October 30, 2018

Paul looked up at the vaulted ceilings, almost celestial in their ornate paintings and deifications. He smiled sardonically, remembering his studies of President Reagan. The former leader hadn’t successfully done that much for the United States except restore its morale and plunge it into massive debt. Then again, it was the debt to the UN that allowed the organization’s occupation and government influence. He observed the ornate walls with flawlessly polished cherry wainscoting reaching up just high enough to kiss the portraits of dead presidents and highlights of their times, though they weren’t in any particular order. Next to the second most copied portrait of George Washington in the world was an art nouveau depiction of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the clamoring masses a series of flesh colored smudges amongst a cracked gray surface. Slowly moving on, his digitigrade feet softly patted each step of the way until he reached another painting, that of President Clinton.

Now that’s an interesting president, he thought to himself. The scoundrel had led the country to great prosperity in Paul’s early childhood and decimated the country’s confidence in the president yet again after a series of political scandals rocked his administration. Still, he was quite popular, and when he left office his public opinion was higher than that of any other president. He continued, intrigued by the tracing of history and its presidents. George W. Bush, with his half-assed energy plan, a man notorious for being unable to link two sentences, President McCain, succeeded by Guinness after his assassination, President Philip, the first black president, who got stuck with the Ethiopia crisis and was renowned for his remarkable military reform and friendship with the UN, and President Curtis, now entering his second term. Curtis was an enigmatic president. He traveled frequently, yes, but his movements and actions were kept strangely secret. Perhaps the Secret Service finally remembered the first half of their name.

His reflections on the country’s leaders were interrupted rudely by the double crash of a person running into his back. He felt the hard rim of a martini glass, and soon after the splash of liquor seeping through the back of his tuxedo. He turned around abruptly to the sharp smell of hard liquor, only to find that the scent had emanated from a stocky aristocrat who was terribly drunk and was spinning about his legs, crossing his eyes toward a red tipped nose. His toga and wreath of olive twigs represented the god of wine and happiness, Saki. A fitting costume.

"Wh… Whoa, uh, hey man, watch where you’re going. Oh, and could you turn the room off for a minute, I… uh… I’d like to get off."

Paul opened his mouth to speak, but immediately found a wavering finger pointed between his eyes. The smashed man spoke with an obvious slur to his speech. "HEY! Uh… hey, aren’t you one of those werewolf types? Damn good costume, but what’s with the tux?"

Paul tried once again to speak, and was once again interrupted, this time by a slender, Caucasian woman in her late thirties. Her dark blonde hair was cut in a traditional bob, and she boasted the costume of another Greek figure, Athena. She had an attractive Slavic look about her and spoke with a sharp Eastern European accent.

"Bunkie, where are your manners? Don’t you know who you’re talking to?" She leaned over to set him correctly on his feet and looked into Paul’s eyes. "This is Paul Calabrese, one of the new UNATCO agents, does that ring any bells?"

The man tipped nearly to the point of collapse. "Yeah, uh, UNATCO… um… uh… aren’t those the guys throwing this costume party?"

"It’s a costume ball, silly, and Mr. Calabrese is part of why they’re so excited. You should show some more respect."

"Yeah, well, maybe so but he looks damn weird in a tux. I thought werewolves were always all in ripped up clothing and stuff."

Paul finally cut in, feeling as though he were a piece of art that they were critiquing, unable to respond. The man was so incredibly drunk that he could probably use a trip to the alcohol filtration robot. "Uh, ‘Bunkie’, if I may call you that, do you need a trip to the distiller? You might feel a bit better if you do."

"Huh… HEY! That’s really cool! The mouth moves and all, that’s really convincing! Hey, uh, if you could tell me where you got that costume, I’d really appreciate it."

"Bunkie! What’s the matter with you? That’s not a costume, that’s a real, flesh and bone, genetically altered agent."

Paul smiled as he extended his clawed hand in a gesture of courtesy. He shook the drunkard’s, likewise, noticing the limp, senseless feel typical to unresponsive people. "Nice to meet you. I don’t believe I know your name, Mr…"

The man, now shocked, reached a limp hand to feel the fur on Paul’s neck, tugging at it slightly in the sting of stubborn hair follicles. He then felt Paul’s head, almost slapping his hand down several times to see if it was real. He retracted his hand as if he had just put it in an open flame. "Whoa… uh… listen, I don’t suppose you could take me to the distiller, could you? All these hallucinations can’t be good for me."

The woman interrupted with an apologetic look in her eyes. "I’m terribly sorry for Mr. Bunker’s behavior, but we really must be off." She cradled the man, who once again stooped remarkably close to falling, and led him off. As the two disappeared into the crowd of ornate, ridiculous costumes, their conversation diminished.

Paul smirked, lucky not to have gotten on the bad side of someone so intoxicated.

