[b][u]16 June 2048[/u] [17 years before the events of Wildfire 1][/b]

[b][COLLIN][/b]

Colonial Police - or [i]Policia Colonial[/i] as they called it around here - had picked him up for something called '[i]vagabundeo[/i]', which apparently was a crime that one committed by sleeping on a park bench. The young Fox wasn't entirely sure his complete non-fluency in any kind of Spanish hadn't also been a factor. Regardless, he had been taken to the local precinct and thrown - almost literally - in a holding cell, where at least it was a warmer place to sleep. 

This was...bad. He was only ten, and though he'd managed to travel impressively far on his quest to get as far away from home as possible, it was likely he'd be sent back across the border, now. Or, worse, his Owner would be contacted directly to collect him. 

He'd managed to remove the collar early on, and he had stolen some vaguely-fitting clothing. He'd been very cautious, traveling only at night or well away from anywhere anyone was likely to spot him.  For a ten-year-old human, the journey would've been almost impossible, and even Collin knew he'd been incredibly lucky this far. 

It hadn't [i]all[/i] been lucky - he'd [i]intended[/i] to head west, into Mississippi Territory, where his non-human status didn't automatically mean he was someone's 'pet'. He'd apparently gone south instead. The fact that signs on the border fence were in both English and Spanish probably should've clued him in, there. Hindsight. And now he was in jail, in a place where Collin had yet to spot any Anthros at all. He tried not to imagine what fate awaited him.

At first, it was easy. Immediately after being tossed in the cell, he saw no harm in getting some real sleep. He woke refreshed, and it was a few boring hours before he heard any other activity in the precinct. No one came to check on him, which suited the kit just fine.

When once he started hearing other noises in the precinct - morning shift people setling in - it wasn't long before a group of cops came to check on him. The one in charge had a collar in one hand. Collin knew trying to fight would not end well for him,  so he didn't resist when they entered his cell and cruelly tore apart his clothes and locked the collar around his neck.  The leader was saying something in Spanish, which probably amounted to "We know you're a runaway pet, but don't want to bother shipping you back, so we're gonna put some extra cash in our pockets by selling you to someone else". And Collin had thought 'worst case' was getting sent back to his Owner.

After collaring him, however, they just took away the scraps of his clothes and left. Collin retreated to the farthest spot from the door, crouched and used his tail to cover his privates, and did [i]not cry[/i]. His Owner had already taught him - crying about it didn't change anything. That didn't mean it was easy for him to keep from breaking down - his situation was hopeless, and he knew it. He simply feared something worse happening if he annoyed the guards by making too much noise. 

Oddly, what made it considerably worse was the waiting. Not knowing any Spanish, what the guards had said while collaring him could've been [i]anything[/i] and the not knowing ate at the kit fiercely. Was he being sold to some new Owner? Sent back to the States? Executed!? With his potential fate uncertain, he didn't even have any idea how worried he [i]should[/i] be. 

Only the clock on the wall told him that it was roughly two hours later that anyone else showed up. The man was a Spaniard, not a local, and was burly enough that Collin - who barely stood as high as the man's crotch - didn't even briefly entertain the thought of struggling against whatever the human was going to do to him. It would be pointless. 

"[i]Vaya, vaya, ¿qué tenemos aquí?[/i]" The man said, sizing Collin up from outside the cell. It gave the kit the chance to look the human over in turn. He was taller than most of the locals, and with much paler skin. He had a patch on the breast of his uniform with a stylized snarling Shepherd and the words 'Unidad Canina/Control Animal' around the edge. Animal Control? That couldn't possibly be good.

"[i]Tranquilo, amiguito, no te voy a hacer daño. Solo quiero ayudarte,[/i]" the man spoke again after several minutes of staring. He was cautiously unlocking the cell door, still watching Collin like a hawk, perhaps secretly hoping the kit would do something stupid like make a dash for it. He even left the door wide open after unlocking it and entering the cell. Though Collin had briefly thought about running, he quashed the impulse. There was no way it would work, he'd just get in more trouble, and even if he got past the guy here, he was still in a precinct full of cops.

