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Re: Miscommunication

Postby RaddaRaem » Sat Feb 25, 2012 6:32 pm

Was Isis the new character you were planning on having introduced in Part 27 then? Or was it someone else? Aside from that, holy crap, the Vulpine Elite have seemingly been swarming about above and below the border as of late. Never even occurred to me to think of Jazz or even Ghost as old timers. Veterans perhaps, but I guess I failed to immediately associate a veteran status with older age.

Edit: Crap I always ask you a lot of questions. Hmm... compliments, compliments umm... Hell. You've succeeded in imprisoning my attention every time you post a chapter and your commitment to the thing is praiseworthy. Keep at it please. It's been a good read thus far.
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Re: Miscommunication

Postby foxelite » Sat Mar 03, 2012 10:50 pm

RaddaRaem wrote:Was Isis the new character you were planning on having introduced in Part 27 then? Or was it someone else? Aside from that, holy crap, the Vulpine Elite have seemingly been swarming about above and below the border as of late. Never even occurred to me to think of Jazz or even Ghost as old timers. Veterans perhaps, but I guess I failed to immediately associate a veteran status with older age.

Edit: Crap I always ask you a lot of questions. Hmm... compliments, compliments umm... Hell. You've succeeded in imprisoning my attention every time you post a chapter and your commitment to the thing is praiseworthy. Keep at it please. It's been a good read thus far.

Yes Isis is the character I was talking about. Her introduction would have probably made her even more unlikeable. But yes, Jazz and Ghost are both 'older', but not necessarily old and decrepit like Isis claims them to be. She's just a youngin' who thinks she knows it all. Yep, cliche, but it works.

Now, this one is all chalk full of dialogue too, but it also has more eventful dialogue, as well as leads up to the inevitable climax for this particular segment.

Miscommunication Pt.30

When holding a rank as high as General, one expected a certain degree of respect. For General Tajo, that respect was almost always given. Whether he be saluted by his men, given full attention to by his equals, or just given the common courtesy of a knock on the door, the General had grown used to his position. That was however, until he had made this pact with a race of aliens. Sure, as a whole the foxes he’d been coaxed into dealing with showed him the utmost respect and tolerance, but it soon became apparent that the foreign organization was not without its exceptions.

“Tajo!” a female voice was accented by the crash of the wooden door, leading into the General’s office, being thrust open. A pair of black-furred, dirty foot-paws thundered in, carrying with it the five-foot frame of Isis. Considering the General had all but lulled out in paperwork and watching television, it was no surprise that he snapped to attention, and all but jumped out of his seat.

“What is the meaning of this?” The man yelled in perfect English, his eyes still hidden behind a pair of Aviator-shades. Isis, the multi-tailed Arctic vixen, stood just inside of the door’s threshold, staring to the General across the room as she nearly screamed a reply, “Put your men on high alert! We’re expecting company sometime in the next twelve hours!”. Tajo glared back at the intruding vixen from behind his reflective accessory, only needing to inquire of one particular topic, “Could you be so kind as to show me enough respect to knock on the door before barging into my office?”

“I’m not taking orders from some two-bit monkey.” the vixen shot back, “I’m just here to hold the dog… and more recently tell you that this place needs to be on lock-down.”. Her complete lack of care for his position showed in Tajo’s tensed body and clenched fists, but he was well aware that he had no method of punishing the female piss-ant. With that in mind, he shoved thoughts of blowing her head off down into the depths of his heart, and instead inquired as to just what the vixen was talking about, “Why would I be placing this entire facility on lock-down, exactly? What ‘company’ do we expect to see.”

Isis snorted in rapidly growing frustration; only a few sentences in and she was already sick of having to actually converse with the General. “The Hunter!” she blurted out with her fingers curling and an eye twitching, “The big ass pile of bones that was asking for the dog before!”. “Ah” Tajo responded as his own demeanor began to contrast the fox’s; his shoulders relaxed and his hatred showed much less. “The one who refused to release her name? No doubt she could pose a threat, but she did not seem all that interested in conflict the last time we met.”. Isis bit her tongue in growing anticipation, though she held back the urge to do anything that may be regarded as ‘stupid’. “Yea” She stated with urgency growing into her tone, “That’s the one. Now just think about it. That old hag tried diplomacy, and that didn’t work-“ Tajo cut her off in the realization, “Therefore she will be back with violence on the mind.”

“Exactly” Isis confirmed aloud, though a smug grin crossed her muzzle as she went on, “And we know how effective your primitive little weapons are against her… so how about you just roll out the big guns in case I actually need back-up?”. To that sudden ‘command’ Tajo tilted his head down enough to stare over the brim of his shades at the uppity vixen. It wasn’t what she said, but how she had gone about saying it.

“In… case you need help?” the General inquired in a partially confused tone. “Yea” Isis immediately retorted while quickly nodding her head up, “Just in case crazy-old-bitch is some ‘kinda super freak that I don’t feel like dealing with.”. Tajo maintained his inquisitive posture, adding a quirked eyebrow to boot. Isis shot a quirked eyebrow right back to the human, then raised her shoulders and cocked her head as she ‘questioned’ with a clear-and-present attitude, “Did I stutter?”. Tajo broke his posture in favor of standing back at a mixture of relaxation and attention.

“No” the General stated plainly, “But I cannot help but enjoy the idea of giving you a bit of brain damage.”. The vixen rolled her eyes and curled each of her tails up to her back before flicking them back down in a violent gust of wind behind her. Well, it was a gust, though it was nothing to gawk about aside from the fact that it did make a noticeable ‘whoosh’ sound. The action did however catch Tajo’s attention. “Well what was that?” He asked with an amused smirk. Isis snorted to the question, entirely ignoring it as she simply commanded once more, “Just send the message, dammit!”.

Once more the vixen rose her tails before flicking them back down rapidly, though with that she stormed back out of the door she’d thrown open. “Could you at least close the door?” Tajo attempted to ask, though found himself completely disregarded by the white-furred vulpine. Once he was certain she was out of ear-shot, the General sighed and shook his head. He glanced over to a back corner of his office, eyes settling on the Latino woman tied to a wooden chair.

Reverting to his native language of Spanish, the General joked with the woman. “I do not know which is worse!” he all but shouted with a his hands tossed to the sky, a smile upon his visage and accenting the chuckle that went along with his musings, “On one hand I have prisoners like you trying to escape, and on the other I have children telling me what to do!”. The bound woman merely snorted and gave the man a piercing glare from her chair. “Oh don’t be like that, senorita” the General humorously stated, “It could be much worse! I could have let them kill you!”. Carmen was not amused… to say the least.

General Tajo stepped over to the woman, receiving nothing but that sinister glare in return. “Well then,” the General began as the smile upon his face gradually disappeared, and a much more professional tone overtook his voice, “I believe you have the wrong idea about me.”. To this, Carmen did actually reply, “I do not think so. You are an asshole who keeps innocent people locked away to preserve your secrets.”. Tajo paused to reflect on that momentarily, and he had to nod in agreement considering recent events.
“This is partly true, senorita.” The General concurred, “But if you believe I plan on keeping you here permanently, then you do have the wrong idea.”. A sudden mutual pause overtook both individuals. Carmen let her glare soften as she became more curious as to what the man had to say, and Tajo’s expression… well it didn’t change much at all. His shades saw to it that the woman had no inclination of where he was actually looking. For all she knew, he may have been checking over her body, or he may have truly been making eye-contact. Even so, she only allowed herself to relax but did not let her guard down.

“What do you plan to do with me then?” Carmen asked after several seconds of assumed eye-contact. Tajo cracked an amused grin before locking his hands behind his back and giving the woman the straight answer, “Why letting you go of course! That is, after our little secret is out.”. Once again, Carmen found her curiosity peaked, though it did not stop her eyes from narrowing in clear distrust of the man. “What do you mean by that?” she asked with an oddly large amount of ‘you better not be lying’ in her tone. Tajo, smirked as he knew for a fact that he had the female’s attention, though he knew he had better respond to keep it; “What do I mean” he asked rhetorically before going on, “What I refer to is the invasion of the leading super power of our world… the United States.”
Carmen’s eyebrow quirked in a completely dumbfounded manner; she had not the first clue what the General referred to. Seeing this, Tajo expounded upon his prior statement, “While I am not all for revealing military plans to civilians, this will not be much of a secret for long.” He broke eye-contact in favor of slowly pacing back and forth as he explained, “You see, these ‘foxes’ we have partnered with, they want nothing more than a share of resources and land. In short, they offered us weaponry thousands of years more advanced than we have ever seen. In return, they merely asked that we allow them to establish a foothold in our territory as well as reside in any territories we assimilate.”

Carmen pondered over what she was just told. Sure, it was the short version, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pose a quick inquiry into the matter; “Wait. If they have such advanced weaponry, then why would they even bother to give it to the likes of you?”

-“Simple” Tajo stated. “Basic military strategy. They need to set up a base so that they can have somewhere to eat and sleep. On top of that, their leaders do not seem like they want to fight.”

- “I find that hard to believe.”

- “Believe what you want, senorita. I have directly conversed with their leaders; they seem like men of their word.”


“Can you believe that these idiots truly think we need them!?” the unmistakable Spanish allure of Ghost’s accent echoed within an empty 10x10ft room. He currently found himself sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. The sounds of laughter followed his decree, though it was not only his own. Splayed out on his back, upon the concrete flooring, and currently resting his head in Ghost’s lap, Brackish added to the highly-amused vocals.

Fur still sporting charred streaks and patches of brown, the Collie found himself in the awkward position of… not entirely hating Ghost. “Eh, they say humans have a greater reasoning ability than even birds” Brackish stated as he casually rubbed over one of the Arctic fox’s legs, “Of course, that says nothing for their ability to tell when they’re being lied to.”. Ghost nodded with a grin whilst his fingers casually ran through the Collie’s head-fur. “Agreed” the Fox affirmed, though clearly had more to say, “but I would not call them entirely stupid; they’ve picked up on operating foreign weaponry rather quickly.”. “About that?” Brackish suddenly interjected, though he continued to just lay back and enjoy his pampered state.

“What about it?” Ghost inquired with a quirked head and a cease to his affections. Brackish perked his ears as the aforementioned pampering halted. “I didn’t ask you to stop, foxeh” He quipped with a smirk. The vulpine simply shook his head and ruffled the Collie’s scalp.

“So,” Brackish began once more, “what is it with the whole ‘giving these random people weapons’ thing?”. Ghost sighed as he dropped his hands onto the Collie’s shoulders and dug his claws into them. The action elicited a minor twitch from the canine, though he did nothing to retaliate. Instead, Brackish simply awaited Ghost’s response with perked ears. That response, in fact, took several seconds to form, and it was clear that the Arctic fox had to debate whether or not to divulge such information the Border collie.
“We do not have enough biological resources of our own, Coy-dog.” Ghost finally said after his lengthy pause, “This entire operation is more of a tactical-experiment than anything. At best, there are sixteen of us, that being Ire, Isis and her three associates, our detachment’s Fox-elite, and Vixen-Elite, and finally four more mated pairs. “ The vulpine paused to allow the Collie to absorb what had been said, but went on before the canine had a chance to respond, “While we could have run a blitzkrieg campaign, murdered everything in our path and completely decimating an entire species with no idea what was happening, many of us found that option even below our ethical standards.”. Brackish snickered at the mention of ‘ethical’ being used to describe anything dealing with Ghost and his kind.

“It may be hard to believe,” Ghost quickly came to his people’s defense, “but we –do- have some honor… be it minimal…” the Fox glanced off to his side and dropped his shoulders in a mixture of embarrassment and shame, “and… constantly under situational change.”. Strangely enough, Brackish did nothing to further the fox’s realization, though in reality it was just far more entertaining to watch the vulpine face his own reality. For a moment, both males sat in silence; Ghost muddled over whether he’d told the Collie too much already, and Brackish simply enjoyed having something warm to rest his head on.

“So” Brackish finally began, shattering the quiet atmosphere and catching the ears of his white-furred acquaintance, “You think kitsune and her merry band of idiots are going to just sit back and let this blow over?”. Ghost remained short of words momentarily as his mind became fully aware, though as it did he immediately responded, “No, they will likely go and get themselves beaten to a pulp.”. The Collie agreed with no more than a freakish grin and snicker.

Ghost perked his eyebrows at the dog, having not truly meant it as a joke. “As much as the thought of them all being put in their place pleases me, it is not them I am worried about” The Fox stated with horrifyingly unwavering eye-contact. The fox’s eyes were more than enough to get the Collie to snap off his smile and take on a much more serious expression. A single eye quirked to show curiosity as the canine inquired of the vulpine, “The bloody hell are you talking about, foxy?”

“Jazz” Ghost said plainly with a shrug. Brackish’s curiosity only found itself further intrigued, prompting a faint *erf* from the Coy-dog. Unfortunately, Ghost did not merely give in to the cute and cuddly mutt this time. The Fox gently closed his eyes before patting Brackish twice on the cheek. “I’ve said too much, Coy-dog” Ghost said with a fading tone. Brackish ignored the Fox’s affections in favor of forcing out more words, “Hell no, vulpine. You’re not gonna’ just leave me in suspense like that.”. Apparently the Collie was wrong, for the moment his last word rolled off of his tongue, Ghost ceased all hints of care and stood to his feet. Consequently, Brackish got a much unwanted view up the Fox’s uniform, but he was a bit too in shock of being abandoned by his pillow to care.

“Are you sure I can’t get just half of an answer?” Brackish pleaded with a high-pitched whine. Of course, the ‘cute’ concept only worked on humans. The answer the Fox did offer him was not even close to what the Collie had asked for, “How about you just sit tight? The Hunter will likely be here by nightfall, and you will likely be back on Antaria within hours.”. The Collie snorted at the vulpine, who was clearly trying to blow him off. Attitude gradually beginning to show, Brackish suddenly demanded of the Fox, “How about a –real- answer?”

“No.” Ghost hastily replied to the canine, “just be ready. When she comes, I will lead you to the surface.” With that, the Arctic fox proceeded towards the bland room’s sole door, though he was stopped by a set of padded fingers clenching about his ankle. “You don’t get off that easy; you know that, right?” Brackish said from behind the vulpine with mild humor in his down-under accent. This time, it was Ghost’s turn to snort, though he did follow up on the Border collie’s statement, “I figured as much, but what’s to stop me from driving my heel into your nose, Coy-dog?”. To that, Brackish winked at the Fox before giving him the straight answer, “Easy. Because you kinda’ like me, Snuggles.”. “Bastard” Ghost smugly shot back through a fanged smile.
The Arctic fox sighed, even as he was freed of the Collie’s grasp he made no motion to leave. “So,” Brackish began as he stood back to his own two feet, “what exactly are you worried about with crazy-ass-class-5-bitch? As far as I can tell, she could walk through Isis’ little gang like they didn’t exist.”

“That much is true.” Ghost muttered, “But the Hunter… Jazz.” The Arctic fox muted himself momentarily as his eyes gradually met the Border collie’s. Brackish raised his shoulders and motioned for the Fox to go on with his hands. “What about her?” the Collie inquired with impatience. Ghost’s rebuttal came in the form of him biting his lower lip, and nothing else. The Border collie rolled his eyes at the display before crossing his arms in annoyance.

“I- I” Ghost struggled to reply finally, having been overtaken by a fit of stuttering, “I cannot… I cannot disclose details of her with you.”. The Fox’s eyes widened as he found his nerve, along with a sense of ire that seemed unnecessary to the Collie, “This information is not for you, Brackish! Again I ask that you simply await my return!”

The Border collie quirked his eye at the sudden display of emotion by the Fox. “Alright then,” Brackish stated as he relaxed himself, “I’ll quit badgering on the off chance that you get the urge to leave me here.”. Ghost snorted and bowed to the Collie’s cooperation. “Thank you” the Fox stated with his tone showing that he was still clearly upset, “Now, I will be back for you later… maybe.”. A faint grin broke his lips as he turned away from the dog, heading once more to the door. This time, the Fox even made it out, leaving the canine alone for the time being.

“So, what the hell do I do alone for hours in a barren room with nothing but a chair and some rope?” Brackish found himself asking himself.

Outside of the door, Ghost found his mood having dampened significantly. Alone in a dimly lit hallway, the Fox idly snapped the fingers on his gloved hand. Each rapid motion granted him an electrical crackle and a minute spark. His mind raced with thoughts and plans. The more it raced, the faster his fingers twiddled until a consistent series of arcs surrounded his finger-tips.

As his body attempted to relieve stress, the Fox’s mind threatened to pile on more. He spoke aloud, though in enough of a whisper as not to draw attention to himself, “She does not need to be here.” He turned to his left, running into a stairwell, of which he began to ascend. “Her presence complicates things, no doubt.” The Fox’s pace slowed to a near stand-still as he continued to mull over his current issue. “If she does not immediately depart after his rescue, then this all suddenly becomes my problem.” He overheard steps from the floor above him, forcing him to fall silent momentarily. The heavy sound of boots on metal-grating meant that the encroaching individual was likely human. The scent spoke of a well groomed male, aftershave and confidence.

“General.” Ghost acknowledged out loud before ever laying an eye on the man. Tajo however, did not respond to the vulpine until he actually met eyes with Ghost. Only three metal stairs between them, the human halted his descent in favor of humoring the fox’s keen senses, “And how did you know it was me?”. Ghost snorted, not at all having wanted to actually start a conversation with anybody but himself. Still, he forced himself to show more consideration than many of his other associates; “I know the scent of every human upon this base” the Fox stated indifferently, “I can also tell the difference between a bare sole, and one coated with material; your boots, for instance.”

“The former was much more impressive” the General said, mimicking Ghost’s indifferent tone, “But who is to say one of your own colleagues could not have adorned some foot apparel?”. The Arctic fox before him refused to alter his emotionless visage, though an answer did come to the General’s hypothetical question. “Antarions do not wear paw… er, foot apparel” Ghost began, “That is unless, their job requires it. For instance-“ the Fox’s expressionless demeanor continued to hold, “pilots, those working with acidic, or otherwise harmful substances, and those who are likely to be called into an atmosphere with which could be harmful to bare flesh.”

