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“Neon Bruises” by Domus Vocis (part 1 of 2, read by Rhythm Bastard)

On a cyberpunk exoplanet in the far future, a transgender she-wolf joins an illegal fighting tournament to keep her home, but at what cost?

Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Neon Bruises” by Domus Vocis, who spends his free time listening to vaporwave music & working the graveyard shift while writing/reading furry fiction. He also recently published a historical romance novella titled “Two Souls of Fangcrest Manor” alongside his co-author Fruitz in 2023. You can also find more stories by Domus Vocis on his Patreon.

Read by Rhythm Bastard, Swole Raccoon Punk.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/neon-bruises-by-domus-vocis-part-1-of-2

Transcript
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You’re listening to Pride Month on The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story is the first of two parts of

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“Neon Bruises” by Domus Vocis,

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who spends his free time listening to vaporwave music & working the graveyard shift while writing/reading

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furry

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fiction. He also recently published a historical romance novella titled “Two Souls of Fangcrest Manor”

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alongside his co

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-author Fruitz in 2023.

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You can also find more stories by Domus Vocis on his Patreon.

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Your least favorite uncle is likely fond of insisting, at family gatherings,

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that queer rights and identities are a ‘commie conspiracy.’

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And it is understandable why it might appear so, to him.

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For queerphobia would be largely toothless,

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if not for the inequities of capitalism.

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If birth families, bosses, rent-seekers or wage thieves

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could not punish us with poverty and homelessness for straying from the closet,

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the bigots would find their arsenal of threats

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much-diminished. Read by Rhythm Bastard,

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Swole Raccoon Punk.

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Please enjoy “Neon Bruises”

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by Domus Vocis, Part 1

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of 2 Warning: As a reminder, you are 60 DAYS overdue on monthly rent, and currently

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owe 1,248 Pc as of March of this year.

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Failure to reimburse Juniper Apartments Inc. within one more month may result in prosecution,

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up to and including eviction and seizure of property.

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I let out a frustrated groan.

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Another damn notice from the landlord.

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I found it flickering on my front door’s screen, and the excitement traveling all over my tense body short-circuited.

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The frown on my ashy, feminine muzzle creased down even further when I swiped it aside, pressed my palm on the screen to unlock the door,

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then stepped outside to see a continuing downpour.

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Another press of my thumb relocked it automatically.

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Though I still had the good sense to make sure it locked and didn’t misread my fingerprint. “Good

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morning, Toby,” called out one of my neighbors down the open-air corridor,

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an always-tired human in his mid-thirties.

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“How’s life going for ya?”

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“Pretty good,” I lied. “You?” “Eh,

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the bosses are having me work another long night shift later,” he shrugged as I walked by.

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“I can’t wait to finally afford an ani-coding procedure soon.”

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“You’ll love it,” I didn’t lie.

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Before leaving for the central staircase, I decided to mention,

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“Just don’t eat anything before.

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It’ll give you a nasty ache.”

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A sudden gust of heavy wind drowned out his response, and we went our separate ways.

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I walked down a crowded street as the cold air swept over the glass skylight

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dividing the subfloor residences from a twilit sky camouflaged by low-lying clouds.

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They snaked around tall, densely packed buildings made of neon adverts.

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My steps were impatient.

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At least the earlier rainstorm had calmed down to a steady trickle.

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My heavy boots splashed through almost every puddle as I hugged my rain cloak closer to my white-furred chest,

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dark-furred tail occasionally thrashing at large droplets or avoiding brushes against the concrete.

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I desperately wanted to punch something.

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I steeled down the growing anger though.

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One sigh, then two.

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“Three-hundred more credits,” I whispered beneath the mask protecting my muzzle.

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“How am I gonna make three-hundred more credits?

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More hours? Ugh. Fuck.”

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Thank gods that the Fearless Fitness wasn’t a longer trek.

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In fact, it was the biggest reason I signed up for a gym membership.

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It didn’t require taking a transit pod across Persephone’s only metropolis colony.

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If anything, I considered it an early part of the main workout.