"[i]Ay, tenían razón....Ya está roto, pobrecito...Mira, si me dejas ponerte esta correa - tengo que llevarte al refugio. ¡Mira qué abierta está la puerta! Eres pequeñito - podrías pasar como un rayo...Yo soy tan lenta, ¿verdad?... Venga, me estoy acercando, vas a perder tu oportunidad, amiguito,[/i]" the human crept across the cell, hunched low like a stalking Leopard, pausing frequently, murmuring softly all the while. He held a leash - little more than a length of metal cable with a clasp hook at one end and an eyelet at the other - out to the side, practically taunting Collin with it as he inexorably approached.

Other than some instinctive shrinking back against the cold stone at the back of his cell, Collin made no effort to bolt. Once the man had gotten close enough, there was no longer any point, anyways. The man stopped once he was mere inches from the Fox kit, sighing.  He swiftly crouched and hooked the leash onto the D-ring of Collin's collar, saying, "[i]Ya, verás. Todo...estará bien.[/i]"

It took no prompting or tugging on the leash to get Collin to follow the man out of the cell - he'd already learned that lesson the hard way.  If you had a collar, you went wherever the leash dragged you, and you kept up or got strangled. 

The man didn't stop Collin from covering himself with his tail, and he thankfully didn't object to Collin walking on two legs, which were small kindnesses that went unnoticed in the face of Collin's building dread. This man was 'Animal Control' around here. Back home, 'Animal Control' meant 'catch it, put a bullet in it, and charge its owner for the hassle'. So, naturally, Collin assumed he was being taken somewhere to be shot. 

The thought should've galvanized him into struggling or resisting however he could, but Collin didn't dare. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Being dead would mean he wouldn't have to be a toy for humans anymore. No one would be able to hurt him anymore. The more the thought about it, the more attractive getting executed started to look. 

Of course, it was what the man might do to him [i]before[/i] killing him that had Collin worried. 

He was led through the precinct, which seemed surprisingly busy until Collin realized that most of the people here weren't cops. Other than the Animal Control officer leading Collin, he spotted maybe six other policemen. Everyone else was either a civilian or in handcuffs, and getting barely adequately juggled by the clearly overwhelmed cops.  

Collin and his captor attracted stares as they maneuvered through the crowd, with a few people reaching out to touch our stroke Collin's fur. Though he outwardly permitted this, each contact sent shivers down Collin's spine. He'd seen pets - especially Anthro pets - get beaten senseless on the spot if they even vaguely implied they disliked whatever 'affection' their owner decided to inflict upon them. It had only taken a dozen such beatings before Collin learned to allow his Owner to do whatever he wanted. It only took a few more beatings to hammer in that he had to permit strangers, too. 

Once they were out of the station, the guard led Collin to a rusty deathtrap that was only vaguely recognizeable as a utility truck. The words ' ol cia - U  dad Ca  a' were on the driver's door, with the missing letters crudely painted in. 

The bed of the truck held a large, frontless cage, which the man unlatched  several latches to remove the top section. When he'd climbed into the  truck to do this, he'd let the leash go, but he glanced in Collin's direction often enough while he worked on the cage that Collin didn't dare to try and run. He just stood there, staring down himself at the dangling, unattended leash and hating himself for not even trying for freedom. It would be short-lived, anyways. And the guard would probably just shoot him. 

When the guard was done readying the cage, he climbed back down and put a hand on Collin's head, [i]petting him[/i], "[i]Buen chico. Esperaba que fueras a por ello, pero eres un buen chico, ¿eh? Sé bueno un poco más mientras te ato. Por lo que vale, realmente esperaba que corrieras.[/i]"

With that, he got behind Collin and picked him up, hefting the kit into the truck bed with ease. He kept one hand under Collin's arm while using the other to clamber himself into the bed behind Collin. The hand moved to   Collin's back as his captor gently forced him into the sling suspended from the sides of the cage. A metal bar was passed through the cage, through the D-ring of the kit's collar, and through the other side, before being locked in place with a pair of metal pins. Now Collin's collar - and therefore his head - was fixed to the bar. His paws were soon also strapped to the same bar. 