General Tajo nodded to the previously unknown bit of information. “Might I inquire why though?” the human asked as he crossed his arms and decided to show a subtle hint of curiosity in his own face. Ghost remained steadfast to his lack of emotion when he responded, “Simple: our paws were made to do their own job. We merely train them to be as tough as possible. Why waste resources on providing such a frivolous piece of equipment to all, when all do not truly require it?”. Tajo once again nodded, though it was obviously slower than his last, indicating that the man had need of further exposition by the Fox; “But how does regular military service not constitute as needing one’s feet to be covered?”. “Easy” Ghost swiftly, yet plainly answered, “As I have said before: Antarions in general, not even just foxes are bare-pawed from birth. Training one’s feet is part of everyday life, and military training. Our bones are fractured slightly on a daily basis, and our skin is torn apart as well. Couple this with focus-training on the area and you eventually come out with paw-pads that rival or surpass most military-grade footwear.”.

“Your kind are astonishing, though I think I will keep my boots.” The General said with a minute chuckle. Ghost merely shot back a dead-sounding “Please do, sir.” . All humor instantly wiped from his countenance, Tajo looked over the Fox one last time before bringing his inquiries to a close “Well I believe we both have places to be, fox.” – “Agreed.” – “Then I shall not hold you any longer.” – “Thank you.”. Awkward goodbyes out of the way, Tajo began to descend once more, though the moment he passed the Arctic fox he had found himself nagged to ask but one more question.

“Not to be a bother,” the General began as he stood one stair beneath Ghost, not even turning to look at him as he went on, “but the female with white fur. I believe her name is Isis; is she known to show such anger and disrespect to all that cross her?”. Ghost cogitated on his response, taking a full three seconds to respond to the General; as he did, his fangs gradually bore in a grin that spoke only of perverse ideas. “Yes, General she is an ungrateful, insolent kit. But her tongue will be her own undoing.”. Tajo undoubtedly had to question, “And how is that?”.

An answer never came, forcing the General to turn about to face the… empty stairwell.


“Looks like the bones are fused back together; how does it feel to move it?” a feminine voice sporting about as much authority as a mouse sounded. “It feels as though it will work” the sound of a fairly seductive, yet highly-irritated Russian female retorted. Of course, neither actually spoke in a human-language.

-“Good. For only three days of recovery you seem to have healed rather well.”

-“I am part dragon, lisa, I regenerate much faster than any purely furred creature.”

-“Yea yea, you’re part dragon, we all know, but I still don’t want you trying to run off and get yourself broken again; not for another day or two at least.”

-“Nyet. I appreciate your aid, but I am more than capable of operating.”

-“… I- Well shit I’m not going to try and stop you, not after the pounding you put on that bitch-ass science-collie.”

-“She deserved every ounce of Contact-energy into her back.” Ire mused as she recalled her own actions.

-“Pfft, considering what she did you should have gone beyond the first setting on your horns.”

-“I did not want dog-juice all over me, Farsight. At Level-2 my horns would have probably broken the bitch apart on impact.”

-“What’s the highest setting that they go to anyway?” the bashful voice inquired.

-“With energy focused: 10. Unfocused can achieve 22.”

-“What do you think level 10 would have done to her!?” the cautious voice asked with clear interest.

-“I can not say for sure. Now, quiet, I’ve got incoming communications apparently.”


Alone several seconds later, Ire set her attentions upon answering the incoming call. It was all a simple matter of mentally willing her collar to open the communication channel.

-“Is it Ghost?” the fox-dragon inquired, having learned not to always assume that the incoming identification was always accurate.

-“Snugglefox, it is” the Arctic fox’s voice channeled clearly into Ire’s ear.

-“I have missed you.”

-“And I you.”

-“What brings you to call?”

-“Is your leg well, my drixen?”

-“Affirmative.” Ire responded with a rarely witnessed sense of joy.

-“Well enough to run upon?”


-“This pleases me” Ghost stated with a tone that nearly showed his grin through the comm.-piece.

-“What have you in mind, Snugglefox?”

-“A bit of an aid mission… for a friend.”

-“What kind of aid?”

-“Do you remember the kitsune in our detachment?” Ghost inquired.


-“Aye, she has been letting her tongue quiver loosely with your presence having diminished.”

-“Oh? What has she said?”

-“Oh, nothing… Just been calling you an ancient, insane hybrid abomination.”

-“I see” Ire managed to say as she snorted a blazing pair of fire-streams from her nostrils.

-“Indeed. As much as you may not want to assist the dog who broke your leg, I ask that you come to her aid, if only to put this
adolescent multi-tailed mutant in her place”

-“This is to aid Jazz, eh?” Ire noted aloud, “Then I shall think on it. When will the dog be in need of assistance?”

-“I do not know for sure, but I do know she is attempting to jail-break Brackish tonight.”

-“I shall occupy the area immediately then. Shall I bring your Titan gear?”

-“No need” Ghost said plainly before going on, “I will be busy leading the Collie to the surface. The easier we make this, the faster
we get rid of any canine and lycan nuisances.”

-“I concur. Hopefully the dogs will leave us; if not, we will destroy them.”

-“Agreed. But for now, I believe our best bet would be to help them get out of our way.”

-“Da. Now, my Snugglefox, I will see you soon.”

-“Love, Ire.”


The comm.-link closed, leaving the Drixen alone, though no sooner had she been abandoned did she stand to all four of her fully-functioning legs. Giving her previously broken foreleg a shake, Ire checked over herself, running through a list of her weaponry.

“Cross”: the primary crossbow-like weapon upon her back flashed with an array of LED-like lights.

“Ion Cannon”: Two small prongs sitting narrowly across from one another, atop her primary weapon, sparked to life momentarily with an arc of electricity forming between them.

“Razor-Chain”: Running along top the length of her back and tail, and ‘folded’ in three rows, an inconspicuous chain partly unraveled. For now, it merely jutted fiercely from the drixen’s tail for a relative foot. Looking quite plain and small, the piece of equipment receded back into its resting position once more without anything indicating that it was actually of any use.

“Contact plates”: As had been seen before, her swept-back horns each flashed a dim blue.

“Bridge rotary”: Two short 20mm barrels protruded from the nontransparent portion of her visor. In fact, they protruded from the portion of her facial accessory that ran over her muzzle.

“Collar”: She needn’t even bother acknowledging it, as all of her other weapons were useless if it were not working. Still, the drixen played it safe before going into the field.

“Sonics”: She barked once; it was dead silent. She barked once more; this time it boomed loud enough to be heard for at least half a mile.

“Magnetic shield”: A simple ultrasonic beep was her only indication that her shielding was still working.

“Contact shield”-“Life-support”-“Stealth systems”: Beep after beep, these able to be heard by anyone sounded, affirmed that all auxiliary systems were ready to function.

With her checklist out of the way, Ire gave her previously-broken leg a shake, before setting off to tip the scales and ruin the day of anyone unlucky enough to be considered her target. Well, considered her target, or just in her way.

As she departed the cloaking field surrounding the vulpine encampment, Ire took off in a beeline towards the area she was needed. Having utterly ‘forgotten’ to stealth herself, the sprinting battle-platform found herself in need of intersecting a lonesome desert road. Spotting the sole group of three vehicles traversing the asphalt, the drixen deviated from her path just enough to ensure that she’d collide with them. Victims of sheer cruelty, the drivers of the three aforementioned vehicles found their lives snuffed out with only a moment to scream.

Ire never even bothered to pause as she crossed the road. Her forepaws drove down upon a single vehicle. Forty feet of quadruped, along with the bulk of her weapons systems was more than enough to leave the sedan flattened in a jagged crater. The vehicle traveling upon the opposing side of the roadway was swiftly snatched between the hybrid’s jaws, whilst the remaining pick-up truck was greeted to several million amps of electrical energy and an explosion that would have done Hollywood proud.

Finishing her warm-up, Ire concluded the lives of those trapped between her teeth. Final weapon coming into play, the drixen’s biological traits were made fully apparent by a vicious blast of indigo flame erupting from her throat. The driver and company were almost instantly incinerated, sparing them the violent detonation of their automobile. Said detonation did little to effect the well-built hybrid monster. It did not singe her fur, nor force her to recoil in any way. She merely tossed the totaled vehicle aside, spat up the shrapnel and debris that resided in her maw, and went on about her business. Of course, now that she was done getting loose, she ‘remembered’ to throw on her cloaking devices to continue on in silence.


Q/C/F/Hate mail/ Death threats/ PSN accounts?/Assisantion plans?
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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Re: Miscommunication

Postby foxelite » Sat Apr 28, 2012 5:30 pm

Well, this didn't take forever or anything. This chapter just turned into hell to write after awhile, as it took forever to converge five view-points. Alas, 30 pages later and I did it. So without further adieu I finally present this massive heap of a chapter that spells out about 75% of the climax of the story... or at least that's what I want you to believe.

Miscommunication pt. 31
Nightfall; it signaled many things. For much of the 1st-world working class, a Wednesday night was the glorious time when you knew the work week was on a downward slope. For others it just meant that half of the week was over, yet they did not work a strict enough schedule to care. For an even stranger group, a warm, breezy Wednesday night meant that lives were on the line. Unfortunately, their life was included.

Jazz. Like so many other issues, the Mexican/American border was behind her now. On her trip to America she did not know exactly where she was going, therefore she had run into a barren segment of the border. Her path had changed however, on her trip back into Mexico. She had no intention of keeping herself a secret, yet the more she thought back on just how petrified she made the people at the border-stop, the Hunter was having second thoughts on her decision. Of course, she didn’t step on anyone, nor did she respond when one guard shot at her. Then again, the fact that she didn’t react to being shot at may have freaked them out further.

A few border-patrols were the last dilemma plaguing the alien woman’s mind however. She had no true personal cloaking device, which meant that there was the possibility that those who wanted her dead would already know she was coming. That thought plagued her to no end, and the lack of time to plan wasn’t helping either. Her theory about being able to just run in before they deployed anything that could stop her was likely to falter if they already knew she was on her way. Considering her brief encounter with Isis, there was no doubt in Jazz’ mind that she may very well be walking into an obvious ambush. That being said, she also accepted that stealth was not an option.

Aside from being 60ft tall and having no devices to aid her, the Hunter had been around foxes all of her life. If there was but a single category that their minds were well over-trained in, it would be awareness. There simply was no sneaking by one of those vulpine nuisances. If they didn’t hear her, they would smell her, and even worse they could just detect her magnetic, infrared, electrical or even biological signature. In short, she was going to be doing a lot of running, and if worst came to worst, fighting.

Running was already at the forefront of her mind, and she had broken out into a mild jog. Heel-to-toe the desert sands were whisked behind her in wispy plumes, though they dissipated rapidly, or at least appeared to do so in the darkness of night. What little shrubbery stood in her path found itself but flattened foliage in a sizeable paw-print once the Hunter passed.

Already her ears perked to sounds dead ahead of her. She was still several miles away from her destination, leaving her to only guess what it was that lowly assaulted her eardrums. Even so, what noises she did here all amounted to a sole conclusion: she was going to be fighting.


“Isis.” – “She coming?” – “You know it.”

Two ears large enough to be considered satellite-dishes lay atop the head of Isis’ right-hand. A Fennec fox, currently anthropomorphic and standing a pathetic three-foot-nine, chattered into her communications link to warn of the inevitable. Buried beneath a thicket of brambles and hardy vines, the large-eared vulpine lay upon her belly, ready to crawl out and spring whenever the order was given. Voice of a newborn mouse, she once again opened communications with Isis, asking but one question, “So, should I just stall her here while you guys head over to finish it?”

A low growl filled the Fennec’s ear, though eventually Isis did give her a translatable answer; “No!” the coarse tone sent a shiver down the Fennec’s spine, though it dissipated as her commander went on, “I already told you, we let her into the perimeter, then we light her up like a damn forest fire.”. The large-eared female sighed as her eyes sat fixated upon the passing Hunter a few hundred yards away. “Fine.” She grumbled, leaning back those massive dishes in discontent. “But…” the tan furred vulpine began in direct contention to her superior’s plan, “the closer we let her get, the harder it’s going to be to stop her. Her guard’s only going to go up when she gets nearer, Isis; she’ll be expecting an ambush.”

“Tilla” The cold-hearted tone of Isis’ voice plainly stated the Fennec’s name, “I know this… why do you think I’m in charge?”. The question was clearly rhetorical, yet the girl in the bush (literally) found her own snarky reply for the one who supposedly commanded her, “Oh I dunno, maybe it has something to do with you being a kitsune and being capable of growing twice the size of everyone else? Oh right, and you’re our Vixen-Elite’s daughter.”

Isis snorted back at the Fennec, though ignored the nuisance in favor of keeping this verbal confrontation brief, “Whatever, just make yourself useful and give me her LLB.”. “L-L-“ the Fennec mulled over the abbreviation aloud before recalling its meaning, “Right; Load-out, Location, Bearing.”. Isis snarled over the comm.-link, forcing the Fennec to snap to attention and give the multi-tailed freak what she demanded.

In front of her lay a weapon much akin to Jazz’ own, though it was much smaller in size and disproportionately shorter. Still, atop the Fennec’s own Arc-cross sat a scope, of which she peered into with a single open eye.

“Loadout: She’s got an Arc-cross, looks too big to be of any use close-range; think she’s a sniper. Okay, Arc-cross, Alteration Glove, standard heavy-cloth for armor; belly’s exposed, but she’s wreaking of magnetic shielding. Location, four miles North-North-East of your location and her bearing has her headed to land roughly around the mid-eastern fence. Jogging at around 300 miles an hour, she’ll be there in under a minute…” Isis began to respond with a simple affirmation, but was silenced as the Fennec blared over the communication link, “Make that a few seconds, bitch just went full-throttle!”

Isis once again snorted, forcing the Fennec to twitch her ear at the disturbingly loud sound directly in her sensitive lobes. “That’s fine” Isis said with clear intention of going on, “we’re just going to have to move now then. Go ahead and stall her, Tilla.” – “Right... wait” the Fennec’s ears craned back as she posed a very interesting question, “how the hell am I supposed to stall >that<!?”

She never received an answer, for Isis had already cut their communications, leaving the Fennec girl to react to the situation as best as her instincts saw fit.


It was official; whatever plan Jazz had concocted involved getting in and out as fast as physically possible. Her heel-toe action had been replaced by a dead sprint upon her toes. The beautiful wisps of sand left by her walking and jogging motions were transformed into an eye-bleeding, sand-blasting dust storm left in her wake. Unfortunately, her sprint was interrupted after all of a few seconds.

The Earth shaking display was brought to an end with a searing pain shooting through the back of the Hunter’s left leg. Immediately she stumbled, but being trained as well as she was, the female recovered in an instant with no need to even place her hand upon the sandy earth. The moment she began to regain speed, she felt herself assaulted once more upon her legs. This time, her left calf became a target, though the pain was little more than a quick pinching sensation. The first hit may have caught her off guard, but now she was prepared. In fact, the woman outright ignored the brief stinging pains to focus on reaching her target.

Another surge of piercing sensation made itself known on the female’s left shoulder. Her only reaction came in the form of a glance over said shoulder. With only a brief analysis before turning back around, Jazz was forced to accept not locating the source of her irritation. She knew good and well what weapon was assaulting her, but she wouldn’t mind placing a face and a scent on its user. “Vulpine pest” the Hunter muttered through clenched teeth.


Back beneath her shrubbery-based camouflage, Tilla twitched her ear rapidly to open her communications with Isis. The petite Fennec’s voice sounded of alarm and fear as she offered Isis but a sole quick truth, “Isis… I tried.”. Her leader let off a confused *erf*, being forced to inquire further even if time was short, “You couldn’t even stall her!?”. The Fennec winced as Isis raised her voice, though she was forced right back into an alarmed whine when she responded “I- I shot her… AT FULL, and all I managed to do was make her trip once. After that she just ignored me!” – “Calm D—“ – “Isis, she’s gonna’ fuckin’ kill us! Nobody should be able to ignore that!”. As Tilla uttered her last sentence, the link between her and Isis broke; her commander had hung up on her.

“Hell if I’m fightin’ that thing” the Fennec snorted to herself as she shuffled out from beneath her makeshift shelter. “I’d rather be listed as AWOL than KIA.”


Seconds later and Jazz found herself in familiar territory. The lights of the military base were beyond just obvious in the moonless night, and the ten-foot barbed wire fence surrounding the entire facility only made her that much more certain that she was right where she wanted to be. Where she would intersect this fence, there were two watchtowers, both of which came up to her waist. Behind them lay asphalt for about fifty yards, and then, running parallel to the fence was an airfield.

Her pace never faltered, but the Hunter did take note that the aforementioned airfield was bustling with activity; the kind of activity that she so desperately wished had nothing to do with her.

VTOLs hovered over landing pads; helicopters beat the air that was already laden with the deafening roar of jet-engines, and sirens wailed from speaker towers throughout the entire facility.

“Well, they definitely knew I was coming.” The Hunter mused with herself. One quick sniff of the air was all that she needed before correcting her course. The ten-foot fence went unnoticed for the sprinting Hunter as she veered away from the airstrip. Thankfully, this new course kept her from having to dodge the scurrying soldiers and pilots in between hangars and on runways. They had probably expected her to attack them, which seemed obvious by the way that they stared at her backside in utter confusion. Maybe they had scared her?

Forced to hurtle over three waist-high hangars, Jazz found herself headed in the direction of the building she’d first seen Brackish come out of. The low-profile structure reeked of the Collie’s scent, though at her current size Jazz couldn’t quite pinpoint just where in the building that Brackish would be. ‘Fortunately’ she wouldn’t have to bother with finding the Border collie any time soon.

It was rare for the Hunter to allow herself such tunnel-vision on any mission, yet that is exactly what had happened. Eyes fixated solely on her prey and unaware of the competition, Jazz found herself brought back to reality in a brutal blindside courtesy of a primal adolescent.