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No matter the weather,

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I could simply walk several blocks between tall skyscrapers whose top glass floors barely touched the permanent sunrise at their incredible heights.

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That day was no different,

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hugging my cloak and wading past humans and animalistically-coded persons of every species,

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all of them living their complicated lives on a tidally-locked exoplanet over thirty lightyears from Sol.

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During the ten-minute walk from my home to the concrete building I visited three times a week,

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I liked imagining life somewhere else.

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Twilight City was once a penal colony based on the terminator zone of Persephone,

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the habitable second planet in the Lyra System.

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The closest neighboring system to ours was

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‘New Eden’, formerly known as Gliese 581,

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and they were populated by religious fanatics, while Twilight City

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—and Persephone as a whole

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—had millions of citizens who were the descendants of criminals.

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My sperm and egg donors were the exception,

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having emigrated from Alpha Centauri to be larger fish in a smaller,

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less cosmopolitan pond.

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I made it. The automatic steel-and-glass doors welcomed me in,

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and hot air-conditioning with hints of sweat in the air wafted over my cloak.

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The hood went down and

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so did the mask. I blinked at the harsh lights embedded in the ceiling,

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then groaned at the line of people waiting in front of the reception desk,

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with the sounds of crashing weights and intense music echoing from

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the large room to our right.

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It didn’t help that a short canine and a few others joined behind me.

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Little by little,

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the line grew shorter.

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My plans for a quick workout, followed by a long evening spent dreading/recovering for the next job shift,

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started to dramatically wane.

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Someone in line walked away before my eyes wandered.

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A tiny part of me wanted to give up.

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Instead, I admired some motivational holo-posters from afar.

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Then, tail swishing impatiently against my ankles,

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I stared boredly at one of many large TV screens playing sitcom reruns or interstellar news;

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a new Secretary-General had been elected back on Earth.

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Several celebrities changed their species,

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announced new virtual films, or got married.

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An anti-Martian protest on Venus transformed into violent rioting.

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More faraway depressing shit.

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In local news, the Twilight City Police Department planned to continue tackling gang warfare.

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A witness for an upcoming mob trial went missing.

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Vandals destroyed a historic statue earlier in the year,

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with Twilight City’s governor standing on a podium and unveiling a newly designed replacement

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while condemning urban destruction.

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He mentioned several donors being responsible for the funding.

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There was applause all around.

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Behind the governor, I spotted three familiar figures;

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two middle-aged humans, a male and female in matching dresswear that cost more than my monthly rent,

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plus their smiling daughter.

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If she still had a twin brother,

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he’d look uncannily like her.

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Combed black hair,

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bright blue eyes,

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and perfectly white teeth our parents insisted on having flossed every meal,

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even after a small snack.

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Nobody in the Kensington family had flawed teeth.

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Memories tried resurfacing.

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Particularly of her brother on that day,

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when he finally became

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me. When I got the procedure to go from a human male to an ani-coded she-wolf.

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Frowning, my blue eyes darted immediately away from the screen,

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and I surveyed my home away from home.

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Compared to the private gymnasiums in Twilight City’s Elysium Towers I once grew accustomed to,

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Fearless Fitness didn’t have expensive equipment or fitness instructors tailored to species

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—be it human or a variation of ani-coded.

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Everything was used or at least older than fifty years,

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but the barbells,

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virtual treadmills, and weights

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did their jobs well enough.

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They certainly helped me during the previous two years.

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Finally, my turn. Behind the desk, a muscular vixen stood up straighter upon seeing me.

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“Toby, welcome!” Mara yipped cheerfully, one eye wide and the other hidden by her Smart Monocle connected to her desk computer.

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“I didn’t think you’d come.

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The weather out there’s terrible!” “It’s gonna take more than rain to keep me from here,” I laughed half-heartedly, then sighed.

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“Actually, could you…Could

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you do something for me?”

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Her ears perked. “Something wrong, sweetie?”

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Exhaling, I finally said,

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“I’ll need you to cancel my membership.

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At least, let it expire by the end of this month.”