The top of the cage was then reattached, and Collin felt his tail being grabbed and curled to be strapped to the top of the cage, leaving Collin humiliatingly exposed. The last step made it even worse - his legs and footpaws were manipulated to put him in an almost crouching-on-all-fours position with his ankles strapped to the sides of the cage.  The position left his balls, meager as they were, dangling very prominently and without the least protection. The cage lacking a door now made sense - one wasn't needed. Collin couldn't move even if he tried, and surely any escape attempt would result in an easy attack on his very vulnerable genitals. 

Collin couldn't even rest his head at all - the bar beneath his throat prevented that by pressing against his windpipe every time the kit let his neck slack. So, he was forced to keep his head up and stare at the back of the cab as the guard got in and started the engine.  Already, the cramped position was starting to hurt, but there was nothing Collin could do about that.  

The truck pulled out of the precinct's lot and right into heavy traffic. The forty-minute trip was hot, uncomfortable, and noisy.  Aside from his position, Collin needed to shit. He'd been thoroughly trained [i]not[/i] to relieve himself in Owner's house or vehicle, so he was forced to hold it despite everything else. 

Since his view was quite limited, it was the smell that told him they'd transitioned into a nicer part of town. Less human sweat and trash and the faint scent of raw sewage and more the delicate aroma of various 'air freshening' scents and washed bodies. Still, Collin briefly wondered why humans bothered.  Up close, they still smelled of sweat, musk, and piss.  Even their various deodorants and perfumes couldn't cover it completely, not to a Canid's nose. They seemed blissfully unaware of how bad they really smelled - and it was [i]Foxes[/i] who were said to reek! 

They came to a stop eventually, gravel crunching beneath the truck's tires as they pulled into a parking lot.  Collin heard the man get out of the cab after killing the engine, and some clattering as he climbed into the bed. "[i]Te ves bien. Bien. Me preocupaba que pudieras cocinar al sol mientras estábamos en el tráfico. Siéntate apretado por un poco más, volveré enseguida,[/i]" he said, patting Collin's rump before hopping back out of the bed and leaving Collin there. 

However long he was left out there, he couldn't tell. With his head fixed so he couldn't much look around, he didn't even know what kind of place they'd stopped at. It could be a gas station, for all Collin knew, and the guard could be inside taking a piss. The thought of a bathroom in any context made Collin squirm uncomfortably, reminded of his need. 

A chattering of Spanish made his ears flick towards the noise, and he could hear multiple footsteps coming closer, accompanied by excited chatter, "[i]¡Miren! ¡Es un Zorro! ¡Miren, chicos, un Zorro![/i]"

"[i]¿Qué está haciendo aquí? ¿Se está dando a la tienda?[/i]"

"[i]¡Aw, sería genial tener un Zorro como mascota! ¡Vamos a comprobarlo antes de que el oficial regrese![/i]"

The truck's suspension squeaked as several people climbed into the back, crowding around the cage just out of Collin's view. From their scents, Collin could tell there were four of them, and they were males between thirteen and fifteen years old. He felt horribly exposed, and being unable to see the youths in turn really cranked up his anxiety.

He jolted when one of the boys put his hand on Collin's ass, making all four of them laugh. "[i]Oye, Arturo, siente sus cojones, te reto,[/i]" one of them said, to general snickering and agreement from the others. The hand that was on Collin's butt crept down between his legs, groping Collin's exposed balls and making the kit whine and shift as much as he could to avoid the touch. Unfortunately, bound as he was, it appeared more like he was trying to hump the boy's hand. The boys snickered and said things in Spanish that were clearly mocking. The hand on his nuts squeezed, making Collin yelp. 