The Hunter’s objective promptly became survival as she found her neck clamped between the jaws of an utterly massive four-legged animal. It was no doubt Isis, but at the moment she did not care to recognize, only knowing that whoever it was, they were going for one hell of a quick death-blow. Unfortunately for them, Jazz did not fall over as they expected. The Hunter did no more than stumble momentarily before jamming her fingers between the pressuring jaws that threatened to end her life. The fur upon the back of her arms gave way to a muscle definition usually suited to a body-builder, yet the leanness of the female almost made her bulging musculature into an unattractive sight. Her body was not meant to be used for attracting anyone right now however; it was to be as efficient as possible, and it seemed she was going to have to prove its worth to her assailant.

Each pad of her finger forcibly worked its way beneath Isis’ lips, her artificially-sharpened claws haphazardly nicking the kitsune’s gums, already causing Jazz to draw first blood. The Hunter’s neck hadn’t so much as even began to bleed, nor did it show any signs of doing so as she pried the vixen’s jaws apart, immediately throwing her off and slipping her hands out to avoid any severed fingers.

The kitsune was only thrown back down to her forelegs, and in an instant was right back on top of the Hunter, though her goal became head-butting the anthropomorphic creature square in the stomach, of which netted the younger warrior nothing but an unpleasant headache. Even so, Isis did recover in an almost instantaneous manner. Correcting her mistake, the ‘tsune once again drove the top of her skull into the lycan’s belly, though, upon impact, the vulpine wrapped her forelegs around the back of Jazz’s knees. The attempt to force the woman to collapse was met with ill results. Jazz did no more than lean forward to correct her balance, leaving Isis in quite a desperate-looking predicament.

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m not going to fall, foxy” the Hunter snarled through bared fangs. Isis’s retort: seemingly complete ignorance of the statement. Instead of bothering with verbal communication, the kitsune altered strategies. In her four-legged state, at her full size, Isis stood to Jazz’s lower chest; as such she was able to fight more like a lion than a fox.

The ‘tsune took but one step back, only to rise upon her hind legs and commence a vicious flurry of downward swipes with her fore-paws. Had it not been for the fact that Isis stood a full head over her while standing, Jazz may have never changed the expression upon her face; however, the ‘tsune’s looming form did strike a rather imposing presence, ripping a reaction even from the steel-nerved Lycan.

Jazz’s arms quickly rose to protect her vulnerable face and muzzle, though the defensive decision was debatable. Isis was not going for concussive strikes; in actuality her frantic vertical paw-swipes were making ample usage of her own well-sharpened claws. It was a truly terrible oversight for Jazz, especially when she felt the searing pain of open wounds exposed to rushing air.

Isis’ flurry continued for several seconds, uncontested by the Lycan she assaulted. Even so, the younger female did not see inflicting minor wounds upon the Hunter’s arms as much of any use. Once again, her strategy transformed, though not a great deal. As opposed to her vertical strikes, the kitsune began a horizontal assault, setting her crimson-stained claws to target Jazz’s exposed abdomen. The well-trained muscles may have been capable of withstanding cannon fire, yet they simply were not cut out to resist being sliced open… especially not at the rate at which Isis pressed her onslaught.

Jazz’s attempt to defend her abdomen, using her already bleeding arms, was negated by a violent downward thrust of Isis’s forepaws forcing the Lycan’s wrists away. With no stutter between her attacks, Isis immediately took to tearing apart the soldier she’d been warned so dearly about.

As mists of red and pink were tossed from each swipe, it became painfully explicit that Isis was attempting to get this conflict over and done with in record time. Her swipes had already begun to slow, though no onlooker would have noticed, as her paws were still just ebony blurs to them. Jazz on the other hand could tell the difference in the frequency of the vixen’s barrage.

Already knowing that communication wasn’t going to go anywhere with the adolescent nuisance, Jazz analyzed her current situation. Isis was fast, no doubt, she proved it every time the Hunter attempted to defend herself. Whenever Jazz attempted to use her arms to impede the kitsune’s assault, they were tossed aside by a nearly-invisible strike. This was no issue for the Hunter however; as she already knew that this confrontation would be over with swiftly. The kitsune’s strikes were becoming less-and-less rapid by the second, though the amount of blood she drew was considerable.

Any attempt to back away from the frenzied adolescent was nullified by their insistence on pushing forward, leaving Jazz in quite a futile-looking scenario. The crimson stains matting down the fur of her arms and mid-section made the fight seem like a total loss for the Hunter, yet she was obviously still standing. Atop this, Jazz had yet to make one sound to indicate feeling pain.

A full minute into the nonsensical violence, and Jazz finally found her opening. With Isis’ strikes losing enough momentum to actually be parried, the Hunter quickly snatched both of the kitsune’s forepaws at the wrist. Both fangs bared in full force, Jazz forced her profusely bleeding arms and abdominals to work in tandem. The anthropomorphic hound leaned back quickly, tightening her abs and throwing her arms back over her head, though slightly to the right. Not letting go of the quadruped’s forelegs until their hind-legs left the earth, Jazz effectively sent Isis hurtling behind, and over, her.

A combination of Jazz’s own strength, and the kitsune’s own inertia, sent Isis soaring for a relative ten feet before ever even beginning to fall. That fall never came however, for Jazz had not taken her surroundings into account. As such, Isis found herself flying vertical, and backwards right into the concrete sides of an Air traffic control tower. The resulting impact was enough for the kitsune to breach clear through one side of the tower, leaving her to almost disappear in a thick plume of grayish dust and debris.

Jazz whirled about as the thunderous collision boomed into her ears. Visage dominated by pain and hatred she curled her gloved hand into a fist before pulling it back and
focusing slightly. The fingerless glove hastily built a charge, luminescent streaks of electrical energy streaming from it, their frequency becoming more and more numerous. Along with their frequency came further luminosity, until the Hunter had all but blinded most of the soldiers that had the audacity to spectate her violent bout.

Entire body tensed with negative emotions, the Hunter… paused to force herself to inhale deeply. The blinding light about her glove began to dull and dissipate. “I don’t… have time for this” she reasoned with herself out loud. Her ears unpinned themselves from the top of her skull, to resume their perky relaxed position. Her ears, in fact, had been the ones that caught the frantic screams of those inside of the tower. The Hunter had no intention of harming anyone that was not directly interfering with her mission; therefore harming a few defenseless men directing air traffic just didn’t sit well.

The moment Jazz attempted to ignore Isis and go back to her original plan, the ‘tsune’s silhouette began to form in the dust. It darted from the smoke, pulling a great deal of it behind her with five outstretched tails.

The impact had darkened the kitsune’s vision, yet she insisted on going on. Her acceleration was commendable; the ‘tsune ascended to almost her full speed in only the short span between herself and Jazz. Shooting off of her hind-legs, Isis lunged at the Hunter’s head, jaws agape and hoping to catch the woman off guard. Instead, she was met with a gloved fist smashing into the front of her pointed muzzle, and enough electrical force to constitute a high-voltage-sucker-punch.

The Hunter’s counter sent the multi-tailed vixen once more hurtling, though her motion was clearly different on this occasion. Her trajectory was much higher as well as with an added twirl. The amped-out haymaker sent Isis packing for real this time. As opposed to Jazz’s throw, which sent the kitsune barely ten relative feet, the vixen’s form was effectively ejected over the air-tower, clear past three aircraft hangars, and not halting until she’d slammed through the metal roof of a munitions warehouse. Luckily, none of the ammunition inside was detonated by the vixen’s second deafening intrusion.

Fifty relative feet constituted Isis’ flight and landing, equaling out to quite the impressive 500ft of impressive aerial display.
All that Jazz needed to know was that the kitsune had let off a disheartened whine amidst the ruckus of twisting metal, clattering bombs, and all sorts of steel objects being flung from racks. That whine meant the kitsune was still alive, which is exactly how the Hunter wanted to keep it.


The time for action had long begun. With the entire world outside exposed to an energy-filled earthquake, Ghost had dubbed it the proper moment to make his move and extract the coy-dog bother that plagued his life. Already the Arctic fox retreated down the stairwell, in which he had conversed with Tajo, the Collie’s cell his primary target.

To Brackish’s floor the fox darted, rushing out into the hallway in an effort to make as unwavering of a line as he possibly could. The rapid clicks of his foot-claws to concrete were the true testament to his complete disregard to discreetness. Torso bent over, ears pointed back and tail stiff as a board the vulpine’s form spoke of pure speed. He would need no turns to reach the Collie’s cell, only a straight shot would be necessary. His vision nearly blurred as he raced on, whizzing by a trio of guards ignorant of the fox’s intentions.

Eyes on his prize, the vulpine did not slow until the moment before he reached the metal door of the Collie’s confinement. Gloved hand outstretched, Ghost ‘grabbed’ and ‘pulled’, yanking the steel construct clear of its hinges and hurtling towards the Arctic fox. Correcting the unhinged door’s trajectory, the fox swiftly ‘slapped’ it to the wall of the corridor, leaving the metallic object to bang thunderously into the reinforced concrete, plastering itself into a dusty imprint.

With that action, he’d surely gained the attention of the guards he passed just seconds ago, though he would deal with them momentarily. Right now, Ghost focused upon the four-legged Border collie running circles about himself. Urgent tone in his voice, the Arctic fox snapped at the distracted Collie, “Brackish! Stop chasing your tail, we need to get you out of here!”

The canine’s puppy-like actions immediately came to an end. Ears, neck and eyes suddenly focused upon his savior, Brackish barked once in affirmation before diving to the Fox’s side. “It’s about time, ya’ bloody bush-tail!” the Collie remarked, though was only met with a rolling of vulpine eyes. “Fine, fine… let’s just get our asses out of here before one of the ‘tsune’s lackeys decide to ruin any of these plans!” the dog barked.

Ghost did not make any verbal responses, instead focusing on a near-instantaneous 180 and a return towards the surface. On four legs, Brackish could actually keep up with the bipedal fox, though he just barely maintained a minor trailing position. As the two sped back towards the awaiting stairwell, they came upon the trio that Ghost had simply buzzed by on earlier. Considering the Fox had their supposed prisoner in tow, it wasn’t exactly rocket science for them to figure out that they were witnessing a break out.

Brackish swore out that he heard one of the men order them to halt, and their outstretched hands were evidence that he may have been right. Unfortunately, Ghost also had an outstretched hand for them as well. His however, was gloved, sparking and bright enough to force the men to squint as they raised their weapons. Their fingers never depressed the triggers of their weapons though. Instead, they were simultaneously treated to a display of hand-to-hand lighting that caught but one of the men before chaining to the other two. Seemingly synchronized, each of the three men took flight in the wrong direction.

It was a near-lethal shock, but the vulpine had had no intention of killing the dynamic trio, merely singeing their clothing and sending them tumbling upon unforgiving floors. Sure, their backs and butts were battered, but the overall damage done to them on impact was minimal. One did receive a concussion when the back of his skull collided with the floor, but even he would survive.

Had Brackish been thinking ahead, he may have remained anthropomorphic and thus could have retrieved one of the men’s weapons. Unfortunately there was no time to correct this mistake, and the Collie’s four-legged form did at least make him faster.

“Break off into the stair-well!” Ghost half informed, half commanded. Taking the proposed left, Brackish’s paws met metal grating and a stepped incline that slowed him considerably. Even at the declined pace, he was able to ascend the metallic planes with peak efficiency for his four-legged build. He reached the first flat after a set of eight stairs, the dog not paying much attention as he rounded about and proceeded up the adjacent staircase. It was not until he reached the second flat that the canine took note of the lack of additional claws clicking beside him. The realization was enough to persuade Brackish to pause and call out to the fox, “Eh… Ghost?”
The Arctic fox’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairwell, commanding an authority that he’d suddenly granted himself, “Brackish! Go on! I’ve business to attend to.” – “What!?” –
“Just go! Do not keep the Hunter waiting!”

Brackish contemplated checking on the shifty Fox, as he was either in trouble, or plotting his next dastardly scheme. Ghost was right however; he needn’t keep his rescuer waiting any longer. Further deciding his answer to the current issue, the Collie simply remembered the double-crossing of the vulpine earlier. Ghost had left him for dead and turned him into a completely defenseless mutt. He’d put him through enough torture, and being able to finally stop relying on the deceitful bushy-tail brought a warmth to his heart.
The Border collie’s mind settled on the most necessary matter at hand: reaching the surface and getting the hell out of this smooth-skin facility. “Have fun, Snuggles!” the Collie barked back down the stairwell, though was not given a response. Sure, that bothered him to an extent, but not enough to stop his paws from once more ascending the metallic gratings, and propelling him to freedom.

Ghost, on the other hand, remained not at the bottom of the stairwell, but back in the corridor that held Brackish’s cell. His eyes made contact with another of his kind. Younger than the Arctic fox, a male Red fox of equal height and almost equal equipment stood before Ghost.
Where the darker-colored vulpine’s equipment differed was in his hands. Unlike Ghost, Jazz or many others, the Red fox wore a fingerless glove upon both hands, and on both of his hips sat a holstered dagger. Adding to the varied setup, the younger male sported wraps about his feet, both of which held the same ebony color as his gloves.
Ghost had but one short-blade; his other weaponry consisting of the katana-like weapon he currently had drawn and held perpendicular to his own muzzle. The edge of his blade radiated a searing hot electric blue, whilst the rest was of a silvery complexion.

“You follow Isis” Ghost plainly stated as both of the gloves upon the other fox’s hands sparked to life in a localized ion-storm surrounding the vulpine. “I do.” The dual-wielding Red fox answered, though continued, “I believe we’ve met too. You’re the old guy who tried to convince us that we should drop our orders.”. Ghost snickered at the comment, keeping a full eight feet between him and the younger fox.

“Yes, my friend, I am the one who you adolescents refer to as ‘old’” the Arctic fox shot through clenched teeth, “I am also the one who asked your quartet to see reason… yet I believe your immature minds failed to understand my goals… pity.” – “Yea… for you.”

Ghost sucked upon his teeth, clearly growing ill towards the cocky young fox. The white-furred vulpine did maintain his composure long enough to ask a much needed question however; “Youngling, what is your name?”. The Red fox narrowed his eyes to the older canid, not at all keen on the idea of chatting, and far more anxious to see blood. Those feelings he set aside however, and with luminous streams of electricity dancing between his parted fingers the Red fox muttered his call-sign in an inaudible *yip*. Taking on a father-like tone, Ghost snarled to the adolescent, fangs bared to full as he did so, “Tell me your name, or I will leach it from your dying breath!”

The Red fox gently shook his head before giving Ghost his retort… unfortunately it was anything but verbal. Apparently he took full offense to the older male’s threat, and in a blunt display of anger the darker fox thrusts his open palms towards the Arctic fox.

An array of bolts, arcs and streams of blinding electrical energy struck the Arctic fox. An ear-bleeding blast of thunder echoed throughout the halls, forcing both fox’s ears to tuck back. As for Ghost’s reaction to the several thousand amps: the vulpine stood firm with his sword still held perpendicular to his muzzle. The silver-portion of the blade conducted the majority of the deadly power, directing the current to the weapon’s edge. From the tip, the lightning arced towards the reinforced concrete wall, slicing a burning hole in the smooth rocky surface to be taken and grounded by the rebar within.

Being stuck on the defense was not Ghost’s idea of a fight however; the Arctic fox began his own charge as the Red fox continued on with what seemed like his only method of assault. The redirected flow of energy drew a charred line within the wall as Ghost pushed forward, only slowed partly by the stray impact of a spark. Those impacts were nearly negated by his own magnetic shield, and the fox was determined to use that to his fullest advantage.

The unnamed Red fox bit into his bottom lip, barely able to see past the flare of his own attacks. What he didn’t see, let alone hear, was the bolts getting any longer, indicating that his target had been blown down the hallway. Instead, he found himself forcing his electrified weapons to rev up the amp-factor, the result forcing his own fur to stand on end along his arms. “Are you dead yet!?” the younger fox screamed out, though was entirely muted by the vociferous noises of his own creation. “Shit!” the Red fox exclaimed as the silhouette of the white-furred fox seemed to appear before him, only a foot from his extended arms.

Finally in range to see the younger vulpine through the blinding display, Ghost lurched forward with his shoulder aimed at the Red fox’s chest. For once, the Arctic fox found himself fighting somebody that was actually as small as he was; as such he felt the younger vulpine actually stumble backward. The lightshow immediately ceased, or at least became contained to the Red fox’s fingers once more. That would not be the end of this confrontation however; Ghost and his assailant were just getting started.

“You can save yourself a world of pain and misery by stopping this foolishness!” the Arctic fox called out as he continued to hold his sword angled in front of him whilst he drove his shoulder on, forcing the Red fox to back up in an effort to maintain his balance. The darker fox did not answer, only knowing that he needed a change of plans or he may actually be at the mercy of the comparative-geezer.

Knowing that he could only back up so far, the Red fox bore his yellow stained fangs and struck eye-contact with the Arctic fox. Seeing that the older male meant business, the younger attempted to counter the white fox’s body. Awaiting one more step back, the Red fox suddenly jerked his body down, slipping beneath the older fox’s shoulder in what seemed like an instant.

Ghost had expected the Red fox to react much earlier, and once the younger male’s torso dropped the Arctic fox simply dropped with him, crouching until he was head height with the darker vulpine. An attempted lower body take-down by the Red fox was thwarted by Ghost’s blade suddenly being right back in the younger fox’s face, courtesy of the mimicked change in posture.

As the Red fox still foolishly lunged towards the Arctic fox, not registering the older male’s counter fast enough, he was luckily met with Ghost’s hands wrapped about his weapon’s hilt. The Arctic fox could have merely maintained the blade’s position and allowed the Red fox to dive right into a quick filleted death. Instead, the younger fox simply got away with an awkward 2-handed punch to the nose that ripped a girly squeak from his throat.

