"Ursus Martimus."

"No."

"Brachycephalus Ephippium."

"No."

"Elaphodus Cephalophus," Read a monotonous voice. The figure continued moving without pause, too immersed to stop and properly admire the creature with more than a glance. It certainly looked human, he thought. Handsome face, seashell pink skin, lean muscles; a male specimen none could outshine for beauty. So beautiful, in fact, he almost overlooked the not-so-beautiful parts like its swollen feet and fangs.

Keyword being almost.

"Goodness," He breathed, feigning neither dread nor disgust. Only curiosity. "I don't think I've ever seen the human body violated in such a way. What do you suppose will become of the children this man concei-"

wuh-PSSSH!

He doesn't react when she strikes him. Doesn't shout, doesn't wince, doesn't so much as flinch unless permitted to do so. Not that it matters, he reasons. His nerves died centuries ago, leaving him invulnerable to petty sensations like agony or ecstasy or emotion. Even now the burning prickle of shredded flesh and possibly a broken humerus goes unregistered by his brain. He can almost smile at how foolish the woman is.

"Drocell," She calls, her voice sweeter and more lovely than honeysuckle incarnate. If honeysuckles tasted like vinegar and spite, that is. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I believe I offered you a choice earlier. Would you care to repeat it for me?"

"Certainly," He acquised. "You're exact words were to be silent and carry out the assignment without failure."

"Oh, so you aren't completely brainless. That's a relief..." Drocell actually blinked in surprise. How...unsatisfying. Along with the deadened nerves, he'd also grown accustomed to her insightful and livid criticisms; well-worded cusses that absolutely shattered his dignity, pride, and everything else. But this, this half-assed bashing of his intelligence, was horrendously weak. He couldn't help but wonder if the bitch might actually be losing her touch.

"The point being," She continued. "I brought you along only to appease your masters insistent demands. According to him, you possess some otherworldly merit when given a collection assignment and so I agreed. But if someone like you is incapable of even the simplest, most basic of instructions, then you are of no use. And those who cannot make themselves useful are in no position to serve me. Or him, for that matter."

Suddenly, she uttered a laugh. "It's funny, really. You've served under him much longer than I have-over two-thousand and thirty years if my memory is correct-and yet, despite your unwavering loyalty, he'll trust my word over yours nine times out of ten. I suppose that's just one of the many benefits of being his partner instead of his lapdog," She stepped towards him until the two were level, a light some might generously call sadistic gleaming in those violet orbs. "For instance, if I let it slip that his puppets incompetence jeopardized the two million credits promised to us..."

Okay, totally disregard that last statement because apparently the bitch hasn't lost anything. Not yet, anyways.

Drocell doesn't hesitate. Collapsing onto one solid knee, he crosses his uninjured arm across his chest and dipped his head, traces of ridicule and disgust ghosting across his spine. It nauseated him, submitting himself to her of all people, but if word of his incompetence reached his master...

"So, then I thought to myself: 'I'm a fool," He muttered, each word rolling off his tongue in a well rehearsed manner. "Has it somehow slipped my mind that I must always be attentive to the orders my master gives me? The fact that I'm not for even a moment is unforgivable. However will I atone for this mistake? Perhaps by apologizing to my lady? Yes. That sounds like a suitable idea,'" He tilted his head back, magenta briefly blinded by bleached violet. "I apologize...I promise I won't disappoint you again."

The bitch scoffs, her fingers wound tighter than a noose around the whip. "Consider yourself fortunate to serve such a benevolent master, otherwise you'd already be ten feet under. Now, come."

A fool, indeed.

The woman approached another chamber, sparing not even a glance at the body sleeping within. She would never subject her fragile eyes to such an atrosity. Instead, she opted for the tablet beside the machine and scrolled listlessly through its content. Honestly, at this point, it wouldn't surprise her if this turned out to be the wrong person. There must've been at least a hundred bodies in this room alone, a majority of which were fully developed and on the cusp of life, so tracking down one specific body amidst a sea of look-alikes in under thirty minutes seemed impossible.

