chaos. He took a deep breath, then waited for orders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sabre / Female / Wolfdog (wolf-GSD-alaskin malamute) / Foxtrot / I.D: 65 / M: Kampe, Frosch, Hoffen, Padda, Taipan

Sabre watched as a huge grey blur sped past the transfer that had bit her ear off, and aimed itself straight towards Hoffen. Her only reaction was her eyes widening. Hoffen spun and bared his teeth. The large dog stopped, a whisker breadth from colliding with the commander. Then, the dog started talking. He spoke almost as fast as his legs moved, or so it seemed. She couldn't even catch one word, and then he was suddenly done talking, waiting for a response from Hoffen. She shook her head, looking up as the Chief Cull padded in, a small wolf-coloured bundle of fluff behind her. She introduced him as 90, a transfer for Foxtrot.

Hoffen walked over and started talking to the Chief.... and then 90 started talking, too. Her ears went back against her head, expecting both dogs to be attacked, but Kampe merely growled. Odd. Sabre was thankful that neither dog would be getting hurt at the moment, but it was weird for the Chief to let that slide so easily. Then, the little wolflike dog padded over to the Charlie transfer. The female's eyes were dark, brooding. That was a dog that you'd want to avoid, and yet this dog not only came close to her, but started talking to her.

Did 90 not care about his life? Sabre shook her head again in disbelief. No wonder there had been transfers from Mike. Beta would think that the Culls didn't have everything under control as they should. Though, to be honest, Sabre kind of liked the change she saw in the Chief. Almost as if she had become less machine. Maybe there was hope for the Culls after all.

Thulo | Male | Caucasian Shepherd mix, Halfblood| Quebec/Foxtrot | 96 | Mentions: Pfeil and a lot of other dogs


Thulo wasn't happy.

Not only had he been rudely disturbed in the middle of his meal, but he was being transferred.
Transfered!

He'd been enjoying the kibble Beta fed him every morning, excited for the next battle training, wondering if it would be single combat, team fighting, or maybe even battle training with obstacles, his favorite... though since his rib enhancements he wasn't as flexible as he'd want to be and the more difficult obstacles proved to be, well, more difficult.

When he was halfway done with his food the cell doors had opened and he heard the metallic footsteps of a cull enter.
"Ninety-Six, you have been requested to transfer to regiment Foxtrot immediately" and what about Thulo's food? A dog his age needed to eat to stay fit, he wouldn't expect a cull to know that, but Beta would, should know.
He looked up from his food, but with no intention of leaving.

The cull looked like it had once been a Doberman and still had a good portion of its body, at least compared to other culls.
It's was a rusty red color with tan patches and strangely had kept its eyes, which were brown and not the usual blue of a cull.
Its legs, tail, stomach, throat, and jaw were all mechanical, and its right ear looked to have been torn off recently. Thulo's own ears were nearly impossible to see through all his fur, and had never been bitten or scratched, which was lucky, considering he was in a fighting regiment.

After taking a closer look at the cull, Thulo realized it must have only been a week or two old, considering the perfect quality of the metal limbs.
"May I finish my meal?" He asked respectfully, though he didn't feel any respect. This was such a young cull, he could probably lead better; if Beta would let him.
"No. I will not repeat myself. We leave now" the snap in the culls voice got Thulo to take a begrudging look forward, after giving his food a longing look.

The cull took that as a que to leave and started walking away at a brisk speeds. Each step was set with the prescision of a programmed mind. What Thulo wouldn't give to be a cull and help Beta, he could offer so much with his age and expierience; but maybe they were deciding to keep him a dog for a reason.

"Am I being transfered to... Thee Foxtrot regiment? The one partnered with Bravo? With the defects?" He asked after the cull led him along the halls in silence for too long.
"You will address me as commander, Ninety-Six. I will not tolerate dogs ignoring my title" the cull didn't break stride.
"Commander, why am I transferring to... such a..." he couldn't find the word, "unruly regiment?"
"That is not for me to answer. Beta decides what Beta decides and we do not question."
Thulo didn't like how curt this cull spoke, but stayed silent for the rest of the way.

When the doors finally opened to reveal a large pen with several dogs and halfbloods all lining or lined up, Thulo knew why Beta had decided to send him here.
Out of all the dogs there, only three or four actually had proper posture. One that caught his attention was the giant white and fawn greyhound, it had just skidded to a halt next to a cold looking grey spotted female and... was that even a dog?
It was the smallest creature he'd ever seen, and that body! What kind of dog had such a long spine and short legs?
Shaking his head he looked back at the greyhound, trying to figure out how that giant still existed as well. His tail was wagging! That had been trained out of Thulo when he was a pup.

His attention was brought to the culls when the cull that had escorted him stepped towards a predominantly black cull with brown undertones and grey plating on its sides... he felt like he'd seen this cull before... could it be the chief?
"Chief Commander, I apologize for being late. Ninety-Six hadn't followed orderes as I was told he was" it was the chief! What was she doing here, with these regiments?
What was Thulo even doing here? If the chief was here then Beta wouldn't have chosen him to show these dogs how to act?

