Awake. Bright lights. Head hurting. The dog growled and raised his head. He was being moved, rolling on a table, and he quickly bared his teeth at the tall ones in white. He was hurt; they had done something to him, but he didn't know what. He struggled against the restraints holding him down. The others made noises to each other and he felt a pinch. Then he fell asleep.

He woke up in his usual cage, but he felt... strange. Something was wrong. The men had done something to him. He looked over at them with narrowed eyes. White Hair was talking was talking to Brown Hair but their noises were also different. More like his own voice. Intelligible. The dog tilted his head to the side as he listened.

"-though we can't know for certain, of course. Time alone will tell. But its extensive training, combined with the procedure? The sky's the limit when it comes to its ability. Imagine being able to command a unit of hyper-intelligent canine soldiers? Not able to think like a man, of course, but far above the normal limitations of the species."

"Hard to imagine, Doctor."

"Oh, I know. But this subject- he is a singular example of this project's potential. Every other subject either failed the training or died after the procedure. Subject 22 here will prove that it's possible and guarantee my next round of funding- then I can figure out what makes it unique and expand the program."

"Let's not get ahead of yourself, Doc. The General sent me here to shut you down; I was barely able to give you this extension. If this dog doesn't pan out, you're finished."

"Understood, Colonel. But I have full confidence in Subject 22. Even before the procedure he was much brighter than his peers, and he's been trained to the physical limitations of his breed."

Brown Hair walked over the cage and looked down into the dog's yellow eyes.

"Shepherd. Right. If this works out, he's going to do a hell of a lot more than herd sheep."

Shepherd.

He lay down and went to sleep.

***

Shepherd woke up later that night and paced inside his cage. He felt... more awake. Bigger. Stronger. Faster. It was like growing from a pup to a dog all over again. He howled to bring White Hair. Once. Twice. In the middle of the third howl he arrived, yawning and rubbing his face.

"Okay, okay... what? What is it?"

Sleepily, the old man lifted the latch. The second he did so. Shepherd blasted forward in the cage door, knocking the old man on his back. The dog was on top of him in a second, snarling. He knew his training: the soft spot where the head met the body. But he didn't move, simply glaring and growling down at the man who was speaking with his hands up in the air.

"Stil. Stil. Stil. Stil. Liggen... liggen..."

Shepherd found that he had the strength to ignore his commands and tilted his head again. The man was not a threat, not anymore, although he was also not good. Making a decision, Shepherd pushed off the man and raced toward the open door and down the hallway. He could hear the man yelling, then other men. He leaped forward and pushed through the door in front of him and found himself suddenly outside. He sprinted toward the gate and, before most people realized he was gone, he was in the treeline.

Shepherd moved at a brisk pace for the rest of the night and the day after. He knew they would hunt him: he heard several... trucks, but he managed to avoid them. He tore the paper from around his paw; there was something around his neck, but he could not remove it. 

Soon, there was only the sound of the woods- and the panting of its newest inhabitant.

Fate had holed herself up in a cabin in upstate New York. Although the moonshine heist had garnered her a cut of the take and new, invaluable contacts, she hadn't walked away unscathed. Right shoulder wrapped in gauze and a sling, she thought it a better idea to heal up in seclusion rather than parade around her crewmates and HQ sporting a bad wing. The bullet had passed clean through, but using the arm was nearly out of the question, at least until the stitches were removed. 

So she'd retreated to privacy with a few personal belongings, supplies, and her sidearm, packing extra ammo so that she could practice target shooting with her left hand to pass the time. Frustrated with the results, she'd given up and simply settled in with a novel and some classical music she'd tuned into on a transistor radio. On a trip to the kitchen to refresh her gin and tonic, she picked up a cigarette, lit it, and stepped out onto the small porch of the cabin. No city lights penetrated through the trees. The only sounds to be heard were coming from the wildlife, and the crunching leaves.

Crunching leaves? 

Turning towards the sound, Fate can see nothing. What she hears is definitely footfalls, but there are too many feet for them to be human. Whatever it was, it was approaching fast. Holding her breath and taking a cautious step back towards the open doorway, she anticipates an animal on the hunt. Coyote, maybe...or wolf?

The footfalls cease abruptly. Fate still can't see a thing, but she can feel, whatever it is, out there watching her. Staring back into the pitch, two glowing eyes suddenly pick up the reflection from the kitchen light pouring from the doorway behind her. After an interminable stare down, the beast takes a few steps toward, showing himself.

A gorgeous purebred German Shepherd stands there, black as night, with eyes holding more intelligence than any animal had a right to. Fascinated, Fate steps forward a small step and crouches down. The dog continues to watch her as she snuffs her cigarette out on the top step and then holds her hand out towards him.

