Hi, I'm Ash! My main whump blog is @ashdoeswhump. If you have any questions regarding Good Dog, or ideas or prompts in general, send them over there - I'll only post the actual Good Dog parts here. I have a tag on ADW for Good Dog extras, linked here for ease of access, though. The name Good Dog is very much subject to change - I'm not 100% happy with it, but I don't want to change it to something else I'm not thrilled with, so I'm taking my time choosing.
Here's the masterlist:
The Only Offer You'll Get - Alexa (Whumptober Days 1 and 11)
Good Dog Part Two - Don't Touch Her! | BBU/BBU adjacent
Whumptober Day Two - Role Reversal
Masterlist | Previous | Next
tws: implied noncon, death mention, future conditioning, future pet whump, dehumanisation
I watched my parents and youngest sisters leave with an uneasy feeling. With how public opinion was directed against our family, I didn't feel it's a good idea either for us to split up, or to go out at all. The entire village was one slight misstep away from handing us over to WRU as it was - why would we encourage it further?
But Dad said the best way to overcome it was to show it didn't affect us. He wouldn't listen when I suggested it might instead make them more persistent. Mom said I was just being paranoid. She didn't listen, either, when I reminded her I got it from her side of the family.
I was secretly relieved when Jess, my oldest sister, got sick. It gave me an excuse to stay behind in the relative safety of our home rather than ventureing out into the dangerous water that was the village that raised me.
So here I was, standing at the front door as my parents and two of my sisters drove off, the third sister lying on the sofa in the next room and moaning her way through a raging fever.
I closed the door, fidgety, and stepped into the living room to check on Jess. She was curled up under a blanket in her pyjamas, trying to absorb whatever warmth the fabric could provide.
"How're you feeling?" I asked.
She opened her eyes long enough to give me that fierce glare that only little sisters could ever manage, then mumbled pointedly, "Cold."
"I know," I sighed, dredging up the barest minimum of sympathy. "But if you're going to stop the fever, cold is the way to go."
"I hate you."
"Go ahead and die of the flu then, if that's what you want."
She mumbled something else, something I didn't have a hope of understanding, and I scoffed. "Wow, that was articulate."
She drew a hand out from under the blanket to give me the finger.
My jaw dropped mockingly. "Where did my innocent baby sister learn to swear?!"
She managed to get her brain and mouth working together long enough to snap, "Go make me some soup or something if you're not going to be useful!"
I scoffed again, swept a dramatic bow, said, "Yes, your majesty!" then left the room.
Despite my teasing, I did dig out a packet of soup powder to make for her. After all, she's still my sister, and it would be a terrible pain if she starved to death on my watch.
Jess was twelve, ten years younger than me, and already making a solid attempt to top my grouchy teenage phase, which was spectacular if I do say so myself. I got my ears pierced, dyed my hair black, let my fringe grow in front of my eyes, wore leather jackets everywhere, the whole shebang. I'd grown up a lot since then, obviously, and dressed and look far more sensible now, but I was a real wildcard as a teenager. I never would have dared flip off my babysitter, though.
Although that may have had more to do with the fact that my babysitter was ex-military and never really left the metaphorical trenches, and compensated by now running an extensive pet lib program. I guessed it gave him the same adrenaline rush or something.
It was that stupid rally the pet libs set up that got us our bad rep around here. To be fair, our neighbours were unhappy with us long before the rally, but that was what led to a lot of them saving WRU's number to their phones to quickly be able to call them. It was so dumb: we had the nerve to value human rights, and people I'd known my whole life, who had known my parents' view on the pet programs and WRU in general for even longer, decided now we were the most evil people in the world. All because we dared to take advantage of our right to free speech.
My sisters were too young to properly understand what it was they were campaigning for, but our parents decided if the people saw a young kid feeling so passionate about their case, it might make them think about it again. I thought it was just putting them in danger, but I was just the dumb eldest child. What did I know?
Apart from Jess a minor argument with Jess that was resolved in no more than two minutes, the morning went by relatively uneventful. We watched tv and bullied each other all morning, which I would class as a very good start to the day. Jess even started feeling better once the meds kicked in, to the point where she could sit up under the blanket, finally giving me space to sit on the sofa.