"Commander Thirty-Four, thank you for taking care of my regiment during my absence, but I will take charge now. Ninety-Six is transferring to Foxtrot and will now be under your charge" the red Doberman cull now spoke to a tall, though not nearly has furry, cull with a wiry black coat, before walking away from Thulo.

Thulo stayed where he was, waiting for this 'Commander Thirty-Four' to tell him what to do.

Zadolt | Male | Australian/Beauceron mix | Foxtrot | 28 | Mentions: Hero, Kordelas, Kampe, Spring

Dogs- hundreds of them, snarling, clawing, biting him, forcing him to the ground with their weight-

Pain, across his shoulders, blood getting in his eyes-

He cried for them to stop, he pleaded with them, but they would not listen and four-hundred-forty was at the front, his spine showing through the long scratch on his back-

He deserved this, they whispered, they shouted, they screamed. He deserved this, it was his fault, he was a murderer, four-hundred-forty didn’t deserve to die, he shouldn’t have died-

He remembered, he knew all of this, he didn’t need them to tell him. He remembered the blazing anger, the ignorance of anything but the other dog, the drive to kill, to tear, to make him pay for his arrogant comments. He remembered the absolute abandon with which he fought, tore into the male's spine-

No, wait, it was Kampe now at the front, telling him if he hadn’t paused, hadn’t been frozen that Tysta would be alive, telling him that if he wasn’t such a coward Hero would still be there, and the sight of her made him scream, scream with guilt and horror. Her plating was hanging off, he did that to his own sister, he deserved to die, and he watched as invisible claws tore into her plating even more, revealing torn flesh and wires-

And suddenly he was back standing next to four-hundred-forty a year after the male was transferred into Charlie, the dog making snide comments about the male who was losing, and he still felt that same annoyance, that same wish to shut him up-

The cull, pulling him away, telling him that it was enough, that four-hundred-forty was dead-

Kordelas, telling him to think, standing over him-

He let out a near soundless gasp, awakening abruptly. He kept his eyes closed, however; this did not smell like his cell back at Beta, and he was automatically tense. This place smelled of dirt and mud and, sickeningly enough, blood. And then, slowly, ever so slowly, he heard the voices. At first, it was faint, merely a whisper, but they became clearer until he could make out some of the words.

“Hero….” “Not.. back..” “Never..” “I’m so sorry..” It was like trying to listen to someone a mile away, or perhaps someone underwater; the words were distorted, making it hard to tell who was talking.

“..needs help…” “..Commander..” “..the better,”

Yet he felt he should know these dogs; their voices sounded familiar. He struggled to place where he heard them before. And, after a few moments, he remembered. He blinked his eyes open, giving them no time to adjust.

Hero was gone. His sister murdered him.

“Kordelas, where are we?” He asked, his voice weary. He staggered to his paws, crouching a bit. The Kilo tunnels were definitely meant for smaller dogs. Focusing on Kordelas, he noticed another, smaller dog.

Commander Hoffen of Foxtrot | #34 | Male | Alleged Schnauzer/Wolf cross | M: Kämpe, Padda, Pfiel, and Thulo

"Of course, commander. Is this dog a replacement to the one that went...missing?" Hoffen asked, voice even and low. The small dog, the one that had supposedly shadowed Kampe, had never returned from her assignment that fateful day that Tysta had died. Hoffen had had a fleeting thought that maybe she was small enough to escape the city, start new. But deep down he knew she was probably dead given her loyalty to Beta.

Hoffen gave the little dog a sharp nod, only making eye contact for a brief moment. He didn't seem half as disciplined as the other long-dog. Odd. Did they know eachother? Were they related? Maybe he would ask this new recruit about this later. For now, he had to assemble his dogs.

With a low growl, he called for the dogs to line up for role call. Hopefully everyone was in line, Hoffen really didn't have the patience to deal with defectors today.

Right before the Cull issued a threat to silence the dogs still talking amongst themselves, a massive, fluffy dog padding into the yard alongside the new cull caught his gaze. Pain jolted through his skull as his eyes landed on what used to be the red doberman. Hoffen still held a grudge against this dog for what had happened to Maze, despite the fact that he was no longer...that dog anymore.

Well, culls were easier to despise anyway.

"Of course, Commander." He spoke dryly, letting his programming take hold for the brief moment he had to make eye contact with the dog. His ear twitched as his gaze fell on the massive, bulky dog. While they were around the same height, this dog was much more bulky than Hoffen, and lacked the long legs and lean muscle of the Cull. He must have been from one of the true fighting regiments. While Foxtrot and Brave were the top all-round regiments, back in their day. The most versatile. The largest warriors often were trained differently and relied on their brute strength in combat in the strictly fighting regiments.

It looked like Beta was once again trying to diversify the ranks of his regiment. A tiny dog and a massive dog, it was almost amusing.

The training the massive fighting dogs went through was brutal, and injuring each other wasn't uncommon. It was no surprise those were the dogs that guarded the city's gates and Beta headquarters. He knew from the files in his programming that they were led by a mindless cull, perhaps the largest Beta had at their disposal. Hoffen couldn't have this dog hurting his regiment during training. Or maybe that's just what he told himself. Something about this dog's build resembled the...thing from the reoccuring dream he had the misfortune of having the night before.

