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The sky is magnificent.
Stunningly blue on one side, gorgeous swirls of clouds on the other, interleaving wisps of gray, purple, white, and blue, like a velvet marble cake. The tendrils curl elegantly, caressing the sun like a gentle lover on a bed of blue silk. The sun glows shyly, blushing from the attention.
Ryland takes in none of it.
At this moment, Ryland is running for his life.
Weaving between cabins, feet pounding against the pavement, he darts away from the grasp of a soldier attempting to corner him. He sprints for the metalwire fence. The sparkling mesh reflecting off of the pale sunlight taunts him with the idea of freedom.
"хватайте его!"
The shout follows him like a noose. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ryland forces his legs to move even faster.
Pavement turns into grass and the raindrops from the earlier rain splash against the pants of his jeans. The wetness feels like cold metal braces clamping down on his ankles.
He breathes but no oxygen enters his lungs.
He has never run this fast before in his life.
He remembers watching an old documentary about foxhunting, this old sport where people followed a pack of hounds chasing down wild foxes. When the hounds catch the foxes, the hunters kill the foxes for trophies, status, and fun.
Ryland feels like a fox.
Followed, cornered, and defenseless.
This is a life and death situation, is it not?
Without slowing down, Ryland fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it. He calls the number he had saved to speed dial but never once called.
It rings.
And rings.
Ryland pulls the phone away from his ear and glances at the screen.
"Calling Court…"
The line ends. There is no voicemail inbox. The phone slides from his hand.
Ryland laughs hysterically.
He said he would always find him.
***
Ryland was so scared.
He'd only gotten distracted for a second looking at the puppies. When he looked up, he was all alone in front of the pen. The puppies kept playing.
He didn't mean to fall behind.
Hugging his arms around himself, Ryland sniffled. His tears fog up his glasses, hiding his vision even more. His throat hurts from the pressure of a sob crawling up from his stomach.
Ryland wanted Court.
He should stay put, right? That was what Court told him and Colt whenever they went to the store. But Ryland was so scared and he was all alone what if they never find him what if they never come for him what if they forget him what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if
Ryland breathed but no oxygen entered his lungs.
"Ryland?" He could almost hear Court calling his name. He let out a whine of terror.
"There you are." Familiar arms wrapped around him and tugged him close to warmth. He sniffed and smelled leather, sweat, and pine.
Oh.
Ryland looked up through watery eyes and foggy glasses to see his hero, his brother. The sun shines around his head like a halo.
Court. Home. Safety.
He could breathe again.
"You came for me," Ryland whimpered into his brother's shirt, soaking it in his tears.
"I'll always come for you, bud." Court tightened his arms and kissed Ryland's forehead. "I'll always find you, no matter what. Don't be scared."
***
Liar.
***
Ryland feels like he has been running for hours.
He is almost at the fence, maybe four or five steps away.
Suddenly, he is not upright anymore.
He is face down on the ground, his glasses askew, and all the air knocked out of his lungs. A hand wraps around his wrist in a crushing grip. He whimpers and yelps, his paw caught in the jaw of a hunting dog.
He turns his face to look at the hunter, and sunlight blinds his eyes.
***
The sunlight bouncing off of the display window in the back blinded Ryland's eyes.
He tried to dodge it but no matter how he moved, the sun kept stabbing his eyes. Court finally noticed his fidgeting and nudged him to stand in front of him. Court kept one hand on his shoulder, the other holding Colt's hand.
Nearby, one of the petstore employees was talking to a man, gesturing at the puppies playing in the pen. He pointed out each puppy and explained their personality and their breed. The man seemed the most interested in the biggest puppy in the pen, a black pup with a long, brown snout and pointy ears. It looked like it had stubby brown eyebrows.
Ryland giggled. He ignored Colt asking what was so funny. Ryland wanted to hear more about the funny dog.
“Dobermans will do whatever you ask them to do and do it very well,” the petstore employee explained.