It wasn't until halfway through the afternoon that things took a turn for the worst.
I was messing around with the tv, trying to figure out if I could connect it to my bluetooth speaker and override the tv's own, very broken, speaker, when the doorbell rang.
Distracted, I asked Jess, "Could you check who it is?"
"Oh, sure, get the sick girl to do all the work," she grumbled, but got up to go look through the peephole. "It's Jerry!"
I frowned and glanced up. "What's he doing here?" Our next-door neighbor was notoriously a bit of a hermit, and rarely emerged from his home, even for groceries, let alone going around visiting neighbors. "Is he alone?"
"Looks like it."
"Open it, find out what he wants."
The door - which I'd made sure to lock once our parents left - clicked as Jess unlocked it, then creaked as it opened. "Hey, Jerry," she greeted, putting even more of a croak into her voice than it had already, probably to try and make me feel bad for making her answer.
"Hello, Jessica. Are your parents home?" Jerry's voice was the same as always - snappish and brusque, making it clear he'd rather be anywhere than here.
I start hurrying to the door as Jess answered, "No, but Jonah is."
I stepped up behind her, putting my hands on her shoulders. "Hi, Jerry. Is there something you need?"
"Are the two of you home alone?"
"Why?" I narrowed my eyes. Jess had just told him that we were. Why was he pushing this?
Jerry hesitated, then explained, "I need someone who knows what's going on in your kitchen."
"I know well enough. What do you need?"
He looked annoyed to still be caught in this conversation. "I need a cup of sugar."
"Uh huh." I narrowed my eyes at him. He glared at me. I sighed. "Fine. I'll go get you a cup of sugar. Just give me a minute."
I paused to see if he would say anything else before walking into the kitchen. Just as I was pulling the bag of sugar from the cupboard, I heard the thud from the door.
I dropped the sugar and ran straight back into the hall in time to see a stranger with his arm around Jess to hold her still, his free hand clamped over her mouth to silence her shouts.
"Hey!" I shouted, picking up an umbrella from the stand in the hall. I whacked the stranger over the head with it, and he dropped my sister.
She started to scramble towards me, sobbing, but the stranger had already recovered and grabbed her ankle as she crawled away.
"Don't touch her!" I ordered and hit him again. "Stay away from my sister!"
"Stand down, kid," the man said, huffing a laugh as I held out a hand behind me to help Jess to her feet.
As soon as she was up, I put the arm out to the side instead to keep her behind me.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Oh, where are my manners?" the man chuckled. "My name is Arnold Meyers. I'm a recruiter from WRU."
My eyes found Jerry over Arnold Meyers' shoudler. "You called them?"
"Someone had to." He shrugged, like he'd called pest control for rats in out garden.
I'd never been fond of Jerry, and in the few interactions I'd had with him, I'd always gotten the idea that he didn't like me so much, either. Yet, I couldn't stop the sense of betrayal creeping into my gut. We'd never been close, but we were next-door neighbors. I'd thought that would at least could for something, but apparently not.
"Listen, kid," Meyers saird, drawing my attention back to him. "There are two ways we could play this."
"Let me guess. The easy way or the hard way?" I retorted.
"Either you could hand over the girl and I can leave with her without anyone getting hurt. Or you could fight me, get yourself seriously injured if not killed, and I leave with the girl anyway. It's your choice."
"There's no way I just hand over my sister. I hope you didn't seriously think that would work." I raised the umbrella a bit higher, hoping I looked less stupid than I felt.
I got my answer when he laughed. "What are you going to do, beat me to death with an umbrella?"
"You'e be surprised what I can do with this thing." I prayed he wouldn't call my bluff.
He did. He lunged at me, grabbing the umbrella and starting to wrench it from my grip. I tightened my hold and brought my knee up and into his stomach. He backed away, winded, then attacked again.
Behind me, Jess was hysterical, begging the man to leave me alone, begging me to just give in and stop fighting before he hurt me too much. But I couldn't just give up, not when it was my sister's freedom on the line.
And if I won? He wouldn't give up until he's dead, that much was clear, and he was far stronger than me anyway so I'd never be able to manage it.