That, and the risk was nothing short of severe. If a Technician were to stumble in for any reason, whether its patrolling or to simply smoke in private, both of their lives would end in decapitation. Or electrocution. Or drowning. No one knew for sure considering the punishment for poaching had been left undecided but it always ended in gruesome death.

It didn't seem worth it. And really, it wasn't. She was already so rich that losing out on two million credits looked more like tossing two pennies into a fountain. Then again, the money never had anything to do with why she was here. The real reason lied with-

"Him." She gasped, her eyes fixated on those three small words. "He's the one."

Moving far faster than Drocell had given her credit for, she relinquished the tablet into his hands and rested her own upon the impenetrable glass. The beginnings of a wicked smile tugged at her lips. Oh, yes, she thought. Absolute perfection.

Except he wasn't. Quite the opposite as a matter of fact. Unlike his colorless brethren he possessed features better suited for a teenager girl than a twenty-two year old male; voluptuous curves, blemish-free complexion, coltish legs, china doll face. To add insult to injury, his height all but stunted at five-feet and showed no promise of improving, making him the shortest Carrier in history. His only redeeming quality, if any, was the flaccid girth between his thighs.

All of it matched the buyers specifications. Down to the last detail.

"Feast your unsightly eyes on a true legend, Drocell. The final addition to the whore lineage-the Canis Lupus Ligoni."


Meanwhile, a few ways away, three Technicians were getting settled into their nightly rounds. Leading the trio was a tall man with greased dirty blond hair, goggles hanging loosely around his neck while the suffocating scent of cigarettes ghosted his every movement. To his left followed a redheaded woman wearing thickly-lensed glasses, and to his right a younger looking boy who at the moment was fiddling with the red pins in his ginger hair.

The blond, having a freshly lit cigarette clenched tight between his teeth, check his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. It was only a quarter past midnight. Still three and a half hours before his shift ends. He tried poking around at the screen. Just to be sure there wasn't a chance it was acting slow but no, it was right on time, down the last second. He heaved a smoke shrouded breath into the air.

"Can't believe this," Said the blond. "Ya know, I figured bein' a Technician meant havin' a few sleepless nights here and there but I'm really losin sleep to watch a hall? When I gotta work in the mornin' too? Bloody ridiculous." He paused to take a much needed drag from his cigarette. "This keeps up and I'm gonna give those blokes in general affairs an earful, I swear."

The boy tears himself away from the tempting pins and looks up at the older man with bright eyes despite his exhaustion. "Aw, c'mon now Bard, it ain't so bad. At least you, me and Mey-Rin get to patrol together."

"Finny has a point, yes he does," Mey-Rin added. "I'd rather spend the rest of my days watchin' and cleanin' these halls then go somewhere without the two of you."

Bard looks over his shoulder at his companions, at Finny's bright turquoise eyes and Mey-Rin's wide smile. No matter the situation these two were always so cheerful. So much so that he was finding it difficult to stay upset about the situation. He really couldn't understand how these two always managed to infect him with their happiness.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I can't stand this job but that don't mean I'd wanna be away from either of ya." And it's the absolute truth. He couldn't bare being separated from those he loved. Especially these two. The thought alone is unbearable. He cracks a small smile. "Now what do ya say we get a move on and finish the job, huh? We still gotta patrol the East and North wing before sunrise. I'd rather get it done as soon as possible so I can get back to bed and avoid...ya know. Him."

"Right!" The two cried in unison.

And so the three carried on with their assigned task. For a minute until their watches started flashing simultaneously.

"Huh?" Finny looked down at his watch. A long string of text followed.

Emergency: Canis Lupus Ligoni undergoing the following symptoms:

Severe Chemical Imbalance

Severe emotional and/or mental distress

Airway blockage. Oxygen levels decreasing.

Nerve Cell Damage

Cornea Distortion

Anxiety Overload

Impending Arrhythmias

Risk of asthma: 73%...78%...82%...8

Before the watch could finish its seemingly endless report of stress-related and life-threatening issues Finny was already sprinting down the hall, running faster than he ever did in his entire life.