Groping around his back for a damage report, he was relieved that there wasn’t as much water on his back than he had thought. Suddenly, a feminine hand plucked away his own, released its soft, supple grip, and cased him around by his elbow in the whispering wipe of short hair on smooth fabric. He turned around to the mildly sour scent of kangaroo and found himself nose to nose with Amanda, the side of her mouth upturned in a subtle grin. As strange as is must have been to make a dress to accommodate a broad, solid tail, she looked stunning and strangely beautiful in the short dress and half-loose top. The blue and green of the fabric tastefully matched with her eyes, and the beautiful curvature of her feminine body was enhanced by the dress, rather than the tough guy/girl outfit issued to the agents. After a second of silence, he realized that the orchestra in the background was playing the introduction of the Vienna Waltz. He also found himself on the edge of the dance floor, which was difficult to find as many others were dancing or socializing in the same area. Hollins spoke with a refined, courteous manner he hadn’t previously seen in her.

"Would a gentleman such as yourself be so kind as to escort me to the dance floor?"

Paul played along, "Why certainly, my good lady, I’d be much obliged."

Gently pressing through a string of socializing aristocrats, they made it to the marbled dance floor and engaged in the one…two…three…one…two…three dance with the rest of the crowd. Paul noticed that Hollins’ ability to independently use her legs had improved since September. Then again, all the agents were more experienced and more refined. It seemed odd that the aristocrats completely accepted the fact that UNATCO had gone so far as to genetically alter agents to literally improve on the human species. Perhaps it was simply that they didn’t know that they weren’t just really good costumes.

She rested the end of her muzzle on Paul’s shoulder, the two almost embracing. She spoke softly, intimately with a hint of fatigue. "Paul, this may seem a bit strange, but I think I owe you an apology." She looked up, as did he. "We’ve been working for some time now and I realize that you’re the only person aside from me who seems to question everything and think things through in the entire team. I admire that in a person. At first, though, I thought you lacked the courage and thorough insight for the job. It’s not normal for me to have a sniper as a superior. I like someone who tries to understand his target before firing. I now know that you’re a smart, savvy operative, and I respect that."

"Ms. Hollins, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re growing attached to me."

She smirked, looking down in mild embarrassment. "What can I say? I guess I am, but professionally, of course."

"Of course." Replied Paul, with a closed grin. "Do you think the people on the street will really accept the way we look? Is average Joe gonna accept being pushed around by a canine after years of pushing his dog around?"

"I wouldn’t think about it now, Paul. This is a happy occasion." As the two waltzed on, they suddenly found themselves without conversation and became surprisingly bored. She began tugging him towards the rear of the dance floor. "Come on, this is getting rather dull, don’t you think?"

Paul mildly sneered, looking at the fops in costumes twirling about. "Yes, I couldn’t stand living like this, so rich and naïve. I’ll always be a soldier." Drifting toward the edge of the floor, they almost ran into another couple on the sidelines, abruptly stopping. Looking to his right, a sweet feline scent signaled to him that an agent was nearby, a lion, he deduced. Looking up, he saw a dapper male lion in a tuxedo that strangely suited him. The man had ice blue eyes and a silent look about him, and was touting a slight, attractive woman by the hand. The couple was just as surprised at the sudden entrance of the spinning anthropomorphic combination.

"Whoa, uh, sorry." He looked more closely at the woman. She had an almost English appearance, or perhaps the idealized figure of a Greek femme, and had long, silky black hair. Her cyan eyes seemed to illuminate her porcelain face.

"Dana?" She looked up, the chandelier lights a nebula in her eyes, and was curious as to why this wolf knew her name. "Dana, is that you?"

"Yes, I’m Dana Carver. How did you…" She looked into his eyes and remembered the sparkling hazel color she had envisioned for a month while he was away. Could this be him, or just one of his friends? "Paul?" He smiled slightly, through a short furred mask of blacks and grays. Those were definitely his eyes. "Paul!" She suddenly embraced him, surprised at his firm build and fluffy fur beneath the suit. He returned the hug and inhaled, deeply smelling the creamy scent of make up and perfume.

"Oh, Paul, where have you been, you dog! I’ve worried for you so much."

"I’ve been catching up with this fantastic new body. You like?"

She stepped back to get a better scope of it. "Wow, hey, not bad. Looks really butch. I like the fur color scheme, very tasteful. Oh, and the feet? Savage, but acceptable. Somehow they look good on you. Oh, one more thing, am I gonna have to get a flea collar for you?"

Paul laughed, knowing that she was just joking. "No, I shower daily, just like before, and our doctor, or vet, as we like to call him, is one of the best. Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners, this is a formal ball. Honey, this is Amanda Hollins. She’s a kangaroo hybrid, in case you didn’t notice, and you’ll find no better a recon expert on the team. Amanda, this is Dana, my fiancée, she’s an MD at Van Hess General Hospital in Toronto. "

They extended hands and shook in the normal courtesy, greeting each other casually. Dana, of course, was the first to ask questions. "Sorry if I seem direct, but a kangaroo?"

"Yes, I know, it seems pointless. What most people don’t know is that kangaroos are incredibly strong, despite their size, have excellent endurance, and are better adapted to desert life. We’re also quite agile, which makes it perfect for reconnaissance specialists or female operatives, which, as you can tell, I happen to be both."

"Are you Australian?"

"No, many people think so, but I’m actually English."

"Dorset?"

"Why yes, how did you know?"

"I have a good friend from there. You know, to be completely honest, I think your body suits you very well."

"Why thank you. I didn’t really have a choice in choosing it, though, the scientists thought it best for me."

"Male scientists?"

"A few men, a few women. A nice mix."

