The Facility
Kurt had only gone for a job interview, he had said, and would only be two hours at most. That had been three days ago. Frank had not worried at first, but then his roommate had missed dinner, and then he had missed their show, and then he had not answer the phone when Frank had called.
The GPS on his phone had pinged this as his last location, and Frank was damned if he was gonna let Kurt skip out on rent, not this month. The sign on the front of the building said "BULGINGTON PARFUMES, LLC", and the front of it was some kind of show room. The back, though, where Frank was, was something else.
The lab door slid open with a hiss, and Frank stepped into a world that made his blood run cold. The air was thick with the musky scent of sweat and something else—something sweet and pungent that clung to the back of his throat. His eyes, wide with a mix of urgency and dread, scanned the room. Rows of metal tables stretched out before him, each one occupied by a mustelid male, all different species, builds, backgrounds. The males were on their stomachs, facing away from Frank, their asses pushed up into the air, with some kind of machine affixed between their legs.
Frank's first thought, of course, was that this was some weird sex thing. He could see Kurt agreeing to being milked of his seed if the money was right. But where was Kurt? Frank pulled his shirt up over his snout, to mask the sharp, musky cologne that permeated the air. The place was rank with it. Frank stepped into the room, the door humming pleasantly closed with a click behind him. Whatever all of this was, it had to be above board, right? The door wasn't even locked. The badger walked up to the row of tables, where a stout beaver was being... extracted. He tried not to look at the machine chugging away between the beaver's thighs, wanting to give the stranger a hint of dignity. He crouched down, resting a hand on the beaver's shoulder and giving a gentle shake.
"Hey, I'm.. uh, looking for a friend of mine. He's a wolverine, named Kurt..." his voice trailed off, as the beaver continued staring out into space. The beaver was smiling dopily, his eyes glassy and unfocused, completely oblivious to Frank's voice or the touch on his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay? Are you awake?"
In response, the beaver grunted, a deep grunt that Frank had made while he was sitting on the toilet. There was a soft, wet splatter behind him, and Frank yanked his paw away as if burned. Was the guy *cumming*? Right in front of him?
"Uh, sorry," he said, as he hurried past him. The next guy was a badger, like Frank, chubbier and older but with the same glazed expression on his face. Frank touched the guy with the tip of a finger, his hackles raised, but the badger was just as oblivious as the beaver. "Wake up?"
The room was cold, almost frigid, but Frank wasn't shivering, not yet. He moved from one catatonic guy to the next, his thoughts muddling into a slurry of fear and confusion. Some of the captives - were they captives? they had to be, right? - were unconscious, or asleep - or worse, but most of them were completely zonked out, staring blankly ahead as if drugged.
"Wake up," he said, slapping another badger, a European on, on the cheek. The drooling mustelid didn't even flinch, too lost in his own world to care. Frank moved on to the next patient, ready to haul the guy onto the floor if need be. It was Kurt. 
The wolverine was laying on his belly, just like the others, his ass jutting up in the air. Wet, sloppy sounds came from behind him. His expression was... serene. Content. Kurt looked happy. Sure, his fur was mussed up, but his face was relaxed in a way that Frank had never seen him before. Frank just stared for a moment, struggling to reconcile this with the Kurt he knew, the angry, stubborn, fiercely independent wolverine who couldn't keep a job because he couldn't stop mouthing off to whoever was unfortunate to end up his manager. Relief washed over Frank, a wave of gratitude that Kurt was alive and not hurt, but that was replaced immediately with confusion. Why was Kurt like this? Why wasn't he fighting?
"Kurt," he whispered. "Dude, wake up. You're naked in a room full of dudes and you look like you're ready to get fucked up the ass, dude." No response. Not even a flicker of light in his eyes.
Frank circled around the table, his hand tracing through the thick, bristly fur of Kurt's back, until he was on the backside. Whatever was happening to him, if he was being drugged or something, Frank could take him to a hospital and get him fixed up. And it wasn't like he hadn't seen Kurt's junk before. He could do this, he could unhook Kurt or whatever and save him.