"[i]¡Eh! ¡Ustedes los gamberros déjenlo en paz! ¡Si le bajan su valor, se las van a ver conmigo![/i]"

The kids bolted at the Animal Control guy's voice, scrambling off the truck and out of sight in a flash. Moments later, Collin heard him approach the truck. He rooted around in the bed itself, muttering, then went around and opened the driver's door, finally slamming it, "[i]¡Mie--[/i]me[i] cachis! ¡Olvidé la correa![/i]"

The man climbed into the bed and unlatched the top of the cage, carefully unstrapping Collin's tail before tossing the cage top aside. Next to be released were Collin's ankles, and the young Fox immediately groaned and stretched his stiff legs as much as he could. His captor chuckled, and paused to massage Collin's haunches and calves to help the blood flow again. Though this involved the man's hands roaming all up and down the inside and outside of his legs, Collin didn't mind. The man was much more gentle than the boys, at least. 

His paws were next, followed swiftly by the bar securing his collar. Collin allowed himself to collapse onto the floor of the cage, groaning from the strain of having been tied up like that for nearly an hour. But his body wouldn't let him completely relax - he still needed to relieve himself and it was clear he wasn't going to be able to put it off any longer. With a mad scramble that startled the human, Collin darted out between the man's legs, hopped out of the back on all fours, and immediately squatted as soon as he was on the ground. 

At first, the guard swore and chased after him, stopping with a laugh when he saw what Collin was doing, "[i]Gracias por no cagar en mi camión, supongo. ¡Qué buen chico eres! Obtendrá un nuevo propietario fácilmente, a este ritmo.[/i]"

Collin finished his business while the man staightened up the bed of his truck. He even flopped onto his side to maneuver a leg up so he could 'groom' himself afterwards, drawing a disgusted groan and chuckle from his captor, who was keeping at least a minimal eye on him. 

The man jumped down from the truck at the same time as Collin was lowering his leg. For a moment, they stared at each other, Collin realizing in that moment that he was [i]several Tails[/i] away from the man, in the open, and not secured to anything. If he could get to his feet fast enough, he could run. The human wasn't [i]old[/i], but old enough that it was unlikely he could keep up with Collin if the Fox was trying. 

The human made no move to remedy Collin's freedom. Hands held out to the side to show that they were empty, the guard said, "[i]No tengo correa, amiguito. Podrías escapar, si quisieras, ¿verdad? Pero, creo que te rompieron demasiado bien, quienquiera que fuera tu dueño. Si señalo aquí y digo '¡ven!'...[/i]"

The man had pointed to the ground near him with that last word, spoken commandingly. Collin didn't need to know or care about the rest of what he'd said- the order was clear. Collin hesitated, but reluctantly crawled over to the man and made it clear he knew his place in things by flopping unceremoniously onto his side, and spreading his legs and paws in humiliating submission. His old Owner absolutely loved when Collin did that, and Collin hoped it would have similar effect on this man. 

He got nudged firmly with a boot, "[i]No hagas eso - no es necesario...o debería estarlo.[/i]"

Taking the hint, Collin rolled back onto all fours. When the man began walking towards the building, Collin followed meekly at his heels. 

Inside, the place was obviously a pet shop. There was a row of glass-fronted enclosures all the way down either side of the room, with a few round enclosures down the center that had glass all the way around. The inhabitants of these displays were mixed - Anthros and Ferals of mostly Canid Tribes. The design of the place seemed to emphasize how overcrowded the place was. The side displays were maybe two Tails by three, and each held at least three pets. Even for Ferals, that was a bit cramped. The four central displays were worse - each holding five except the very first one, which held four. The place smelled strongly of shit and piss - none of the displays were very clean in that regard. 

A young female approached them, smiling at the Animal Control officer, "[i]¡Así que este es el Zorro que mencionaste! ¡Oh, es tan lindo![/i]"

"[i]Sí. Que él es. Escucha, dijiste que tu...ah...'friend'... ¿podría estar dispuesto a 'adoptarlo'? ¿Qué tan pronto puedes arreglar eso? Me preocupa lo que alguien le haga a la pobre.[/i]"

"[i]No te preocupes. Llamé a mi...'friend'...mientras estabas afuera. Tu zorro aquí estará a salvo con él por la mañana. ¿Por qué gritaba todo eso, de todos modos?[/i]

Collin's captor shrugged, "[i]Solo algunos matones jugando con el pobre Zorro. Les grité, y corrieron.[/i]"

"[i]Oh, los conozco. El líder de su pequeña pandilla ha estado viniendo todos los días. Sus padres le prometieron una mascota. Creo que significaban una mascota de [/i]verdad[i], pero obviamente el niño tiene otros pensamientos.[/i]"

The officer made a disgusted noise, which startled Collin, "[i]¡Cualquier padre que ofrezca comprarle a su hijo un Anthro como mascota debe recibir un disparo! ¡María, me enferma! ¿Cómo puedes tú soportarlo? ¡Verlos encerrados como si fueran animales! Lo odio, pero..."