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The normally peppy vixen blinked,

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like I told a bad attempt at a joke.

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“Oh,” she said, then awkwardly asked,

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“Is…Is it because of something Fearless Fitness has done, or I did—” “No, no, no, not at all!”

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I waved my paws in front of my chest.

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My ears splayed down towards the floor.

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“I just…money’s really tight right now, I need to pay my rent,

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and M-Way Mart’s refusing to give us raises.

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It’s like they don’t even wanna let us live on our own.”

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“You’re not gonna try out that ‘on

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-site initiative’?”

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Mara asked, frowning with me.

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“‘On-site housing initiative’,” I corrected without thinking,

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“but yeah, no. Not gonna happen, Mara.

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I’d rather work in the mines first.

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At least they get paid more than I do.”

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She gave a sympathetic chuckle.

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“I’m sorry,” she said, her ears folded downward too.

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Her red paws went to the touchscreen in front of her, and she focused.

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“Truly, I am. I hope you get that raise.

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But if you change your mind,

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I’ll resume your membership, no questions asked.”

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I returned her offered smile.

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“Thanks, Mara.” “No problem, sweetie.

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For now, you go enjoy your workout.”

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She motioned for me to swipe my I.D. badge, giving me a final smirk before looking at the small canine behind me.

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Worry and stress were shoved to the back of my mind.

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They didn’t exist for the following two hours.

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Once I waltzed from the women’s locker room minutes later, wearing knee-high shorts, fingerless gloves,

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plus a t-shirt with a training bra installed inside

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(one of my best impulse buys in recent history, even if it cost a bundle),

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I went straight to work.

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No more thinking about M-Way Mart,

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no more thinking of bills,

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rent, groceries, or the weather,

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let alone the past.

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Station to station.

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Equipment to equipment.

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I didn’t push my muscles too far,

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but my subconscious tried reasoning that I didn’t push far enough.

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Arms ached, grime caked into my ashen fur,

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and sweat always trickled down my muzzle.

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I held my resolve though.

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After all, I wanted to save the last of my remaining energy for the best part,

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using Fearless Fitness’ Mark VI Goliath™ boxing machine.

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Placed in the far corner next to a boxing ring,

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the mechanical wonder operated as a punching bag

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and opponent at six foot seven,

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made of a titanium skeleton covered in dense padding that left

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very little bruises.

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Well, unless someone inexperienced was dumb enough to set the settings high.

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Me? I settled on being a masochist,

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letting the Goliath’s A.I. run on a slugger setting as I let it bring out the swarmer in me.

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“Ack!” My head jerked back from a hit to the nose,

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and I swore obscenities through my trusty teeth guards.

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More swift dodging followed, and I escaped a few direct hits.

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“Come n’ get me, ya rusty dildo!

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Ass-squelching piece of junk, c’mon! Hfm!”

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My sperm and egg donors would’ve fainted hearing such crude language.

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Then again, they didn’t know the true personality of the colony city,

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outside their luxury dome.

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I learned about it quickly the day after I started living on my own.

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Between solid hits, I continued muttering,

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“C’mon, get me! Get me!

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Shit—” Swarmers often beat out-boxers using continuous,

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unrelenting strikes.

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Out-boxers often beat sluggers by tiring their opponent with maintained distance in the ring

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and out-running the clock.

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Sluggers unfortunately often beat swarmers by using pure strength alone,

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regardless of speed or agility.

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Due to broken mobility wheels keeping the Goliath stationed in the corner,

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nobody could use the out-boxer setting ever again.

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I remained stuck either fighting a swarmer like me

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or a slugger that hit my muzzle every twenty seconds.

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Nevertheless, I got my workout.

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It left a bruise under my left eye,

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plus aches that made my arms feel like brittle glass,

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but it felt worth it.

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I scored more strikes than my previous record too.

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All I had left was post-workout stretching,

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then limping away from my powered down rival.

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“Good job,” I muttered to myself,

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then left with a wince.

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Sadly, the one-minute shower did its job a little too well.