The first thing he realized, as he was confronted with Kurt's backside, where the milking cups had been affixed. Cups, plural. Frank couldn't understand what he was seeing at first - it looked like the solid plastic cups had been affixed to two long, conical testicles, the bloated tips pulsing and drooling intermittent dribbles of gellid clear fluid. But they weren't shaped right, didn't look right, and they weren't in the right place. The organs were embedded in the wolverine's rear end, on either side of his asshole, which was crushed nearly flat between them. Teardrop-shaped pockets sagged with the bulk of the swollen glands, and the ends of them, the red, conical shaped 'teats' that were being chugged on by the milking machine, jutted aggressively outwards and downwards.
"What.. what is this?! What are these things, Kurt?" Frank asked. He gripped one of the milking cups, the smooth plastic disgustingly warm in his hand, and gave it a tug. It didn't release, merely stretching the glossy flesh downwards with the tension Frank gave it.
"They're called the sebaceous glands," came a clear, chipper voice from behind him. FRank whirled around, his ass bumping into Kurt's table as he found himself face to face with a short, prim, smug looking fox in a lab coat. His fur and his smirk were tightly cropped, as he looked over his shallow glasses to look Frank up and down with a knowing look. 
"American Badger. Mid twenties. Sufficiently hydrated," the fox said, his bushy tail flicking behind him with a hint of excitement. "An excellent replacement for subject 12."
"What did you do to Kurt?!" Frank yelled, spreading his arms, going up on his toes. He practically loomed over the fox and his two assistants - wolves with strange masks over their snouts. "I'm calling the police!"
"That won't be necessary," the fox said, with a tut tut. "There's nothing illegal going on here, just the completely voluntary extraction of non-essential compounds from our compensated donors here. In fact, the only crime that's been committed, so far, is your breaking and entering, and attempting to interfere with our operations. How crude of you, Mister...?"
"Frank," Frank said, then wished he hadn't. The fox's smile deepened.
"Frank. Excellent. Yes, Mister Frank, you see, we're not hurting anyone here. We're helping them. We're.. unlocking their true potential."
Frank scoffed, glancing back at his friend, who was still smiling obliviously as he stared off into space. "This isn't potential, this is... this is.."
The fox cut him off with a sigh. "You can't possibly understand, yet. But you'll see what we're capable of, soon, Frank. You'll see what you're capable of. Restrain him."
Frank was a second too slow. The guards lunged forward, their hands moving to secure Frank's shoulders and wrists. Their fingers were cold, holding him in a vice grip and snagging him before he could even throw a punch. His arms were folded back behind him, and he was forced to bend forward, so that his center of balance was slightly off. If he tried to kick, he'd just crumple. 
"You really shouldn't struggle, Frank," the fox said, his expression still calm, bemused even. "It's much easier if you cooperate. You will cooperate, you know." 
"The fuck I will," Frank swore, trying to pull back as the fox flicked out a scalpel in one hand. "The fuck I will!"
"We're in agreement, then," the fox said cheerily. He stepped forward, and pressed a thumb against the badger's shirt button, using the scalpel to shave it off. Then another, and another. "Let's take care of this, first, though. You're going to be so much more comfortable without all these clothes on you."
Frank was shucked out of his flannel shirt like an ear of corn, and his pelt was stripped out of his pant loops and discarded to the floor. His old Levis were unbuttoned, and pushed down, his old worn jock going with it. The badger thrashed at that, not wanting to be naked in front of anyone but certainly not in front of the fox. He was exposed, humiliated as the fox drank in his naked form.
"You'll do," the fox said. "Put him up on the table."
Frank hollered, tried to kick at them, but he was being twisted, arms behind his back as he was frog marched towards the table next to Kurt's. It was empty, a modified massage table with a wedge in the middle, and Frank was still shouting about calling the police, and lawyers, and the Bulgington University board, as he was efficiently, and unceremoniously, slammed face first down on top of the table. 
Straps were brought into play, his knees being yanked to either side of the table and tethered in place with what felt like seat belts. His chest was next, arms strapped to his side as his torso was winched down flat against the table. His ass was jutting up in the air, just like Kyle's, and he hated the feel of the cold air conditioning as it drifted against his exposed asshole. 
Last was the yoke. Frank had not noticed it on Kurt, but two hard plastic half-circles, like a collar, were attached around his neck and screwed into the table, forcing Frank's head to remain in place. He couldn't look behind him, he couldn't even look to his left or right. Just straight ahead, at the plain cinderblock wall. He growled, as he felt the smooth, gloved fingers of the fox stroking through the coarse hair along the back of his thighs.
