animus vox

Chaos was really the only word Reaper had to describe the night. They had been uprooted from familiarity — their home, as horrible and vile as it had been — and dumped into the middle of nowhere. Quite literally, too, and most had the cuts and bruises to prove it. Blood trickled from Reaper's own slash above his eye — yet another scar to add to the collection. At least he was used to the pain; there had been plenty of it during his time as a fighter and in the testing facility, after all.

As lights flooded the scene — the other humans having turned back to no doubt rescue their friend — the dogs who were lucky enough to escape the worst injuries had taken off into the night. Reaper followed after the burly dog who had helped him escape from the muzzle restraint. Others trailed after, too, most having nowhere else to turn and so escaped with their comrades.

Eventually, his fleeing sprint turned into a haggard lope, before his aching muscles and pounding head forced him to groggily limp after the others as they headed onwards towards the horizon. Finally, they seemed to halt and, up ahead, two dark forms stood and watched as the sun slowly rose to greet the day. Two others approached them, one Reaper recognised as the burly male and the other, scruffier one, he could only figure was a lab-mate. The four figures suddenly turned into eight as his head spun and the mutt lurched forwards as he made his way towards them, falling to his haunches to avoid toppling over altogether. Half-lidded, mahogany eyes regarded the other dogs passively, before Reaper looked up to the shifting colours in the sky, fighting a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to sleep.