A/N: another update. Wasn't so late this time, considering its length...

I'm happy! Over one hundred reviews! You people rock! I hope you like this chapter.

And now, it is time to describe the dreams that haunt our favorite subordinates. Each dream will be as unique as the person who dreamt it, so please, eavesdrop with an open mind while you hear their unconscious desires, hopes, fears, and longings.

Havoc tossed and turned in nightmare-drenched sleep.

It was a normal day at the office. Jean Havoc had slept at his desk from eight to ten-thirty, as per usual, awoken from his cat nap, and reached for his box of cigarettes. After a few seconds of searching, his hand found the familiar carton and expertly removed one of his lifelines. As his left hand adjusted to the familiar texture of the paper, his right hand withdrew his favorite lighter from his uniform shirt pocket. Checking above, beneath, to the right and the left of his work cubicle, Havoc carefully switched the cover off the metal device, held the flame-starter a safe distance from his nose, and flipped the key to ignite the spark.

Nothing. Havoc tried again.

Nothing.

Frustrated, Jean held the lighter away from his face and furiously flipped the switch over and over again. After numerous tries, he managed a small, blue flame. He carefully held the spitting fire against the cigarette. The fragile flame flickered over the paper, sent up some smoke, and puffed out of existence.

Angry, Havoc threw the useless lighter against the wall. He fumblingly found a random match in his office drawer and struck it against his boot to cause enough friction to ignite a flame. The match broke. Now a furious Jean Havoc dug through his various junk and thinga-ma-jigs until he finally found another match. He struck it again and a steady fire ate away at the limited wood. Hastily, the Lieutenant held the match up to his cigarette, but to no avail.

The struggle continued for what seemed hours, as time after time, the cigarette resisted the fire Havoc fed it. The word "angry" ceased to apply to the situation. Havoc swore uselessly at the inanimate object (that approach didn't help him either). Finally, after running to a nearby supply store, Havoc held a burning long match up to his cigarette and managed to light it. Ecstatic, Jean took a look breath of the tobacco, forgetting for a moment that the match still burned in his hand. The match kindly (or not so kindly) prompted him of its presence however, with a scorch on his hand.

The pain was so real. Havoc threw the brand away without realizing his err. Until it was too late.

The match landed in a waste bin, wherein it quickly set light to its fellow garbage. Day-old newspaper and sandwich wrap ignited in what soon became a towering inferno of flame and smoke and heat. Havoc watched with horror as the fire alarm went off, thereby turning on the showers, there by bringing his long struggle to get a smoke to naught.

Jean rolled in his sleep, finding a more comfortable position as his dreams took a turn for the better. His kitten purred next to his ear.

Far away, in a military dorm reserved for enlisted men, Falman snored soundly. Of what does he dream, you ask?

In a poorly-furnished dorm room, Vato Falman slept blissfully surrounded by a peaceful silence interrupted only by the occasional snore.

Falman smiled in his sleep…what a nice dream…

Not that far away, Kain Fuery shivered.

It seemed to have been a normal day at work. Fuery had diligently filed papers, run errands, fixed the odd telephone cable, etc. He was feeling somewhat proud of his ability—since joining the military, his skill with tools had only climbed.

It seemed like a normal day at work…that is, until lunch hour rolled around. Practically starved, Fuery dug in his desk for his lunch pail. Upon finding it, he proceeded to pry the lid off the container and unwrap his typical bologna and Swiss on rye sandwich. As he was about to bite into the scrumptious food, however, two of his colleagues, Jean Havoc and Heimans Breda, strolled around the corner, chatting with each other good-naturedly.

Obedient to protocol, Kain dropped his food and stood to salute the pair as they walked past. Instead of passing him by, however, the two turned to him. At a loss for words, Fuery barely managed, "S-sir!"

"Yeah."

"At ease."

He sighed with relief and dropped his salute. His stomach growled and he looked between his superiors and his sandwich.

Breda caught on and spoke first, "Go ahead! Man's gotta eat!"

Fuery smiled before snatching the bread from his desk, within seconds, the last bit of bologna, Swiss, and rye had disappeared mysteriously. Havoc smirked dangerously.

"Say, Breda, did you know that dogs are a delicacy in the East?" Breda saw the gleam in his friend's eyes, and instantly decided to aid him. It was always fun to tease the newbie. "Really, Havoc? I didn't."

"Yep. They raise them on farms. Red dogs are supposed to be the healthiest, though word on the street is that any breed is tasty. They cook them with a bunch of salt and seasonings and stuff. Dog soup is REALLY popular…"

"No kidding?"
"No kidding."