"My name, you probably should know, is Dr. Braun," the fox said, detachedly. His fingers tickled as they stroked along his inner thighs, and Frank instinctively clenched down as they cupped against the badger's heavy testicles. Fingers tightened, squeezing around the neck of his scrotum and pulling down on them. "And I want you to understand what your leverage is, here."
Frank felt the cold, slender touch of metal against the back of his scrotum.
"You have none. You either cooperate, and you get rewarded, and you are eventually released... or I cut these impressive testicles of yours off, followed by your tongue, and then your frontal cortex. You'll live, but you'll never understand what happened to you, and you won't remember why. I'll still take what I want from you, either way. Do you consent?"
"Did you do this to all of them?" Frank snarled, then yelped as the blade burned into the edge of his scrotum. "I consent! I consent!"
"There we go. Smart boy," Dr. Braun said. The blade disappeared, as fingers resumed kneading, massaging the naked, vulnerable ball-sack of the trapped badger. "I would advice you to relax, now. Struggling is only going to make all of this so much more difficult for you. Not me. Just you." 
Frank's heart was still pounding in his chest, as the scientist's dark words lingered in the air. He could feel it in the cold, clinical detachment of the fox's tone that whatever he was promising, he had done it before. Or maybe he hadn't, but Frank knew he didn't want to be the one to find out.
"Just don't hurt me," Frank whimpered, finally. He hated himself for being a coward, but the fox was right; he was screwed. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing too weird," Dr. Braun responded. The fingers on his scrotum slid upwards, moving to nudge against the badger's asshole. Frank wanted to clench down, but even as he did so, he could tell his ass was just winking at the fox; his legs were too far spread apart to be able to stop anything. They were poking, prodding against the skin just below his ass, slowly stroking gloved fingertips against badger flesh. "Just want to check your glands here. There they are."
The fox pushed inwards, with two fingertips, the firm points of his fingers making the badger's head throb with a peculiar sensation. What was the fox doing? Was he fucking with Frank's prostate? 
The fox wasn't telling. His fingers pressed, relaxed, circled, and pressed inwards again from a different direction. Probing, pressing, and then circling back again. It was... weird. Invasive. Frank hated that another man was touching him like this. It felt like he was being rimmed, but on the outside of his ass. But in another way, it was... soothing. Relaxing. The more the fox rubbed him, the quieter Frank got, the less he tried to clench or pull away. 
And then, rather abruptly honestly, he felt something press out from inside him. It wasn't painful, it was just a press, something hot and slick pressing out from inside his rear and out through the flesh, just around his asshole.It felt like a candy corn, but slippery. He didn't know what it was, couldn't see it, but it was definitely sticking out into the open air. Frank's head buzzed with the sensation, like something was happening that he should know about but didn't, anymore. Like this was something he would have known how to do a hundred generations ago. It was like nausea, only different, more of a light headed, dizzy kind of feeling.
The second one popped out a little bit later, with a little more kneading and coaxing by the fox. Dr. Braun kept one knuckle in place, pushing firmly into the skin of Frank's ass, which kept the protrusions from sliding back into him. The fox gently pinched the two candy-corns between his other fingers, holding them and gently kneading them. He could feel the fox tugging them, pulling them tautly so that they were stretched away from his body as he could be. 
Frank hated that his body was responding to the fox like this, in ways that Frank didn't even know was possible. What were those things? The fox said something to an assistant, and Frank groaned at the surreal, crackling sensations, strange tingling flooding his brain as the fox began to 'milk' the little conical candycorns. Tug, tug, squeeze.
Frank felt something, something thick and gooey, pastey even, like dark tar, being kneaded and slowly worked out of the ends of the two cones. He couldn't see it, but he knew whatever it was, was a residue, a smegma of some sort that had been there for a long, long time. He bared his teeth, hissing in overstimulation as he felt something sliding through the ends of the corns, like dank toothpaste, squeezed carefully out from inside of him. There was a quick, professional brush of something - a paper towel, something with fibers perhaps, and the globby fluid was gone. Scraped right off of the end of the cones. 
Frank collapsed back down on the table as whatever that was ended. He had no idea, no clue what was being taken from him, but it was horrible, whatever it was. Then he felt something new.
