Get Out Alive (parts 1 + 2: captured and needles)

The sky roared above the city, thunder tearing through the sky as rain poured down from the darkened clouds. Lightning cracked through the dark sky, a brilliant flash of white illuminating two shapes that trudged through the thick, wet mud along a set of train tracks.

A large black canine stopped in his tracks, pointed ears pressed against his skull as he looked over his shoulder, dark green eyes gazing at the smaller canine who was walking noticeably slower than the black male. The smaller agender dog’s white and black splotched fur was covered in mud. His black ears were pressed down against his head, his muzzle aimed down towards the ground, emerald green eyes downcast and unreadable.

“Shamrock.” The black male said sharply, easily gaining the Yakutian Laika dog’s attention. They stopped and looked up, their slightly curled tail tucking between their legs.

“Y-yes?” Shamrock stammered, feeling small under their father’s hard, stone-cold gaze.

“Pick up your pace back there, or I’m leaving you behind.” The onyx-furred dog coldly growled. Shamrock whimpered quietly before quickening their pace into a brisk trot to reach their father’s side.

Nightshade was definitely the most intimidating individual Shamrock had ever met. Ever since Wyllow, Shamrock’s mother had passed away only weeks after Shamrock’s birth, Nightshade had been strict with the younger dog. The mental and emotional abuse had taken a toll on Shamrock, obviously. But deep down, Shamrock knew that their father still cared for them, he was just too much of a narcissist to think about his offspring more often instead of himself.

Because of Nightshade’s narcissistic personality disorder, Shamrock wasn’t able to talk to their father about their problems, nor were they able to seek out the advice of a friend or relative. Nightshade isolated Shamrock and practically drilled that one lesson into their mind at a young age:

“Friends will only distract you and slow you down. Family members will try to drag you down because of your accomplishments. You don’t need them. Only I can make you into something of worth, Shamrock.”

And so, Shamrock only had their thoughts to keep them company, and most of the time, those thoughts weren’t positive. Voices, sounds, and apparitions plagued Shamrock’s mind almost every single day, tormenting him and driving him to an emotional breakdown.

Keeping certain things such as Shamrock’s gender identity and sexual and romantic orientation from Nightshade was...harder said than done.

It was around the time Shamrock had turned a year old that he began feeling...different. Being called “son”, “boy”, or any term that was exclusively masculine just made Shamrock uncomfortable. For weeks up to a month and a half, Shamrock hated himself because of his own confusing feelings about his gender.

It wasn’t until Shamrock had eavesdropped on a pair of Leashed Dogs that he caught them talking about the word “agender.” It was then that Shamrock had finally discovered his gender identity. The problem was, he couldn’t come out to his father. Shamrock didn’t know Nightshade’s opinions on those that identified with a gender that wasn’t the one they were assigned with at birth, and quite frankly, he did not want to come out until he knew it was safe to do so.

“Shamrock, watch your step!”

Nightshade’s shouting voice pulled Shamrock from their thoughts. The white-and-black stray was only a few more paw steps away from a steep slope that dropped down into a river of muddy, rushing water. Usually, the ditch was dry, but now, it was a river that would kill any dog foolish enough to swim in its tumbling, deadly currents.

“Shamrock, I need you to slowly back away from the slope,” Nightshade said, his voice almost barely audible above the pouring rain. Shamrock looked over their shoulder at their father, who was a few yards behind them.

“O-okay…” Shamrock stuttered. They looked back at the slope before slowly taking a step back. Then another.

“That’s it, you’re doing good!” Nightshade barked. Shamrock’s heart hammered against their chest as they backed away from the edge of the incline. Only a few more steps and then they’d be okay-

Thunder roared above the land, echoing across the sky as lightning cut erratic zig-zags into the black sky. Shamrock let out a yelp of surprise, jolting forward as instinct took control of their movements. Before Shamrock knew it, they were slipping down a muddy slope towards the rushing waters of the river.

Paws scrambled the wet ground, attempting to find any kind of footing, but it was no use. It was as though Shamrock’s entire life flashed across their vision, as cliche as it sounded, but it was the only way Shamrock could describe it.

“SHAMROCK!” Nightshade’s distressed howl cut through the air only a split second before Shamrock was swept up into the tumbling waters.

Shamrock’s head was pounding, every cell in their body was screaming for oxygen. They kept fighting the current, paws scrambling in the water. Their head broke through the surface, and they took in gulps of air before the waters yanked him down beneath the surface once more. The canine kept fighting until they felt as though their head was about to explode.

Pain suddenly struck through Shamrock’s skull as his head hit something hard and jagged. A rock, maybe? No...it was most definitely a pipe of some kind. Splotches of red and black danced at the edges of Shamrock’s vision, and he suddenly couldn’t remember if his eyes were open or closed. The urgency for air was more apparent than ever.

And then...darkness enveloped Shamrock as he slipped into unconsciousness.

. . . . .

Something tugged at Shamrock’s scruff, pulling him up.

Voices spoke in a language he couldn’t understand. Did they sound...concerned? Worried?