We were on the ground now, rolling around, his hands around my throat, me trying desperately to hit or prod him with the umbrella hard enough to get him to let go. My vision was starting to cloud over as breathing became impossible.
It is remarkable how the smartest solutions can come at a time when you're at your least articulate. It was just as I was on the cusp of unconsciousness that I realised what I had to do. And it wouldn't be fun. But it was the only way to keep Jess safe.
"You win!" I managed to choke out, dropping the umbrella to grab his wrists.
He let me pull them away so I could gasp in breath after hacking breath.
"You'll give me the girl?" Meyers asked suspiciously.
Behind us, Jess' sobbing got louder, even though she'd been begging me to let him win for the last five minutes. But she didn't need to be scared.
"No." My voice was weak and gravelly, but I didn't let it shake. My eye was swelling shut, and I was pretty sure my nose was broken. When he tensed, ready to resume the fight, I went on hurriedly, "But I'll make you a counter deal!"
He cocked his head like a curious dog.
Ironic.
"A counter deal?"
"I'll give you myself if you swear my sister will be safe."
"NO!" Jess screamed, horrified. I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
He narrowed his eyes. "No deal. The girl was specifically selected. I take her and no one else."
"Then you'll have to keep fighting," I told him, "and my parents will be returning any mintue now, and they have an army general with them. You may be a better fighter than me, but you're definitely not better than him, and I'm good enough to keep it up until he arrives."
I've always been a good liar.
Arnold Meyers eyed me, weighing up his options. I noticed with some satisfacation that his lip was bleeding and his cheek was bruised. He was still uncertain though. I had to push my point further.
"If you force Jess to come with you, you'll be breaking the law twice over: she's underage, and not coming willingly. If I agree to come with you, no laws are broken, your precious organisation doesn't get in trouble with anyone once word gets out."
"You'll come with me, no fighting, no questions asked?" That sounded almost like an agreement. I'd take it.
"As long as you swear on your mother's life that you won't touch Jess."
"No! Jonah, stop!" Jess begged.
I could tell Meyers was seriously considering it, so I made myself turn to my sister.
"Come here," I ordered, opening my arms. It was rare for me to hug any of my sisters, so she hesitated before crawling into them, still crying. I held her tightly, then whispered into her ear, "Tell Dad what happened. They'll get me out soon - I'll be back before you know it, I promise."
I had no doubt about that. The pet libs, much as they annoyed me at times with their fanatacism, were good people, and good at what they did. Many of them were ex-pets themselves, and so were determined to free every pet, no matter how tough, not to mention familiar with the various training facilities and methods. I was certain, absolutely certain, than I'd be back home before the end of the month. I just had to survive until then.
"Swear to me," I hissed.
"I swear," Jess breathed with a hiccup.
I squeezed her once more, then let go and turned back to the bastard from WRU.
"Are we ready to go?" I asked, getting to my feet.
He watched me for a second more, then stood as well.
"Fine. My car is outside." He turned to Jess, and I stiffened, ready to leap back into action, despite still being unsteady. But he only said, "Don't follow us. Stay put, and no one will get hurt further."
She swallowed and nodded, shaking from head to toe, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
As mean as I was to her at times, I hated seeing her properly upset like this, but it was better than having to watch her get carted off to some WRU facility like an animal.
I got into the back of Meyers' car while he got in in front of the wheel. As soon as the doors slammed, he turned on the child lock so I couldn't jump out.
Not that I would. Any resistance would risk him going back for Jess instead, and I couldn't take that chance.
I watched through the window as I left my home for what I hoped wouldn't be the last time.
*
We'd been on WRU's radar for a while. Or, not us specifically, but the pet libs we worked with and for. Usually, they were careful, not letting anyone learn who we were, even if they were aware of our work.
But that all changed at that stupid rally. It was one of the newest members' idea, a public display to show people that pets were people not animals to be bought and sold. We took precautions, wearing masks and hoods to hide our faces, and cloaks to hide our clothes.
That was just as stupid an idea as the rally itself. Dressing up in cloaks and masks while marching through the streets and shouting have never once led to a positive public opinion. But, as usual, no one listened to me.