A cold gel was being dabbed over the little candy corns, scraped and sloughed over the exposed flesh with must have been a Q-tip. The cold gel tingled, seeping into his flesh, staining into the pocket that the candy corns had been extruded from. Once they were covered, the fox released them entirely, and the corns disappeared, returning back into his body. It was almost as if nothing had happened at all... if it weren't for the tingling.
The cool gel, whatever it was, must have had some kind of menthol or something in it. It tingled, coolly stimulating the soft flesh that it had been smeared on. The fox circled back around, holding a small jar with two small strips of tissue in them. He could see dark, yellowish brown, oily smears staining paper. Was that what had come out from inside him? It was hard to contemplate it, when the organs themselves were getting steadily more stimulated.
"I'm pleased with you, Frank," the fox said, as he held up the jar. "You have great potential. We'll need to extract the essence out of it, of course, and infuse it in the base medley, but, based on what I smelled..." The fox crumpled his lips together, making a kissy face with slitted eyes. "You're going to be even better than Kurt here."
Frank could only barely see Kurt, but the wolverine was still staring straight ahead, mouth open, drool oozing in a syrupy strand from the tip of his jaw. His friend's eyes were glazed, and Frank felt a flood of despair washing over him. Was he going to end up like that? No. He had to focus.
"Your fucking, whatever you put in my ass," he spat, trying to stare the fox down despite being collared and strapped to an exam table. "It's itching like crazy. What is it? What are you doing?"
It was. The tingling had escalated, shifting from an attention stealing stimulation to an irritating itch that coated the inside of his rear end. He wanted to wipe his ass, badly, but he couldn't.
"Oh, the itching is unfortunate but necessary," the fox said, dismissively. "We're looking into getting a formula that doesn't cause it, but we just can't stop using it. Thirty percent growth, per dosage, if you can believe it." The fox tsked, as he slipped the jar into the pocket in the front of his lab coat, between the pencils, before yawning. 
"Well make it stop. Give me drugs, or something." The badger squirmed, as the itching became more intense, as he tried to flex his hips to crush the itch away. "I know you have them, right? I'm game. Dope me up."
"Oh, heavens no, and mess up your ph? Of course not. Drugs stimulate all of the wrong parts of your adrenal system," the fox said. "Just relax, and lean into it. Familiarize yourself with the itching. It's not going to go away. The sensation will eventually become... familiar. You might even start to like it."
Frank's elbows strained against straps, his fingers splaying, trying to reach to his backside as he struggled to endure. He had had poison oak before, gotten tabasco in his eye. This was worse. The itch was like concentrated ants, busy squirming and itching against his flesh. It was strange and invasive, and he could feel it spreading through the skin nearby as it was absorbed into the surrounding tissues. 
"Please!" He finally begged, shouting in the room full of soft slurping sounds and pleasured grunts. "Make it stop! Make it stop!" He couldn't stop feeling it, and he couldn't stop thinking about how it felt, it was like there was a fire - not a painful fire, but an incessant one - burning just under his skin, and he couldn't reach it.
"Fine," Dr. Braun said, as he reached under the table. "But only because you said please."
He stood up, holding a white curved thick bar. It was a headset, a VR headset, and the fox attached it to the badger's skull, hooking it into the collar around his neck to keep it still. It was already turned on, and Frank's view of fox and wall and Kurt was replaced with a kaleidoscope of bright, swirling, flashing colors. It was intense, too intense, and Frank had to squint from the onslaught of sudden digital clouds and plumes. The headset was playing soft tones, chimes that were so quiet he almost couldn't hear them, and when he finally noticed them, they were already fading out, to be replaced with another. 
The itching was getting worse, and Frank grunted in irritation. Was the fox even still there? He hadn't heard him walk out. He angrily stared at an orange blob that sometimes looked like a piece of toast and sometimes like a daisy. It ducked behind a purple blob and reappeared behind a  yellow star. He didn't know what the purpose of this was, but the bright lights, the flashes and throbbing glows were irritating, and if he just stared at one piece, one moving part, he could just ignore the rest. 
It helped, actually. The lights and soft tones were like a psychic balm, helping to cover the incessant, painful itching that he could not reach. The colors were so bright, so alive, that they helped him forget almost entirely about what was happening behind him. Almost. He could feel the swelling, the protuberance that almost felt like he needed to shit, but not. It wasn't in the right spot, it was right at the edge, right where his asshole was. He could feel those candy corns swelling, pushing slowly, inexorably, sensitively against the edge of the sockets that they were held in.