Shamrock’s eyes opened slightly. His vision was blurred and everything was an unrecognizable blob of color. A black shape caught his attention and he slowly turned his head. Did it seem to be...watching him?

Was it Nightshade?

“D-dad…?” Shamrock whined softly. The black shape suddenly moved away and out of his line of sight.

Something warm and soft was wrapped around him, reminding Shamrock of the embrace of his mother.

Unconsciousness overtook his mind once more.

. . . . .

“Aye! Wake up!”

The unfamiliar voice snapped Shamrock out of his snooze, and he leaped to his paws, teeth bared and a growl emitted from his throat.

“Easeh, easeh!” Shamrock looked down at the floor, only to see a long...furry snake thing standing up on its back legs. The creature had a long body with a brown pelt. There were smudges of cream coloring on the thing’s belly and its face. There was a small splash of brown covering the animal’s burgundy-colored eyes, almost like a mask. A tiny pink nose was pointed in the air, a small dash of brown on the right side of the nose. Round ears were perked up curiously.

“Ah ain’t gonna hurt ya,” the strange creature said in an accent Shamrock couldn’t recognize. It was...very foreign.

Snarl fading, Shamrock leaned his head down to get a better look at the thing, curiosity getting the better of him.

“What...are you?” the white-and-black dog asked. The creature tilted its head to the side at Shamrock.

“Have ya nevah seen a ferret before?” chirped the little thing. Shamrock shook his head, the word not ringing any bells.

“No...is that what you are?” asked the canine. The ferret nodded.

“It’s exactleh whot ah am.”

Shamrock went to circle around the ferret, but a sharp tug around their neck stopped them. Letting out a startled yelp, Shamrock stumbled back down into a lopsided sitting position, and wheezed.

Looking over their shoulder, Shamrock realized what had stopped them.

There was a silver chain connected to a small square panel on the floor. The chain connected to something around Shamrock’s neck. Every time the canine tugged, the thing would tighten around their windpipe, causing them to cough and wheeze.

“Be careful, Shammie. Ya’r gonna hurt yarself.” The ferret warned, his round little ears twitching slightly. The agender looked at the ferret, ears folding back warily.

“How...do you know my name?” they asked, narrowing their emerald eyes at the brown animal.

The ferret chuckled lightly. “Ahh, it’s on yar collah!”

“My what-?”

The ferret dropped down onto all fours and scuttled towards the canine, tiny feet tapping against the cold, hard floor. The ferret climbed his way up Shamrock’s right leg, little claws digging into their fur.

"Ya got a collah on ya, doggeh! Yar tied on a leash." The little creature explained as he pulled himself onto Shamrock's back. 

"W-why am I tied?!" the dog exclaimed, heart pounding.

The ferret hissed quietly."Aye, calm! Iss just a protocol! Protect you 'n' workers. Nothin' bad. Jus' don't tug or ya're gonna git hurt."

Strange how Shamrock was taking advice from an animal with an accent like it was nothing. Didn't Nightshade say that no one should be trusted, no matter how friendly they seem?

The ferret was speaking again, pulling Shamrock from their thoughts. 

“Ah ahlmost forgot! Mah name’s Florence!” The ferret chirped as he perched himself on Shamrock’s head. “Ya’re in an animal testing fahciliteh.”

Shamrock’s blood went cold. They had heard stories of animal testing facilities. Places where humans would kidnap animals and take them to be experimented on. Sometimes they would never be heard from again.

Dread pooled in the dog’s gut and their ears pressed flat against their head.

“Hey, hey, hey! Calm yarself. Since ya’ve onleh been here for the past whot...seven hours? They aren’t gonna do anythang majar. They’re gonna start with blood sahmples first though, make sure ya’re healtheh ‘n’ stuff.”

“H-how long will I be here…?” Shamrock stuttered, their heart hammering inside their chest. Florence hummed as if he was thinking.

“Depends, honestleh. Mah guess is six months, maybeh a year? Ya’ll be alright though.” Florence reassured, a small foot patting the dog’s head.

“Ey, Ah’ve met lots of animals here, so ah think ah should ahsk this now. Whot pronouns do ya use?”

Pronouns? Wait...Florence has met others like me…? Shamrock thought, blinking in surprise.

“U-uhm...he-him and they-them,” answered Shamrock. Florence nodded.

“Good ta know. Don’t wannah make ya dysphoric!” he chirped.

. . . . .

A few hours had passed, and Shamrock and Florence were idly chatting with each other. Florence was definitely the kind that loved talking. He spoke about his family and his homeland, which was in Scotland, and about how he’d been living in Chicago for the last year.

Another thing Shamrock had learned about Florence was that while the ferret had never been in a long-term relationship before, he had definitely had a few partners, some males, some females, some either both or in between, but they hadn’t worked out.

It genuinely surprised Shamrock that someone could have an attraction to more than one gender.

“Ah’m bisexual, Shammie. Ah like lassies ‘n’ lads, ‘n’ sometimes ah’ll find a nonconformin’ fella’ interestin’.” Florence explained.