It would have worked to protect us for a while, at least. Until the furious crowd around us started grabbing at the cloaks. Only a few came off, but it was enough. Especially as Mom's was one of them.
Just like that, the entire town knew our family were among the pet libs. Frankly, it was a miracle it took this long for anyone to call the WRU on us.
Despite Meyers' talk of Jess being "specially selected", I knew the truth. He wanted to take her to punish us, to teach us a lesson. I knew handing myself over wouldn't take the pain away, but it would take away some of the victory he would have gotten from forcefully taking one of us. Until the pet libs could get me out and bring down the WRU, or at least one facility, for good, that would have to be enough.
*
Once we arrived at the facility two hours' drive away and we were signed in, I was taken to a side room and handcuffed to a table. Someone came in almost immediately, took a photo of my head like a mugshot, then left without uttering a single word.
I was left alone for an hour, my eye smarting and my nose hot and uncomfortable.
The room was bare, only the table in the middle and a chair on either side. I was sitting on one, the other one empty. The walls were painted a soft blue. I remembered reading somewhere that prisons sometimes painted their walls blue as it had a calming effect. I couldn't help but scoff at the thought. The floor was cheap gray linoleum.
Finally, a man walked in. He was dressed sharply in a neat suit, a brown leather briefcase in one hand. He didn't even look at me as he said. "My name is Philip Core. I'll be your processing officer today." He sat opposite me and pulled out a file from inside his briefcase. When he opened it, I saw the front page held the photo of my face. I was pleased to see the spectacular glare I gave the camera.
Core flipped to the second page, which was some kind of form waiting to be filled in. He was silent for a few seconds, scribbling on the top few lines of the form. I tried to read what he was writing, but reading upside down was not my strong suit, and his handwriting was so small and scribbly that I'd probably have had difficulties even if it were right way up.
Eventually, he asked, "Name?"
I was normally the sensible one in every situation. I was normally level-headed, and knew how to stay alive. I wasn't usually argumentative and difficult. But I thought I could be forgiven one lapse. "Uran."
"Full name?" he clarified.
"Uran Ass."
He looked up at me, bored. "The longer this takes, the longer it'll be before you're allowed to eat. I'm more than happy to sit here for three hours if that's what you want. I get to have dinner after."
I scowled.
"Let's try that again. Full name?"
"Jonah Golding."
He scribbled it down.
"Age?"
"22."
"Date of birth?"
"December 12th."
Another silence as he filled in the next two lines, then skipped two.
"Sexuality?"
I frowned. "Why is that relevant?"
"Just answer the question."
"Ace aro. Why does that matter?"
He didn't answer. The next line, he filled in again without question.
"What are you skills?"
I just needed to survive. I just had to cooperate for a month or so, just until the pet libs could get here.
"I'm really musical."
"In what way?"
"I play the piano, the cello and the drums really well - top grade on all three."
"Anything else?"
I so desperately wanted to threaten him, to fight and scream and rage, but I forced myself to hold still, to keep my voice devoid of all emotion as I answered, "No." I just had to give him enough information to make him happy. He didn't know that I knew how to use a gun, or that I could lie without blinking, or that I could whisper quiet enough that you'd only hear me if my mouth was against your ear, like with Jess earlier.
"Any difficulties or disorders?"
"No."
"Name your immediate family."
"Why?" I didn't want them to go for my family after all that. "I was promised they'd be safe."
"They will be. This is just to ensure you don't fall into the wrong hands."
"The hands that would rather have me free, you mean?"
"Exactly. So?"
I snarled, but the mantra of, "Just stay alive," was playing on repeat in my mind.
"My parents are Julia and Jason Golding. My sisters are Jess, Jen and Jeanie."
"Your parents thought they were clever, did they?"
I bristled. Comments about our names were normal. You don't grow up in a family of all J- names and not get used to snarky or incredulous or mocking responses. But coming from the asshole currently signing me into a particularly cruel form of slavery, it was nearly enough to make me lose my composure. "They are clever. They just have a functioning sense of humor."
"I'm sure. All alive?"
"Yes."
"Did you come voluntarily?"
I scoffed.
He looked up at me, lifted his eyebrows.
"Yes," I spat.