That sounded like the puppy would be friendly. She trotted over and sniffed the air behind the fence near them. The puppy looked friendly. Her fur must be very soft. Ryland reached out to pet her.
Quick as a flick of a tail, Court grabbed his wrist. Though the grip on his wrist was gentle, the suddenness made Ryland jump. "Don't touch, buddy. It might bite."
***
The grip on his wrist bites into Ryland's bones.
His captor leans over him to grab his other wrist and hold them behind his back, his head blocks the sunlight from piercing Ryland's eyes.
He blinks the sun beams away.
And makes eye contact with Court.
Relief floods Ryland's lungs. His brother came for him. He drops his head to the ground and breathes.
Court found him.
"Court! You're here!" Ryland cries happily. He tries to move his arms to get up, but Court does not let go. "It's me, Court. You can let go now."
Ryland yips from the pain of his wrist as Court tightens his grip.
Ryland frowns. Dragging his eyes back up and finally really looking at his brother, his blood freezes at the ferocious look on Court's face.
"Court, what are you doing?" Ryland laughs nervously. "Let me up."
"Stop moving," Court growls.
Tears pool at the corner of Ryland's eyes.
"Court, it's me. It's Ryland," his voice draws out in a whine. "They're making me go. I don't want to go. I don't want to die, Court." His voice breaks on the name of his brother.
Court does not make a sound.
"Court, please," Ryland begs. "Please."
Court is not listening to him.
Court is not even looking at him.
Court…
It dawns on Ryland. He is not looking at his brother. He is looking at a dog at work.
Court is sending him to die.
Court does not want him anymore.
A trail of water caresses his cheek as sunlight floods his eyes.
***
Six stands watch.
He has been guarding over this man for the day. He has to watch for two more. It is a bit of a boring job, but orders are orders.
"You just need to make sure nothing gets in and nothing gets out, Sierra. Just stand there. Or sit there. I don't care. Easy enough, no? Like a guard dog." The sergeant laughed. Six didn't.
The man, a scientist from the Petrova Taskforce, sleeps peacefully on the hospital bed. He has an IV in his hand and a breathing mask covering his nose and mouth. Six envies him. He could use some sleep too.
Six scratches behind his ears and sits on the chair. At least he gets to sit, even if it is an uncomfortable hospital chair.
Six stares at the scientist. He looks quite similar to Six. Eerily similar. It is to the point that Six wonders if the CIA has secretly developed cloning technology and cloned him without him knowing. He does not quite dare ask. He will definitely be better off not knowing.
The scientist could be a doppelganger. His face is not that distinctive. It is possible.
Six does not know why he feels like he is trying to convince himself.
He gets up and stretches. His pulse thunders under his tight skin, like he is anticipating something.
What is it?
He scans the room for what he is missing.
His eyes are drawn to the scientist again. He stares at him.
Six wonders if the man has family. If they know where he is. If they know he is going on a suicide mission to save them. If they know he is not going willingly.
Six wonders if he himself has family. If they misses him.
Six sits there.
And he waits.
***
This is the second day, one more to go, and Six is bored out of his mind.
At least he got some gum now. The chewing helps distract him from whatever is keeping him anxious in the hospital room.
A few soldiers run past the window, cheering and making a ruckus.
Following behind them are a couple of the K-9 units members. One of them carries something in its mouth, blood coating its whiskers and the fur around its mouth. The soldier signals at the dog, and it drops the carcass.
A dead fox.
Six did not know that they let the dogs hunt.
Six goes back to staring at the scientist.
And he waits.
***
It is Six's last day of being a guard dog.
The heart monitor beeps steadily.
The scientist breathes steadily.
Six's mind is a whirlpool. He keeps spinning and spinning, but he cannot swim out. He feels like he is missing something important. Urgent. Yet, he has already performed numerous sweeps around the room. There are no imminent threats that he can detect.
His eyes fall on the scientist. His heart clenches.
