The city was shrouded in the night as Rocky hastily ran back into the alleyway as fast as his little legs could carry him. His strength was mostly spent for the day, what little of it remained considering his a measly pile of chicken bone occupied his stomach. Many dogs feared the night, it was a perfect atmosphere for an ambush at any angle, the fear alone was enough for most strays to hide away. Rocky, however, used this to his advantage and kept low as he traversed the cities in the darkness.

Walking himself through grimy puddles and stepping over trash, he approached a chainlink fence lined with empty boxes. Quickly finding the small hole in the metal wiring, he lowered himself and passed through the fence. He had grown used to the jagged metal edges cutting his skin a long time ago. Passing onto the grass, he panted in exhaustion as he walked toward the back alley of a warehouse.

"Well well, look who's back," Dakota turned around, grimacing at his little brother, "took you long enough."

Rocky came to a tired stop before his sibling, breathing for a moment before looking up at him. "I can't navigate these mazes as you can," he said apologetically, "I'm small."

"Oh believe me, I know." His brother dismissed him. "Your little runt ass is the reason I have to stick my neck out so many times." He was about to growl, but quickly abated his temper. "All the more reason for you to get stronger, and eventually you'll be able to fight for yourself." Sitting back, he narrowed his eyes at the small dog. "Such is the life of a stray. If you didn't have me, you'd already be dead. Especially considering how little you pay attention to your surroundings," the venom quickly returned to his face. "You're about as vigilant as a blind turtle."

"I try," the puppy attempted to defend himself, "I do everything you say and-"

"Don't give me that bullshit." Dakota cut his brother off, rolling his eyes, "I see how you look at other dogs. Now, I look at dogs too, it's called tactical observation." He said matter-of-factly, "but I know that's not what you look at."

Rocky turned away slightly, refusing to meet Dakota's gaze as shame crept into him.

"You look at bodies," The larger mix spat, "never the females, either. You think I wouldn't notice that?"

"I don't want to talk about this," came Rocky's barely audible voice.

"Tough shit, we are." Dakota leaned forward a little, "tell me Rocks, you a fag? I need to know in case I need to whore you out for chicken legs."

The puppy snapped to attention, the shock freezing him. "What?!"

"Heh, relax, I'm kidding," Dakota chuckled darkly. He turned around, trudging back to the pile of garbage bags he had arranged into a bed. "Although," he briefly looked back, "it would be an efficient way to get some use out of you."

Rocky was left dumbfounded, eyes wide with fear at the scenario Dakota had proposed. He was better than to speak up against his family, no matter how desperately he wanted to make himself heard. Dread filled him inside, dragging a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Listen Rocks," Dakota climbed onto his bed and lowered himself to his belly, "life ain't a fairytale. You aren't gonna be happy, you aren't going to grow up in good condition, and you're certainly not going to meet some boy-dog of your queer dreams." There was a scoff in his tone, but his voice briefly softened. "But that's not your fault, it has nothing to do with you or me."

He paused, sighing as he flicked his eyes along the ground. He then lowered his head and closed his eyes. "That's just how life is, Rocks. That's how it's always going to be."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Even as Rocky grew older, Dakota's words still danced in his head. His brother was long gone yet his voice left a black stain in his mind. In the darkness of his kennel, Rocky aimlessly stared into a mirror hanging on his wall. Studying his features and one floppy ear, he realized with a depressed sigh that he didn't recognize himself anymore. His eyes, despite always being the exact same shade of brown, didn't look so colorful anymore. A permanent frown had stagnated his mood, and he truly doubted he would ever be happy.

Chase rejected him. Dakota had been right all along, how foolish he had been to disregard his brother's teachings and believe there was another way. He truly never would find a soulmate, forever he would be left alone to fade away. Such a curse was just the way life had chosen for him, and how could Rocky possibly argue with his own life? There was no point in trying, to make any effort to break the cycle was meaningless. Perhaps dogs like him were simply meant to be nothing, from beginning to end.

His body was ruined, his mind was shattered, and now his heart had been strangled dead. There was nothing of him left, and doubts about his own future began to surface. Was a life like this even worth living?

"Dude, you alive?" Zuma piped up from where he was sitting. "Why are you staring at yourself like that?"

"I'm just reflecting."

"Ahh, reflecting," the Lab gave a chuckle, "cause mirrors. I see what you did there."

Rocky raised an eyebrow in confusion, unaware that he had unintentionally cracked a rather genuine joke.

"Well still, you look weird just standing there." Zuma scanned the mix up and down, "come lie down me."

The grey dog didn't move, instead glancing down at his paws for a moment. He really didn't care to be touched right now, "no thanks." He muttered, wondering if he even had a pulse anymore.

The Lab let out a low growl, "I wasn't asking."

The threatening tone of voice made Rocky shudder, a faint whimper leaking from his muzzle. With a defeated expression he turned around and approached his bed where Zuma conquered him night after night. Letting himself flop onto his side, he turned to face the wall, ignoring the wet spots now emerging on the back of his neck.