"Tell me about how you were brought here."
I knew anything I said could and probably would be cross referenced, so lying would not be the best option. However, I didn't need to announce to anyone who didn't already know the true reason why I was brought here. "Some bastard showed up at our house and tried to kidnap my sister - illegal, by the way - and I volunteered in her place. You're welcome."
"How did you get hurt?"
"Your asshole recruiter beat me up."
"Right."
The next few spaces he filled in himself again. Then, finally, he put his name and signature, and I couldn't supress the sigh of relief. It was over.
He turned the form around, pushing it and his pen towards me. "Sign here." He tapped one of the lines, skipping the two above it.
I scanned the form, taking in as much information as I could in the few seconds I could buy by fiddling with the pen's clicker, as though unsure how it worked.
My eyes snagged on two words: "pair bonding". I'd heard of that from the pet libs. There were no bonded pairs in our safehouse, but a few of the pets had worked with bonded pairs previously. Apparenly, they were so dependent on each other than they couldn't function at all without each other. I'd heard stories of bonded pairs being split up and simply dying of the stress.
I was a fairly independent person on the whole. I would die to protect the people I cared about, but I'd never rely on them for anything unless absolutely necessary. The thought of needing someone that much terrified me more than I'd care to admit.
I signed the form where Core had indicated, and he immediatly swiped the papers away, then got up and left without another word, tucking the file into his briefcase.
Another half an hour passed before the door opened again.
An excessively muscled woman stepped in, a thick metal hoop trailing a chain in her hand.
"What's that?" I demanded.
She said nothing, grabbing my hair with one hand to hold my head still. With the other hand, she flicked open the hoop - the collar.
"Hey! What the hell!" I tried reaching up to grab at the thing, to try and stop it from closing around my neck, but the cuffs stopped my from getting anywhere close. So I started struggling, unable to stop myself, unable to think clearly. Her grip never faltered, her trajectory never wavered, as the collar approached my throat.
No, no, NO!
But there was nothing I could do. The cold metal reached my skin and the woman closed it tight with a click. She let go of my hair.
The collar was heavy, weighing down my head and shoulders, and it was tight, tight enought that breathing was difficult.
"Get this thing off me!" I demanded, trying fruitlessly to reach up with my cuffed hands, completely irrational for a second.
Of course, the stranger didn't respond, just got a tight grip on the chain, wrapping it around her hand and wrist, and unlocked the cuffs.
I tried immeditaly to wrench out of her grip and pull to the other side of the room, but her hold on the chain was tight. I barely made it a foot.
She led my out of the room by the chain like I was already the dog they wanted me to be. I started to protest, to try and pull away again, but each tug pushed the collar tighter against my throat, making breathing even harder, so after a few moments, I gave up.
We walked along bare corridors lined with doors, up and down stairs and elevators, through rooms that led to more rooms that led to yet more corridors, until I was completely lost. Unable to fight, I contented myself with walked beside the woman, head held as high as I could manage with the extra weight and back pencil straight.
It seemed like an hour before we reached a series of corridors adorned with metal doors. It was one of these doors that the woman opened.
Inside, curled in one of the back corners, was a girl. She had blonde hair - more golden than my white blond - and looked like she hadn't eaten in days. She backed away when we entered the room, eyes wide with fear. I noticed she had a collar around her throat as well, identical to mine, apart from the chain.
The woman yanked me closer to her, and I started fighting again. The girl clearly didn't want me anywhere close to her. "What are you doing?!" I gasped as the woman tugged on the chain, sending me plummeting to the ground.
She brought the chain closer to the girl's collar, and clipped the end onto a hook in the collar. The hook snapped shut, locking.
Then the woman left, as silent as ever.
There was a long pause in which neither I nor the girl said a word.
This was the girl I was to be pair bonded with, I realised. I felt sick. There were horror stories among the older, more experienced pet libs of bonded pairs being forced to be romantic with each other. If that happened, I wasn't sure I'd be able to survive until my family could save me.
I managed to find my voice. "I'm sorry," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
"Who are you?" the girl demanded, all fear gone now that it was clear there was no way out of this situation.
Interesting.
"I'm Jonah. What's your name?"