"Finny!" Mey-Rin called after him, followed by Bard shouting, "Where ya goin?!"

Their words fell on deaf ears. Finny continued moving his feet faster and faster and faster still, never faltering for even a second aside from the two or three times he bumped into another Technician still creeping around, his heavy exhaustion from earlier replaced by pure adrenaline pushing him closer to the designated room, repeating the same mantra over and over whenever his legs started to ache.

"I can make it...I can make it...I can make it…" The door came into view. "I'm gonna make it… ha...ha….I'm gonna make it…"

The moment he arrives outside the door he doesn't waste a second worrying about consequences and the like before his foot collides with the heavy metal door, breaking it clear off its hinges and to the floor with a resounding thunk. Once inside, he rushed past the thousands beyond thousands of identical-looking gestation chambers. He was sure he wouldn't miss it. It was bound to be the one sounding a deafening alarm, flashing red lights-basically the only one that looked different. However, when he does stumble upon it, he can practically feel the image being burned into his brain.

The Carrier inside was in a state of pure agony; his legs thumping dully against the glass, his hands scratching away at his chest and face like he wanted to escape his own body. He hasn't yet knocked off the breathing mask as it's still firmly attached to his face, but the warning regarding his oxygen levels continued to decrease so it definitely isn't something wrong with the machine, but rather something internal.

"I gotta do something and quick. C'mon, Finny, think!" He exclaims, eyes darting about the room in a panicked frenzy that perfectly replicated his inner turmoil. Of course he could reroute the terminals interface into automatic reset which would stabilize the chemical balance back to a steady, less hazardous amount. Would it be quick enough though? The entire process takes roughly four minutes to take effect. Who knows what other problems could arise by then.

That's when he spots something from the corner of his eye: a chair. It's completely made from metal, as everything is in this day and age, and is sitting idly against the wall. A little out of place

if he's honest with himself but for this situation it's perfectly convenient.

"Just hold on! I'll get you out of there!"

Without a moment's hesitation Finny grabbed the chair by its legs and effortlessly lifts it over his head, runs back towards the chamber and smashes it heavily against the glass. Nothing but a scratch shows up. He isn't discourage though. He hits it again. A crack. Again. A slightly bigger crack. Again. Liquid trickles through the thin lines.

Finny heaves out several heavy breaths, clearly winded from his efforts but less than any normal human. This time, he thinks. This time for sure. I can feel it. For what he hopes will be the final time, he lifts the chair over his shoulder, this time by the backrest so all four legs are aimed at the glass, then shoves the entire thing forward, leaving four freshly penetrated holes in the glass. It sticks there for a moment before he yanks the entire thing back, unleashing a chain of cataclysmic events.

The chamber explodes like a ticking time bomb. Gestation fluid and glass shards shoot out everywhere, coating everything in its path in a thick sheen of transparent goo. Including Finny. His clothes, skin, and not to mention bones are soaked. He wipes it from his eyes so he can see the Carrier lying still on the floor of the chamber amidst the fluid and glass.

"Ah! You poor thing! C'mon, let's get you outta there. Last thing I want is you catchin' a chill." Finny unclasps the breathing mask from the Carrier's head with speedy precision, letting it bounce around by its elastic cord as he drags the limp body away from the chamber and into his shaking arms. His heart stops at the sight; the Carrier hasn't opened his eyes. He doesn't even twitch in the slightest. "No…" His hands scramble desperately around the other's body, searching for a pulse in three different spots at the same time.

Please...after all this, you can't give up…

His fingers finally settle for a spot beside the Carrier's adams apple. For a moment there's no sound and the Technician's heart stops, then shatters into a million pieces. No. No, he couldn't have failed. He has to live. He just has to!

Thump…thump…thump, thump...

It's amazing how such a simple, albeit weak sound could bring life back to his own heart. Overwhelming relief crashes over his body like a tsunami and a hurricane put together, stimulating each and every nerve, muscle and cell into a state of happiness so strong he can't stop himself from almost strangling the Carrier in a hug.