"Don't be so dull," Zuma said, letting his tongue glide over the other dog. "Just be obedient and do what your superiors say, that's how you survive in this world."

"Do you ever think some just aren't meant to survive?" Rocky said absently, "like their whole existence just means nothing?"

"Well that's a pessimistic way to look at things," the Lab pulled back slightly. "You know what they say; one man's trash is another man's treasure." He chuckled at the saying, "just you are to me."

Rocky felt bolder in his words, he had nothing left to lose after all. "You don't even like me."

"I like-" Zuma paused, trying to find his words as he glanced aside, "how… we have our little meetings. That's something, isn't it? You should be happy someone finds you even remotely attractive enough to sleep with."

"I thought you were teaching me a lesson about authority or whatever."

"I still am," the Lab nipped Rocky's neck harshly, "but the least you could do is enjoy it."

Enjoy it. Enjoy the pain, enjoy the abuse, enjoy the mockery and savagery, Zuma didn't have a clue of what he was speaking of. To force oneself to give in to the agony and terror was the ultimate defeat, to completely surrender yourself and give up fighting forever. By waving the white flag, Rocky would disown himself for good. He would become a husk, a lifeless shell with no goals, no aspirations, no morals, no train of thought, and no motivation to even see the sun. His identity would be erased, and all that remained would be a stone-faced mixed breed waiting for Zuma to make another pass on him.

He wouldn't give like that, if he had a sliver of control left in anything, it would be the final say on how his life ends. He deserved to go out on his own terms, a spit in the face to all who thought his leash was unbreakable. While Zuma worked on him behind, Rocky's mind turned to Chase. If the Shepherd wouldn't desire him, then he had no further reason to keep trying, but there was one more thing Chase had that he wanted.

Chase was a police officer, police officers possessed guns, and it didn't take a genius to know what a gun could do.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Can I tell you something?" Chase asked Marshall, who was sitting beside him. The two dogs had ventured out for a midnight snack, enjoying some treats under the moon. Crickets sang around them, and the cool air of the night was an almost dreamy feeling.

"Oh sure, what's up?" The dalmatian looked at him, cheeks puffed up from the three treats he shoved in his mouth.

"Honestly," the police officer hesitated for a second, then blurted out his confession, "I think I'm bisexual." His words came out completely deadpanned, with not a trace of anxiety or even nervousness. It was like he was absently stating a fact everyone else already knew.

Marshall was taken off guard, expecting something more along the lines of gossip or an edgy joke. "Uh-" he blinked, swallowing his food. "Okay then? Congrats."

"Cool, thanks." Chase nodded and looked off into the distance, "I wanted to get that off my chest."

"Why uh- why me though?" Marshall tilted his head.

"I guess you're just the first one to know."

The spotted dog gave a hearty laugh. "Heh, well at least I don't have to worry about you taking Everest from me. Who's the lucky guy, Zuma?"

"What? No," Chase stared, appalled, "he'd drive me crazy with all the watersports. Also I'm pretty sure he's a drug addict."

"Well we all have our little secrets," Marshall said mischievously, swaying a little.

"Tell me about it…" The shepherd blankly looked toward Rocky's den, standing tall like a quiet prison for the dog it contained. He hadn't seen Rocky since last night when he had to painfully let him down easy after such a heartfelt confession. The mix had trudged away and vanished in his den, never emerging for the entire day. His heart ached for what he feared was a terrible decision, was it too selfish to think he needed time? He was taken aback, confused, afraid, -but he would never admit that- and figured he at least had the right to ask for time. But time was ever running out, the clock of life ticked away on every living creature on the green Earth. Just how far away was Rocky from doing something truly rash? How much time did Chase truly have to fix his mistake?

"You alright, bud?" Marshall asked, sniffing Chase's ear. "You look upset."

The shepherd only now realized the pained expression on his face, his ears flattened as he almost looked like he was about to cry.

"No I'm-" Chase was about to hide it but chose to be honest. "Yes, yes I am. I made someone… unhappy. I made a mistake and I don't know how much time is left to fix it."

"Ouch, I've been there." The dalmatian gave his friend an affectionate pat, "I made Everest mad once. Trust me, she is scary when she's angry." He shrugged, leaning down to eat the last of his treats, "I'm sure everything will be okay, you just need to apologize and actually mean it." He paused for a second, then added to his statement. "And maybe buy them a couple thousand gifts, ugh."

"A gift?" Chase said idly, wondering about the kind of things Rocky would like. "That really works?"

"Well, for women it does." Marshall suppressed an abrasive laugh.

"That's sexist."

"Oh come on! You know me," the dalmatian nudged his friend, but Chase wasn't listening to him anymore. His mind was now focused, determined to make things right with the mix before it was too late. The thought of a full, official relationship was still questionable, but he couldn't bear to have any bad blood between them. Rocky didn't deserve that. Shelving the idea, Chase finished his treats and wished Marshall goodnight, he had a big day ahead of him.

He had no idea that Rocky was actually awake in his den, actively fidgeting on his side while Zuma gripped him.