"Alexa."
I took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky.
Good Dog Part One - The Only Offer You'll Get | BBU/BBU adjacent
Whumptober Day One - Race Against time / Day Eleven - Alt: Regret
Masterlist | Next
tws: foster system, future pet whump, future conditioning, dehumanisation (in a very small scale - number used instead of name), drugging
The date was the 18th of April. I had until the 2nd of May to find a job and a place to live.
It wasn't looking good.
I slouched in front of the tv, my cola in one hand and the remote in the other, annoyed.
That's one more for the fail list, I thought, feeling some of the dregs of hope left inside me drifting away. I considered tossing the remote at the tv, but decided against it with a sigh. It wasn't the tv's fault that no one would hire me, but it would definitely have made me feel better.
Fifteen rejection emails in the span of two days. Of the jobs I haven't heard from yet, many are outright ignoring me, their website proudly announcing that they've filled the gap without so much as a text to my phone.
It was typical, really. One alleged attempted murder five years ago - the charges of which were dropped, by the way - and no one even considers me.
A father in prison, a mother killed by a gang, ten years in the system and only about eight full years of formal education probably didn't look fabulous either.
But still! They could have at least given me the benefit of the doubt! Even just invited me to an interview to see that I wasn't a total raging lunatic.
But no, they took one look at my record and dismissed me out of hand.
The minivan came to a halt outside the house, heralding the return of the other kids from school. I groaned and switched off the tv to flip my laptop open again before Sarah could see I'd given up the hunt.
I was scrolling through a job site by the time the front door opened and the kids started pouring in.
There were five of us living here currently, though Sarah and Mike already had another kid lined up to replace me when I aged out in two weeks. Two of the other kids - a pair of boys - were still in primary, while the other two - a boy and a girl - were in high school.
"We're back!" Sarah called as she stepped through the door. "Alexa?" She stuck her head into the living room. "Still nothing?"
"No dice," I said, in an unbothered tone that normally wouldn't have fooled her for a second, but she was still too busy with the other kids to give me that kind of attention.
I reckoned she'd already written me off in her head.
Her only response was a distracted, "I'm sure something will come up," before she disappeared again to arrange snacks for the younger kids to last them until dinner.
Sam, the older boy, wanders in. "Are you still job hunting?" he asked, incredulous. I'd started on today's hunt before he'd even left for school.
"Surprisingly enough, there is still no one willing to take a chance on the crazy girl."
"Have you tried Tesco's?"
"I've tried McDonald's, Sam. Of course I've tried Tesco's."
He was silent for a second, watching my listless scrolling. I wasn't taking in any of the information on the page anymore. Finally, he announced, "The school's doing a careers fayre tomorrow, you should check there."
"Maybe." I didn't want to admit that I was this close to giving up entirely and committing to a life on the streets. Besides, I went to the school's careers fayres before I dropped out as soon as I turned sixteen. It was just full of people looking to get a day away from their mind-numbing jobs to convince kids to study the right degree so they could go into the same mind-numbing jobs. Considering I never even finished my GCSE's, I wasn't going to get into any uni's any time soon, so that was worthless to me.
But then again, it couldn't hurt to go, could it? If nothing else, it would be a break from doom-scrolling for a future, and there would be free food and stationary there. The words "free food" were usually all you needed to convince me to do something.
"Yeah, maybe I will go," I said, more to myself than to Sam.
"Cool," Sam said, then disappeared off to the kitchen to profit off of Sarah's snacks for the other boys.
I snapped my laptop shut again to join in on what promised to be a fun half an hour of using the same tricks over and over to distract the boys so I could steal crisps and grapes off their plates.
*
The next morning, I hitched a ride in the minibus from hell with the other kids. It's remarkable how loud a pair of primary-aged boys could be at eight o'clock in the morning.
The fayre was a whole day thing, so I didn't need to wait around for half the day beforehand. Finally, something going my way. It was set up on the massive sports field that could be and had been used for two simultaneous games of football side-by-side. Almost every inch of the grass was covered by a job stall or a food cart or a mobile cafe or one of many student-run information desks.