"Finny!" A shrill voice calls from the doorway. It's Mey-Rin, followed by Bard.

"Have ya lost your bleedin' mind?! Why the hell would ya break the damn thing? Ya know how expensive one'a those things is?!"

"I know, I know! I'm sorry! It's just…" He turns from them and looks at the Carrier in his arms, watching his tiny chest expand and constrict with each shallow breath he took, feeling immense relief but at the same time helplessness. "You didn't see it. Neither of you. You didn't see how much he was suffering in there, all the kicking and clawing he was doing, like he thought no one was going to save him. No one deserves that, especially not someone as defenseless as him. As for the machine, I don't care what it cost 'cause I don't regret what I did. He's alive and that's what's important, ain't it? Go on! Tell me I'm wrong! Go ahead and try!" Finny sniffled, tears running down his face.

Neither dared to say a word. Since their first meeting, both Technicians knew about Finny's love for all creatures. It didn't matter to him how negatively society depicted a person or Carrier, the ginger loved them, flaws and all.

"Ey, no more tears, alright?" Bard said. "I understand why ya did it. It was the heat of the moment, ya had to act fast and ran with the first idea that popped into your noggin. I've been there. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I bet I woulda done the same thing. I just don't want you goin' all screwloose and gettin' into trouble. Ya best leave that to professionals like me."

Finny sniffles again. There are still tears in his eyes, but this time a small smile bloomed across his face. It was funny, really. Both the joke and the situation. In the worst of situations he's been used to picking others up when their down. Yet whenever life decides its time he gets knocked down a peg or two, his friends are right there to return the favor. He doesn't know what he ever did to deserve such kindness. Maybe it's because he suffered a past filled with nothing but abuse and neglect, brainwashing him for a moment that there was nothing else, no sunlight in this sea of darkness. He had never been so glad to be proven wrong.

Ever so gently, he rests the Carrier into his lap so he can reach over to hug the older man, the familiar smell of tobacco always bringing him back. No matter what happens, he'll be okay. So long as these two don't leave him he'll be okay.

"What're we gonna do? We got ourselves a Carrier on the brink o' death and broken glass everywhere. What if someone else comes in and think we did this? That we were tryin' to hurt him? Oh, they're gonna get angry, yes they will!" Mey-Rin exclaimed, pacing worriedly about the room. Finny pulls back from the hug.

"Let them think what they want. I don't regret a thing." He says.

"Oh dear, what if the Head Technician catches word of this? You know how much he cares about the wellbein' of the Carriers! He could sentence us all to death!" Mey-Rin continues.

"Alright, calm down! The lot of ya!" Bard shouts. The two freeze at once, both stopping in their actions and planting their eyes on the blond. He huffs a sigh. He really doesn't like yelling, doesn't like the effect it has on others. It brings back too many memories. "Look, no one's here yet, right? That means we still got time to fix everything but we gotta act fast. Mey-Rin, go fetch a blanket from the supply closet. I've never done this sorta thing before but I assume it would be best to keep him warm. At least until we can track down another chamber."

"Yes, sir!"

"Finny, you go along with her and see if you can't find a mop and bucket, maybe some cleanin' supplies. We gotta clean up all this fluid and glass."

"But what abou-"

"Don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on him til you two come back. Ya can trust me."

"I-It's not that I dont trust you! I do! I just don't wanna leave til I'm sure he's...that he'll be…" He looks down at the Carrier, then at Bard, then back again to the Carrier. "I want to make sure he's alright…do you...c-can you promise me he'll be okay?"

Bard flashes him a reassuring smile. "Cross my heart."

"Then…that's good enough for me." Finny rushes off after Mey-Rin, his determined spirit from earlier rekindled. Bard chuckles. Where the hell does that kid find the energy?

Once alone he carefully maneuvers his way past the puddle over to a chamber that isn't completely soaked and sits down with his back against the glass, pulling the Carrier into a cradled position like he's a newborn infant. He might as well be. Good lord, is he a tiny thing. Granted, it isn't his area to examine Carrier's but he knows well enough that they are never meant to be this tiny. Hell, the one in the chamber he's leaning against is at least three times his size. Should he be put back into gestation for a few more years? How old is he anyways?