The lion leaned in, seeing the two entering a deep conversation and spoke softly to Paul. "They’ll be busy for a few minutes how ‘bout we step over for a few drinks?"

Paul shrugged. "I’m game."

The two drifted off, the lion with a glass of Cognac resting in his padded palm. They approached a pocket of operatives, mostly canine and feline. The lion spoke laconically, with a touch of alcoholic slur and a distinct French accent.

"I didn’t know that was your wife. Please don’t misinterpret my intentions, we only engaged in casual conversation. I assume you’re Lieutenant Calabrese, the one she talked about so fondly."

"That’s correct. I’m the ranking officer under Maitz. Know him?"

"Heard he was a notorious leader, a fox, right?"

"Yes, with the temperament of a Jack Russell. I don’t think I’ve met you before."

"Lieutenant Colonel Toulon Valjese."

Paul realized he was speaking to a superior. "Excuse me, sir. I didn’t know."

"It’s quite alright, messieur Calabrese. Ah, pardon, I’m reverting to my French. Must be the Cognac. Anyway, that group of officers over there, one of them would like to speak with you."

"Captain Maitz?"

"You’ll see." Paul hesitated slightly, looking for Maitz’s Black and orange furred head. "Go on, go on."

As he approached, he never saw Maitz, and as his curiosity he noted the officers’ types: One tiger, one kangaroo hybrid, and another wolf, with unmistakable jet black fur all over his visible body. The wolf was the first to turn and see Paul, opening his eyelids in some surprise.

"Hey! How’s it going? Come on over, we need to talk."

He joined the cluster, now a foursome. The kangaroo officer, he deduced, was broader built, a former man, and had more of a frumpy appearance. He was also wearing a red beret over his uniform, which was a deep olive. Paul remembered the formals, Australian. So the kangaroo was an Aussie. That seemed to fit. The wolf’s heavy arm rested across his back and held onto his left shoulder with a furry paw.

"This man, my good friends, is the man who saved Operation Feral Trigger. If it weren’t for him, half the criminal presence in Hong Kong would still be running the biggest criminal operation of the 21^st century."

The tiger spoke with a subtle Chinese accent. "You’re sniper 3C?"

Paul spoke, a bit more comfortable. "Yes."

The kangaroo spoke next, an obvious Aussie twang to his voice. "Well done, mate." He felt another slap on the back. "I hear that you took him out by shooting the man next to him. You know somethin’ else? The bloke wasn’t the bodyguard of that particular Triad leader, so instead of having to get revenge on us, they now have a veritable civil war on their hands."

The group chuckled in a devious kind of way, like kids who had just started a fight between two adults. "I appreciate the praises guys, but I’m afraid to tell you that I didn’t enjoy killing those men. It was duty."

"Ah, and duty it was. They try to teach you everything except how to actually shoot a man and not regret it in some way or form. Yes, I was there. Almost got killed, I did. Got a second chance on life."

"You were there?" Paul inquired, surprised.

The kangaroo placed his hand forward, switching hands with his beer. "Major Aaron Connolly, nice to meet you. Hey, mate, you seem like a pleasant chap. How ‘bout we go have a seat and blow the froth off a couple."

"Why not. I haven’t drank all night."

"Not even beer?"

"Not even Pepsi."

"Well, you must be dehydrated. Come on over, we’ll fix you up."

The cluster moved over to an empty table nearby, a simple, circular one for four. A tiny globular lantern dimly lit the center of the table, which was covered in pamphlets and stray glasses. Paul got in one of the seats closest to the wall, carefully guiding his tail through the gap behind the seat back.

"You said you nearly got killed during Feral Trigger. What do you mean?"

"Well, actually, if you want to hear the thick of it, I was shot five times. I was a lot like you. Just out of the Australian SAS, no augmentations yet. Now I’ve certainly got them, phsssh!"

"How did you decide what to do when you had been shot five times."

"I had a choice, yes, but not a right good one. It was either mech-augmentation or genetics, and I chose genetics."

"Why?"

"I like to think ahead, and I wouldn’t have liked dying slowly and inevitably with two slugs in my intestines. Ten years from now, I’m going to be alive and well, not sitting in a scrap yard."

"Nonsense, they wouldn’t treat our operatives with that little dignity."

"Oh no? You’d be surprised. Once you get too expensive, you either fend for yourself, or you die. It’s pretty harsh, finding out that you’re outdated. Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a lot of militant ex- UNATCO out there."

"That would be tough, dealing with mechs rather than working with them."

"Well, you take a good look in some places, you’ll find them. Sometimes they couldn’t care less, only give you that smug smile."

"What smug smile?"

"The smile that you and him are the same, both pawns of the same people, the smile that says ‘you’re screwed, and there’s nothing you can do about it’. Aaah, I’m too sentimental sometimes. Just enjoy your status and your work here as much as you can. It’s a good, honest job in a world where even having a job is a luxury. Oh, seems you have some catching up to do with family now."

"Family?"

"Sure, that wolf right there’s your brother. What’s the matter? Didn’t you recognize him?" He scoffed and began nursing a tall glass of beer. "Oh, bugger! It’s true!"

The wolf inquired, Paul still too stunned and confused to answer. "What’s true?"

"There’s an old Aussie joke. How are American beers and making love in a canoe the same?"