Most of the day... sucked. I approached every stall I thought I had a chance at and asked if they'd be willing to consider hiring me. After a brief back and forth, I eventually left each one with anything from a polite decline and well wishes, to outright laughter at my sheer nerve for wanting to survive.
Every stall I passed, whether I stopped to chat or not, I tucked a star-shaped highlighter or a clicky pen or a water bottle into the bag I brought, the bag that started out empty this morning. I would need anything I could get if I ended up on the streets.
The only truly good thing about the day was lunch - the food carts dotted among the stalls were expensive, of course, but Mike was a massive pushover; it was no effort to convince him to give me more than enough money. I paid for a large slice of pizza at one cart, and a mocha at a mobile cafe to soothe my sweet tooth. I then had enough cash left to buy a plate of chips to flick at the stalls that had rejected me, coaxing the seagulls and pigeons swooping around hopefully to divebomb them.
In my defense, that was funny. The birds are mostly harmless, they're just hungry. Hungry animals will do things they normally wouldn't for any scrap of food, thing they wouldn't have dreamed of before.
Finally, midway through the afternoon, I spotted a WRU stall. Curious, I moved closer.
The stall was decorated with pictures of men and women of all ages, shapes, sizes and colours, with collars around their necks and strained smiles on their faces. Pets. But in each photo, the pets weren't the focus of the scene. No, the spotlight went to the people standing beside them, of equal variety, but with far smarter, cleaner, wholer clothes and lacking the collars.
"Those are the handlers," the man behind the stall said, following my gaze. "They're the ones that train our pets."
I glanced at him, then took in the pamphlets on the table. They advertised every job the WRU offered: handlers, processing offers, recruiters, execs, medics, admins, secretaries.
I looked back up at the guy, "What qualifications would I need?"
"Well, that depends on the type of pets you'd be training. Much of your own training will be provided by WRU, but to have a greater chance of being hired, at least a bachelor's in psychology is preferable." He looked me up and down, before saying pointedly, "You also need to be able to manhandle a variety of pets, many of which may well be larger than you."
I took offense to that. I had the sort of build that some people would describe as "willowy". I usually preferred to go for "gangly", or even "wiry" if I was feeling particularly flattering. I was tall and skinny, with long blonde hair and the sort of blessed, unblemishable skin to match. Combined with my complete lack of any sort of helpful schooling, I could easily have been a textbook bimbo, except for my tendency to lash out, as I did now.
"What exactly makes you think you have the right to say that? You're so disgusting, trying to put me into a box like that. Just cause I'm pretty, doesn't mean I'm weak, you know. In fact, I bet I could take you right here and now!"
"That won't be necessary," he replied cooly. "Are you going to ask about another role or are you going to move on?"
Most people at least got slightly miffed by my dramatic explosions at the tiniest things, so this complete non-reaction blew the wind out of my sails, deflating me entirely.
I hated this guy.
Seething, I asked, "Do you have any roles that require no qualifications?" I was only half-joking.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Desperate, are you?"
"You have no idea."
He reached under the table and pulled out a new pamphlet, one that wasn't on the table, and held it out to me.
The header read, "Remove responsibility today! Become a pet and let someone else take the reins!"
I looked back up at him, disbelieving. "Really? Is this the best you have to offer? Becoming a pet?"
"Without qualifications, that's the only offer you're likely to get."
I bit my lip, hating that I was considering it, hating that I was that desperate. Surely I wouldn't actually go for it. Right? "And if I were to apply, what would be the chances of me getting the role?"
"Guaranteed."
"Right."
"WRU will provide full training, full room and board, as well as finding you employment once your training is complete."
"What, for free?" I found that incredibly hard to believe.
"Completely for free," the man told me. "You won't have to spend a penny."
"I'll just have to give up my freedom, is that it?"
"You're giving up responsibility," he corrected. "Even once your training is over, you'll still be provided with every essential you may need, and many prospectives have been known to give their pets gifts and amenities they merely want, but could get by without. Once you sign up, you'll never once again to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, or whether you'll have clean clothes to wear or not, or if you can afford medicine when you get sick. It'll all be taken care of."
Man, he did a really good job of making it sound appealing. I almost forgot that signing up would mean becoming little more or less than an animal.