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Between removing all the grime and drying down my fur coat until my form disappeared beneath the fluff,

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I didn’t have time to think.

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Dread trickled into the plastic stall but didn’t go down the drain.

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Within a couple of weeks,

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I’d no longer be able to enter Fearless Fitness.

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How was I going to keep fit?

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The M-Way Mart’s backrooms required heavy-lifting, but not enough to be called a complete workout.

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Besides, the other half of my shifts usually revolved around assisting ungrateful customers on the salesfloor.

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The closest I’d ever come to boxing would be eventually knocking my manager’s lights out if he kept deadnaming me.

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Suddenly, I walked over to my locker naked and feeling sour.

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It grew exponentially when my eyes fell on a smaller figure in the far corner, staring at me.

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A short canine ten years older than me, wearing only formfitting black shorts. A fennec, perhaps? My brief glimpse had led me to notice red fox markings on his otherwise tan fur. A cross-species hybrid

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then.

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I suppressed a groan.

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The locker rooms were communal, but while Fearless Fitness boasted a zero-tolerance policy about harassment,

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and regulars didn’t cause trouble,

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it didn’t stop all the perverts.

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Newbies were the ones to watch out for.

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“Do you wanna keep those eyes of yours?

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I can help if you don’t,”

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I offered. “I’m not staring,”

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he said in a rather deep, yet professional-like voice.

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I turned around to face the fennec hybrid after putting my long-sleeved blouse on.

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“If you wanna stare at tits and ass so badly, there’s always the Web.

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Or the prostitutes at Madam Lilith’s.”

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The nameless fennec hybrid chuckled.

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“Not really,” he said, shaking his muzzle.

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“Porn’s not for me, and the girls at Lilith’s charge too much for shared drinks.

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The guys are worse.”

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Levity filled the tense air.

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“Is that so?” He assessed me, but not in a leering way.

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“Ya never been to Lilith’s, huh?”

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“Not really,” I said with a more relaxed shrug.

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“The entry fee’s too high for me,

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and I can always waste the money on actual dates.

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Besides, I…” The sour feeling from earlier returned with a vengeance.

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“I’ve got more things to worry about than a good time.”

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“Money problems?” he inquired.

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My eyes shot from the floor to the canine,

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whose arms were crossed as he leaned against what I assumed to be his own opened locker.

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Cold daggers glaring at him didn’t affect the fennec hybrid’s relaxed posture.

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“Were you listening at the desk?”

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I wondered if I’d noticed him earlier.

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“Guilty,” he confessed.

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Both paws raised, he clarified,

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“I’m not a stalker!

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Let’s get that straight.

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I’m just here for a quick workout, like you.

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Then I saw ya going hard on that Goliath machine earlier,

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and I thought I’d make ya an offer.”

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Both wolf ears perked high.

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“An offer?” I repeated his words.

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“My name’s Cayden,”

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he introduced himself.

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“What’s yours?” “Toby,”

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I replied carefully.

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“What’s this offer?

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If you’re gonna tell me I need God—” “No, no, no!”

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He waved his paw dismissively.

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“I don’t touch the stuff.

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It’s related to your money problems, and how you can keep working out here.

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And keep your place.

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And no longer work at that M-Way you despise.

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See, my boss is looking for a new bodyguard to replace his old one.”

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My eyes widened slightly.

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“Are you offering me a job?” I asked, tail wagging at my feet.

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“A chance at a job,” he corrected me.

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“Ya won’t be the only one going for it.

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We’re hosting a, uh…a small fighting tournament.

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We need a competent scrapper who can kick as much ass as they can protect the boss’s ass too.”

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A scoff escaped the back of my throat.

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“If you were really watching me,

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didn’t you see the times I was getting my ass kicked by that Goliath?” I asked,

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motioning a finger to my bruise. Cayden

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gave a short laugh.

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“You were giving that hunk of metal just as much punishment.

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Which is what we’re ultimately looking for.”

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A stray but important thought crossed my mind.

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Scams weren’t uncommon, no matter where you came from on the off-world colony, after all.