Is he growing soft? Does he feel pity for the scientist?
Jittering his legs, he rests his head on one hand and drums his fingers on the chair with the other.
He rests his head on the other hand instead.
He sits.
And he waits.
***
Six stands in the corner as they prepare the scientist for flight. After this, Six can eat a good meal and take a nap, until Suzanne calls him for his next job.
They change the scientist into his white flight suit. The medical team pushes the stretcher out the door toward the launchpad, where a rocket will take him up to the fancy spaceship they built. Six follows the team, as instructed by the sergeant earlier.
They push him between the cabins, wheels squealing over the pavement. Six follows at a distance, so as to not get in the way.
The team flies into a flurry of activity to get the scientist onto the spacecraft.
As they push the stretcher up the ramp through the spacecraft door, Court gets a skull-shattering headache.
***
Court was fifteen and he was scared.
His face itched from blood flaking off from his skin. Metal was the only thing he smelled for the last few hours. His throat still throbbed from the bruise wrapping around his neck like a collar. His ears pulsed with the rush of his blood pumping overtime through his veins.
All he saw was the tear-stained face of his baby brother laying on the stretcher.
He looked so small.
His right arm was twisted the wrong way, and his left eye was black and purple. His hair was limp and lifeless.
His face was dyed in crimson and rust. Only a spot on his cheek was pale as snow, in the shape of a heart. A delicate line of crimson cut through it like an arrow.
They wouldn't let him get closer. Hands that didn't belong to him grabbed at him.
Court didn't feel human. Like the hours before, he was all rage and fear and anguish. He snapped at the hands that got too close and thrashed in the chains they wrapped around him and he howled for his brother.
It was the last time he saw Ryland for a long time.
***
In the end, they muzzled and collared him. They threw him in a cage. He learned to behave. He memorized commands. He learned to catch. He learned to hunt. He learned to tear apart prey.
He learned to do whatever they ask him to do and do it very well.
***
Court knows he is too late, but still he dashes forward in vain for the spacecraft.
As the arms grab at him, as the dart hits his neck, as his vision blurs, he keeps his eyes on the tear-stained face of his baby brother laying on the stretcher.
This is the last time he sees Ryland for the rest of time.
***
Court wakes in that goddamn hospital room.
Head in his hands, he cries for the first time since he was fifteen.
Three fucking days. He sat there. The whole world within his reach.
And all he did was wait.
Like a fucking guard dog.
Dobermans will do whatever you ask them to do and do it very well.
Court throws up.
***
His name is Courtland Gentry.
He has two younger brothers. Colt, who is the laughter of his life. Ryland, who was the life of his laughter.
He was a killer.
He was caged.
He was Sierra Six.
He was free.
He was human.
He was leashed.
He is a killer.
***
A little amnesia was all it took for him to become a working dog again.
It was foolish for him to expect his owners would let their best hound go free. He should have known better than to think he could change. That he could become something more rather than just a killer. He is a hound on a leash, trained, obedient, tamed, ready to hunt, catch, and kill whoever his owner pointed to.
Even the person he should’ve protected in the first place. He might as well have shot his own baby brother point blank in the head.
What happens to dogs that attack their owners?
If it weren't for Colt, Court would put himself down like the feral mutt he is.
***
“Consider it a parting gift for helping us out, Sierra.” The sergeant grins and passes over a scarf.
Court holds the scarf in his hands. It is the softest thing his fingers had ever touched. The color is stunning. Crimson as the sunrise, with paintbrush strokes of snow. There is a white spot in the middle that looks like a heart, with a delicate streak of rust cutting through the middle like an arrow.
Dread fills his lungs with blood.
“What is it?” His voice trembled ever so slightly. The sergeant does not notice.
“Fox fur. The boys hunted it.” The sergeant puffs out his chest. “I skinned it myself.”
Court drops the scarf like it is the sun.
***
He came back for him.
He found him.
He never promised not to forget him.