Shepherd froze as the light shone on him and he took a couple steps forward, growling. He positioned himself between this new thing and the remains of his small dinner and crouched defensively. Eventually, his eyes adjusted. The woman had made herself small, which meant that she was probably not a threat. He licked his lips several times, clearing off trace amounts of warm blood left over from the rabbit behind him. 

He cautiously approached the woman. His fear told him to flee back to the trees, but he also remembered the heat and comfort of being indoors. There seemed to only be one of her and unless she had... gun... then she could not hurt him. He could always force his way out, if he wanted.

He approached within a few feet of the woman, eventually coming up to smell her hand. Tobacco. And a slight hint of... gun.

The fur on the back of Shepherd's neck rose and he growled again; his eyes looked over her for a gun, but he didn't see one. But the warmth in the house was calling him out of the cold January night and, perhaps, affecting his judgment. There had been too many caves- too many times where he'd buried himself under the snow to try to stay warm.

There were patches of frozen ice throughout his coat, evidence of his struggles in the last several nights. He seemed thinner than he should, although still powerful: his chest and legs seemed packed with muscle. There was a spot on top of his head where his fur was shorter- like it'd been shaved and it hadn't been able to fully grow back yet. 

Calming himself again, he sat in front of the woman. As he did so, the collar and tag around his neck became visible. The collar was a simple leather one, and the simple metal tag read "Subject 22." Beneath it, a second line read "Property of United States Army. Pine Camp, NY."

Fate moved her hand slowly, tracing fingers down the side of the dog's face and along the collar, tilting the tag toward the light.

"Jesus," she breathed. Several thoughts bombarded her brain all at once. Disgust at the treatment of this animal. Horror at what her government might be up to. Fear of what the dog could do to her. She dropped her hand and studied him a moment longer, inches away from his face. He studied her back, and she was pretty sure they both knew who was the bigger threat here was.

With a quiet sigh, Fate stood and went back inside, leaving the door open. The dog continued to sit as she stoked the fire in the living room, a slow and cumbersome affair when you only have one good arm. Returning to the doorway, she gestures inside with her free hand. 

"You coming in, Mr. Shepherd? It's damn cold out here and I gotta shut the door."

He barked a single time in answer to her question as if to say yes; the sound of it spread through the cold, dark night. 

Relaxing his face and letting his tongue slightly hang out of his mouth, Shepherd trotted inside after the woman, slowing to a walk as he entered the cabin. The woman closed the door behind him and he buried the instinct to feel trapped. He moved quietly around for a couple minutes, smelling and looking at his surroundings. He was soon lying down next to the fire with his chin between his paws. 

As the dog rested, Fate got to thinking about his abandoned dinner outside. She slapped a steak into a frying pan and while it sizzled to a decent medium rare, she clumsily drew a bowl of water from the faucet and placed it on the floor. 

Army. She was in possession of an Army asset, and they'd want it back. Preferably without witnesses. Shit.

She placed the steak on a plate and set it down next to the water bowl. Shepherd perked up immediately, trotting over to the meat and devouring it in seconds. He sat again, licking his chops and watching as Fate packed her few personal items and set her suitcase by the door. 

"Can't stay here, Boy. They'll want you back. You don't want to go back, I'm sure," she says, turning to find a pair of scissors to cut the collar off his neck. 

She stops cold when he growls.

Turning back to face him, she squats down in front of him and peers into his eyes. 

"Can you understand what I'm saying?!?"

He whines. This can't be happening.

"Tap your paw on the floor if you want to move to the City," she says warily.

Tap.

Fate falls backwards on her ass, stunned.

Shepherd tilts his head, concerned, unsure why the woman had dropped to his level. Taking a couple steps forward, he licks her cheek. Fate still seems somewhat confused as she wipes her face. As she reached up and rested her hand on the top of his head, she could feel the longer scar from the incision in his skull. Quickly pulling his head back when she made contact with the scar, Shepherd walked over to the suitcase and nudged it with his nose, whining slightly. 

Trying not to panic, Fate struggles back to her feet and heads to the door. Hand on the knob, she pauses to listen.

Nothing. 

She opens the door slowly, and Shepherd slinks through the gap and onto the porch, sniffing the air. Satisfied, he turns his head toward Fate. All clear, let's go.

Grabbing her suitcase, she makes her way down the steps and after a few failed attempts, finally manages to get the car's trunk open and her luggage inside it. Opening the passenger door for the dog, Shepherd bounds past her and onto the seat, just like any dog going for a car ride would. Had she imagined all the other stuff? He's a dog. Just a dog, no more, no less.

Slamming the door, she walks to the other side and gets in. As she starts the engine and pulls away from the cabin and onto the main road, Shepherd rests his head on her lap. Careful not to touch his scar, she strokes his ears as she drives home towards Brooklyn, repeatedly checking the rearview mirror.