Bard huffs. It isn't like he can check the terminal. As of right now, the only information they have left is the model number tattooed under his scrotum and no way in hell is Bard curious enough to go searching. God knows what the Carrier might do if he wakes up to find some stranger checking out his private bits but considering he retains human thoughts and emotions like a human, he can imagine it would end with a punch and a broken jaw. He shudders. These things could be damn scary when they wanted to be, that's for sure.

"Here we are!" A voice pipes up down the aisle. Mey-Rin came running with a neatly folded black blanket in her hands, completely oblivious to the way her boot laces were flailing about, winding tighter and tighter around each other. "Took a bit o' searchin but I found th-WAAAH!"

As expected, she tripped over her own laces and landed face-first on the floor, almost landing on the Carrier if Bard hadn't moved his body quick enough.

"Ya alright?" He asks.

"Oh, don't mind me, how's the lil one doin'?" She says as she stands up, not looking the least bit fazed as she dusts off her skirt like she didn't just go sliding across the floor and land on her face. She hands the blanket to Bard. Luckily, it's still dry.

"Hopefully, he'll be much better with this on." Using the utmost precaution, Bard wraps the blanket around each delicate curve and dip until he's wrapped up all snug in a cocoon of fabric. To their relief the shivers lessen dramatically, all stress and tension from earlier leaking out his pores. His body goes absolutely slack in the blond's arms, subconsciously nuzzling deeper into the man's warmth like he couldn't get enough.

His sensitive noses catches a whiff of the burnt tobacco on his clothing and scrunches up, emitting an adorable, puppy-like sneeze before he settles again. Mey-Rin's face positively glows with adoration.

"Oh, would you look at that! He's so cute!"

"He is, ain't he? Betcha his pups are gonna be precious." He ruffles the folds around his hair, doing his best to remove as much gel as possible. This leaves his hair clumped together at odd angles. "All we's gotta do now is wait for Finny and we'll be homefr-"

"Well, well, well…" Whatever words were about to leave his mouth died off instantaneously at the sound of that voice. That airy, cryptic voice. Not now. Not him. "Wha' 'appened 'ere?"

Little was known about the Undertaker. No one knew where he came from, what he had done, how he climbed so quickly up the chain of power and became Head Technician. No one even knew his real name. To be honest, no one wanted to. Considering his personality, one can only imagine it's something as dementedly twisted as the man himself. All anyone knew for certain was that he harbored a deep love for all Carriers, big and small. Especially those of the Canis Lupus branch. If someone so much as sneezed at a Carrier he would materialize from the shadows to 'correct' them on their behavior by threatening to shove them in a coffin. Whether he was serious on fulfilling that threat or not was unclear. No one ever dared challenge him on it.

"S-sir!" Bard piped up first. He jumped up so fast he nearly slipped on the gestation fluid. "Wwhat, uh...what're ya doin' here so late? It's the middle of the night."

"Right you are, Bardroy. Which is exactly the reason I came." He brushed past the blond without a second thought and looked to the Carrier. He still hadn't opened his eyes yet, leaving them to believe he was unconscious. He definitely wasn't dead. Though his chest movements were barely noticeable from a distance he was definitely still breathing. Perhaps this would be enough to escape the Technicians wrath.

His long, black fingernails brush back the Carrier's bangs. The next words that came from his mouth are low, vengeful, and absolutely drenched in venom more poisonous than a snakes.

"So...which one'a you blokes broke the chamber?"

"Um...ya see, sir, it's…" Mey-Rin desperately searched for a reasonable excuse. Bard simply scratched the back of his neck nervously. "What happened is-"

"It was me!" Finny shouted. He had returned with the mop and bucket as planned, the bucket being filled with various cleaning supplies ranging from salts to wax. He lets them clatter to the floor. Fresh tears were streaming over his cheeks again, falling from his face in fat, round drops. "I-I did it. I'm the one who broke the chamber, s-sir."