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“If your boss needs a new bodyguard so badly,

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why not hire actual bodyguards from that big union of theirs?”

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I asked. He paused at giving a response, only for me to quickly connect the dots.

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“Let me guess? It’s not exactly…legal?”

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“The bodyguard union’s rules are restrictive,”

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he explained after a moment.

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“But it’s not just that. Let’s just

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say the boss is paranoid and convinced it’s easier to background check civilians and wannabe tough guys

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than that union’s best and brightest.

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That’s all I can say.

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Anyway, I heard you talking to Mara at the front desk, and heard you’re having money problems,

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and thought you’d be interested in our tournament.

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Preliminary survivors get two-thousand upfront, no questions asked,

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but if you can keep your ground,

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a level head, and survive the background check,

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you’ll be guaranteed a great pay,

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great benefits,

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hours, and a steady gig.”

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I raised an eyebrow in his direction.

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On the outside, I was skeptical.

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On the inside though,

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my mind was already made up.

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The thought of returning to my soulless job panged my already sore body.

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Plus, he did say survivors of the first round got two-thousand credits.

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More than enough to pay off the rent without starving myself.

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“Can I ask some questions? Within reason, of course,” I added.

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“I’m not gonna apply for a job unless I know what I’m getting myself into.”

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He shrugged without giving what I said any thought.

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“Fair enough. Ask away then.”

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“Who’s your employer?”

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I asked. “Is he somebody I’ve heard of?”

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“Bowie Tremaine,” Cayden said.

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My posture went up straighter.

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“The black-market dealer?”

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Specifically, the CEO of Twilight Deliverance.

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Based primarily in Twilight City,

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they regularly competed with larger shipping corporations throughout the Lyra System.

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The M-Way managers I worked under often complained about our prices being higher than theirs.

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One former supervisor got fired after she was caught taking pain medication that didn’t come from the in-store pharmacy.

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Another coworker who used to work shifts with me often mentioned buying pirated holo-films and VR games from Earth via this underground market.

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“No, he is not,” Cayden stressed those four words.

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My eyes wandered with his to the locker room door, which had remained closed and unmoving since we last entered.

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“Mr. Tremaine is a businessman,

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like any other.” “Right. Right, sorry.”

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Rather than say I was uninterested after learning such a huge piece of the fine print,

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I gently inquired,

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“Will I be required to…kill

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people?” A reassuring smile crossed Cayden’s tan muzzle.

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“Not unless someone tries to kill you.”

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“Is it often?” “Not since a year after I started working for him,” he said.

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“How much do I get paid annually?”

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With that, Cayden didn’t immediately answer.

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At least, not until he fished for his smartphone from his front pocket.

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He stepped over across the unoccupied locker room and showed me a calculator app after typing in some numbers.

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Blinking once, then twice, I let out an impressed whistle.

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For a moment, I wondered if the mysterious canine had either given me a proposed yearly salary or his contact number.

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Finally, I asked, “When and where?” ***

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Weatherproof, mostly soundproof, and fifty times smaller than the dome that housed Twilight City’s rich and famous,

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the plastic construction dome I walked towards was roughly an acre in diameter.

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It stood on the southernmost tip of the colony city’s outskirts,

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nestled between outlying apartment complexes, and a seemingly endless rocky landscape bathed in cloud-covered twilight.

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The shining sky loomed far away behind me as I came across the unlocked hatch,

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and I entered. Eyes winced at bright lights.

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My boots met moist, unpaved dirt.

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I weaved my way around a large collection of offline construction vehicles.

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Beyond them were prefabricated housing units.

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At least one large apartment building and several large condominiums.

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No workers. Cayden had recommended I not bring anything I didn’t want stolen.

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No smart devices, no money, no valuable items, or exterior clothing that could weigh me down.

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Just my workout clothes and a few wrist wrappings.

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The hooded cloak and muzzle mask remained at home.

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Not wearing outside my apartment made me feel exposed, however.

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If not to protect from condensation,

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then to hide my identity if I’d suddenly trespassed into the wrong construction area,

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then sent a massive criminal fine to my front door.