“Just stop already” Ghost chided with mild humor, “you are making a fool of yourself.”. The Red fox rolled backward from the Arctic fox, pausing upon a single knee with a hand upon the ground. His eyes once again met Ghost’s; vivacious amber against wizened dark brown. Neither fox showed any signs of being winded, which was not all that surprising considering Ghost had done no more than defend and counter whilst the adolescent had done most of his attacking through non-physical means.

After a full ten seconds of ominous staring contest, the Red fox stood once more and drew both of the eight inch daggers he had holstered on either side of his waist. A gentle curve upon their sharpened electric-blue edge, and a hilt that sloped back towards the owner’s hand did make the daggers appear sleek and stylish. To them, however, Ghost had a better description; “Useless. Daggers are a last resort, kit. They cannot be thrown against a shielded opponent, and you must be too close to cause damage.”. The Red fox growled lowly as he was further berated. Ears pinned back and tail twitching, his own ire had begun to show; a complete contrary to the cocky demeanor he’d expressed only moments ago.

“Do not attack me, young one” Ghost half insisted, half commanded, though as could be expected the younger fox immediately reacted in contrast. Daggers flipped upside-down in his palms, the Red fox dashed toward the more-experienced fighter, taking one of his short blades between his fingers to ready it, and then flinging it with perfect accuracy right between Ghost’s eyes. Not bothering to even see if the airborne dagger was deflected, the younger fox dove at the older, all hopes resting upon the idea that his distracting projectile would leave the Arctic fox a bit more vulnerable.

Those hopes were dashed almost instantaneously as the Arctic fox ducked his head to the side of the speeding blade. From there, he fluidly motioned to meet the Red fox, who’d gone for a stab right towards Ghost’s upper left thigh. The attack was, admittedly, well thought out. With his attention on dodging the dagger directed at his face, Ghost should have left his lower body unchecked for a split-second. Unfortunately the Arctic fox was more than capable of jumping backward and spreading his legs, effectively allowing the diagonally-stabbing Red fox to catch nothing but air.

The younger fox did recover swiftly however, using his free hand’s glove to ‘grab’ his thrown dagger and return it to his hand. Upon his return to dual-wielding, the Red fox tore off into a flurry of stabs directed at the Arctic fox.

Ghost was far beyond capable of parrying the younger fox’s attacks with his own long-blade and just his agility. What truly bothered him was the younger male’s tenacity; he was eventually going to land a blow if he kept this up. Ghost’s mind allowed itself to wander just enough to ponder just what the best course of action was to contend with the misguided young one.

The clang of his sword’s blade colliding with the blade of a dagger replayed over-and-over into his ear. This was getting old, and the Red fox didn’t show the first signs of fatigue.

“Enough of this” Ghost flatly stated as he finally retaliated. One more dagger-to-sword clash and the Arctic fox dropped his grip upon the ‘katana’ to but one hand; the free hand, which happened to be his gloved one, swiped at the Red fox’s wrist. A motion virtually undetectable with the naked eye, Ghost clenched just beneath his opponent’s right hand, tightening his grip to near vise-like levels. That was only the beginning of the Arctic fox’s sole attack however; the latter of his assault consisted of something far less docile than a wrist-grab. A surge of electrical energy sprinted forth from the Arctic fox’s glove, clear-cutting a jagged path up the younger fox’s arm.

Each radiant stream tore through the flesh of the Red fox, forcing him to drop both of his weapons. Usually when one used a move such as this, they let go of the one struck by lightning; Ghost however, insisted on holding to the Red fox as they began to whine repeatedly. The young fox’s ears twitched rapidly; his body convulsed in each and every direction he didn’t know existed; a horrific pain surged through his frame, and it only grew worse as the Arctic fox insisted on clinging on to their unpleasant partnership.

“L- L- L-“ the Red fox’s attempts at speech were met with ill results. His vocal cords contracted at random as current flowed straight through his lungs and throat. For a moment he swore he was choking, whilst the next he was hyperventilating. He tried to just scream, yet that too ended up some awkward array of sounds that chained together into a dreadful attempt at opera.

Another second later and the Red fox’s conducting arm sported a noticeable discoloration in its fur. Orange-red had faded to charred black, whilst the black ‘stockings’ running down his forearm were made even darker. Seconds after, the fur itself began to flake; burnt clear from its roots, the Red fox’s pink flesh beneath began to show through. That was when Ghost allowed himself to finish the gruesome act in one single deluge of joules exploding from his glove. As it did, the Arctic fox let go, allowing the convulsing fox to take the full brunt of the electrical upsurge.

The Red fox’s twitching earlobes were suddenly blasted by the thunder of Ghost’s lighting strike, almost immediately deafening the younger vulpine. Unfortunately, being deaf would be an obstacle he’d overcome later, as he had a much more pressing matter on his plate, courtesy of a few amps having blasted him twenty feet back down the hallway.

He landed with a wet, crunchy *thud* upon his back, then had the unwanted ‘pleasure’ of sliding for another seven or eight feet along the concrete floor. The additional skid tore the burnt fur from his back, leaving an erratic trail of black fibers in his wake. By the time he did come to a grinding halt, the Red fox had already submitted.

His muscles screamed in uneven agony, for only a portion of his nervous system had been spared. He twitched his fingers, signaling that he was definitely still alive, yet he made no vocals that could be understood. His burnt, shedding tail lay flat upon the floor beneath him.

Ghost simply gave the young fox a look-over from where he had been standing when he retaliated. The aroma of burnt flesh and fur did nothing to rattle his steel nerves, and the older male simply glared on towards the fried body further down the hall. “You brought that upon yourself, young one” the Arctic fox stated with crossed arms; “You are lucky that I directed all current away from your heart; then you would be dead for sure.”

There was no response from the Red fox, even as Ghost began to casually pad over towards their occasionally twitching body. The Arctic fox found his soles peppered with crisped black fur as he waded clear through the wake of the thrown adolescent, yet this did not bother him in the least. What did continue to irk him was the lack of something to call the arrogant pile of fried vulpine. Fortunately, with the younger fox incapacitated, Ghost was able to stand over their body and hold out his gloved hand.

A much less frightening spark jumped from the Arctic fox to the Red fox, and it was but one spark. Afterward, Ghost knelt down and began rifling through the deaf-mute’s waist pocket located on the inner layer of his uniform. There he found what he required, slipping his fingers out from beneath the Red fox’s apparel and bringing a golden card about the same size as a contemporary credit-card.

Upon the card were symbols, though none that the average human could make out, yet Ghost read over them with nary a pause. “You’re name is Ivan, call-sign: Volt; Eight Antarion years of age, making you but seventeen to a human. Youth…” the Arctic fox paused to shake his head, glance over the Red fox’s smoking form and then return his gaze to the card, “Such a waste of youth.” Ghost shrugged before he brought an inconceivably sharp finger claw up to the golden card. Looking about for a particular spot he found it before beginning to etch several symbols of his own using the aforementioned claw. These symbols he translated aloud as he engraved them, “Call-sign: Volt; Afflictions: Deaf; mute.” He flipped the card over and began to etch a description into it, “Cause of injuries: Shear irony; No longer fit for service, setup for immediate discharge.”

Looking over his etch work, the Arctic fox smiled. “You’ll need this when you come to”. Clearly enjoying his handy-work, the older male flicked the card back down to the Red fox, allowing it to land delicately upon their chest.

“Now… I’ve business to attend to elsewhere, kit. Adios.”


The halls upon the main floor were empty. Guards had been evacuated to necessary positions outside to contend with the largest threat to the facility. That left Brackish with a free ride to the front door… yet that is not where he immediately headed.
He had almost made it to his escape when a familiar scent tickled his nostrils. The aroma forced his body to grind to a halt, then to turn about in a full 180. Ears perked, the Border collie began to back track slowly. His pace was slowed when he brought his nose to the ground, commencing a rather stereotypical pose to track the scent that triggered his actions.
It took but a moment to trace the source of the odor, yet that very same source happened to be behind a solid oak door. On four legs, Brackish wasn’t exactly the most capable of using a door knob, and that was evident once the Collie was forced to halt in front of the door. His eyes fixated upon the burnished silver knob that protruded from the left side of the hinged object. “Son of a monkey…” the dog cursed to himself in a single *erf*. “No time for all this shifting nonsense, may as well try this.”

Reared up on his hind legs, the Border collie parted his jaws, judged his target, the door knob, and lunged forth. His fangs clamped about the shiny semi-sphere, though a problem immediately occurred the moment the canine clamped down. No matter which direction he rotated his head there was no significant movement in the knob itself. After six tries, both clockwise and counter, Brackish took note of the metallic ‘grind-and-lock’ sound that the inner mechanism emitted each time he attempted to twist the knob.

Brain working through the reasons for his lack of progression, the Collie finally slumped back to all fours to come to a conclusion. Unfortunately, that conclusion was not very helpful at all; “Bloody door is locked.”

The dog began to rapidly pace in a circle before the immovable obstacle. His flopped ears perked enough to allow him to hear within the room that the door concealed. What he picked up via his auditory senses was no more than breathing. Several seconds passed and allowed the dog to further refine what it was his ears were being treated to.

One of the inhale-exhale cycles sounded slightly more high-pitched than another within the office; “Female” the dog barked lowly whilst he determined the details of the second being. Their breaths were deeper, a bit raspy to signify that their lungs had seen quite a few years worth of smoke, and most importantly, the breaths were notably louder: “Out of shape bastard; shouldn’t be leading anything” Brackish noted with a simple *erf*.

Derogatory statements aside, the Collie wracked his mind. There was no doubting that Carmen was behind the door, and watching her was indeed the General. At least that information was enough to let the dog know he wouldn’t be wasting his time trying to bring down the oaken barrier that impeded his current objective. Beating the door down at this size would just be a waste of his skull. It was doubtful that Tajo would just open the door if he pawed at it, and it was even more doubtful that whimpering was going to appeal to the General’s better nature.

“Dammit!” the dog snarled, “I need something… someth-.” The Canine found himself cut off by a sudden tremor rocking the entire structure. It was powerful enough to force the dog to stumble to the side, though he was forced to correct his disposition to avoid a chunk of drywall ceiling tumbling down atop him. The rest of the roof over his head rained down dust from the shock, and it did so once more as another wave rattled it, as well as Brackish.

Legs crossed, then uncrossed, the Collie found himself performing a highly unwelcome dance routine to the terrible rhythm of a teenage rock band given tectonic plates for instruments. “The bloody hell is this!?” the dog inquired through frantic yelps. Another catastrophic vibration overshadowed its previous cousins, causing an entire portion of the hall’s roof to cave in. Luckily, the mentioned portion was far off to the dog’s right, though the twisted, splintered wood, along with its bent nails and contorted drywall, did provide a hindrance to the Collie’s escape.

After another small tremor, the quake seemed to subside, if only temporarily. Brackish stood plastered to the wall opposing the door, upright upon his hind legs with the back of his forelegs jammed against the very same wall. His two-tone coat had been treated to a third shade of gray, courtesy the choking rain of dust from the battered ceiling. He had made it through dirty but unscathed, though a jettison of fine debris from his nostrils did give off the impression that he may have taken in more than his outward appearance showed.

“Still didn’t open the bloody door!” the Collie growled in annoyance, holding his position to the wall. Of course; his discontent instantly transformed into joy once a stroke of luck shown upon his situation.

Through the tumbling ruins of ceiling, Brackish found himself thanking the universe for answering his howls of desperation and anger. The door knob he’d so violently sought to open began to jiggle and twist, taking a moment to show any signs of moving any further than the Collie had managed it. After that moment was over however, oaken panel swung backward to reveal a man clad in green, and a woman covered in a ragged assortment of cloth that used to be an outfit.

Both of the humans passed their sight right over the dirty canine. Their goal was clearly to escape a structure that had seen much better days.

Another wave of rattling energy caused the Collie to whine and the human pair to stumble. The only difference in the human’s reaction was their action afterward. General Tajo undoubtedly knew the layout of his own building; as such, with ex-reporter in tow, the man took off towards the side of the hallway not currently blocked by smoking debris. Another exit must have existed, for the human blazed a trail past the stairwell leading to the lower levels of the structure. Even if Brackish didn’t have his mind set on rescuing Carmen, he would at least need to follow the General for the sake of finding an alternate route of escape.

The Border collie gave his human leads several dozen feet of leeway before dismounting his wall and following them. He took on no more than a leisurely trot, having no intention of actually catching them unless the need arose to do so.

Another tremendous shock was met with ill reactions by the humans. Carmen entirely lost her footing, and with Tajo knocked off balance both tumbled to the concrete ground in a compounded heap of flesh and clothing. Brackish didn’t fair too much better, though the moment he was rolled over on to his back, the Collie merely continued to roll until he stood upon all fours once more.

“Bloody apes can’t—“ the Collie’s attempt at a snarky remark was cut short by a thunderous crash behind him. A quick 180 netted the dog a view of another section of the hall’s roof caving in. In a sense, the ceiling was now sealing their choice of direction. There was no time to sight see however, nor did the dog plan on gazing into the plume of dust and fine debris sent rushing toward him. His body whirled about to face the humans, both of whom had already scurried back to their feet and taken off in a dead sprint. Brackish couldn’t blame them either; the entire architecture surrounding them had begun to creak and groan in a manner most unpleasant. “I believe it’s time for this mutt to split!” Brackish barked out before actually turning tail and chasing down his human guides.

The Collie hadn’t quite thought about –how- he would take Carmen from the General’s clenches, but his primary objective had gradually become ‘escape in one piece’ as opposed to ‘keep a promise to a smooth-skinned ape’. With that in mind, Brackish brought the distance between himself and the humans to no more than his own body-length.

The dog debated going into a barking fit to get the human’s attention, though he shoved the thought from his mind once he realized just what that would do. Whether he startled them, or just caught their attention, it would be a moment spent not moving them closer to an exit. Considering the building around them was beginning to emit deafening roars of agony, the Collie figured that at no time should he or the others be caught up in anything but fleeing.

Thankfully, this secondary exit from the building was but a thirty-foot sprint away. Brackish knew that the humans knew of his presence, as they did look back from time-to-time. Carmen in particular paid him passing glances, though the endangered reporter made no motion to react to the Border collie. All that mattered was blasting their way through the metallic double-doors just yards in front of them. Unfortunately, those very same doors decided that today was the last time it would allow a bunch of fleshy organisms to take advantage of it.

As the exit came within ten feet, the building screeched. An immeasurable explosion obliterated the sole means of escape, as well as the surrounding wall. It completely blurred the vision of all three individuals, as well as sent them hurtling backward, landing upon the unforgiving concrete and sliding for added suffering. As if scrapes and bruises from the floor weren’t enough, dislodged pieces of wall and door screamed towards the group.

A bent and twisted block of metal, that used to be a door, rocketed back towards the three. Its low trajectory forced a corner to collide with the ground, sending the ex-entrance into a lethal, bouncing spin. Both Carmen and Tajo were still too shaken and imbalanced to evade the oncoming projectile. Brackish had had his vision decreased to no more than a blurry, blackened remnant of what it used to be. His ears rang with a panging squeal, defeating one of his primary senses. Even if his eyes had been entirely blinded, the Collie could have easily found his way about with but the use of his hearing. That however was not the case, and Brackish found himself darting towards a blurred figure that looked like it could feminine.

He had no idea of the danger he faced, only knowing that he had promised Carmen an escape at some point, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to uphold that commitment. His paws sent him towards the figure, of which was covered in gray and barely visible. His jaws parted to take hold of something that looked like an arm, though the taste of dirty human flesh never graced his tongue. Instead, Brackish’s world went from broken mosaic, to a canvas of blank ebony.

Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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Re: Miscommunication

Postby foxelite » Sat Apr 28, 2012 5:43 pm


“You gotta’ be kidding me!”. Isis was down and out for now, yet Jazz’s problems had just begun. A flurry of high-explosive missiles exploding at the ground around her paws drove that point home. The projectiles had been redirected by her shielding, yet their explosive payload did damage the one structure that the Hunter cared for in this entire facility.

“Come on, fat boy!” the Hunter stared to her new adversary, one that actually looked to have a chance at causing the female some much unwanted suffering. Sixty-foot tall, bipedal armored units (mechs) always did give off an impression of dominance and invincibility, yet Jazz seemed to be hiding any fear she may have had very well. At least, her body language showed a lack of fear; her eyes told a story of an entirely different nature.

The hazel orbs beheld the mechanical marvel standing well over fifty yards from her, yet seeming so much closer do to its girth. A deep, unpolished gray was its color of choice, only broken up by the mirror-finish of the bulky, central cockpit. Connected to that center were two cannons, jutting out just below where the mirror-like ‘glass’ ended. Those small caliber weapons paled in comparison to everything else about the behemoth of futuristic engineering.

Its arms were massive, keeping in style of the body, and each had an angular, blocky framework. They ended in hand-like protrusions, both of which appeared to be rather well crafted, if not a bit bulbous, representations of actual 4-fingered hands with an opposable thumb. Both of the mechanical hands were empty, yet balled into fists as if ready to stage the world’s most colossal boxing match.

Jazz could care less about the war-machine’s hands however; she was more concerned with the heavy armaments that adorned every waking inch of the hellish vehicle. On top of each forearm, ending just where the ‘wrist’ was, a wide rectangular protrusion sat. Said rectangle sported two large forward-facing holes, clearly designed to fire some type of projectile. Atop the metal monster’s shoulders were also rectangular weapons, though these were far larger, and each sported a rectangular 4x4 grid of square recesses. Easy to call, they were likely for firing some kind of missile or rocket.

Directly atop the central mass of the mechanical wonder sat something akin to a contemporary tank-cannon. Rounded, smooth and protruding just about the length of the cockpit, the weapon’s diameter seemed outright preposterous.

“Okay” the Hunter began to herself as she stepped away from the building that housed Brackish, “We’re going to play a little game called ‘don’t die’. The rules are simple, Jazz… we just avoid anything that looks like it’ll rip all of my organs out.” She paused at that thought, falling into a lower stance as she looked over the machine before her once more; “Well fuck… that would pretty much be everything on you, big boy.”