Frank stared at the lights, trying to ignore the sensation, but unable to completely, as he felt the reddish glands push free of his backside. They tickled in the open air, two little stalks slowly emerging from their homes along his colon of wherever they were from. God, is that what the gel was doing? Making them grow?
His thoughts turned to escape. With the itching at least partially relieved, he could think again. He couldn't just lay here forever, letting them do whatever they wanted with him. He had to get out - to be free. He could leave Kurt, for now - the wolverine wasn't going anywhere - and he could bring the police back to save everyone. But he had to think of how. 
He could wait until the fox came back, and then kick. His legs were strapped down, but he used to play football - he could snap the belts easily enough. One good kick in the chest and the fox would go flying. Easy. It was daring, probably dangerous, but he could see it happening in his mind, could feel the thrill of it.
Faintly, he could feel someone toying with the freshly self-expressed glands in his backside, and irritatedly, he shifts in his seat. Why were they bothering him? Didn't they know what he was doing?
His mind raced with thoughts of escape, calculating each step he would take - when the time came. And as the slick cool gel was reapplied, swabbed down into the pockets that his anal sacs were protruding from to coat his anal glands, he continued to fester in his thoughts of reprisal and rescue. 
Strangely, the thought of following through on his plans didn't cross his mind. He didn't even protest, not even as the itching returned with a vengeance. He hated the sensation, and shifted his focus to the hypnotic tones that were reverberating in a pleasant cycle, over and over again. The itching crescendoed, and by the time the sensation had started to retreat, Frank was not even noticing that he was breathing with his mouth open, his tongue lolling out from between his jaws as he studied the orange blob as it ducked and weaved, hiding behind some objects and climbing over others. Where was it going,  anyways?
There were fingers again. Was the fox still there? How long had it been, five, ten minutes?
It had been longer, but Frank had no way of understanding that. The fox's touch was methodical, detached, as the engorged and much larger anal sacs were gently coaxed furhter from their homes. Small, vacuum type pipettes were attached to them, the sudden grip of the narrow plastic cylinders making Frank hiss at the unexpected pressure. The flesh that they were attaching to, as thick as his thumb and about as long, were sensitive. The badger's tail flicked in irritation, as the fox's fingers began to knead and squeeze, stroking against the swollen bulbs now visible swelling out underneath the badger's backside. 
The ovoid swells were tender, and the fox was slow but thorough, gently kneading and squeezing them. Frank let out a long, slow groan of relief, as the built up pressure that he didn't even notice began to be relaxed out of him. His toes splayed as he felt the taut globes of his anal glands being kneaded firmly but carefully, slowly inwards. Warm, mucusy slime began to spurt and ooze out of the tips of the glands, not as thick and pasty as the first sample, but still quite viscous. It was a harsh, bile-like greenish yellow, the concentrated fluids draining into the reservoirs at the bottom of the pipettes. Frank had no idea that he was being collected - didn't care, either - only knowing the relief of having his swollen parts being kneaded and relaxed and juiced. 


As the fox's fingers released him, letting his glands recuperate from their firm milking, Frank's brain swam with endorphins. He didn't even mind as the itchy gel was smeared over his flesh, coating it in an even thicker slimy coating, as he floated happily in an afterglow of release. He had no idea if he was erect, but it didn't matter. He was being pampered if this was what his treatment was going to be like. No wonder Kurt hadn't texted him back.
Time passed, stretching and compressing, as Frank sank deeper and deeper into the swirl of itching, needing to be teased, and distractedly trying to follow the orange blob around. Occasionally he heard voices, or he would feel something squirted down his throat, or he would feel fingers against his neck, but he was losing less and less interested in that. The plans to escape had melted away into something that Frank still wanted to do, but only after all of this was over. 
When the fox's hands returned to collect more of his anal juices from him, the badger perked up, his tail lifting, his knees spreading as he tried to present himself, to push himself back towards the eager hands that were coming to claim more of his much-needed-to-be-juiced-out milk. The hands didn't grip his glands though, even though they were now the size of oranges, the big bulbs creating a cleavage as they jutted and sagged out from his groin. No, they grasped his tail.