His beard twitched as he curled his muzzle, looking this new dog up and down. He then turned to Kampe, expression unreadble. "Commander, request for a sparring assessment of Ninety-Six? He's from a guard regiment, no? I believe Sixty-One would be sufficient in keeping Foxtrot in order until we're...finished."

Kämpe regarded Thirty-Four carefully. He should not ask questions - he should know better.

Then do something about it, Twenty-Four. Reprimand him. Warn him. Report him to Beta. He's a traitor.

She didn't. She wouldn't, even with the sting of her programming objecting.

"I do not believe Sixty-Two is dead." She paused. "But yes, Ninety is here in her stead."

She turned away. Kämpe felt that if she was in his presence much longer, she would continue to fail Beta, like she had before. She could not let herself fall so low.

Seventy-Six and Sixty-Five were the next to exit the tunnels. She regarded the pair coldly. Sixty-Five was one of the dogs who, in the chaos of the fight a few weeks ago, rebelled. She was a wolfblood, and dangerous, but obediant enough to stay, for now. The wolfblood experimentation was not completed, but she would return to Beta later with a full report on the failure of the wolfblood integration into the working regiments, and Sixty-Five would be sent back to the wolfblood program, seperated from the dogs. Either way, the Chief did not consider her a threat; she could be neutralized easily enough.

Seventy-Six was different. The Chief had immediately requested a Mike transfer once she had seen the broken state of Bravo and Foxtrot, and Seventy-Six was offered. None of the other regiments, which the Chief had spent time overseeing, were in such a state as Foxtrot and Bravo, and a Mike dog was much needed. However, this dog wasn't even a fighting breed; Kämpe doubted he could hold his own in a fight against, say Anfall or Rache, dogs bred and raised for combat. He would be challenged, and the Chief wasn't confident in his ability to back his word or earn respect. Kämpe didn't need to draw blood when there was disrespect; she could snarl and issue a warning once, and it would never happen again - she had earned that. He was yet to prove himself, and the cull decided she ought to give him a chance to do so - at the next oppertunity, she would put him in a command position, perhaps even for this training excersize.

The next dog to approach was a transfer and Commander Twenty-Five. Good. It seemed the young cull carried enough authority to have the large fighting dog follow him. At least something had gone right. The dog in tow was massive; Kämpe, with a high percentage of Kangal blood, was not small; standing at twenty eight or so inches, she stood over most all dogs. This dog had to a good three or so inches taller in the very least, negating the sheer length of his fur. It was clear to Kämpe that this dog was of Quebec; no other regiment harbored dogs of such a great size. He was bred to fight, and likely hadn't lost many sparring matches; only the largest dogs and best fighters were admitted into Quebec. Kämpe narrowed her eyes. Some time ago, she had suggested that Beta diversify the ranks of Quebec so that the large dogs might have some experience fighting smaller, quicker dogs. They had not, and hence, Quebec was not used to quicker dogs. If it came to combat, she would simply have to be smarter and swifter than him in a fight; he would not expect it.

The Cull spoke, introducing Ninety-Six, before reclaiming his command back from Thirty-Four. With the dogs lined up, Thirty-Four once again adressed the Chief.

Sparring assesment.

The Commander had never requested such a thing, in Kämpe's knowledge. Culls did not often fight dogs in training, for fear that the dogs would be badly harmed and the precious culls may earn a scratch. It occured to the Chief that even if the Commander had wanted to spar with the dogs, there was no full blooded canine that got match up with him, until the presence of Ninety-Six. The Chief did want to see how the Quebec dog fought, and what role he might adopt in Foxtrot; she would also be able to judge what his combat weaknesses were, if ever she needed to neutralize him.

"Request granted." She responded cooly. This was the chance, then, for Seventy-Six to prove himself and take control of the regiment temporairily. Kämpe wanted Sixty-One to follow, not lead, so the cull might be able to judge how she was responding to her grief.

(Kinda a time skip/a speed time):

Kämpe, without another word, lead the dogs into the training center. The dogs assembled in the center of a massive agility course. She adressed the line of dogs with relative disinterest.

"Today's morning excersize is an agility course. Foxtrot and Bravo will be seperated into teams. There will be one round, seeing as the course will take minutes to complete due to length. The competition is relays: the course is long, and the team members will be completing different sections. Teams can decide amognst themselves who completes which section of the course. After Bravo, who will be first, completes the course, Foxtrot will begin. As Commander Thirty-Four will be occupied with Ninety-Six, Seventy-Six will be leading Foxtrot in his place. Failure will not be tolerated. You have a few minutes to plan. The clock starts when you start."

With the loss of Sixty-Three, the numbers were not even between the regiments.

"Ninety-Two, for the time being, you will join Bravo."

Whithout another word, or any further explanation, the Chief turned away, ready to observe. She wanted to see how Seventy-Six lead, and how the new cull, Twenty-Five, managed his regiment.