The war-machine took on its own fighting stance, one heavily plated leg in front of the other, and arms poised as if to throw the world’s most lethal haymaker. Amidst all of the commotion on the base, Jazz and the sole mech found time to have a ‘silent’ staring contest. One, sixty-feet of mostly biological make-up; the other, 60ft of artificial body-armor surrounding a speck of living organism.

One of the duelists had to make a move, though Jazz had enough weaponry, from other sources, pointed at her to force that motion to be made by her.

The female’s gloved hand crackled to life in an excited field of luminescent arcs. It was clear that Jazz wanted this confrontation to be over with as quickly as possible, as she shoved her energized hand forward in an open palm. From her covered pads shot forth a brief streak of lightning. It was bright enough to temporarily blind those who looked directly at it, and loud enough for a temporary ‘snap’ to be the only thing any being in proximity heard for the next few seconds.

As loud, obnoxious and powerful as the flashing stream of energy was, it did no more than dissipate upon contact with the surface of the seemingly metallic war machine standing before her. The realization forced the Hunter to twitch a single ear in frustration, along with verbalizing an exceptionally discontent “I think… I’m about to die.”. Without much so much as a snicker, the metal behemoth affirmed that thought with a volley of rapid rail-gun fire from the weapons on its forearms.

Her magnetic shield was capable of deflecting most of the three-second volley, though Jazz was not prepared to simply be a stationary target. Making herself just a tad bit harder to track, the Hunter dove backward, throwing out a wave of magnetic energy in front of her, effectively sending several of the heavy-metal slugs to veer off and cause all sorts of collateral damage she couldn’t care less about. Once her back impacted the structure she’d been standing beside, the woman rolled, knowing her weight may cause damage to the building, but simply hoping that Brackish was in no danger.

Her backward roll landed her upon the opposing side of the structure; she noted the vicious spider-web cracks her titanic frame left upon the building’s roof, but there was no time to worry. Jazz set her brain to survival. As much as she was against ending the life of any sentient being, the Hunter was not about to let her career be cut short by a lone pilot in a hulking suit of armor.

The rail-gun fire paused, though the Hunter did not seem to care. Having been unscathed, she darted off to her side, forcing the machine of war to realign itself with her. As it did, the mottle-coated female altered her trajectory, heading straight for the armored vehicle. Unfortunately, her attempt to eliminate distance was negated entirely by the advanced hunk of technology.

It may have been bulky, but its well formed bipedal design did allow the massive machine to keep up with the lycan’s changes in direction. The moment Jazz attempted to seal the gap between them, the technologically-advanced knight poised one of its hefty legs to be raised. A barely noticeable flash of blue crossed over the thick tripod design of the machine’s ‘feet’. Awaiting the lycan to enter a certain proximity, the leg was finally raised, then shot out in a forward stomp commonly referred to as a ‘Spartan kick’.

Jazz took the sole of the behemoth’s foot with full force to her chest. Initially, there was but a quick shock that knocked the wind out of her; just barely a tenth of a second later, a visible shockwave blasted outward from the point of impact, emitting a thunderous boom that shattered the windows of every standing structure in a quarter-mile radius. Much akin to Ire’s horns impacting Kia, Jazz became a victim of contact-energy, though her experience differed… minutely.

Her world dissipated into a motion-blur as she hurtled backward through the air. Her velocity was not quite as great as Kia’s had been, suggesting that the amount of energy used was not as ludicrous as Ire’s preferred setting. Unfortunately, her slower speed gave her assailant time to turn the painful, yet leisurely, flight into a swirling torrent of agony and sorrow.

Her flight only netted her a relative 30 yards before impacting the asphalt in a destructive *thud*. On collision, she attempted to roll just enough to spread her fall and immediately stand once more. That attempt was cut short as she slowed enough to begin standing, only to glance up through her gradually focusing vision and behold a hail of blue streaks. Unfortunately, each of those electric-blue trails had already connected with her body, ending in a greenish-blue explosion upon the Hunter’s frame.

Knocked back onto her rear, Jazz did not show any true signs of pain. Following the trails of the projectiles, they clearly originated upon the shoulder-mounted weapons of the machine, and the explosive nature confirmed the Hunter’s assumption that this thing was packing missiles. While that may have seemed like a frivolous detail, it gave her more information than most may have guessed.

Her wounds were minor; only the explosions themselves had singed her fur. The concussive force of the explosives was not quite enough to bruise her, however the kick to her chest had left a lasting discomfort. Even so, in a defiant stomp the Hunter stood to her own two feet. “Missiles,” she began to list aloud, the glove on her hand once more taking on a luminescent electrical field, “Rail-guns… Contact plates. What else you got, fatty?”

The colossal mass of engineering ‘stared’ to the female for a moment, its pilot likely confused by the fact that she was still standing. Giving her an artificial stare would not bring the Hunter down however, and soon the robotic titan sprung to life once more. This time, it seemed more like it meant to end Jazz’s life rather than simply show off all of its fancy gadgets.

The two cannons just beneath its reflective cockpit opened fire. Both revealed themselves to be anything but ballistic in nature, instead drawing two bright lines of indigo straight to the Hunter’s frame.

Jazz twitched a single ear as her fur crackled and smoked at the two points of impact. “And lasers..” the Hunter snorted as she quickly dashed to the side, away from the immediate firing arc of the focused light. Of course, the war-machine had already proven itself more than capable of turning, so one switch of direction was not going to be enough to throw it off. Jazz was fully aware of that fact, and in a frantic sprint she glanced around for cover.

All the while, the Hunter maintained her awareness of the ground. There were soldiers and vehicles everywhere, yet none seemed as much a threat as the massive hunk of military might that had it out for her. With that in mind, she skipped over anything that could be squished, and avoided anything that may take pot-shots at her if she moved too close. A volley of blue-trailed missiles struck the fleeing woman in her back, though her shielding once again protected her from all but the excess concussion and fire.

She needed to put something between herself and the oversized tin-can. She needed time to think, but cover was scarce when one was 60ft tall. Air-towers were tall enough, but they lacked any real width the hide her frame. Most of the buildings around the facility were but knee or waist high at her current height. “Come on, dammit!” the woman screamed when her back was set ablaze in fiery pain; the lasers of the pursuing mech scoring a direct hit, and carving out two diagonal burn marks upon the rear of her midriff.

“You do not want to piss me off, dammit!” Jazz yelled once more. She glanced over her shoulder to see the behemoth in a monotonous chase. It didn’t even begin to keep pace with her, yet its sauntering pace was more than enough to keep it in range of its own long-range weaponry. In all honesty, it was a completely mind-blowing tactic. Jazz currently had no ranged weaponry that could affect her armored assailant. Her primary weapon still remained holstered upon her back, but setting up Symphony would take entirely too much time; time that she didn’t have.

The Hunter finally found a temporary hiding-spot in the form of a chest-high hangar. She dove behind it, rattling the worlds of several munitions workers in the process. Chips of concrete were flung from her landing, though with nobody being harmed Jazz paid it no mind. She rolled to her rear and immediately took the moment to catch her breath. She only had a limited amount of options to begin with, and unfortunately they all led to one major topic: she would have to get close.

“I can avoid its feet and knuckles,” she stated as her mind formulated aloud, “and being close enough negates most of its range. If I get behind it, I can disable it; yea let’s go with that.” She rose into a crouched position, then peaked over the edge of the roof of the hangar to pinpoint her assailant’s current position. A brief reconnaissance showed the war-machine standing directly on the other side of the hangar, staring right to the massive furry target. Apparently, whoever was the behemoth’s current pilot wasn’t too keen on destroying parts of their own facility, and no motion to simply charge straight through the structure between them was made.

Jazz took the momentary hesitation of the machine to push her own agenda. She threw her gloved hand out in the direction of the mech’s mirror-like cockpit, closed her eyes and allowed her hand-bound weapon to spring to life in a quick flash of blinding light. The Hunter was not entirely sure that she could blind the pilot within, but she did not hold her position long enough to find out. After her attempted stun, she bolted forward, hopping upon the roof of the hangar and leaping clear over her mechanical adversary. Mid-air, she flipped over herself, twisting about to land a perfect 180 which coincidentally placed her directly behind the war-machine.

Unfortunately, while she had been agile enough to outmaneuver her armored opponent, she clearly had not affected it with her attempted blinding. The moment she landed behind the battle-platform, it whipped about to face her, holding its hand spread apart to backhand the Hunter in the process. Luckily, Jazz’s agility once more came into play, and she ducked beneath the heavy arm of the machine.

Before the hulking mass of armor could recover from its miss, the furred woman had already lunged forth, one arm jutting between the machine’s legs, whilst the other locked over the behemoth’s shoulder. Knowing she would not have much time to react, the female called upon her monstrous abdominals to aid her in lifting the mechanical nuisance clear off of the ground.

Relatively speaking, the armored weapon weighed about 300lbs to the woman, though considering the speed at which she lifted the war-machine onto her shoulders it was easy to assume that she’d trained to wrestle with much heavier opponents. Still, her fangs bared to full as the mass of armor now lay splayed perpendicular upon her shoulders, bearing down like the squat-bar from hell.

From what she remembered, the hangar she stood beside was empty, and with that in mind Jazz heaved the heavy piece of equipment up and over her head, effectively body-slamming a several 100 ton war-machine… and receiving the much expected results of doing so.

The steel beams supporting the hangar roof stood absolutely no chance against the monumental piece of machinery thrust down upon them. There was no brief creaking, or squealing, just a deafening cacophony of metal being broken, torn and snapped apart. A cloud of gray and brown dust rocketed skyward as the armored unit impacted the hangar floor, the roof of the building buckling around the hole that the machine created, and rapidly forcing the entire architecture to throw in the towel and simply collapse into an even greater plume of concrete dust and metal debris.

With the mech on its back, its pilot clearly stunned after the ordeal, this was the moment. This is where Jazz was supposed to end it; a war-machine turned helpless fat kid losing to the school bully. “Lucky I’ve got business to attend to, fat boy...” the Hunter stated through a halfhearted smirk, “Now you be a good machine and stay put.” Of course, Jazz was not foolish enough to leave the mech completely free.

The woman glanced about the strewn metal beams from the ruined hangar, then the meticulous usage of her glove, rose them the metallic wreckage above the battered machine. With her materials in front of her, she began to form a grid out of the high-grade steel bars; by the time it was finished, the grid was enough to cover the torso of the mech. Grinning to her handy-work, Jazz quipped, “And here’s thanking every subterranean metal object that comes with urbanization.”. Icing on her metal cake, the female shoved her hand downward. The motion forced the magnetized grid to smash into the front-side of the lying mech.

While the steel was unable to do any noticeable damage to the war-machine, Jazz had not intended it to. Instead, the Hunter began to pad away from her improvised prison, having magnetized the network of pipes, and other underground metal, to attract her metal-grid. The strength of the magnetic attraction was uncanny, likely to have drug the steel grid clear through the concrete floor of the base had there not been a hulking mass of weaponized terror in the way.

Resting assure that the grid-to-subterranean-metal-work attraction would keep the mechanical juggernaut pinned, Jazz was once again allowed to return to her primary objective. At least that was her original plan; in reality she had an entire military base full of soldiers with sights set upon her. A flurry flashing lights dancing about her acted as a reminder of that fact.

There would be no reason to stay and fight however; her best option would be to grab what she came for and run like hell. Of course, the ‘run like hell’ part would have to come before >and< after she acquired her chosen target.


Ears rang and a choking fog of various gray shades decimated the once-hospitable environment about General Tajo and his female prisoner. Even within an arm’s length of one another, the General could not make out any details upon Carmen’s frame, and she shared the same dilemma in reverse.

A lengthy fit of hacking coughs preceded any communication between the two. The dust refused to clear entirely, though eventually it did allow for an actual series of useful breaths, even if the inhale was accompanied by a blackening of the lungs even a coal-miner couldn’t attest to.

Through the suffocating storm of concrete dust Tajo coughed once more before addressing Carmen; “Are you okay!?” His sense of urgency was diminished by the crackling dryness of his voice. In response, Carmen was only able to mimic a cat coughing up a hairball. As disgusting as it may have been, it did affirm that she was alive. Of course, if they stayed in their current position much longer that status could change for the both of them.

Even with a flaming soreness coursing through his battered body, Tajo pressed himself to grab the woman by the wrist, attempting to pull her, and himself to their feet. Adrenaline negated the agonizing sting of the man’s partly-fractured knee. Well, ‘negate’ may have been an overstatement, as it still hurt like hell; the General simply powered through it like an angry desperate Mexican freight-train. It would have aided him greatly if his ‘freight’ would stand on her own, however. Instead, Tajo found himself huffing and puffing, along with coughing his lungs out, as Carmen provided dead weight.

The ex-reporter may not have been a corpse yet, but the explosion that turned the structure into a foggy pile of ruins had been more than enough to incapacitate most of her body. Unable to respond, the woman simply continued to hack and wheeze, unable to so much as wince or scream as her nearly barren legs were dragged along the fractured concrete ground. Adding to her torturous ordeal, the already jagged concrete lay littered with sharp edges of both concrete and twisted metal. Even a dislodged nail or rivet grazed over the woman’s bare skin from time to time, stacking on a list of bleeding injuries that she cared not to recognize.

A minute passed before Tajo’s body finally stood hunched over outside of the thickest portion of smoke. The moment breathing became easier (yet still dirty) the General released Carmen, allowing her to rest upon the concrete outside whilst he fumbled about for the military-grade radio that rested upon his waist. Luckily, its strap had held, and upon bringing the communication device to his lips Tajo found that it still worked; that was saying a lot considering the amount of dust cached onto it.

“This is General Tajo,” the man spoke into the device, pausing to cough every so often, “Commander Santora, what is our situation?” An answer was not immediate, though the General had not expected the one he called to just drop everything and reply. As he waited, he simply glanced back to insure Carmen was still breathing, then turned his attention out towards his precious facility. For there to be a supposed ‘battle’ going on there wasn’t much smoke and fire.

Aviator-shades still attached to his face, Tajo peered over them to survey what damage had been done to the base. From the looks of it, an air-tower had collapsed, a hangar had been flattened, and an ammunition warehouse had been treated to a furred destruction. In truth, he had expected there to be much more, and the sounds of military action around him only furthered that expectation. Of course, he was a man of reason, and considering the types of weaponry in use he could tell just why there were not plumes of smoke rising from every inch of the facility. No inaccurate explosives had been given clearance to fire, and that alone was enough to save on collateral damage.

“General?” a raspy smoker’s voice rang through Tajo’s radio. The General snapped out of his surveying trance to answer, “Report, Commander.”. Command given, the Commander filled Tajo in on the finer points of the situation; “Casualties are minimal; only a handful were killed in the collapse of a tower. The target has incapacitated the biped, as well as well as defeated Isis. She has only taken minimal damage, and her current trajectory has her headed to your position.” Tajo quirked an eye at the final statement, namely because of the obviousness of it. He had not bothered to comment on the Hunter racing towards him , only because he knew there was nothing he could personally do about it.

“Commander. Order your men to cease fire.” Tajo ordered in plain. “Yes, sir” the Commander affirmed without a second thought.

It was not that he felt sorry for Jazz, nor’ that he honestly wanted to speak to the behemoth of a woman. Instead, Tajo had given the order on the sole basis of the female’s shielding possibly deflecting a projectile in his direction. He was not trying to become collateral damage himself.

Unnecessarily adjusting his uniform, the man stepped out to greet the approaching female, his hand outstretched to indicate for her to halt. Granted he had not expected it to actually work, the battered Hunter actually ceased her charge just in front of the comparatively miniscule man. The look dominating her continence was anything but happy and playful, however.

Even if he did not command the authority, Tajo made eye-contact with the female and began to speak, “I see you’ve come back for the dog.”. Jazz closed her eyes and huffed, apparently counting backwards from ten in an attempt to keep from just field-goal kicking the man out of her way. She did take note of the lack of stinging pains and other nuisances caused by weapons being discharged at her, and she figured that had enough to do with the General to at least give the man a chance.

“I trust you are not too pained and troubled by your experience?” Tajo asked with mild humor, knowing that the blood and scarring along multiple portions of the woman’s body was a clear indicator that she had indeed been torn apart during her time on deck. The blatant disregard for the seriousness of the situation forced the woman’s fingers to clench into fists at her side, and only afterward did she respond to the General through clenched teeth, “Just fuckin’ give me the dog and we can end this senseless violence!”. Strangely enough, the General looked right back at her, shrugged his shoulders and muttered the exact words that she wanted to hear, “Alright. Take him.”

“Really?” Jazz inquired with full skepticism, “You’re just going to let me have him and go? I don’t believe it.”. The General crossed his arms and dropped the lighthearted tone, giving it to the female straight and unfiltered; “It is simple really. I have no quarrel with you, and I have no intention of seeing more of my countrymen die when so many have already fallen. To continue to fight would be pointless; we would not be avenging those who the canine killed by further holding and torturing him. I no longer see him as a bargaining chip either; not if you are willing to resort to violence to retrieve him.”

“Chimp,” Jazz began with a gentle shake of her head, “you don’t want to see me actually resort to violence.”. Tajo nodded before turning about to look within the dust that all but refused to clear. He pointed towards the decimated building before speaking, “The dog; he is in there.”. A brief inhale through the Hunter’s nose confirmed the statement.

“For your sake,” Jazz once again began, “he better be alive.” With her one and only true threat out of the way, the Hunter fell to her knees, rumbling the cracked asphalt beneath Tajo’s heels. From there, she proceeded to fall upon her hands. One deep inhale of dry, desert air later and the female expelled a contrastingly moist gust. Her breath broke apart the blinding shroud of ash that had plagued Tajo and Carmen so dearly. Needing but one sweep with her exhale, the woman effectively lifted away the choking cloud.

