[Partial transcript of conversation recorded in one of a number of Dominion Club locations]
So I was at a depot, getting some maintenance done. Nothing major, just stuff you gotta do every ten thousand miles or whatever. Re-calibrating arms, flushing tubes, making sure the RCG links are operating at peak performance, boring stuff you can get done anywhere. I should stay on top of it all, but it's easier to get it done in a batch, you know? I'm sitting there just doing paperwork while I'm waiting, when I spy this calico skulking around in a pair of fake RCGs, thinking he's going unnoticed in an incredibly restricted area. He sees me, I see him, and even before the little warnings pop up I recognize that face. He bugs out, and I'm out the door a second later, with backup.
Yeah, that backup. I wasn't the only one getting a tune-up that day, and I was not taking any chances. What? Nah, 'course not. Weather was terrible, everyone who couldn't stay indoors was putting all their attention into the wind and rain. Besides, that whole neighborhood's practically swimming in glasses. Anyone wearing a set had the sudden urge to look the other way or distract someone who wasn't. You know, the usual.
I chase him for, I dunno, half an hour? I'm not checking the recording. The whole time, the network's just quietly making sure that any real chance of escape gets blocked, messing with the traffic lights and keeping doorways full of other people. Not enough to ruin the fun, just making sure he doesn't slip through my fingers again. Finally, he ends up in a blind alley that didn't look like it a moment ago, back against the wall, slumping to the ground too exhausted to even stand back up. He'd dropped his gun going over a fence earlier, and even if he hadn't, I doubt he even had enough bullets, or that he could have held the gun steady enough to take a shot.
Well, what do you think you do in that situation? I let him squirm for a few moments, slowly advancing, then I put a lamp on him and start gloating. I've been after this idiot for years, and he just drops into my lap, of course I'm going to do the whole tell-them-your-evil-plan thing. I drop everything he's been wondering from all those times he got away; how I snuck onto that phone call, how I got out of that industrial press, all that fun stuff. I mean, sure, he could probably guess most of it based by the figures standing around, but it was important to let him know the scale, y'know? Then, while I'm taking off and putting my own glasses on his face, I start telling him, in excrutiating detail that I will not repeat in mixed company, what kind of fun we're going to have together in a couple of weeks. What's going to happen when the programming kicks in, and how much we're going to make him enjoy it. Remind me tomorrow to send out invitations, it's going to be incredible.
That's the best part! The moment he tries, he goes into a fugue, starts meowing commercial jingles. Won't for the life of him be able to figure out why nobody believes a word, even if they play back a recording. He's going to be stewing in this up until it's too late, when his whole world snaps into perfect, rosy focus.
...Oh my god, is that Vince just starting her shift? Quick, tell the bartender I'm calling in some favors. I gotta get up to the balcony now. I'm unplugged for the night, and I have got to have some reason to hate myself in the morning, or what's the point?
Yes, this is a repost. I recently went through to remove a number of pictures with certain elements that really aren't worth rebroadcasting in 2019, but on reflection this one can stay. Please pardon any confusion.
Art: Strype
So I was at a depot, getting some maintenance done. Nothing major, just stuff you gotta do every ten thousand miles or whatever. Re-calibrating arms, flushing tubes, making sure the RCG links are operating at peak performance, boring stuff you can get done anywhere. I should stay on top of it all, but it's easier to get it done in a batch, you know? I'm sitting there just doing paperwork while I'm waiting, when I spy this calico skulking around in a pair of fake RCGs, thinking he's going unnoticed in an incredibly restricted area. He sees me, I see him, and even before the little warnings pop up I recognize that face. He bugs out, and I'm out the door a second later, with backup.
Yeah, that backup. I wasn't the only one getting a tune-up that day, and I was not taking any chances. What? Nah, 'course not. Weather was terrible, everyone who couldn't stay indoors was putting all their attention into the wind and rain. Besides, that whole neighborhood's practically swimming in glasses. Anyone wearing a set had the sudden urge to look the other way or distract someone who wasn't. You know, the usual.
I chase him for, I dunno, half an hour? I'm not checking the recording. The whole time, the network's just quietly making sure that any real chance of escape gets blocked, messing with the traffic lights and keeping doorways full of other people. Not enough to ruin the fun, just making sure he doesn't slip through my fingers again. Finally, he ends up in a blind alley that didn't look like it a moment ago, back against the wall, slumping to the ground too exhausted to even stand back up. He'd dropped his gun going over a fence earlier, and even if he hadn't, I doubt he even had enough bullets, or that he could have held the gun steady enough to take a shot.
Well, what do you think you do in that situation? I let him squirm for a few moments, slowly advancing, then I put a lamp on him and start gloating. I've been after this idiot for years, and he just drops into my lap, of course I'm going to do the whole tell-them-your-evil-plan thing. I drop everything he's been wondering from all those times he got away; how I snuck onto that phone call, how I got out of that industrial press, all that fun stuff. I mean, sure, he could probably guess most of it based by the figures standing around, but it was important to let him know the scale, y'know? Then, while I'm taking off and putting my own glasses on his face, I start telling him, in excrutiating detail that I will not repeat in mixed company, what kind of fun we're going to have together in a couple of weeks. What's going to happen when the programming kicks in, and how much we're going to make him enjoy it. Remind me tomorrow to send out invitations, it's going to be incredible.
That's the best part! The moment he tries, he goes into a fugue, starts meowing commercial jingles. Won't for the life of him be able to figure out why nobody believes a word, even if they play back a recording. He's going to be stewing in this up until it's too late, when his whole world snaps into perfect, rosy focus.
...Oh my god, is that Vince just starting her shift? Quick, tell the bartender I'm calling in some favors. I gotta get up to the balcony now. I'm unplugged for the night, and I have got to have some reason to hate myself in the morning, or what's the point?
Yes, this is a repost. I recently went through to remove a number of pictures with certain elements that really aren't worth rebroadcasting in 2019, but on reflection this one can stay. Please pardon any confusion.
Art: Strype
Category Artwork (Digital) / General Furry Art
Species Canine (Other)
Gender Trans (Female)
Size 544 x 850px
Listed in Folders
Dat bust and glow is perfect!
But... what’s the backstory behind this narration?
But... what’s the backstory behind this narration?
Most of it's meant to be picked up in context, but in brief: The lady in the center of the frame is just eagerly retelling a story to other officers in the Dominion Club, a high-profile Korps establishment. Specifically, the story that led up to that picture.
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