"Haven’t the foggiest."

"Because they’re fucking close to water!"

"They’re serving Foster’s here. Why didn’t you order one?"

"Cause you Americans think we all love Foster’s just ‘cause it’s Australian. Personally, and I speak for many other fellow countrymen as well, Foster’s tastes like a lump of shit wrapped in tinfoil, soaked in vinegar with fizz added for texture. Naw, a watery Budweiser is smoother than any Foster’s. Do they have Guinness here?"

"I think so, but I’m not sure."

Paul finally cut in, a bit embarrassed, a bit intrigued. "So… uh… James, I haven’t seen you in a while. I heard you were in the program, but I never saw you."

"Well, it’s a long story, but I’ll tell you anyway. You know, you don’t look half-bad like a wolf. I’ll even go as far as to say you’re almost as handsome as me."

Paul teased in a brotherly manner. "Considering your ego, that’s a rare compliment." A waitress drifted by, plunking down various alcoholic beverages and resting a glass of beer in front of Paul, easing it onto a complimentary coaster that read "Castle Reagan", the letters encircling a miniature icon of the building. "Thanks." He took a sip, carefully easing a stream of beer down his mouth and into his throat. It was a bit different to drink this way, but it was much more dignified than lapping. "So, how’d you get into this mess?"

"Well, it all starts when we graduate from the academy together, remember that sendoff?"

"Maybe we should start a little later, like after we separated."

"Okay. This is strictly classified, though, you understand? I am not here at this table, I am not having this conversation, and I am not revealing job related secrets, kapish?"

"Kapish."

"Alright, so here’s what I’ve been doing for the past… what is it now, five years since we’ve actually seen each other?"

"Six."
"Who’s counting? Anyway, I was posted in the Philippines for two years, where there was that rebellion and the UNATCO and US troops had to pull out. Remember that?" Paul nodded. "Good. It’s nice to see that you like to keep tabs on world affairs."

"It’s hard not to in this business."

"Let me finish, please. Anyway, there was a suspected kidnapping ring in the area. Rural people, bums, and orphans were being plucked off the streets. For the longest time, nobody worried about it or paid attention. After all, they were just bums for the most part. You know the mentality, they lower land values and clutter up the streets like so much refuse."

"Pretentious bastards."

"Get used to it. They’re all over the world, and quite a few are in this very room. Where was I? Oh, yeah, kidnappings. Well, turns out, I was doing some undercover work, trying to gather information from the lion’s den, that is to say getting up close and personal with arms smugglers. Turns out, one of their friends had gone missing and they needed someone like me to go in."

"Someone like you… so they found out?"

"Yes, they sure as hell did. I don’t know how, but they found out. Still, I played along. No sense in giving up possible alternatives, which they handed me, by the way."

"Did they want company information?"

"No, a favor. They wanted me to find their friend, Haider Loqufist, by snooping around the sewers to find their facility."

"Secret underground bases? This is beginning to sound like a bad spy movie."

"Where else would you hide an illicit biotech lab? It’s safe, secluded, defendable, and the only alternatives in Iceland are too conspicuous. You try to dig, you’ll either be sniffed out by geologists or quickly find a volcano growing under your feet."

"Did you find anything?"

"I sure as hell did. Almost got pulverized by a security turret on the way in as well. After I got in, there was a group of well-armed soldiers, but I couldn't recognize their uniforms. I picked up a codename, though, ‘MS-12". It didn’t take them long to capture me. All I had was a pistol and a pocket crossbow, just the essentials. The facility looked like it was ready to fight a ground war."

"Interesting, but why Reykjavik?"

"Where better to hide a testing facility than one of the most boring affluent nations in the world. Not a big profile, no national enemies, no wars… hell, all they have to worry about are glacial floods and volcanoes, though that can be quite a problem. As for MS-12, well, they put me to work almost instantly, testing antibodies."

"Jesus! What happened?"

James scoffed. "The shitstorm of the century, that’s what. They thought I was some vigilante or a thug, what they ended up getting were two UNATCO insertion teams, sixteen men armed to the teeth. I was in really bad condition by the time they got there, though. They said the only way for me to survive was for augmentation, and not just regular mechanical augs, but genetic splicing. You see, humans have their diseases, we have ours. I tried to write you, but your location was classified for a while."

"Sorry. Had to peg a Triad leader."

"I’ve got nothing against you about that. Matter of fact, I’m honored that you were such a sweeping success in Hong Kong. It’s not every day that real heroes emerge from this business."

"What exactly did they do to you?"

"They weren’t sinister about it after the interrogation. Things don’t work like in the movies, Paul, they had business on their minds, and when they saw the potential for one less problem and one less missing person, they took it. They tested me on some sort of vaccine for Bothra, you know, that Iraqi biological cocktail. Seems they originally intended to create an alternative to the expensive, monopolized cure and needed test subjects. It didn’t work, though, so you can imagine the effects."

"They were after a cure?"

"Sort of, but more like Mason industries, they wanted a piece of the action they were cashing in on. Dodecachlorosorbate is patented, after all. Do you know that they also have a monopoly on Ambrosia?"

"Of course."

"That’s why the government denies that it exists, to keep demand down. It’s pretty much useless now, though, like the existence of Area 51 and Echelon IV. Everybody knows it exists, but for some strange reason the U.S. Government continues to deny it."