Jazz took note of the human woman splayed out upon the ground before her, but that was of no concern to the Hunter. As much as she enjoyed a nice fight, the warring atmosphere was beginning to work her nerves; she wanted nothing more than to finish her mission and return home. Unfortunately, life was ready to complicate affairs once more. Her eyes beheld Brackish, yet the Border collie’s condition was anything but what she had hoped to see.

The dog lay splayed out upon his side, motionless and soaking in a pool of his own blood. Jazz’s demeanor completely transformed as her golden eyes forced her brain to deal with the image lain out before her. The scent of the Collie’s blood overpowered that of both of the humans beside her, and its taste drifted through the air.

The Hunter’s fangs dug into her bottom lip as she contemplated her options, only sparing a passing glare to the General from time to time. It wasn’t that she could not save Brackish; he was still likely alive enough for her to revive him. The real issue lay within the fact that she could not aid the canine at her current size. No matter how much dexterity she boasted, the Hunter simply could not insure that any motion she made at this height would further injure the Border collie.

“Shit!” the Hunter cursed aloud, her eyes jammed shut in irritation and outright anger. With a low growl emanating from between her lips, the woman turned her head to face the General, eyes opening to but slits. “How far can I trust you?” she strangely inquired of the man. Tajo snickered to the question in fact, but as a professional man he offered the woman an answer, “You can only trust me as far as you see fit. I have been known to be a man of my word, however. Why might you ask?”

Jazz’s head motioned toward the downed Collie before going on, “I’m going to need to downsize to treat him; I trust you’ll let me get away with that?”. Tajo brought a finger to his chin, pausing before his reply was made, “I see no reason to show further hostilities. Go on, I will have my men w—“ – “Symphony!” Jazz suddenly screamed to her artificial ally in her native tongue, completely cutting the General off, “Symphony: Full-scale Self-destruct if my biological signature runs red.”. An ultra-sonic whistle affirmed the lycan’s command.

Tajo stared to the oversized female, not at all liking the disrespectful interruption. Hands crossed behind his back, the General proceeded to interrogate the woman, yet once again she ignored him in favor of doing something that completely defied all proper visions of etiquette and modesty.

Jazz’s hands crossed over her chest, both hands sliding beneath either side of the ragged apparel that covered her modest assets. Her fingers fiddled about briefly, along with a brief spark jumping from her gloved hand. It wasn’t that she was nervous about what she was doing; in fact, the Hunter was merely disengaging several systems fitted into her upper apparel. Once she had properly disconnected the necessities, Jazz grasped the two heavy straps running over her shoulders and casually slid them off over her arms, effectively slipping out of her dressing. The thick belted loin-cloth she sported was given a much less ceremonious treatment. With an electrified tap to the front buckle of the belt, the lower apparel merely unhooked itself and fell in a distorted heap at the woman’s feet. With Symphony still connected to her top clothing, the weapon merely lay in its incomplete state, only posing a threat should its owner be killed.

Professionalism was the name of the General’s current game. He ignored Jazz’s sudden decision to undress in favor of commenting upon the localized earthquake her clothing made when it so daintily slipped from her frame. “You make it seem so light when you wear it” he said with a chuckle. His response from the woman was but a glare in his direction.

Jazz’s final piece of business was her glove, and it was also the most dangerous. As she went about unwrapping it from her wrist, then disabling it and ‘forgetting’ it with her mind, the Hunter could feel all eyes roaming over her. Even after she’d discarded the glove upon her heap of clothing, she could not help but be plagued by the gravity of the situation. She was now vulnerable; just a giant naked woman that was about to lose the ‘giant’ aspect all for the sake of some dying commoner.

“Symphony:” Jazz began to command as her arms stretched over her head, clearly playing off her negative feelings, whilst allowing a calm and collected female to show through, “Ready my standard apparel; medic and scout.” Upon conclusion of her command, the female’s body let loose a thunderous *crack*, her leg buckling as the skin around her knee grew tight, then split apart to reveal the bone beneath. Several more cracks and pops followed, forcing the woman to flinch on occasion, or outright fall off balance.

Tajo had never actually witnessed the process of one of the aliens size-shifting, and honestly he would have rather kept it that way. The wet crunches and pops that signified the woman’s body collapsing in on itself, was like a complete series of child-births, meat-grinder-incidents, and bone crushing injuries all rolled into one. He had seen terrible visions, and heard horrifying sounds, but never had the General witnessed a being go through so much pain purposely, and not take any effort to censor it from public eyes.

A red mist sprayed upon the General’s face and uniform, an action being associated with Jazz’s elbow piercing skin before being broken down to a smaller size for accommodation. Shades still hanging on for dear life upon the bridge of his nose, Tajo finally found himself forced to listen to his churning guts and look away in disgust. Unfortunately, not seeing did not aid him in not feeling the occasional splatter of red goo upon his uniform. Carmen had recovered enough to glance up just in time to witness Jazz’s transformation, and within seconds the human female had gone right back to looking at the ground.

A little over a minute passed before Jazz finally stood at her normal height of six feet. Her fur lay matted in patches of crimson, whilst all around her was a sea of blood, small chunks of discarded meat, and the occasional large strand of shed fur. The Hunter had no time to relish in grossing out every single onlooker however; she had business to attend to. Having already commanded Symphony to ready her standard equipment, the female rushed over to her massive weapon, finding the compartment that housed her normal-sized gear.

She was dressed and prepared in but thirty seconds, and before her minute was up she’d already rushed over to the broken, bleeding Border collie. Tajo took the time to look after Carmen, upholding his promise not to fire on the Hunter.

Jazz knelt beside the bloodied canine, immediately placing a hand upon several points of his body. She mumbled to herself, “Heart’s still beating; still breathing” the Hunter grabbed the collie’s muzzle and pulled his nose to face her. She was greeted to a halfhearted groan from the dog. “I’m scared to flip you over” she muttered, “with that much blood under you, you may very well have a wound that’ll kill you if I take pressure off of it.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to have a firing-squad posted behind her. Thankfully, that was not the case, but that did not aid her in actually getting Brackish out alive. “Dammit!” she cursed through her teeth, “I don’t have time for this; I’ll just risk it.”.

Both of her hands slipped beneath the Collie, the time for patience having been over the moment she’d shrunk down. She felt the other side of his body, noting that most of the fur and flesh was intact, aside from a significant gash profusely running with blood. Even so, the Hunter hoisted the dog partially into the air only to drop him back into the puddle of his own life’s essence, flipped around to show the ghastly wound on his side.

“Dammit” Jazz grumbled as she analyzed the damage to the Border collie. His injury was consistent with a source she knew well, yet that knowledge wasn’t about to make her job any easier. “Bastard got… squashed” she stated aloud, as if anyone else was actually wondering. Jazz made no effort to find the culprit that flattened her newfound patient, but considering the amount of debris that had been flung about the ruined building, it was obvious that something nearby was responsible.

“Best bet would be to just cauterize the wound, lick you down and get you somewhere where I can set your skeleton right.” As the Hunter chatted to a near-unconscious subject, she played out her plan. Index and middle finger together, the woman traced her gloved hand over the open flesh. A visible line of jagged energy wove itself from her claw-tips to the canine’s injured skin. The small amount of electricity was strong enough to burn the Collie’s bleeding wounds, and once the Hunter had woven her hand back and forth over the entire area of the gash, its profuse bleeding halted all together. She was not perfect of course, and several bits of fur and skin had been crisped in her rushed procedure, but considering Brackish had already shown signs of having been electrocuted, it was not as though the burnt spots on his fur would be all that noticeable.

Nose scrunched in disgust at the smell of burnt flesh, the Hunter enacted phase two of her hasty medical efforts. Much akin to how she had treated Marcus, Jazz worked her tongue about her mouth momentarily to lather it in drool, then proceeded to lick the wounds she’d just sealed. Even though she did not break any of the seals on the collie’s exposed veins, she did catch the taste of his life’s essence, prompting her to pause and back her head away.

Jazz’s eye twitched as collie-blood excited her taste-buds, the sensation catching her entirely off guard. Granted, the Hunter simply smiled and joked before going back to work, “I kinda’ wish you were dead now… heh.”. Instinctively, she had spoken in her own native language, which meant that Tajo could not inquire of the strange comment, and Brackish was far too close to unconsciousness to make out what had been said. That left but the one soul who could understand barking-tongue; a soul who had only recently stepped out of the ruins, white coat tinged light gray, and attitude hinging on disappointment. “So you’ve not grown out of it either?” Ghost’s voice sounded from just behind the Hunter.

Jazz made no motion to turn about and face the Arctic fox, and instead went about her current business, taking short deliberate licks as she worked around Brackish’s wounds. She did however respond to the fox; “I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.”. Calling her lie, Ghost’s arms crossed, his since of disappointment growing exponentially, “The taste of dog; it still pleases your palette, does it not?”. Jazz leaned away from Brackish to lick his blood away from her lips, the taste once again sparking memories of yesteryear, along with a response to the fox behind her, “It’s obvious isn’t it? I’ve done pretty well though; since they’ve had me on sedatives I’ve not turned any Antarions into midnight snacks.”

“Congratulations…” Ghost began with clear sarcasm, “but in reality you are no better than I, my friend. We’ve both tasted the flesh of our own… and sadly we’ve grown accustomed to it… enjoyed it.”. The Hunter nodded once in agreement as she looked over her patient. The Collie no longer bled, and the Hunter’s saliva would provide a barrier against infection, though there was the issue of several of his lower ribs being broken, let alone what kind of damage his vitals had sustained. Still, he was alive and capable of being transported, which is all she had planned to do.

The Hunter slid her arms beneath the half-dead Collie, gently lifting him to her chest to prepare for evacuation. As she turned with the Collie in tow, she faced the Arctic fox and finally looked him in the eyes with a verbal response, “I’ve got more important things to be ashamed of then knowing I’m a cannibal. Now how about we not bring this up ever again, Snow-Flake?”. The Arctic fox snorted as he stepped over to the woman, taking up a follow position at her side. Arms still crossed, the fox retorted, “I believe it is too important an issue to simply be ignored, Jasmine.” – “Jazz, you prick.” – “You know I only use your full name when I request your full attention; so please, give it to me. “. Ghost traced the Hunter back to Symphony’s side, talking all the while, “You’ve been fooled into believing your medication is ‘changing’ you. Jazz, it is only masking who you truly are. You need he—“

- “Ghost! This isn’t the best time to be talking this nonsense.”

- “It is the only time I can speak to you and not look ‘completely’ suspicious. On Antaria you always travel with your clan.”

- “True… but even so, how about you grill me on this later when I’m not trying to finish a mission and go the fuck home!?”

- “Understandable, but do hear me out on one notion.”

- “What is that?”

- “How many of Isis’ friends have you run into?”

- “One sniper on the way over here, then that crazy bitch herself—“

- “She’s back up and running by the way, Jazz. Likely she is feeding to maintain a size like that, though.”

- “Noted, but that is all that I’ve run in to.”

Jazz gently set Brackish upon the pavement at Symphony’s side; she had not entirely decided just how she would transport the dog back to Laughlin, but as Ghost went on she apparently was not going to have much time to figure it out. “I dealt with one of her lackeys guarding the collie” the Arctic fox stated, though a finger to his chin affirmed that he was certainly not done, “That leaves their sniper presumably, as well as one more unaccounted for.”

“Think he’s stealthed?” the Hunter inquired as she surveyed the area around herself, mostly looking for any signs of a renewed Isis, ready for round 2.”. Ghost shook his head to her question, retorting in a mild tone, “No; I could sense him if he was.”. Jazz snorted, glaring down to the fox before replying with a mixture of humor and irritation, “Oh gee! I’m happy you have a way to tell when someone’s about to slit your throat; how about throwing some of those secrets my way!?”

“I’d be killed if I let any of our secrets out, Jasmine” Ghost shot back plainly, “That is, unless I was –raped- and brutally beaten by someone and was stripped of every piece of technology on my body.”. The Hunter smirked at the fox’s hinting, offering but a wink and a smile in return, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now, Jasmine… I believe you need to depart; you are in grave danger the longer you stay here.” Ghost stated, returning to a serious manner that defied all things previously humorous. “Agreed” Jazz affirmed, “I’ve got Tajo and his bastards off my back, but I’ve got a feeling Isis isn’t going to stop until she sees me dead… and by that I mean until she forces me to actually kill her.”. Ghost nodded in agreement, then looked over the Hunter, the collie and the massive heap of clothing. Formulating his own idea, he planned the Hunter’s escape for her, “Now, Jazz, returning to your Titan status may be a good option, unless you are attacked. You may be fast, but Isis is undoubtedly at an advantage on four legs.”

The Hunter’s ears twitched as the sound of a screaming male sounded from afar. “Isis is making a meal out of her allies, no doubt” she commented, only to glance back to the Arctic fox and critique his plan, “But you’re saying I should try to high-tail it out of here like this? I don’t know, I feel like it’d be a lot faster if I just grew again, foxy…”. “But,” Ghost began, “You would be an obvious target for Isis… unless of course, you are given an escort.”. Jazz lowered a single ear at the proposition, though did begin to disrobe as she inquired, “Wait… who are you suggesting escorts me?”

Even as the rather attractive female discarded her clothing, Ghost’s eyes remained fixated to Jazz’s, the situation requiring him to think with his more intelligent half. “I already have one arranged… whether she likes it or not.”. “You know,” Jazz began as she shook herself off and prepared to resume her maximum height, “I’d have several thousand issues with being escorted by your crazy mate if I had more options.”

Ghost grinned through closed lips, a devilish façade plastered over his entire continence “Well according to the forty-foot kitsune feasting on humans, I don’t believe there are many more options, Jazz. Many would be wary of pairing an ex-mate and their current together… but I have faith that you two will get along for just a short trip.”. The glare he received from the Hunter shot a metaphorical dagger straight into his soul, though as she began her transformation, Ghost twitched his ear and setup a link with Ire.

- “Ire, where are you?”

- “Surveying the Hunter’s work on the mechanical unit. I do indeed give her points for creativity. I would have just eaten the pilot.”

- “No time for frivolous chatting, my drixen… need you to escort the Hunter back to Texas.”

- “Come again?”

- “You heard me correctly. Escort her. That is all I ask of you.”

- “The one who broke my forepaw? I escort her?”

- “ Si. Only to Texas… keep Isis and her lackeys off of her.”

- “What is my incentive?”

The question was always the same; whenever Ghost asked anything of Ire she demanded a reason to do it. Fortunately, Ghost knew his mate well, and with a simple shrug he offered her a simple, yet enticing offer.

- “You have –my- permission to use all force that you see fit, love.”

- “What are you suggesting, Ghost?”

- “Ire… they have been detrimental to our agenda since they were given any power. The only reason that cocky little immature brat holds any power is that she is our Vixen’s daughter. If she interferes, send her into a permanent siesta. Her friends; do not slay them if you can help it.”

- “Ghost… what of the Vixen-Elite? She will most certainly have us assassinated, or at least barred from the VEs for acts of this nature.”

- “We will handle her when the time comes. She is in her position for the sole fact of being a kitsune; we’ve nothing to fear from her physically.”

- “If it gets the Hunter out of our fur, then I am willing to commit to this.”

- “Then it is settled… annihilate the kitsune; batter her friends, and get these dogs out of here. Even Tajo was wise enough to know that there was no need in fighting to keep Brackish.”

- “I understand Ghost… but—“

- “Just get over here, Ire!”

Oddly enough, the drixen did not snap back over the comm.-link, she merely fell silent and disengaged her link with the Arctic fox. Moments later, her form lay visible, padding slowly from the incapacitated mech. As opposed to her usual demeanor, Ire’s tail lay slumped upon the ground, and her head lay drooped in an uncharacteristic submission. By the time she’d arrived by Ghost and Jazz, the Hunter had already achieved full height, and commenced dressing herself.

Ire looked Jazz up and down, snorting at the thought of having agreed to keep the mottle-coated female safe, even though she’d been nothing but a nuisance to the drixen.

“Hurry” Ire stated with a glance over her shoulder, a glance that netted her a glimpse of Isis in the distance, a distinct crimson color saturating the area around the kitsune’s lips.

“Fragile cargo, hybrid” Jazz snorted, “calm your nerves; it’s not like Isis can do anything to you; you’ve got scales, and a freakin’ battleship attached to you.” The Hunter hoisted Brackish gingerly into her palm, taking the utmost care not to squeeze the Collie. “Alright… let’s get the hell out of here.”. With a mock-wave to Tajo, and a smile towards Ghost, Jazz finally set off to end this hellish sortie she’d been sent on. With Ire forcibly at her side, the Hunter had no concerns about Isis, though she was mildly concerned >for< the kitsune.

Q/C/F ... Praise ?
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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Re: Miscommunication

Postby RaddaRaem » Mon May 14, 2012 5:54 pm

Alright, first off, sorry for taking my sweet ass time getting around to reading this. Second ummm... I'm trying to be creative with my compliments and not just repeat myself. As always your fight scenes are superb and very well described and paint a rather vivid mental picture. You do a fine job not repeating yourself and finding multiple and rather creative ways to describe a given situation. The characters certainly feel alive with the way they act and speak as they converse and fight and.... bluh bluh bluh praise praise praise.

Only real thing I can call you out for is a grammatical error here and there. One or two misuses of you're instead of your and what not. Blah blah blah was quite the read, bluh bluh bluh looking forward to whatever you post next.
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Re: Miscommunication

Postby foxelite » Thu May 17, 2012 12:59 am

Damn right you took your sweet ass time, mister Shady-guy. You know you're still the only reading.. and probably be with me till I end this thing in like 5-10 chapters. Anywho, I know I do my fight-scenes quite well... I'm there while I'm writing them (cocky).

As for the grammatical errors.... pffft, your won to talk mistur man! D=
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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Re: Miscommunication

Postby kool kitty89 » Sun May 20, 2012 3:43 am

I have to agree with Gadda, but beyond that, I think I enjoyed these scenes more than any of the previous fights/battles . . . something more satisfying about them. (and certainly detailed as always, as Gadda mentioned)
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Re: Miscommunication

Postby foxelite » Thu Jul 12, 2012 6:24 am

This... this toook awhile. I honestly can't even find anything to say myself.