By the end of the day, Shamrock was opening up about their gender and how they had figured themselves out. It was nice, being able to talk to someone after all the years Shamrock had kept everything inside.

“Aye, ya’re ahlone, aren’tcha, Shammie?” Florence suddenly asked. The question caught Shamrock off guard, and they looked at Florence, surprised.

“Uh...y-yeah...my...mother died sometime after I was born, and my father...he’s not that great, but he’s taken care of me since my mother passed.” Shamrock said, “Although...he did keep me from meeting others, saying stuff like how they’ll only slow me down.”

Florence let out a hiss of disgust, baring tiny little teeth at the ceiling. “Ah hate pahrents like that! Ahsolatin’ a child ain’t good for ‘em, ya know? They need to find ‘emselves ‘n’ experience stuff like happiness ‘n’ heartbreak. They gotta learn whot it’s like to go through stuff ‘n’ how to deal with it.”

The ferret stood up on his back legs again, looking at Shamrock with almost a determined look on his face. “Ah won’t leave ya, Shammie! Ah can promise ya that.”

“Thanks…”

. . . . .

“Is there anything I should know about this place?”

The next morning, a few of what Florence called “scientists” let Shamrock out of...whatever Shamrock had been in, and let them explore a wide yard called the “pen”.

It was a large grassy yard that was two and a half acres big and fenced in with chainlink fences and barbed wire. There were a handful of other canines roaming around, but they avoided Shamrock, clearly wary of the new addition.

“Well...almost all of the animals here think this is whot they call the ‘vet’, but whot they don’t know is that ah few largah animals are being tested on with lab-made diseases.” Florence said, “Some of ‘em lose control and hafta be put down.”

Shamrock’s ears folded back. “Damn…”

“Yeah. Ah think they’re workin’ for their highah ups, ya know? Somethin’ ‘bout makin’ a thing that the militareh can use in war ‘n’ stuff. Tryna bring down the amount of human casualties on the battlefield, ah guess.” Florence explained, shrugging. Shamrock stopped in their tracks.

“W-wait, they’re trying to make animals into things of war?!” The canine barked.

“Aye, aye! Keep yar voice down!” Florence hissed, “Listen, the ahthers don’t know ‘bout this. There are animals that work as guards to make sure no one’s gettin’ in or out. If they find out that ya know whot’s happenin’, they’ll keell ya before ya can even lift a paw to defend yarself. So just keep ya jaws shut, a’ight?”

Shamrock nodded and looked around. No one seemed to have heard them, and if someone had, they didn’t show it.

“So…” Shamrock whispered in a low voice. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“If ah had told anyone else, they would’ve flaht out laughed in mah face. Ya’re young ‘n’ smart. Ah’m onleh tellin’ ya this so ya can make a choice. Stay ‘n’ become a mindless machine of war, or try ‘n’ escape.” Florence said, “It’s yar choice, Shammie.”

. . . . .

A week had passed, and more and more scientists were beginning to visit Shamrock. They had put them in a small room, the floor, walls, and ceiling all a light gray color. There was a black tarp in the far corner of the room with a rug on top of it. Two metallic bowls had been placed next to the sorry excuse for a bed, one filled with clear water and the other occasionally filled with either small, crunchy brown pellets or soft, yellow chunks of food that were always warm and covered in little white pellet things (Shamrock later learned that this was something called scrambled eggs and fried rice.)

The scientists would come in at different times of the day, mostly one or two at a time. One of them would be holding a thin, flat object and had a plastic-looking thing in the other hand and would write stuff down on the flat object.

The other one would be checking Shamrock’s eyes, ears, and mouth. They hated it when they looked in their mouth. So uncomfortable.

But then one day, during a routine check-up, Shamrock began hearing this loud rattling noise, almost like the noise they’d hear when they tipped their food bowl over and all the brown pellets would spill across the floor. The scientists didn’t seem to hear the noise and casually carried on with the check-up.

A large mass of black suddenly appeared behind the scientist who was checking Shamrock’s ears. Two orange eyes glowed and stared Shamrock straight in the eyes. It stood completely still, not moving an inch.

Then it lunged.

Letting out a yelp, Shamrock scuttled backward, trying to get away from the thing. The scientist who had been checking Shamrock let out a sound of surprise, his hands jolting back.

The mass lunged at Shamrock again, and they bared their teeth at it, jaws snapping once before the thing suddenly disappeared. The rattling noise stopped instantly, but then a sound like wind blowing came to the canine’s ears.

Shamrock cowered in the corner, their belly low to the ground. The scientists looked at each other, murmuring a few words to one another. The human holding the flat object scribbled something down on it before gesturing to the door.

The two left Shamrock alone, the clicking of the door being locked echoing through the room.

Trembling, Shamrock collapsed onto their stomach and panted heavily, tongue hanging out of their jaws.

What was that? Why didn’t the humans do anything? Could they not see it?

Questions and questions flooded the dog’s mind, but no answers came. Shamrock curled up into a tight ball, not even bothering to get up and move to their bed.

I need to get out of here…