Poor Fuery couldn't believe his ears.

"You know, Havoc, when I was little—" Jean laughed at that wording, to Breda's annoyance. The man, however, continued with dignity. "My mother used to cook squirrels and field mice for me, providing I caught them of course. She used to skin them, gut them, clean them, then heat up a skillet. She'd salt and pepper (maybe sprinkle some lemon juice on them), them skewer 'em and roast 'em. Man, they tasted so good. Just like chick—Hey, Fuery, where are you going?!"

As Fuery ran to the restroom clutching his stomach, Havoc keeled over in silent laughter. Breda watched him curiously; finally, gasping for air, Jean choked out the question, "Y-you caught mice and squirrels? AHAHAH!"

Fuery awoke from his nightmare and hastily cuddled the nearest fuzzy animal (which just so happened to be a raccoon pup he'd rescued a week before). Still alarmed, he whispered to the animal, "Don't worry, Mr. Bandit. I won't let Breda or Havoc get you…"

Somewhere in the night, on a warm military cot, Breda sneezed in his sleep.

His stomach growled discontentedly as Heimans Breda stared anxiously at the clock. It was five minutes until lunch break, and he couldn't wait to eat his home-made triple-decker sandwich, complete with mustard, mayonnaise, ketchup, and Tabasco sauce. Yum…

Four minutes…

Three…

One minute…

Fifteen seconds…

"YES! You are mine!" Within an instant, the Second Lieutenant had grabbed and unwrapped his wondrous lunch when a sudden appearance on his desk caused him to freeze, mouth open and sandwich practically begging to be eaten.

You see, when he had grabbed the great food, his workspace had been clear of most debris, aside from the occasional paper; yet now, no more than four seconds later, his desk was plainly NOT clean. His desk was now occupied by a lone…beast.

On his desk sat arrogantly a small dog, about as large as Breda's sandwich. The dog, easily identified by small ears and flattish face, was unmistakably a pug; he wore, seemingly in place of a collar, a large bandana with a metal disk on the top bearing a strange seal. More disturbing, however, was the way the dog was staring. At Breda's sandwich.

Naturally, the cynophobic reeled backwards, only stopped by the wall of his cubicle. He cradled his food protectively, even as he tried to get as far away from the dog as humanly possible.

Fear turned to absolute terror as the pug opened his mouth and licked his chops. However, terror turned to absolute insanity when the pug spoke, "So, buddy, are you gonna eat that? If you give it to me…I'll let you touch my paws; they're soft."

Heimans had never known his eyes could open that wide. But honestly, can you blame him? When was the last time a beast suddenly appeared on your workspace and started asking you for your food?

"N-no!! BACK! BACK BEAST!" Breda used his left hand to mime shoving the dog away. It was, however, a critical error, for not only had he insulted the dog by calling him 'beast', but he had also put his hand near the dog's mouth.

His face went through a somewhat miraculous quick transformation from shock and anger to pain. With tears in his eyes, he began waving his arm frantically, shouting, "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" The pug only bit harder.

In the chaos, seven other dogs appeared with a puff of smoke—these canines used Pakkun's (the pug currently latched onto Breda's hand) distraction and promptly stole the wondrous triple-decker gourmet sandwich with mustard, mayonnaise, ketchup, and Tabasco sauce and disappeared in a method similar to the way they had come. Shortly thereafter, Pakkun released his iron grip on Breda, and landed nimbly on a wall closeby.

Instead of falling off the wall, the dog stayed sideways. Then, smugly, the dog revealed all his teeth and spoke in a mocking tone, "I think you use my shampoo too, though not often enough. Chou!" Without further ado, the thief puffed away.

Breda was in despair. His wonderful sandwich! But, no! It was worse. He made his way to the nearest wall and pounded his head against it. "Same shampoo as a dog. Same as a dog. Same as a dog…"

Breda woke up sweating. He got out of bed and grabbed a few-days-old donut from his refrigerator. As he munched, though, he calmed down. Somewhat more calm, he laughed nervously to himself. "Come on, Breda; get a grip on reality! Who would think of eight dogs that could talk and stole sandwiches; or a pug that uses conditioner and offered to let people touch its paw pads?!"

A/N:...yeah, now this story was really random. It's the product of a long car ride...

For those of you who haven't read Naruto (which I suggest that you do), Pakkun is one of the character's summons. He's a pug with a sort of mellow attitude, and he uses his paw pads as leverage in one episode.

I hope you liked it if you did, review please!