"Don’t you have any hard feelings? Any grudges?"

"You bet your ass I do, but the side effects haven’t treated me too bad and I’m not the violent, vengeful type."

"Which is why you joined UNATCO?"

"As opposed to staying in the Army. At least here you have a chance at actually saving lives."

"Sorry, it just seemed…"

"It’s alright. We are paramilitary, after all. You know, kid, I’ve always admired your questioning attitude. You might piss a few off with it, but as far as I’m concerned, UNATCO always needs another person who can really follow our mission statement and save a few lives in the process."

"How did you do in the training mission?"

"Oh, New Canton? The second half of the hybrids managed to arrest our top dog right on the toilet. It was a bit embarrassing for the poor bastard, but you’ve got to admit, we caught them off guard. We heard you weren’t as lucky."

"Yeah, ours had his entire goon squad shooting and running before getting the chance to coordinate an assault. What a goddamned mess. We managed to get him, though, thanks to Sergei and Hollins." Paul turned to Connolly, who was now halfway through his beer. "Have you met her?"

"Who? Hollins?"

"Yeah."

"No, can’t say I have. I’ve heard a lot about her, though. Heard she should be with us officers, but she didn’t want any mucking about in paperwork."

"That’s her alright. Very competent, very smooth, and not a bad looker either, for a kangaroo."

"She’s a ‘roo as well?" Paul nodded. "Well, I might have to meet her, then. I thought I was the only one."

"She must have been a fucking goddess before her change ‘cause she still looks pretty fine. She’s the independent female type, though."

"Aww, that’s too bad. Can’t blame her. Not a lot has happened for women since the turn of the millenium." He paused, thinking about women and the like. "Are you married, Paul?"

"Engaged, actually. Want to see a picture of her?"

"That’d be lovely." Paul fumbled for his wallet, which was a tasteful brown leather design featuring an eagle’s head on the front, and handed it to Connolly, opening the interior flap to expose the picture. Connolly squinted to see it, a portrait of a young man with a thin figure and a boyish face, an attractive woman with silky black hair and a flawless porcelain face, and a gust of wind sweeping everything in the picture to the side as if the light itself was bent by the strong seaside gale.

"Hey, not bad Paul! Not bad at all! I can see why you restrain yourself, mate. Is she American as well?"

"Canadian. Half-Greek. Note the resemblance to Athena?"

Connolly heard the voice clearly, but it wasn’t Paul’s. It was the smooth voice of a young woman, with a slight Canadian accent. Caught off guard by the distracting picture, he failed to notice the ravishing lady in a blue dress approach their table. The face, though more attractive than in the picture and less windswept, was even more astonishing in person than he had anticipated. His courage melted away like butter under a blowtorch. "W…well hello, miss…"

"Carver, Dana Carver. Nice to meet you. Are you one of Paul’s friends?"

"More of an acquaintance, really."

James was quick to pick up for his friend. "Actually, Paul came to see me. I’m his brother. I assume you’re Paul’s fiancee?"

"Correct, and I assume you’re the notorious James Calabrese."

"Mmm hmm."

"Well, you look just like your brother! I don’t suppose that’s coincidence, is it?"

He felt a twitch at his nose and wrinkled it with the utmost subtlety he could. "Well, uh, Miss Carver, I wouldn’t know."

"Please, call me Dana." She turned to Paul and gave him a sincere look with a slight grin. "Thanks for occupying Paul here. Would you mind if I took care of him for the rest of the evening?"

"Certainly, Dana." He gestured for her, almost clearing a path, before whispering into Paul’s ear. "Say, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know any other Canadians, would you?"

Paul whispered likewise, speaking candidly. "Sorry James, there’s only one Dana."

Dana Calabrese. It had a nice ring to it.

Dana led Paul away from the table, almost eager to pry him away from any distractions. After finding a less crowded area near a service cart, she pressed him against the wall lightly and embraced him firmly. "If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to avoid me."

"Sorry, Dana, it’s just that I’ve got so much catching up to do. It’s been two months."

"It’s been two months for me as well, you know. I can’t even describe how I’ve missed you. It’s seemed like such a long time. I never knew what was going on, I tried to find some way to reach you, but your location was always classified."

"I didn’t have the chance to hear from you either. The entire program was under wraps, I couldn’t help it."

"It’s okay. I don’t blame you. What’s important is that we’re here, right now, together." She looked toward the table of young officers. "So, I see you’ve made some new friends."

For the first time that evening, Paul genuinely smiled. "I guess so."

"Who are all these people, anyway?"

"Well, uh, mostly people on the team and doctors. Do you have any idea how often they poke and prod at you when you’re the least bit unusual?"

"Of course. I am a doctor, after all. You’d be surprised at how much of our time is spent poking at things." She laughed to herself for a moment, thinking about her statement. "On top of that, your change isn’t that small. I can see how everyone would be interested in you. What still amazes me is how they managed to create such a remarkable hybrid. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about you like some experiment."

"No, no, it’s okay. We like to talk about genetics as much as Marines like to talk about their toys."

Dana looked around, seeing all sorts of rich strangers, political figures, and millionaires. "I’ve never seen so many dignitaries! Why were they all invited?"

