43

The scrapyard is a twisted pile of brick, rotting metal, and steel that sits dead center in the scorched remains of the rotting Yale University campus. Something about the air of this place has a disquieting effect on those who visit, its stillness often likened by the elders to the ghosts of thousands of inquisitive minds being snuffed out in a single moment of rage.

Your species' last stand in Haven is a great shame to your pack, leveraged by the humans who placed you here to instill in you a perpetual state of guilt. Years ago, a few enterprising wolves dug out a few of the university's science labs several blocks from here, and they work there from time to time on secretive projects, reporting only to the elders.

We killed thousands of innocent civilians as the soldiers pushed us back against the shore, you think as you work your way up the mountain of rubble. All that we had left were warriors and the wolves with enough tenacity to survive an attempted genocide. If I'd lived through all of that, seen my loved ones die horribly at the hands of the humans…would I have been any more forgiving than they were?

Cresting a rise of crumbled brick and concrete, you look down into a dug-out valley of metal beams and cables. This portion of the scrapyard has been looted liberally over the years, its reserves of high-quality metal providing superior materials as the pack rebuilt the parcels of Haven they call home.

You descend the unstable walls of the pit, a scree of brick fragments clattering down past you as your feet disturb them. Ahote has been secretly using the pack's metal shop to craft tools for his campaign against the humans. To do that, he needs supplies that won't be noticed when they go missing.

Your eyes hover over the choice of materials. He said I should look for something useful that could help us defend ourselves.

You scrounge up as much material as you can carry in a single trip and trudge back to the workshop, cursing the extra weight with increasing vehemence the entire way. When you finally heave it all off your shoulders, hidden behind the shop's heavy machinery, you let loose an oath that would crinkle the fur on your grandmother's nose even from the grave.

A muffled chuckle from behind causes you to jump. You twist about in place like startled prey before you realize that it's only the shop's manager.

"Heh," Razor laughs. "Well, aren't you a raw bundle of nerves?"

You roll your eyes at the muscle-bound behemoth of a wolf. "You'd be jumpy, too, if you had to sneak past the humans as often as I do."

She snorts. "Any time you want to switch jobs with me you can be my guest, pup. Just be ready to lift hundreds of pounds of metal, sweat your ass off working the humans' machines, and deal with Colonel Williams constantly breathing down your neck about the 'unacceptable delays in production.'"

"Thought so," Razor grunts. "Everyone thinks my job is so damn easy…." she mutters as she turns and starts walking out of the room. "Oh!" she calls back. "Almost forgot why I was bothering with you. Ahote wants to see you in his office. Said it's important."

Great, you think to yourself. Ahote couldn't let me have a moment's rest, could he?

Ahote's Office