@kitty: I'll admit, I liked the fight scenes a bit more too. I think it's just because Jazz is so hell bent on NOT fighting that her fighting style is entertaining to write/read about. As for Ghost's fight... well it's almost the same thing, except Ghost has already proven that unlike Jazz, he is not above killing or critically wounding if it comes down to it.

Miscommunication Pt. 32?

Silence: it dominated the monotonous trek back to Laughlin Air Force base. Fortunately, the lack of conversation and ruckus was a good thing on many fronts.

As Jazz took another glance over her shoulder, she spotted absolutely nothing. It brought a warmth to her heart, and a smile to her face. There were no forty-foot mutant foxes trying to bite her head off; there were no irritable hybrids griping at her for reasons she could not change, and best of all her current ‘patient’ was too close to unconsciousness to moan in pain. It was perfect, too perfect.

In reality, Isis’ refusal to give chase bothered Jazz to a minor extent, though not as much as Ire’s choices. The dragon-hybrid had not taken three steps with the Hunter before turning on every single cloaking device imaginable. In essence, Ire could have very well stopped following Jazz for all she knew, but the Hunter wasn’t too concerned with whether or not the angry bitch had actually abandoned her. Even if Ire was a bit untrustworthy at times, it had been obvious that even she was not above taking orders from Ghost. With that in mind, Jazz simply relaxed all but her ears and continued her not-so-lonely lonesome trek.

The Hunter simply didn’t know how well she had it.


“Treason?” the alluring sound of Ghost’s voice inquired aloud, “My friends, I do not believe our organization so much as believes in the word ‘treason’.”

Outside, upon pavement in the desert night air, Ghost stood. Behind him stood General Tajo, an attentive posture dominated the General, whilst Ghost himself stood fully relaxed as if holding but a casual conversation. Unfortunately, the situation was anything but casual. He and Tajo both had been surrounded. Six in total, foxes of various breeds stood in a circle about the Arctic fox and human. Each of the surrounding vulpine’s sported full warfare-armament, and it didn’t help for them to be towering over both Ghost and Tajo.

Three stood a full twenty-to-thirty feet in their four-legged forms, while the others dwarfed them at forty-to-fifty feet in their anthropomorphic states. That was except for one individual vixen that stood a full ninety feet in height, seeming a purely dominating force and accented by seven large, well-groomed tails behind them. They sported a fully white fur-color, broken only by a shoulder-length set of black hair upon her head and their emerald eyes that stared daggers into the comparatively puny Arctic fox below her. Her demeanor was nothing short of irritable, and her position had her straight in front of Ghost’s field of view.

She was an Arctic kitsune; Ghost was an Arctic fox, yet the familiarity in species did not seem to matter to the colossus of female. “Ghost” she began with her eyes closing and a low sternness in her tone, “this is a serious matter, and I expect it to be treated as such.”. The smaller male shot back to the woman, not at all caring of her height advantage, “I do not see a reason to explain myself.”

Her response came through clenched teeth and closed eyes; a gentle shake of her head accented her disapproval of the subordinate’s actions, “You’ve allowed—No wait, you –forced- the escape of a prisoner; I don’t see how you can think that doesn’t deserve an explanation.”. “Because,” Ghost replied in an instant, “there was no need to keep the Collie; by releasing him I was merely doing us all a favor.”. The larger female cracked open but a single eye to the fox’s retort, taking a moment to formulate her own; “Ghost that is not your decision to make.”- “I made it my own, thank you very much.”

Eyes opening to but slits, the woman arched a finger over her nose and glared down to her lesser. “You do know the penalty for treason against your commanders, correct?” she inquired of the Arctic fox. In return, Ghost gave her a snicker, clearly showing his amusement but also bothering to offer an answer as well, “Treason… heh, our entire organization is based upon treason. We steal from our own brethren; we critically wound and often kill one another on a monthly basis. We break promises and age-old creeds as if they do not even exist, and yet you have the audacity to single out and call –me- a traitor?”

“None of that matters,” the female shot back with a simultaneous flick of her tails, “we break many rules in our own universe where there are mass numbers of us. Here however, I am in control, and there are only a handful of cohorts designated to me; I expect them to behave within my jurisdiction, otherwise I will dub them traitors, insubordinates, and deserters, all of which fall under penalty of death.”. The Arctic fox nodded, vocalizing a “Mmhmm, mmmhmm” agreeing with the female but undoubtedly having more to say. Of course, his mouth may have been better left shut; “Death? My lady, you do not have the capability to down this creature; not now, and not ever.”

The female’s body tensed, though she remained calm for the most part as she retorted, “Do not end up beneath my sole tonight, fox; I have had almost enough of you already.”. Ghost simply snickered at the threat, even going so far as to wag his tail with his response, “Ooh, our Vixen is a feisty one… how erotic.”

“I don’t have time for this” the female snorted, but continued “What you’ve done will cost you, Ghost. Nothing of this plan leaves this dimension!” She turned her gaze from the fox to the General, who had remained quiet the whole while. “General Tajo,” she addressed the man, instantly grasping his full attention, “am I to understand that you aided in the dog’s escape by telling your men to stand down?”. The General showed no hesitation as he placed his hands behind his back, craned his neck as far back as it would allow and made eye-contact with the woman. “That is correct” he blatantly stated, not a single ounce of fear held in his voice.

“You are aware that your orders were to hold the Collie… correct?” the female asked with little emotion detectable in her tone. The General, aside from needing to raise his voice to communicate with the giant, maintained a similar tone of voice himself, “I am well aware of that, but it was brought to my attention that these actions would bring more harm than good.”

“Again,” the female began, pausing to glance at Ghost, yet still addressing Tajo, “that is not a decision you are to concern yourself with. Thanks to this little act of treason, now I see no other choice than to detain both the Hunter and the Collie… or merely destroy them both.”. Speaking possibly out of his jurisdiction, Tajo shot back to the woman with a smile beginning to break upon his grizzled face, “Hah; I see where your daughter gets her terrible decision-making skills from.”. “My daughter!” the female suddenly broke into a booming voice of thunder and god-like proportions, “will not be talked about negatively by some worthless, primitive insect!”. Oddly enough, even as Tajo stepped back and wiped the smile off of his face, Ghost pitched an awfully provocative statement, “Then allow a more worthwhile, advanced insect to speak of your unintelligent, incapable, irrational offspring. She is in her position solely because of your choice and status. If not for her abilities, of which she is horrendous at applying, she would be an entirely useless waste of angry space. Furthermore, -you- yourself have no business leading any taskforce; decisions that should be thought over are simply answered rapidly with rash answers that make no sense in the long run!”

The female snorted as her finger-claws dug into her thighs; a noticeable upward curl formed in each of her tails, though Ghost did not bother to notice, or care. Instead, the Arctic fox did the impossible: when the enormous female motioned to verbally tear into him, he cut her off, “Shut it and listen! You want an explanation for my actions, fine!” His already short ears pinned back against his skull, almost forcing them to disappear as he went on, “I, my mate, even the General seem to hold a skill that you can not attest to: a little thing called ‘foresight’. Holding the Collie would only incite the Hunter to resort to senseless violence, ending in a death count that needn’t be necessary! We’ve already seen enough slaughter, and more will undoubtedly follow. Giving up the Collie insured that we could save our resources, and rid ourselves of any more Antarion nuisances. Jazz, the Hunter has no reason to concern herself with this world once her mission is completed… we can rest assured that Brackish would want nothing to do with it either. As such, we are certain that letting them go would not result in them divulging our secrets. I’ve spoken to them both; they merely want nothing to do with any of this.”

The white-furred kitsune looked down upon the Arctic fox as he rambled and explained his actions, but a twitch of her ear signaled that something was amiss. “Right.” She affirmed, though the distance in her voice made it obvious she was not speaking to the fox, let alone anybody present; “Isis, you and yours are clear to engage; wipe it off of the face of the planet, and if you see anything furry that isn’t a fox….. exactly.”

After her brief communication with unseen parties, the kitsune once more addressed Ghost, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to care about what you were saying. I already made my decision, traitor; the dogs die, and we move military operations up to immediate. We’ve waited long enough, and I’m not waiting to see if anything else is going to decide to knot my tails.”. Her eyes fell upon the General, then slid over the other titanic vulpine creatures that formed the circle. “Neither of them is necessary; kill them both. Appoint the commander in charge from now on; and tell him to contact me as soon as possible. I want a blitzkrieg force ready to move out by the morning.”

Orders thrown out, the kitsune pivoted upon one leg, twisting about to leave without another word. She was however, forced to halt as Ghost spoke up once more; “Vixen; I have a proposition.”. The female did not turn to face the Arctic fox, though her ears perked as she allowed him to speak, “Go on.”. Knowing he had all of a few seconds before she would simply give the order to vaporize him, Ghost shot off his so-called proposition, “Clearly we’ve differing opinions on leadership; therefore I feel as though a duel for supremacy is in order. That is… if you bother to acknowledge that rule.”

“I acknowledge it” the kitsune stated, though she had much more to say, “but I also know that the law states that both Vixen-Elite, and Fox-elite be challenged simultaneously by another mated pair.”. “Indeed,” Ghost agreed with a nod that went unseen, “and I just so happen to have a mate if you remember?”. The kitsune craned her neck until her cheek touched her shoulder, an audible pop being heard before a sigh escaped her throat followed by an unpleasant response, “The drixen… I will not fight her; your proposition is declined.”

“Such fear for one who leads” the Arctic fox chimed with a hint of humor yet enough irritation to get his point across. The ‘tsune had no intention of being bullied by a ‘lesser’ creature, and she once again began to pad away, leaving with nothing but a passing backward wave of her hand accompanied by one order “Leave no traces of them.”

A combined yip from her five flunkies signaled affirmation of the order. “A coward’s pets, heh” Ghost snickered, not seeming at all phased by the impending death. Tajo on the other hand had locked eyes with one of the four-legged Titans that stood before him; a Red fox of generic coloring, though a black slant of fur over each eye made him appear angrier than necessary. It was enough to force the general to step back, though the fox stepped forward once in return, staring down the human anxiously.

A slow, monotonous slurp from one side of the fox’s muzzle to the other was enough to force the General to squeal inwardly. He had no intention of becoming anything’s next meal, and in a panicked tizzy, he whirled about to face Ghost, inquiring of him with earnest “Do you see any way out of this!?”. The Arctic fox raised his shoulders, then grinned as if there was no danger at all. Eyes closed, the white-furred vulpine gave the General an answer that reeked of nonchalance and bravado, “I am a true Vulpine-Elite, I can get out of anything; especially a circle of followers led by a coward.”

Another glance at the encroaching Red fox led Tajo to outright command Ghost, “Well then show me this skill of yours!”. The Arctic fox giggled in a mildly childish manner to the steel-hearted man’s fear. Indeed, if one was unfamiliar with situations involving giant armed foxes everywhere, then fear was only natural.

“Relax, General” Ghost said simply with a casual shrug. “Take hold of my right arm” the fox commanded lowly, though waited for the General to follow his order before giving the rest of the information “now… hold on >very< tightly.”. Tajo did as the fox asked of him, though inquiries were undoubtedly in order. With that in mind, the General set about asking the one question that’s answer blew his mind right out of his skull; “What are you planning, Ghost?”

“Planning?” the Arctic fox began inquisitively, “I do not intend to plan; I intend to –do-, General.”. Unfortunately, Tajo further interrogated the Arctic fox, leading to the answer he’d rather just left a surprise; “What is it you plan to do then?”. Ghost broke his muzzle into what could only be described as a mischievous grin; with full eye-contact, he gave the General the short, sweet, simple truth, “Well General, we are going to fly.”


“I should really just walk toward them.” Still walking ‘alone’, Jazz was forced to entertain herself with self-conversation. Of course, the ‘them’ she referred to was not some other personality in her head, but instead the border guards just a football field away from her. “They’ve already shot at me twice,” she went on, mumbling in her native tongue, “I could technically call it self-defense now; I mean really, who –shoots- a giant armed alien that hasn’t made any hostile motions yet?”

Another deflected volley of small caliber projectiles caused the Hunter to roll her eyes with a blatant grin. “So lucky I’ve got stuff to do” she snickered, “otherwise I’d play with you idiots.”. As she mentioned however, she had no time to toy with the border patrols. Pursuing her objective, Jazz put even the most skilled border-jumper to shame by casually stepping over the fence separating US and Mexican territories. In all honesty, she didn’t fully understand the need for a fence to separate territory. Where she was from, scent marking was effective enough to warn groups and individuals that they had strayed too far from their own home. As far as she was concerned, the fence was just a waste of resources, and an eyesore on the otherwise barren landscape.

Losing interest in the affairs of the terrified, the Hunter turned her attention to the Collie cupped in her hands. “Well, Brackish” she began to speak aloud, even if the one she addressed probably wasn’t too keen on listening, “just think; you’re fucked up beyond all reason, but at least this will all be over soon.” Of course, she received no reply, but that did not stop her from conversing with a mute, “I can go back to just being another Hunter… you can go back to doing whatever the hell it is you do.” To that thought she quirked an eye, and without the Border collie being able to stop her from rambling, the Hunter’s jaws went on, “Really all I know about you is that you’re a bit of a contradiction. You like vixens for… ‘other’ reasons than killing them, even though you’re part coyote. That, and you dodge military duty like a pro—bleh, I’m rambling to myself; you don’t wanna’ hear this. Let’s just say some goodbyes and get the hell out of this place.”


It had been a bit of a debate for Lieutenant Bradshaw. On one hand, animals were not allowed in the hospital, on the other hand there had already been one dog-thing and a fox inside of the facility without anything said against them. “Technically they mean four-legged animals anyway” the Lieutenant reasoned with himself… and the six foot bipedal German shepherd catching stares from every military hospital employee. By the time Marcus and the Lieutenant had made it to the elevator, all work had ceased upon the first floor of the facility. “You’d think we didn’t just get attacked by a bunch of giant foxes a few days ago.. sheesh” Bradshaw quipped as he looked to the German shepherd for a reaction; of course, Marcus just stared at him blankly.

Taking note that joking simply wasn’t an option with one who’s understanding of the English language was basically ‘sit’, ‘stay’, ‘roll over’, Bradshaw settled for herding Marcus to the back of the elevator and proceeding to rise to the 10th floor. Of course, he stood in front of the control-panel lest certain dogs lose themselves to curiosity. The trip on the elevator was bland, aside from one minor incident with a nurse on the 5th floor deciding that she could wait a little longer once she saw what was already on board.

The ding to indicate the end of their trip did perk Marcus’ ears, but aside from that he seemed to be behaving quite within reason. Even walking to their destination, no matter how many people stopped to stare or point fingers, the canine simply continued to follow the Lieutenant.


“Who you think’s going to the Super Bowl this year?” Carl’s voice inquisitively rang into the ears of Agent Keazel. In response, the Agent placed two fingers to his chin before finding an answer that was grounded in the pure logic of one who doesn’t know anything about American football, “I’m going with the Bengals.”. “You’re pretty dumb for a smart guy, ya’ know that?” Carl shot back with a chuckle, his mood having risen substantially even if he was still bed-ridden.

“You’ll have to excuse me;” Keazel stated back to the Rancher with slanted eyes, “my job doesn’t permit me a lot of time to keep up with sports.”

Carl was not defeated by the statement; no, on the contrary the Rancher was prepared to offer a rather sensible rebuttal. Unfortunately, the creak of the wooden room door would force him to hold back his college-educated, sports-fanatic argument. In fact, when he witnessed what came padding into his room, he all but forgot any points he may have had. All talk of sports was lost in his ‘greeting’ to the two intruders, “Holy hell, it’s another one!”

Ushering Marcus into the room before closing the door, Lieutenant Bradshaw looked to the disabled Rancher with a quirked eye. “Yea,” he started with a shrug, “we’ve got more dogs to deal with.”. Carl and Agent Keazel immediately took to shaking their heads in a slow, monotonous manner. Clearly, nobody was enthused to lay eyes on yet another two-legged creature that wasn’t a primate.

Bradshaw relaxed his shoulders prior to introducing the six-foot German shepherd, “So this is Marcus;” the shepherd’s ears perked to the mention of his name, “apparently he’s just a regular dog.”. “Come again?” both Carl and the Agent instantly inquired. The Lieutenant outstretched his hands as he drilled his mind for a method of explaining just what he had witnessed. “She uh, “ he stuttered, “she like… had him and.. I don’t know; she made him –this-!”. Emphasizing his words, Bradshaw held two open palms out around the canine.

For a moment, a four-way staring contest enveloped the room. It wasn’t until Agent Keazel brought up an obvious fact that the game was ended; “Alright, it’s midnight… I’ll give a damn about this in the morning.” An undoubtedly forced yawn accented his request for retreat. Unfortunately, that request was denied by a single remark from the crippled Carl, “Hell no! If I’m stuck with this, you’re stuck with it!”. Bradshaw merely shook his head and cracked a halfhearted grin; in reality he had planned on leaving Marcus here for somebody else to deal with.

Amidst it all, the German shepherd simply stood bored and uninterested in the flurry of fully formed sentences he couldn’t understand. Eventually however, Marcus succumbed to the displeasure of being out of the loop. Like any dog, child or organism not rooted to the ground, the Shepherd found a way to entertain himself without necessarily being a bother to anyone else.

Stepping away from Bradshaw’s side, Marcus glanced over at Carl then Keazel; both of them spared a passing stare as the canine moved, but they did not acknowledge him in any further manner. With that established, the Shepherd padded beneath the mounted television in the room, not at all finding interest in bright lights and random pictures. In all honesty he just wanted Jazz to hurry up and return. Being stuck with nothing but people he couldn’t understand had long since lost its allure now that he’d been exposed to higher forms of communication with his own kind.

