and when you wanted someone else, i withdrew [van crash]

Something, this night, was different. After the kennel lights turned off, the Men returned. This was unusual, but not unheard of. Sometimes, when she thought that the day was over and she was safe (perhaps forever? Each night she thought that maybe they had left and would never return, and each morning she was disappointed, but only briefly, as they would always bring food shortly after) the light would turn back on for a moment, pitching her into anxiety until they shut off again. Tonight, however, though the Men returned, the light did not come back on. This was different, and Junkyard Dog did not like it.

They were loaded into crates, and seemed undeterred when she growled lowly at them, baring her teeth in warning. They simply spoke in soft, soothing tones, which lulled her despite her fear. Soon the crates were loaded into a car, with her in the midst of them all.

The car began to move. The motioned sickened her, and so she whined. Dogmeat silenced her shortly after she began, as he did with others who made noise, and so though her stomach churned, she tucked her head against her side and remained silent.

Then all was pitched into chaos. There was a great screeching, an upheaval of everything around her. There were a few moments in limbo, where the world moved faster than her mind could keep up with. And then things settled. There was movement, but it was far away, and she was trapped beneath a number of dog crates. Her own was half-broken open on one side, the snaps that held the top of her crate to the bottom broken. It was through this gap that she escaped, though the sharp plastic scraped and rubbed at her sore skin. Even once she was free, she had to maneuver from the back of the van, and seemed to be one of the last to escape.

Outside the night air was cold, unpleasant. She had a few cuts and scrapes, and her head ached, but she was packed tightly among the crates, and was near the bottom. There were several things happening, but she cared little for them, and instead looked to Dogmeat. "What now? Go, I will follow," Junkyard Dog said in her rough voice, afraid but alive. She would persist.