He felt the latex collar get strapped around his tail first, a cuff that gripped but didn't strangle. He didn't know what it was for, could't see the straps that were used to support the milking cups. Yes, Frank would be shocked to find out that he had gotten large enough to be milked, just like the other cows. The plastic cups were augmented, with a wider flange better suited to grip and suckle on the conical, fleshy teats that the badger's anal sacs had become. 
Oh, they were sensitive! The badger's hips twitched, a low and curious groan coming from his front as the invisible hands sleeve one cup up over his left teat. The strap was connected to the cuff on his tail, and it was allowed to hang, its weight tugging only slightly against the badger's gland. The tugging weight actually helped, stretching open the tissue so that exudate, now only slightly tinged yellow with a pearlescent sheen, began to drool down into the cup and down the plastic tubing that led away from it. 
The other was attached in a similar way, and then the machine was turned on. Frank could feel the warmth of his fluids, as they were drawn out from inside of him. He groaned again, a groan of pleasure and surrender, as he felt those intimate fluids, his essence, being siphoned out by the mechanical machine. He didn't resist, as the suction of the machine drew the cup up over his gland, squeezing and crushing it in a plain, mechanical way that made his brain surge with pleasure. Then it relaxed, the cup sagging down, releasing and letting his sac refill and reform back to its normal shape - while the other one was sucked up instead. Then the other one relaxed, and the first one suckled again.

He could hear the pffft, pffsttht of juices hitting the inside of the cups, as he was milked by them. He felt a pang of pride as he realizes how much he must be making to be able to be drawn from like this. He happily stared at the colored blobs in front of him - not really caring which ones were orange or yellow, green or purple. They were all just pretty shapes, not things worth thinking about. The milking felt nice. He knew that there was something that he should be complaining about, something that he should be upset about, but he couldn't think of what. 
He was content.
Some time later, the milking cups were paused, and felt them being removed. He was glad, as they were too small anyways - they were constricting and only sucking on a third or so of his glans. 
"Frh rhh wlwmh hrwmr, Frank?" He heard the words, but he didn't realize that he was supposed to answer them for quite some time. He grunted.
Hands smeared cool gel over his swollen, mango-sized glands, that were now dangling down from his groin like udders. His balls were crushed up against his sheath, not that he cared about either now. The hands felt wonderful, smooth and cool against his tender and inflamed flesh. He let out an appreciative noise, just an ooooh sound really.
"---- -- -- ------- -----?" The voice asked, just a pattern of noises now, just sounds that someone else was making. He vaguely responded to that, as well, but he didn't know - or care - what it was he said. 
The hands were putting a new set of milking tubes on him, and they were nearly as big as his thighs were. They gripped loosely around the middle of his glands themselves, the broad, conical anal sacs resting along the inner walls on them. They were ridiculously big, but the foaming, pleasant itch of growth was already helping his glands swell up even larger. He wiggled his hips, and then clenched his buttocks and thighs, squeezing them together as best he could. He couldn't move them much, but his glands were so wide now that he could just compress them between his beefy thighs. 
He sighed, happily, as his juice splattered wetly into the tubes that were still cupping him. Mmmmm. Whoever it was around him made a sound of appreciation. He felt fingers lift his ear, briefly bringing what remained of his mind back into focus, as Dr. Braun whispered something to him.
"You're almost all gone, now, Frank. You're never going to leave here. Isn't that great? You're going to be my musk cow, for ever."
Frank lowed pleasantly, only vaguely understanding, only feeling the vaguest bubble of anxiety as he realized, briefly, what Dr. Braun was saying. But then, despite his panic, his fear, he sank back into the mindless complacency of being milked. He'd deal with it later. Mmmmmm.

~^~ Some Time Later ~^~
Dr. Braun had expanded his operations. There were forty lab benches now, and an entire fraternity had been conveniently added to the far side of the room. Dr. Braun was wearing new glasses, and new shoes, as he strutted up to the scent cow that had used to be called Frank.
"You're a best seller," the fox gloated, as he took the small box from his breast pocket, revealing  the small glass bottle with a face of a badger on it. "More popular than any cologne since Red Diamonds."
Dr. Braun gave the cologne a little spritz, the alcohol capturing the air as it sank in tiny droplets down onto the grinning, smiling, dopey face that used to belong to Frank. If it burned the badger's half-lidded eyes, he didn't respond to it. All he did was smile.