With a barely audible *erf* to himself, the German shepherd made his way to the sole room window. It happened to be mostly concealed behind curtains, but with a little ingenuity Marcus accomplished using his arms to part the loose cloth that concealed the viewport to the outside world. He pressed his nose to the glass, fogging up a small portion yet leaving more than enough for him to see out of. Residing on the tenth story, Marcus was given quite the view of the world below. Sure it was dark outside, but rows of lights, spotlights and the bright lamps of vehicles all aided in the canine’s ability to decipher the hustle and bustle below.

His ears dropped to his skull as he surveyed the alerted state below. The last time he’d gazed down on humanity like this, he had been standing on his own four paws at ground-level. It had only been a few days since he’d been turned into that behemoth, yet it felt like so much longer to the Earth born mutt. This two-legged form was ‘different’ and interesting, but there was something far more alluring about dominating the beings that generally looked down upon him.

A minute wag began to overtake his tail as thoughts of the night he’d decimated a portion of the Mexican attack-force crept into the forefront of his mind. During all of his work as a police-dog he’d had to tackle people then wait for somebody else to finish the job, yet just being large enough to do whatever he wanted with a fully grown human made him feel far more useful. Useful… to the people that wanted to put him down anyway. He’d never thought about anything this much in his life, yet suddenly he found his thoughts on a legitimate track, as opposed to the wild, twisting river they usually ‘followed’.

He was supposed to be being put down, therefore what was to say that after all of this was over they wouldn’t just throw him back in a cage and make him await his execution? In his earlier days he always just thought of humans as alphas that he could never usurp; he just did what they trained him to do, even though they weren’t of his species. But now… now he’d been taught better. He didn’t want his fate to be decided by the same beings that he now knew he had the potential to slaughter like mice. They weren’t the supreme alphas that he had no choice to listen to; they were just more animals sharing the same turf that he did. Of course, all of those thoughts seemed to be leading Marcus down a deadly path to a homicidal canine, but alas the memory of being blown apart by artillery was still quite fresh in his mind.

He was not a bad dog that just wanted to kill for the sake of doing so. Sure, humanity left a bad taste in his mouth, but he had options. Even greater: for the first time he could truly understand and choose his options. Unfortunately, Marcus would have to wait to take full advantage of those aforementioned abilities.

The first shock was not enough to rouse the humans from their rambling, but Marcus was thrown into a state of awareness. Eyes widened, ears perked, and tail stiffened the German shepherd stared out of the window far more intently. He did not make out any particular shapes, though something had undoubtedly stirred the patrolling guards and few vehicles at the back of the hospital below.

Another tremor rocked the entire hospital, instantly snapping any and all from arguments, sleep and paperwork. There would be no time to ponder the source of the shock however, as it was followed by another, then a violent series of vibrations rumbling throughout the entire structure. Lights flickered as the ordeal continued, though in only a matter of seconds it ceased, leaving no more than a loud and obnoxious series of thuds sounding off from what appeared to be the roof.
Carl was the first to break the silence once the lighting in the room had settled, “So, everyone who thinks that this has something to do with something giant and furry… say ‘I’” After a combined sigh, both Bradshaw and Agent Keazel shrugged their shoulders and uttered an exhausted “I”. Marcus merely broke his gaze from the window to stare directly towards the ceiling, a low growl forming in his throat.

“What gives with Fido over there?” Carl once again tore through the almost-silence. Strangely enough, Keazel deciphered the entire situation in a single sentence, “Something’s on the roof;” the Agent then turned to the Lieutenant and continued, “you’re the military guy, go check it out.”

Bradshaw’s entire continence broke into sheer disbelief. Nose scrunched, eyes narrowed, he glared to the Agent for several seconds before actually forming a comprehendible sentence… more-or-less, “What… the… fuck… man?”. Agent Keazel turned his open palms upward as he shot his point back to the Lieutenant, “What? It’s your duty to protect us.”. Bradshaw immediately raised a finger to debate that virtually bulletproof point, “I- I didn’t sign up to go on suicide missions though, and I’m pretty sure that, whatever this is, investigating it just ends in death.”


Atop the hospital sat a figure in the moon-light. While large in size, the creature itself seemed rather small for the most part… especially when compared with the four legged white-furred monstrosity that stood in the parking-lot. The smaller of the two simply gazed down to the larger, an idle look spread upon their feral visage.

Below, chaos was the name of the game. A quartet of black paws flattened, kicked, and swiped at anything that moved, or dared to look like it moved. The base may have already been on alert, but there had been no sign of an attack, leaving the heightened sense of awareness to be… not quite that high. Needless to say, Isis’ sudden appearance had set all communications ablaze with explicatives and cries for bigger guns.

As gunshots were silenced by shattering skeletons, several low yips were also shot at the overzealous kitsune; those yips were easily traced back to the four-legged creature perched upon the hospital roof. “Isis,” they translated, the ‘voice’ of the small-one being male, “your mom expects us to destroy this whole place by ourselves? There’s too much here for just the two of us.”

“I know,” a high-pitched bark from the 40ft kitsune sounded, accompanied by a brief pause in her playful murder, “this is all mostly just to help clear a path for the army and stuff.”. The male thought only a moment on that fact before forming a response, “Yea, but this seems like such a waste of time; we could just vaporize the place with an Arc-cross and save us the trouble of tearing down all of this shit piece by piece!” He growled lowly before flopping his body down in boredom.

Isis would have been forced to crane her head back to actually make eye-contact with her companion, of whom seemed to be entirely shrouded in black aside from the occasional flicker of light from a nearby fire. She truly wished he hadn’t picked a twelve-story building to rest upon; it made talking to him a pain, and she did not enjoy the idea of having to look up at anyone. The ‘tsune was his leader after all, and looking up to her subordinate just didn’t sit right. With that in mind, Isis temporarily ignored whatever the other fox had to say in favor of snarling at him, “Get down here, dammit! This is awkward.”

It wasn’t everyday that somebody disobeyed Isis; she was the female operation leader’s daughter after all. This was a different kind of situation however. The male may have been of miniscule stature in comparison to the kitsune, but he had a definite advantage, he was the ‘tsune’s mother’s favorite of the bunch, even over Isis. “Let’s see,” the male began as he rolled onto his back, his silhouette childishly pawing at the night-sky as he chatted to the bratty behemoth below, “I’m your mother’s favorite little foxy, so how about I just let you tire yourself out, then I go explain to her that I have a better idea.”

Isis’ suddenly shut her eyes as she released a deep resentful sigh. Ears rolled back upon her head, the kitsune offered a fairly emotionless reply, “Or I can tear you limb for limb and tell my mother you defected.” That was indeed a possibility, but the male she addressed had one major hole to poke in that logic, “True… but if you tear me limb for limb… you’d die a painful, toxin-induced death.”. The kitsune found herself further distracted from destruction as her subordinate continued to ignore her commands. All of her tails risen in frustration, she arched her back and hissed; “I don’t care about all of your toxins and poisons and shit! I’ll just pin you down and microwave you if you don’t get down here and help me!”

“Help you what?” the male yipped from above, still idly pawing to the shrouded sky. Isis was none too pleased with his actions, but she knew that by the time she climbed the hospital to kill him, he’d have been on the other side of the base. Instead, she merely settled for a low, ominous growl. It got his attention, but not in the way she had hoped for.

Rolling back upon his stomach, the male fox stared cheekily down to the irate female. “Oh my, I’m terrified;” he barked sarcastically, even if sarcasm was hard to detect in the natural tongue, “the crazy kitsune is growling at me… again.”. It may have sent chills up the spine of every other being in a mile radius, but Isis’ bared fangs and audible signs of hatred did little more than entertain the male.

After several seconds, Isis took the hint: she just wasn’t going to scare this guy. Realization settling in, the ‘tsune dropped any attempts to be intimidating, instead turning her focus back to being a menace. Unfortunately, that minor incident left her with soured thoughts, and it was just a bit harder to have fun when one’s mind had just been tormented. There was far less enjoyment in her destruction; less force behind her swipes, less shock to her stomping, and when some unlucky soul made it between her jaws, she simply chewed them like any other meal.

“Stalker” the kitsune called the male’s name lowly, “will you at least help me level this one building?” She didn’t seem half as aggressive about it as she had been, even as she went on, “Come on... it’ll be fun; there has to be at least a few hundred In there.”

After a moment of thought, the male finally responded to the kitsune, “Well, I do like killing… so why not?” – “Glad we agree on something.”

It was imperative to note that Isis wore nothing as she frolicked about a warzone. Antarions weren’t exactly well known for finding clothing when in their four-legged forms, but that only applied to casual situations. As Ire had proven, in war-time four legs and a massive stature merely meant you were a massive target… a massive target that could carry a massive amount of weaponry and protection. Sure they were resilient when at their full size without any armor; Marcus and Brackish had carried that point home. However, they were far from invincible, and the right weapons were easily capable of bringing them down… Marcus and Brackish had both been unlucky enough to drive that point home as well. Even Ire had sustained massive amounts of damage once her shields were partially disabled. It all brought on but one question: why did Isis choose to enter hostile territory wearing nothing but the fur nature had given her?

It was puzzling to most; it’s not like any of her cohorts followed her example. As the male, hopped down into the lighting of the parking-lot, a black vest could even be me made out amongst the black fur that coated his frame. He sported no bow, though a collar (black of course) was wrapped about his neck. In short, he was only lightly armored and shielded, but even that was better than exposing one’s entire body.

Yet, with the massive amounts of small-arms fire that had impacted her pelt, the ‘tsune didn’t seem the least bit phased. The occasional explosion did force her to squeak, but those were few and far between, and most were only linked to personnel rocket-launchers and grenade launchers. Not surprisingly, many were only granted the opportunity for one shot, and that one shot did no real noticeable damage.

It was likely that only Isis understood why she did what she did, but every soldier on Laughlin Air Force Base definitely knew one thing: she pulled it off, much to their dismay.

“Alright,” the kitsune yipped aloud as she and her ally began to circle the hospital, “how to bring this thing down? I am so not head-butting it.”

- “Why not try biting it then.” The male barked with minor sarcasm.

- “Yea, I can regenerate my teeth, but I’d rather not have to.”

- “Freak…”

- “Says the todd with toxins strung throughout his entire body.”

The two locked eyes for a moment then passed off one another’s comments as humor. Turning their attention back to the massive construct, the male offered a solution to their problem, “Let’s just burn it down.”


He didn’t exactly –want- to, but Lieutenant Bradshaw now found himself wandering the hallways of the hospital in search of answers. Granted, he already had a very good guess as to what he was going to find. What’s worse, he was completely unarmed, as was protocol in this place housing nothing but the already sickly and injured.

He made it to the elevator doors, but came to a halt as several thoughts crossed his mind. If this truly was what he thought it was then being stuck in an 8x8ft car, suspended in a shaft by just one cable, probably wouldn’t be the best option. That only left the stairwell, and he honestly didn’t even know where that even was… or if it existed. Either way, he pretended that he knew something and commenced charging down the empty hall way in search of the stairwell that may or may not exist.

As he craned his neck to read every sign, he found himself only becoming far more lost than he had been. He was certain that there SHOULD have been a stairwell in the building; it just made logical sense. He kept telling himself that, even when he reached the other side of the building’s floor and found himself staring out of a pane-glass window into the night. It may not have meant much to look out into the night’s sky right now, but a disturbance down below prompted his attention. “Aww, hell nah!” the male cried out with his hands outstretched, slowly clenching his hands in despair. “Why couldn’t it just be an earthquake!?” he pleaded with either a deity or the ceiling, “Brotha’s ‘bout to have a mental breakdown in this bitch!”

His view of Isis and her cohort below vanished momentarily as they circled around to the back of the building. Suddenly, all of this running around in empty halls seemed like an even worse idea than it had only moments ago. He had nothing to hide beneath if they decided to bring the roof down, and he had nothing to hold on to if the floor suddenly gave way. Granted, he was on the tenth story; he was as good as dead no matter what they did to the building. That brought back the aforementioned idea of finding stairs, but then again it just seemed wrong to leave the others back in a cramped room with no idea what was happening.

Returning to his brothers-in-pain (and Marcus) seemed like the ethically correct idea, but saving his own body from being inside when the building gave way seemed like the far more logical thing to do. With that in mind, Bradshaw glanced for another sign around him, this time having his eyes fall upon one that pointed to stairs. Eye twitching whilst his mind worked, the officer stepped toward the sign, then glanced outside.

Below, Isis and her ‘friend’ had returned to the front of the building. They ignored the few cowardly workers that had attempted to flee through parking when the duo left. One woman was kicked into a sedan by a foreleg, but even she would survive long enough to witness the adolescent acts of vulpine arson.

It took Bradshaw a minute to focus on just what it was that the furry monstrosities had returned with locked between their jaws, but after only a second or two he had both analyzed, and commented on the situation; “Mother… fucker.”

As if the lieutenant’s statement had been their cue, the pair both reared back and launched their quarries into the lower half of the building. For Isis’ smaller companion, a missile rack from a nearby rearming hangar was his choice of ignition. For the multi-tailed bitch herself, a tanker-truck filled with gasoline for the motor-pool was her choice of fuel. Needless to say, the missile-rack smashed through the first floor, shattering the glass doors and barreling through the lobby with nothing more than the sound of a dozen terrified employees to egg it on.

Above, Bradshaw quivered as the entire structure shivered just a bit at the impact. Unfortunately, that little bit soon became a bit more life-threatening as Isis’ improvised projectile crashed through the second story, tore through a room, skid along several feet and then inevitably did what gasoline was known to do best… combust.

From the Lieutenant’s point of view, the entire Earth lurched as a ball of fire rocketed from the second-story below him. The tremor itself caused him to stumble, and he could only imagine what it was like on the floors beneath him. Unfortunately, the party hadn’t quite started yet. The lieutenant found himself pressed against the pane-glass window, forced to watch the horror show unfold beneath.

Following up on his commander’s antics, the ebony-furred male fox activated his collar; a gentle electric blue glow preceded a blinding, deafening crack of lightning running from just in front of his nose, to within the first-floor lobby. The dormant missile-rack within was the end point for the high-voltage discharge. Needless to say, the fox was not precise enough to ignite the missiles actual propulsion systems, allowing them to fire off like they were meant to; instead, the rack (consisting of three rows of five) detonated in tandem. The combined blast vaporized most of the softer targets in the area, whilst a great deal of the front wall, along with the roof of the lobby, was blown outward in a display that would put even Michael Bay in awe.

The missile-induced tremor once again sent a shock throughout the entire structure, though such significant damage to the first-story came with even further sounds of destruction. Most notable of them all was the creaking of the building’s metallic frame. The support offered by the lobby walls had become few and far between, and much of the second story had already begun to collapse with the help of its own gasoline fire. Even the first-story itself had been set ablaze, though to a much lesser extent. However, the collapsing pieces of the 2nd story simply brought the burn down with it, transforming the smoldering 1st-floor into just as much a hell as its friend above.

Back upon the tenth story, Bradshaw found himself once again racing through hallways, though now they were filled with confused souls out to discover the truth behind the multiple tremors they’d felt. He didn’t bother to yell out what was happening; it would only start a panic. With that in mind, the lieutenant merely barreled his way through the baffled individuals in hospital gowns, not finding solace until he had slipped back into the room with Carl and the others. Immediately upon entry, he was pelted with questions by Keazel; “How many are there? Is it the same ones from before? Are we shit out of luck?”.

Bradshaw took a moment to catch his breath as he hugged to the shut door. Only after determining an answer for each of the Agent’s questions did he bother to respond, “Two, these are definitely different, and I’m fairly certain we’re up shit creek without a paddle, or a boat!”. “Damn!” Keazel shot back from his wheel-chair, but immediately followed up his curse, “We gotta’ at least try to get out of here.”

Carl glanced between Agent Keazel and Bradshaw as they went back and forth through an explanation of the situation; the Rancher only interjected once the two had run into an infinite loop of ‘I don’t know’s, “Okay, so the bottom line is… the bottom floors are on fire. All of this groaning from the building means that we could possibly even be in for a collapse.” Using his good arm, Carl rubbed the hairs of his chin before continuing to plan aloud for the group, “So if I had to guess, we’re boned if we stay up here, so why not try to find the stairs… and a fire extinguisher?”

“Come again?” Bradshaw inquired of the Rancher’s plot. “Well,” Carl started off, “even if we make it down ten flights of stairs without the building collapsing on our heads, we’d still have to deal with the fire, so I figure we should find a fire extinguisher to at least give us a chance.”. Agent Keazel and Bradshaw looked to each other briefly, then back to Carl. All three nodding in agreement to the plan, Keazel was the only one to bring up the most peculiar of points, “Out of a military officer, an FBI agent and some random guy who owns a ranch, who’da guessed who the smart one was?”


Q/C/C?..... Flames?
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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Re: Miscommunication

Postby RaddaRaem » Fri Jul 13, 2012 3:07 am

Why the hell would we flame you? The story setting is already burning brilliantly. Not much purpose in that.

Nice exposition as usual I suppose? I don't know, I feel like a broken record at this point with my compliments. You do a fine job working in descriptions without bringing the flow of the story to an absolute halt and so on and so forth and bluh I ran out of things to say.
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Re: Miscommunication

Postby foxelite » Thu Jul 26, 2012 2:00 am

RaddaRaem wrote:Why the hell would we flame you? The story setting is already burning brilliantly. Not much purpose in that.

Nice exposition as usual I suppose? I don't know, I feel like a broken record at this point with my compliments. You do a fine job working in descriptions without bringing the flow of the story to an absolute halt and so on and so forth and bluh I ran out of things to say.

I feel like a broken record reading your comments, but let us see. I'm... certain somebody out there wants to flame me. Maybe it's because I waited like 2 weeks to reply to this one commen, but somebody out there has something awful to say.

As for the compliments... meh, I think I do mediocre. Okay granted, as I mentioned before, when I go back and read my dialogue I love it.

Right, 9 pages in on the next chapter, hopefully it won't be TOO long.
Yeaaa.. Collie too lazy to update his name.. so yea.. BRACKISH LIVES.

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