"They’re mostly corporate moguls, donors, military figureheads, and people actually involved in the project. Some of the tables have gone to whoever could afford them or whoever was deemed appropriate by the UN."

"And me? I’m just a doctor. Why would I get an invitation?"

"Cause you’re with me. To tell you the truth, I think this is kind of boring."

"Yes, I know. How ‘beut after this we have a night on the town? Are you going to be busy?"

"Nope. The UN couldn’t drag me from your company."

"That’s sweet."

"Actually, I need a vacation as well. Some sanctioned leave."

"Oh." She looked at her watch, then scanned the room briefly. Stroking her hands along the sides of his torso, he felt her hands run along his muscles underneath. As she moved her hands into an embracing position, she prepared to speak, opening her blood red lips against a porcelain face. "You know, this body's very impressive. To tell you the truth, I didn't know what to expect. I've got so many questions to ask you."

Paul inquired. "Like what?"

She responded, leading Paul onto the dance floor and taking his left hand in her right. She began with a rocking, slow movement that turned into a dance. "Well, first off, what did they do to make you this way. One wouldn't believe that it was possible."

He smiled. "Ah, well that's a state secret, although I can tell you something. It's called cellular symbiosis. If you tried to simply mix animal and human cells, one side would fight to get rid of the other and your body would basically kill itself. Instead, what they did, was change my entire genetic makeup on a cellular level, allowing hybrid cells, human cells, and animal cells to work together, hence symbiosis."

Dana, an experienced doctor, saw the logic in the concept. She knew that in medicine, the easiest way to approach a problem was to coax the body into helping fix the issue. She had done tumor removal accompanied with protein altered white blood cells that hunted down specific cancer cells and attacked them, and she had to say that it was far easier than chemo and surgery. She decided to ask a more personal question.

"Have you changed in any way? I mean, mentally? You said before that you didn't, but I don't really know if I can trust the whole process. It seems so revolutionary."

Paul smiled as best as he could, but ended up showing his fierce teeth. Dana didn't seem to care. "They said that with my augmentations, there will be some animalistic tendencies I'll have to work out or cope with. Some of them are actually quite beneficial. Either way, all that instinctual stuff is nothing to worry about. It's been long enough to see if my body would enter some sort of regression." He hoped that was the right answer.

"Well, who am I not to trust you? You've been so honest with me, wolf or not… that's why I appreciate you. You know, to tell you the truth, you're the most beautiful thing I've seen. I've missed you so much, and I'm glad you're okay."

He embraced her solemnly, almost sorry to have even left her for the program. He noticed that everyone was getting settled down for the ceremonies, just before the evening's meal was served.

Dana noticed it as well. "Do you have to stick around for dinner?"

"Nope. Just the ceremonies."

"And marriage. What about that?"

Paul was stunned by the sudden change in topic. Now was one of the less likely times in his life to get hitched. "Marriage? Now?"

"No, silly, not now. How does soon sound?"

"How soon?"

"After things cool down?"

"You never know what’s gonna happen in this business. How about after I step out of the genetics program?"

She sighed. Paul cared more about his appearance than she did. As a matter of fact, she almost liked him better now. He was cuddlier. "How long will that be?"

"Two to four years."

Something flared inside her, something almost spiteful and exasperated. "Four years? Do you know how long that’s going to be? Talk to your superiors, show a little courage. They can’t keep pushing you around like some rag doll!"

"Dana, please."

"Don’t give me that bullshit. You know as well as I that even if you’re lucky enough to abandon the program in four years, they’re not going to let you. Four years. Did you ever think of how I’d feel? Did your ‘superiors’? Look around you, walk around and you’ll see the product of your stifled hatred and your suppressed emotions. What will you see? UNATCO agents, loyal terriers to their beliefs, washed up and living in an alley, forced to pick at the scraps of refuse which they used to defend, if they were lucky enough to survive their modifications. Their superiors didn't know about their real feelings until it was already too late. You have to persuade them now, before you’re just another disposable dupe for the U.S. Government!"

He grabbed her delicate shoulders firmly, almost aggressively. "DANA!" The crowd nearby ceased their conversations and turned to the source of the noise, the peaking of Paul’s voice attracting their attention like fresh meat to vultures. "Dana, I understand what you’re saying, but if I can’t get out on my own, what should I do?"

"Do something. I can’t keep this silent any more. Paul, I’m not a soldier, but maybe I’m better for that. You’re being used. Go ahead, ask any former agent you see, they’ll give you the story."

The heavy clomping of boots approached nearby as the circle of distraction dissolved into its former babble of conversations. A young soldier in a formal Marine uniform came up, saluting in respect.

"Is this woman creating a situation, sir?"

"No, no she isn’t. We were just having a conversation, that’s all. You can return to your post now, sergeant."

The man disappeared into the sea of elegant uniforms, plumes, and costumes, a touch of formality in a ridiculous and shallow engagement. Paul looked into Dana’s eyes, which weren’t teary, but were surrounded by a face reddened by anger. "Dana, believe me, I understand what you’re saying, but you also have to see what I face. I can’t just walk out of the program, I’m a freak. No, I’m not a freak, but I just can’t walk into a crowd and be normally accepted anymore."