But was that really worse than living on the streets? Was being a stray animal better than one with a home?
"What sort of training?" I asked, more to stall for time for my mind to come to a conclusion than anything else.
The man was starting to look even more bored than before. "That will depend on your designation. You'll be assessed when you arrive at our facility to determine what you'd be best suited for. WRU prides itself at placing all our pets in precisely the position where they're guaranteed to flourish the most."
I hesitated, trying to come up with another question, but he went on before I could.
"What's your name?"
"Alexa Nock."
"How old are you, Alexa Nock?"
"Seventeen years and fifty weeks."
He nodded. "So you'll be eighteen in two weeks."
"Wow, you're a regular mathmetician."
"That is a small enough difference that I'm sure the higher ups won't have any problem with it. If you would like to send a message to your loved ones, now's your chance. I'm leaving for the local facility in an hour so I can drop you off while I'm going anyway."
"I never said I wanted to accept!" I protested, incredulous.
"But you do want to. I can tell. You're desperate, and you know this is your only chance. I'd suggest you take it."
My hands clenched into fists, then released. Clenched, and released. Finally, with a growl, I pulled out my phone and texted Sarah.
"No need to collect me."
I didn't give any more explanation, and she probably wouldn't ask for it.
"Smart choice," the man said. "Come around here." He gestured to his side of the stall.
I frowned. "Why?"
"Just come here," he snapped, annoyed.
I crossed my arms. "Maybe if you ask nicely."
He looked at me like he wanted nothing more than to break my nose. The feeling was completely mutual.
"You want to survive this job? Here's a tip: when someone tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. Now come over here and I won't mention this to your handler when we get to the facility."
"Fine, whatever." I rolled my eyes and rounded the stall so I was standing right in front of him.
He moved faster than I would have imagined possible, grabbing one side of my neck and shoving something into the other side. Something small and sharp. A syringe.
Immediately, the world starting dimming, and my body got heavy.
"What did you... do...." I barely had time to get the weak question out before everything went dark.
*
Time seemed to move differently, after that. Like it wasn't real. Or like it was too real. Stopping and starting, moving faster and slower. Sometimes, the world was dark and silent. Sometimes it was loud and bright. I barely remembered anything in this fake-time.
I remembered someone asking my questions. I remembered being slapped and poked and dragged around. I remembered being curled up tighter than I should be able to. I remembered being so, so cramped.
I remembered a number.
601482.
*
The only time I remembered fully in the drugged up state was when I woke up before the final injection was given.
I was sat on a chair, chained to a table, a piece of paper covered in writing and a pen in front of me.
"Sign here," a voice said, and a finger pointed at a line on the paper.
"Wha' ish i'?" I slurred, not fully awake enough to properly control my mouth.
"Your contract. Sign."
So, not aware enough to fight, I signed. My signature was sloppy, and far bigger than I normally would have done it, and barely recognisable as mine, but it was there.
"And how do you feel?" the voice asked.
I mumbled some nonsense syllables, unable to come up with anything more concrete.
"I need an answer, 601482. How do you feel?"
I tried to focus on my body, which seemed so far away, but it was impossible to focus long enough to find any sure feeling. I could identify pain, though. I couldn't find where it was coming from, but I knew it was there.
So I answered, "Ow."
"Good enough."
Another sharp prick in my neck, and time stopped once again.
*
When I finally woke up fully, I was in a very small, completely bare room. There was no bed, no desk or chair or anything. The only things breaking up the stone walls and floor and ceiling were a metal door and a wooden bucket.
I was wearing clothes that were not my own: a short-sleeved white button-up and a pair of black shorts. Not shoes, not even underwear, I realised with horror.
But worst of all was the collar around my neck, thick and heavy. I reached up a hand to touch it, my horror growing. There was not even enough space between the collar and my neck for my pinky finger, and it was wrapped in wires.
A shock collar.
My whole body ached. A brief inspection revealed bruises all over my limbs, and I found a small plaster under the collar, probably covering the spot the drug went into each time.
For the first time I could remember, I truly regretted my decision.
I should have just waited out the week - anything would have been better than this, even living on the streets.
Now, all that was left to do was see what happened next.