"Is...that right?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm really, really sorry for making such a mess of things. I wasn't thinking too clearly when I ran in here and I knew if I didn't act quick enough he'd get worse and...and...I'll accept whatever punishment you give me."

There's a long moment of tension-filled silence as Undertaker takes everything in, the broken glass covering the floor, the destroyed chamber that costs between ten thousand to twenty thousand credits, the weakened Carrier on the floor. He won't lie, it paints an awful picture. Then to top it all off, he has a sniveling Technician kneeling before him and waiting for whatever punishment Undertaker deems suitable?

He can't help but laugh like a madman.

"P-punishmen-hahahah!" He clung to his sides as the laughter increased, his words coming out in breathless wheezes for a short time. "P-punishment fer wha', lad? Ya did nothin' wrong! In fact, by breakin' that chamber, ya saved this pup's life."

"I did?" Finny asked.

"He did?" Bard and Mey-Rin asked in unison.

"'e did. As yer all aware, chemical imbalance is no laughin' matter to a Carrier. It's'a finicky type o' error tha' we don't see e'ryday and is a tad slow at makin' itself known, but it can become a real problem if not dealt with right away. Just take a look at this pup," He gestured to the trembling body on the floor. "I'd wager if 'e 'ad stayed in there til the reset took effect the chemicals woulda reached 'is respiratory system and killed 'im in seconds."

"You're serious? He would've died that easily?" Bard asked.

"Oh, yes, I guarantee it. And ya know I've never been wrong before. But thanks to Finny, 'e's alive. Good job, lad."

Finny was utterly speechless. This couldn't really be happening, could it? He had prepared himself

for being sentenced to prison to work off the damages made to the gestation chamber. Or a worse fate, being stuffed into one of Undertaker's coffins. Now he's been told he did something right? He could think of nothing else to do in that moment other than nod his head and utter a soft, "Thank you, sir…"

"So uh, now that that's outta the way, there's just one thing left." Bard mutters, turning his attention back to the Carrier. "What're we supposed to do with this one? Do we...I don't know, do we put him in another gestation chamber? Til he's done cookin'?"

"Oh, no no no. None o' that. Get 'im all cleaned up and then bring 'im on down to the exam room. I'll take things from there."

"Yes, sir! Right away!" Mey-Rin exclaimed. She set to work on drying off the small Carrier while Bard and Finny left to fetch a gurney.

"Very good. I'll leave ya to it then." Undertaker wandered back out into the hall. Already dozens of Technicians were rushing to the room to investigate the same warning their watches transmitted but he hardly noticed their presence. He was too deeply invested in his thoughts. What an eventful day. It isn't even daytime, it's half-past midnight. Honestly. For all the time he spent preparing for the young pups arrival, all time spent pondering possible outcomes, he never once imagined it would happen at such an ungodly hour. The means, however, he completely expected.

A sudden chill washes over him. He stops dead in his tracks, a wicked smile that could put the Cheshire cat to shame stretches the corners of his mouth. Yes, he knows. Of course he knows. He's always known. So does she.

His eyes survey the hall discreetly, long enough to be sure no one else will turn a corner and spot him before slinking a hand inside one of the many folds of his robe, sorting through all the odd trinkets he keeps there until finally the one he's searching for slides right into his palm. To the untrained eye, it's nothing special, nothing more than an old pendant. To Undertaker, however, it's much more than that. It's a beautifully sculpted pendant made from an abnormal stone found on the outside, one that shimmered as bright as an aquamarine due to the immense radiation. Inside there are several strands of slate hair fashioned into the shape of an infinity symbol resting above a golden inscription. His chartreuse eyes gleam like two refined emeralds at the sight of it as his extensive black nails caress a delicate 'C'. After all this time, it's still as flawless as ever.

Another cold breeze courses through him, this one strong enough to evoke goosebumps. He giggles like a mad schoolgirl.

"e's 'ere, Cloudia. 'e's finally 'ere."


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