"And why not? Because you’re physically superior? Different? I’ll admit it, you’re quite a piece of work, but what about me? I'll never think less of you for your appearance, but if you're just going to throw away our relationship for this career, then you might as well just throw your life away and join the dregs that used to be your comrades!" She calmed down a bit as Paul's ears sank and his tail curled between his legs slightly. "Do you see what I'm trying to tell you? I never accused those brave men of not being heroes, Paul, just fools for having let themselves be exploited. They threw their lives away to fight what they thought was injustice, but when the fight was done, and the parts became outdated, they got thrown out like yesterday's news. Hold on to something real, something perennial, Paul, and I know you'll be better than most men."

Applause rang through the hall, and when Paul turned to see who was generating the attention, he saw John Verkerke standing on stage, his hands waving down a tide of applause. "Thank you, thank you… Please be seated… Uh, admiral, that’s against protocol… Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the fifth annual UNATCO Halloween Gala at, obviously, Reagan Memorial Hall. To start this evening’s ceremonies, I would like to pay tribute to a man… a very special man… whose efforts and contributions to this program have played an integral part in letting us annually go buy ridiculous costumes, drink gratuitous amounts of alcohol, and dance… badly."

The crowd clamored in amusement as the atmosphere became more lighthearted and slightly less uptight. "Of course, the real purpose of this ceremony is to announce yearly landmarks in our technology, which continues to break ground in fusing man with machine, all with the intent of protecting the people of the world from public enemy number one… bland chicken." The crowd laughed again, and John likewise let them finish their amusement before continuing.

"No, as we all know, UNATCO protects against terrorists, and if this man hadn't persevered in annually commemorating our efforts, everyone in this room might be worse off. Such an amazing character, this man, who has extended his courtesy so that everyone in the world might live just a little bit safer. Such a go-getter, a doer, a man who spreads charisma wherever he goes. Unfortunately, this man isn’t here tonight, so you’re stuck with me."

With a bit of now audible laughter, John smiled from the stage and continued after the wave passed. "Yes, as you might have guessed, our beneficiary is Mr. Donald Mason, who is somewhere now in one of his Manhattan offices, playing Monopoly with real billions. I see that Prime Minister Renard and Ambassador Yoshimo are ready to throw me off stage here, so I’ll just turn over the ceremonies to the famous physicist, masterful engineer, and author of that Pulitzer prize winner, "Nanotechnology for Dummies", Doctor Nithi Chandler. Let’s give him a big, New York entrance, ladies and gentlemen."

With his exeunt, John left behind a slight, half Indian man with the personality of a dead Halibut. Not even his accent stood out, having worked out any sort of humor from an Indian accent. Paul didn’t have to endure the man’s droll for long, however, as another set of soldiers, these ones fully decked UNATCO troops, eased into the room’s rear and intercepted Verkerke, who had filtered into the nearby crowd. Paul, now intrigued, craned his neck and pointed his ears toward the commotion.

"Sir! Colonel Verkerke!"

"Yes, what is it, soldier? Make sure you keep it down."

"We’ve been trying to reach you for almost an hour, but you never picked up your cellphone."

"Corporal, nobody in this room has a cellular phone or a pager. It is a security threat and a distraction to the ceremonies, now could you please get to the point?"

"The UN building, it’s been overrun!"

"What? How in the he…"

"FAC terrorists, sir. They disguised themselves as the catering crew for the food court restaurants and took the building from the inside."

"Did they meet any resistance?"

"Far too little. We were spread too thin with the ceremony going on and all the VIP details."

"Damn. They must have anticipated this. How many casualties, I want a full report, hostages, civilians, terrorists, soldiers, everything."

"We managed to evacuate the civilians from the vicinity, and three terrorists have been taken down, but we suspect that there are at least 12 more and they’re well fortified. We’ve lost six in the ambush, two in fighting afterward, and have ten casualties. It’s absolutely insane, sir."

The other corporal, unable to restrain himself, took over. "We have no leadership! All we have is a loose coalition with the NYPD and an even more haphazard cordon. The building’s on the waterfront, so with this much disarray, they could slip out with the hostages by boat."

"Who are the hostages?" Verkerke barked, almost yelling.

"They’ve killed one to show that they’re not joking, and there are still five UN representatives under gunpoint. They also have six aides and three unknown hostages."

"How did you get this information?"

"The building attendance records and ransom demands. They’re being held in the main conference hall."

Verkerke stormed away, presumably to coordinate with his superiors and officers. He mumbled audibly, perhaps to himself, perhaps to the soldiers who followed like nervous puppies. "How, why did this happen? How the hell did this happen?? Damn, the only things worse are an assault on the Capitol building or kidnapping Jesus from the fucking Last Supper!" A few steps toward the rear of the hall were two men and one woman, all dressed in traditional business suits. The woman, a redhead with slightly curly hair and a sturdy build, spoke first.

"Colonel, I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt you like this."

"It’s alright. Do you guys have any ideas on how to handle this?"

One of the men, a lanky, sinewy fellow with a thin nose answered with a surprisingly powerful voice. "We have the NYPD’s total cooperation with this. They’ve been a lot of help, but we need to do something. They’re going to start executing more hostages in about 53 minutes."

"At what rate?"

"One per five minutes until their demands are met."

"And their demands?"