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The time on my cheap wristwatch said it was midnight.

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The closest I could find to other signs of life was overwhelming male sweat,

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and littered soda cans.

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Plus, a used condom that I avoided like an intergalactic plague.

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“Did Cayden fuck me over?” I muttered to myself, snarling.

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“And I called off work today.

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That fennec douche better not have been pulling my tail, or I’ll…I’ll…huh?”

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My negative attitude evaporated when I walked a little further and peeked around one of the hollow condominium units.

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I muttered, “Well then…fuck me. ‘Small

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tournament’, my tight ani-coded ass…”

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A large crowd of denizens stood around each other.

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Humans and animalistically-coded alike filled the clearing,

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the latter likely being workers who traded flesh for fur in exchange for jobs on a faraway colony divided by night and day.

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All ani-coding courtesy of Kaleidascape Cyber-Genetics.

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Those given the DNA of bears, foxes, wolves, or tigers would work in the Polaris District,

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their genetic makeup making them more immune to the unnaturally cold temperatures.

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Meanwhile, those given the DNA of lions, jackals, cheetahs, hyenas, or rhinos would work in the Solaris District,

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toiling relentlessly to keep Twilight City’s vast solar farm operational.

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I think I spotted a few who appeared to be second or third-generation but couldn’t be sure.

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A quick glance at their dirtied fur and clothing reassured

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me they didn’t become ani-coded for identity or fashion trends.

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Between me and the crowd,

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a small long line had formed in front of a few important-looking figures.

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One of whom I recognized to be Cayden.

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His workout clothes were replaced by a hooded black jacket and dirtied jeans.

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A serious glare replaced whatever friendly banter he’d given me back at Fearless Fitness.

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“Hey there,” I greeted him once I made it to the front of the line.

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“Nice to see you again.”

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Cayden simply gave an inaudible grunt,

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patting me down after I lifted my arms up.

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He stopped after touching around my back, feeling for any weapons.

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“You’re good,” the canine informed me.

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His muzzle motioned towards the crowd behind him.

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“Wait for further instructions.

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Otherwise, good luck with tonight.”

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I could’ve sworn he smuggled an unnoticeable smile to me before turning to a gruff human standing behind me.

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“Next! C’mon, we don’t have all night!”

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Yelling and chatter echoed from all sides.

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I could barely hear myself think as I joined in the mass of shoulders and icy glares.

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Some formed small cliques.

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Others simply stood around, talking to each other or asking questions about what brought them here.

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I kept to myself, remaining vigilant as we all waited for something to happen.

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Not one second after the rest of us coalesced into the crowd,

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a shrill whistle stabbed through the loud noise.

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Everyone fell silent,

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the whistling being replaced by an amplified voice.

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It was Cayden’s, who stood on a large shipping container being improvised into a large platform,

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looking down on all of us.

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“May I have your attention please?” he spoke up into a microphone held in his paw.

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My eye caught sight of a hovering camera drone that flew over the canine’s head.

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“I think we all know why we’re here.

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My name’s Cayden,

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and tonight, I’m serving as a liaison for your potential employer.

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Rules for tonight:

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no weapons at all, even the ones we couldn’t find!

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The first round’s preliminary,

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until only ten of you remain.

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Afterwards, the winner of a fight will go against the next in line until only one of you is chosen.”

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A wave of murmurs and eager laughter interrupted Cayden.

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“Also, nothing goes beyond cuts and bruises!” he spoke up,

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“Mr. Tremaine’s not having me look for killers.

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If I so much as see a single

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body drop dead,

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I’ll personally pour liquid concrete down the responsible motherfucker’s throat,

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then have that same motherfucker’s corpse tossed from orbit straight into our star.

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Do I make myself clear?”

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We all exclaimed in understanding.

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“Excellent. Now, like I said,

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let’s start with preliminaries.

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Only ten of ya will be allowed to pass.”

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He grinned with a raised paw in the air, then let it descend,

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“Go!” At first, nothing happened.