"[i]'Es un trabajo', ¿verdad? Y haces tu mejor esfuerzo para hacer lo correcto por ellos. Eso es todo lo que podemos hacer. Esta "industria" seguiría adelante, si hacemos algo o no.[/i]"

"[i]Tienes razón. Por supuesto que tienes razón. Di, este amigo tuyo... ¿cómo puedo ayudarlo?[/i]"

As though his words physically pushed her,  the woman took a wide step back from him, "[i]Esa es una pregunta muy peligrosa, para ti. Tal vez para mí también. ¿Sabes quién es él... ¿verdad?[/i]"

"[i]El Lobo Americano. O, al menos, así es como el llaman las noticias.[/i]"

"[i]No sé si es "el" lobo americano del que hablan. Pero él es uno, sí,[/i]" she replied, looking calmer now, "[i]Pero si supieras que él era... él...[/i]te[i] verías obligado a arrestarme, ¿no?[/i]"

The officer seemed quick to assure her that whatever she'd said was not the case. At least "no" got used a lot,  "...[i]¡María, nunca haría eso![/i]"

She was still spooked, Collin could tell. She had that scent humans got when they were about to fight something. The other Anthros and Ferals in the room didn't seem to notice the scene at all, but it was impossible to catch scent through glass. She crossed her arms, "[i]Has estado lejos de la estación demasiado tiempo. Escucho tu radio en el auto. Si pasas más tarde...ya verás...[/i]"

The officer nodded, then nodded again before looking down at Collin and gesturing for him to go over to the woman, which Collin did obediently. He then left, looking back several times, and once more at the door before actually leaving the building. 

She stood there until they both heard the sound of the man's truck leaving the gravel lot, then she immediately crouched down and made Collin look up at her, "[i]¿Entiendes el español?[/i]"

Other than a rising tone indicating he was being asked something, Collin had no idea what she'd said. So he 'played dumb', thinking of how it was much easier when you actually didn't understand.

"What about English?"

His surprise must've been obvious. She giggled, then asked, "Can you speak, though?"

That was a loaded question, as far as Collin was concerned. His previous Owner had had one merit to him - he'd been too lazy to get Collin devoiced, and as long as Collin didn't actually speak in public, didn't care that he still had that much. Actually, compared to many of the Anthros he could see around them in the displays, Collin realized he'd gotten off rather lucky in terms of invasive body modification. But Collin wasn't entirely naive, either. An Anthro who could talk was an Anthro who could scream - a 'must have' feature for any sadist. Being a 'talker' increased his value...to the worst kinds of Owner. He had no reason to trust this woman, and no reason to divulge anything. 

She seemed to realize this. "What am I thinking? Of course you wouldn't speak even if you could - you can't trust humans, right? Well, you've every right to see us that way, but not all of us are the same, that's all I'll say.  In the meantime, I'm going to put you in the back room. You won't be in one of the displays, and I'm not going to chain you to anything, but you really ought to stay out of sight as much as possible."

She stood and offered her open hand. Collin stared at it confusedly, was he supposed to sniff it? That didn't seem appropriate. Tentatively, he put his paw there.  Her grip was gentle as she pulled him to his footpaws and led him into the backrooms. 

Here was very different from the main part of the store - cheerfully bright colors in an abstract pattern dominated the far wall. The pattern didn't form any particular shape, no matter how much Collin tried to discern one. It was strangely soothing, though. Around the room were a mismatched collection of various pet beds, cushions, and the odd piece of furniture.  In the corner, there was a small TV with some animated Cat with a pink dress and bow talking in Spanish while grooming her paw and washing her ear with it.