"Completely ridiculous. We don’t think they’ll actually kill hostages, but we can’t take that chance, sir."

The woman spoke again, pulling out a computer clipboard with a large screen. "Here’s what we’ve concluded. The FAC has been stealing and smuggling Ambrosia for quite some time, but only in small hits. This afternoon, at about 18:15 hours, they hit the cargo vessel carrying this month’s supply for the whole city. That’s about five canisters, each roughly the volume and size of oil barrels. This entire operation is a distraction, we believe, as the FAC pulls the heist of the century."

"Damn. A whole month?"

"That’s correct, sir."

"Do we have any leads as to where they might have moved the shipments?"

"We’re way ahead of you, sir." A picture materialized in the woman’s computer board. "Echelon IV caught these shots on a routine surveillance run. See the red circle around the white shapes?"

"I know what cigarette boats look like, Major."

"Yes sir. We believe that’s how they got the shipment in, and every shipment since the raids started. We could throw a wrench in the system if we found out where the smuggling routes start and lead."

"One thing at a time, Major. What about the UN building?"

"It’s been extremely difficult, sir, the FAC has a mounted 40-millimeter automatic grenade launcher trained on the main courtyard and Roosevelt Drive. They’ve also got half the East River in range."

"Is anything being done about this?"

"UNATCO snipers are being stationed as we speak, but a clean shot will be hard. The gun itself is inside one of the offices. All civilians on the street and in the neighboring buildings have been evacuated."

Verkerke spoke again, this time with some hesitation. "I suppose you’re going to requisition our specialists."

"Sorry sir. I know it’s their debut, but we need our best to deal with this."

"I’ll give you six. Anyone else will have to be provided by the U.S. Military or the UNATCO reserves. Our agents are a precious commodity."

"Thank you sir."

"I’m not finished. I’m coming too. I’m not afraid to send my men out to die, but I won’t do it on a whim. How did you get here?"

"By car."

"Get two black helicopter gunships at the Port Authority Heliport. We’ll be there ASAP. Tell the Police to designate a landing area on the south side."

"Affirmative, sir, we’ll get right to it. Which agents did you have in mind?"

Verkerke was faced with a dilemma. Who would stay and show off and who would have to save the city? He remembered the names of a few of his best agents: Kreiger, and Weston, Cheetah and Fox hybrids as well as working partners, the Calabrese brothers, Sergei Villieu, and Amanda Hollins. All of the genetically augmented agents were close either by family or by team. James Calabrese was an intelligent, competent officer, and his brother seemed quite able himself. He walked outside and tapped a soft pad embedded behind his right ear.

"Talk, get me Hansen… Hansen?"

A boyish voice sounded deep in his ear with crystal clarity. "Yes, colonel?"

"Call agents Hollins, Kreiger, Villieu, Weston, and Calabrese."

"Is that Paul or James, sir?"

"Both. This is an emergency. Do you have those choppers dispatched?"

"Yes, with warrant officers Vance and Luukonen. Remember those names for the security check."

"Right, right."

"Sir, all the agents are in the same building as you. Why don’t you get them yourself?"

"Because this is a formal ball for New York society’s elite. I can’t just interrupt the ceremonies and tell everyone about this incident."

"Affirmative, sir. I’ll call them. Where do you want me to order them?"

"The lobby, main entrance. I’ll brief them personally, you just get them there."

"Roger that. Over and out."

"Out."

Paul was undoubtedly worried by his own eavesdropping. Somebody, several somebodies were going to have to deal with this. Not me, I can’t be chosen, I don’t have the field experience for this, he thought to himself. I made a promise. Oh, damn it all to hell, why does life test me like this? Under his fur he felt a cold sweat breaking out. He adjusted his collar and swallowed with some tension, waiting for someone to tell him that he was free for the night.

Suddenly, he winced as a friendly triple tone sounded in his ear with the crack of a radio. A boyish voice sounded. "Paul, it’s Alex Hansen. Verkerke wants you to go to the main lobby for a briefing."

He tapped the implant behind his ear and spoke softly. "UN building raid?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"UNATCO didn’t give me these ears as fashion accessories. Tell him I’m on my way."

"Paul… Congratulations."

"What for?"

"You’re catching on. You know when to just cooperate and when to keep your ears open. You’re certainly quicker on the uptake than your brother ever was. Over and out."

"Thanks. Out."

He turned to the door only to find Dana in his path, looking up at him with a motherly, questioning look. "Honey, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing, Dana, I just have some business to attend to."

"No night on the town? You promised…"

"I’m sorry, Dana."

"Well what could be more important than…"

"The UN building. Some FAC reactionaries have captured it in a sudden strike. I’m a counterterrorist, and I’ve been assigned to deal with it."

A look of horror and shock flooded her face. "Jesus. How bad is it?"

"It doesn’t look good. They’ve got hostages and have already killed eight and wounded ten."

After a few moments of silence, she looked down in an expression of acceptance. "Don’t worry. I know. It’s your job. Go on, save the city."

He nuzzled her lightly and turned away. "Thank you, Dana." Just as he left, she spoke to him again.

"Paul." He turned with raised ears. "Don’t get dead, okay?"

With a sincere grin, he looked into her eyes, knowing full well that it might be the last time in his life to get the opportunity. "If you insist."