Fanfiction for WickedPrince

Cloud: Note before we begin, this one takes place BEFORE Flare was stationed in Russia.

Flare hated this part of town in New York, especially at night. Though by every right, ever since he had joined the organization it was better to call it “Zoo York”. Nothing had been the same, thousands of people had been killed in the riots, anthro and human, and the streets were literally coated with blood. It was standing there, in the middle of that desolate street that was once a ghetto, that Flare was yet again reminded of The Commander’s real purpose. His current target resided in an almost run-down duplex, his mission this time was to kill on sight. This particular case had started a week ago, and Flare didn’t like the credentials and info that the Commander had given him.

Despite his fortitude as a soldier for the organization, Flare had an extremely weak stomach. He rarely threw up at all, but whenever he encountered something that didn’t sit well it would knot up and a nauseous feeling would overtake him.

‘Colin Michaels,’ he thought to himself, ‘thirty three years old.’ The target was a bull anthro, and made it a habit to kidnap his female kind and ‘milk’ them.

Flare’s weak stomach began to act up again, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. From the profile that Kelly had pieced together, this guy was a real piece of work. He looked at women like meat and had some sick fantasy that he was ‘protecting’ them. His ears were twitching again, that was never a good sign. An hour of waiting had seen the target approaching his home. Anthros often tried to live undercover and only went out at night, buying food and other necessities from underground dealers to survive.

Flare’s lip curled, ‘This sick fuck is eating food that some other poor anthro could use.’ His thoughts were fierce, and he only wished his psionic power was greater.

The target was a full on anthro, instead of normal feet he literally had the hooves of a bull, Flare made a mental note to avoid being struck by those. When Colin entered the duplex Flare began moving forward, tapping his hands free, “Target found,” he whispered, “Moving in for the kill.”

“If he’s holding someone then you need to watch your fire. Bring them back to base after you’re finished, they may need a psychological assessment.”

“Got it Commander.”

This would not be an easy mission. In fact, it was the first assassination that Flare was sent on against one of his own kind. He viewed it in the same light however, some of these people didn’t need to be among the living, and their crimes far outreached the court of the theocratic states. No, Colin would be punished by his own kind, another anthro, the death would be swift, painful.

He slipped quietly through the door and was greeted by the foulest smell ever to hit his nostrils. He flinched and his ears flattened against his head. It was a mix of sex, booze, drugs, piss, and shit. His sensitive stomach acted up once more, but he tried to focus on the quarry he heard stomping up the stairs. Flare bounded up the stairs, not making a noise as his soft feet padded the wood beneath him. He shadowed Colin until the third floor, when the bull began walking down the hall. Flare stood back, barely leaning his head around the corner of the stairwell in order to see what Colin was doing.

About half way down the hall he entered a room, and Flare was hot on his tail, even with his psionic speed, he missed the door by a mere second, and it slammed shut just as he reached out to push it. Flare rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath before drawing his Glock and kicking the door above the handle. The lock splintered to pieces and the door flew open, he immediately began procedure, checking corners and quickly turning. The place was a complete mess, discarded pizza boxes and random cigarette packs lay everywhere, the TV in the living room was stuck on static, echoing the same annoying noise through the room. Flare quickly moved down the hall to his right, Glock still pointed in front of him.

He did not expect the wall to his left to crash open. Next thing he knew he was pinned against the opposite wall, a very large hand round his throat, his Glock had already been thrown back to the living room area. “Who are you?” The voice was low, and caked with something that Flare didn’t like at all. It mattered not however, because Flare was gasping for air and clawing at the bull’s hand, leaving bloody marks as he struggled to do enough damage and get Colin to release him.  The bull growled lowly, “Never mind, it matters not, you’ll be dead soon anyway.”

Flare did the next best thing he could, he improvised. He had come prepared for a situation such as this.  Still struggling to breath, he reached down to his belt and unhitched the single grenade he had brought with him, bringing it to his teeth and biting the pin off. Flare smirked through being choked, holding the grenade in his left hand, thumb pushing the lip down to prevent it from exploding.

Colin immediately released the cat, who coughed and sputtered on the ground for a moment, struggling to stand. Colin reached down and pried the grenade from his hand, still holding down the lip. Flare finished coughing and started to laugh. Colin scowled at him, “What is so funny traitor?”

Flare snickered, “Oh I’m no traitor,” he growled, “I’m helping to save our race fellow anthro. As for what’s so funny… that grenade you’re holding right now is a dud.”

Before the bull could respond, Flare already had his combat knife out and had cleaved through half of his opponent’s right ankle with it. Colin let out a furious roar of pain and fell to his side. Flare stood up quickly, twirling the combat knife in his right hand, a smirk adorning his maw. “Bulls are strong,” said Flare, “But cats are nimble, quick, and deceitful. You should have kept your eyes out.” He approached Colin slowly, every step had a bounce to it as if her were mocking him. “I’ve already cut a major artery, you’ll die within minutes.”

“WHY?!”

Flare’s ears flattened, the smirk did not leave his features, “Because every single cow anthro who has gone into your apartment has mental complexities. In fact, half the time they end up dead. I’m here to judge you Mr. Michaels, and I have pronounced you guilty.” Flare knelt down to his level, putting the tip of the knife barely in front of his right eye, “An apology is never meaningless however, so if you feel like it…”

“I loved every single one of them.”

Flare rammed the knife into Colin’s shoulder, causing him to growl in pain once more, “Bullshit!” he shouted. “With what America is going through right now, people like you are the last thing we need as an example for our race. If you loved these women, even a single one of them, they would still be alive and in perfect mental health!”

“Who are you?”

“Someone who doesn’t like injustices and someone who is going to kill you. One more misplaced remark and I might carve out your horns…” he leaned and whispered into the bull’s ear, “Nice. And. Slow.”

“Please,” grunted Colin, “Have mercy.”

Flare shook his head, “Not after what you did to all those poor women, they’re just meat to you, aren’t they, nothing but flesh and bone. Nothing but fuck toys to you, milk producers. Jesus Christ I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

On that floor, in his own duplex apartment, Colin Michaels bled to death. Flare searched the apartment further after gathering his weapons. At the end of a hall was a door, Flare pried it open and another disgusting stench greeted his senses. The floor of the room was covered in hay, and at the north end was a stock, holding a completely naked cow anthro, a milking machine was attached to her.

Flare rarely threw up; this was one of those rarities.