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Then, everything fell apart

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all at once. Those who decided to back out of the tournament bolted away to form a large circle around the clearing,

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leaving the rest of the crowd to descend into chaos.

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If it hadn’t been for me realizing at the last minute what ‘preliminaries’ really meant,

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I would’ve met my maker that night.

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Ruthless violence filled the next ten to twenty minutes.

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Those who didn’t enter the construction dome knowing what was expected of them went down like sacks of meat.

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Palms struck, claws swiped,

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legs kicked, and blood dripped.

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Someone had lashed their razor-like claw nails along my back, but I managed to jump away,

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narrowly missing a large fist before mine connected to the ursine owner’s kneecap.

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He went down immediately after my other pair of knuckles struck his solid jawline.

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Clawed fingers swiped the air beside me.

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I nearly stumbled from a kick to my shins.

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The earlier clawed assailant was lost in the sea of aggressors,

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and I kept distance from the kicker

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—a lithe leopard graduated straight out of K-12 school,

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maybe younger. He gave me the evil eye for some reason.

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It was hard to out-box when other fighters in every direction wanted to knock you down, or at least tap out.

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However, I managed to keep a level head.

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I maintained distance from the larger slugger fighters,

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then waited for them to make a swing

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and perform a quick strike that immobilized them to the ground.

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Little by little, the crowd grew increasingly smaller.

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In the corners of my eyes, I spotted the camera drone still buzzing overhead,

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and dozens of humans and ani-coded starting to leave the frenzy.

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Most limped out after sustaining a serious injury.

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Broken bones were the most popular,

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along with deep claw cuts that needed immediate attention.

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Luckily, it seemed that Cayden anticipated it,

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having a few on-site medics and doctors look at the serious cases behind the wall of bystanders.

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Those knocked out cold had to be literally dragged out by said doctors, with the help of a volunteering bystander or two.

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Meanwhile, Cayden watched us intently

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—he watched me intently, especially as the preliminary pool hemorrhaged.

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I could feel bruises on my cheek and across various parts of my dirty workout shirt

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(some of the drops of blood weren’t mine).

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Sweat covered my muzzle and nearly blinded my alert eyes.

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So did a small layer of dirt, after one of the fighters had knocked me over and tried stomping me unconscious.

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Fortunately, I reacted just in time to grab the ankle,

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then twist away just as a large mass charged in my direction.

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It missed me by a mere inch.

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The same whistle from earlier sliced clean through the cheers around us, and everyone froze.

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I let out an exhale of hot relief.

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Tortured, aching muscles pleaded for me to give out,

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give in to lying on the ground with the others who didn’t make the cut.

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Wiping drool from my maw,

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I stood uneasily beside the other nine ‘contestants’,

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all of us turning to face Cayden.

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The fennec hybrid’s smile either made me feel proud or terrified of what would happen next.

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I couldn’t decide as the adrenaline threatened to wear off.

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It also felt like my heart and lungs wouldn’t stop racing.

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Ten of us remained;

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there was me, a polar bear with a permanent frown and black sweat clothes big enough to be cut into window drapes, followed

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by a rhino who sneered when making eye contact with me,

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a tall, brutish human with scars all over his chest

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(most of them old, and some fresh),

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a lion with a bloodied nose and mane,

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a pair of cheetah twins in muddy denim,

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the lithe leopard with evil intent in his young eyes,

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a bored-looking hyena, and finally,

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a musclebound tiger dressed in what used to be a nice white suit.

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“Well done,” Cayden announced after surveying us from his vantage point.

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“You’ve all managed to exceed expectations.

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For those who remain, congratulations!

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The night’s still young, so get yourselves hydrated and ready.

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Second round is in ten minutes.

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minutes.” This was the first of two parts of

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“Neon Bruises” by Domus Vocis,

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read for you by Rhythm Bastard,

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Swole Raccoon Punk..

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Tune in next time to find out how Toby will fare

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against nine other fighters

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just as eager as her

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to claim the illegal tournament’s winning prize.

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As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Happy Pride, and Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.

About the Podcast

Show artwork for The Voice of Dog
The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

About your host

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Khaki