Fashionable Murder?

[Foxes Raccoon Dogs Raccoons]

<Hell is not what one would expect it to be. It has no flames reaching tall against a black sky. There are no barren chasms of hard, shark rock. No rivers of lava bubble and course below cages of imprisoned souls. There is not a single deamon, not one red-bodied hellion of the horn and hoof. There was never once a wickedly curved pitchfork, no sight of human flesh being devoured by creatures of the underworld. No, hell was a very simple place. There was a clear blue sky, a warm spring breeze, and countless rows of sturdy, well-constructed, open-sided sheds filled with cages. There was no smell of sulfur, just the ammonia reek of waste and the omnipresent redolence of decay and fresh-spilt blood.
A place need not look like hell to be hell. It needn't smell like it. However, one thing that always suggests hell keenly is sound. Hopelessness and despair have voices. Terror has intruments. Hell is a symphony of fear, of desparation, and this place proudly sang its tune. The unearthly screeches and cries of terror and disdain. The hopeless wailing of those with crushed spirits. The sputtering death-gasps of those being killed. No cheerful blue sky or quaint country setting could mask the face of Hades if one listened to these sounds.
It was a very large fur farm. At least 20 sheds, each holding countless rows of cages packed full of wild animals. Many species were represented here; the good, familiar natives - raccoons, foxes, and bobcats - and the exotics, like the raccoon dogs, nutria, and other obscure beasts. It didn't matter what they were; they were all treated the same. A small cage, a smaller nest-box, barren wire floors, and old, sub-standard food; that was the staple for every creature there. There was no water for the nutria to swim in, no dens for the foxes, no live prey for the bobcats. Just bars, cold and unforgiving.
Yggdrasil had his face pressed to the bars of his cage, presently. He was not frightened like many of those around him, being a rather completely domesticated fox from old, european lines. His pelt a mimic of the border collie, his disposition like that of a dog, the male was somewhat out of place amongst the panicked, screeching hoards of "real" wildlife. He was, rather, quite terribly bored. He was a highly intelligent fox, probably because his lack of fear and dull survival instincts gave him more time to think than his compatriates.
Perhaps here, it was more a curse than blessing; all he had to think about was the sheer and crushing monotony of the place. Every day the same thing; the human arrived and everyone panicked. Sub-standard food was doled out to the famished crowds, and a terrible deal of fighting ensued. The victors ate the lion's share, and the rest? Well, one could only hope to be slaughtered before starving to death. It was an ugly, brutish, and dull existance.
In the next row of cages, a pair of other canines was resting, got Deip and Gusztav had little reason to stay awake. A first glance might have suggested that they were raccoons, but upon closer inspection, both were distinctively exotic and unlike any raccoon to grace North America's fair soil. It wasn't that the male had a luxurious white pelt, or that the female caged with him was piebald; new variations of pelt colored were being developed all the time. No, it was the way they held themselves, the way they communicated. A few moments of observation made it clear that they were canines to the bone, merely peculiar, raccoon-like ones. The farm had an impressive collection of Raccoon Dogs, from the more standard colorations to the rare whites and piebalds. The operation's owner had been very selective in choosing his stock, wanting only the finest pelts... and it showed.
Perhaps equally impressive and gorgeous was yet another species, this time in an entirely different shed that was positioned to the front of the former. The creatures on the very last two cages of the rows could see down the long corridors of the seemingly endless shed filled from end to end with caged raccoons. White raccoons, tan raccoons, blonde raccoos, dun raccoons; every color imaginable, and every one of them miserable, bored, nuerotic, and depressed. Amongst them was a small, placid-tempered female named Averil. She stared forlornly from her cage, tiny paws clinging to the wires and greyish nose pressed inbetween two bars. She was not the type to pace, knaw, and shriek like the others; she mostly just stared out of the cage endlessly, not particularly looking at anything but the slow and gradual removal of the raccoons around her. She knew that one day, it would be her turn, and her frantic screams would fill the air - though only briefly. But not today, perhaps not tomorrow. It was a waiting game of the most macabre kind.>

[Chenoa Shilah]

A dull pair of umber eyes stared blankly, trance-like, out of the wired surrounding them. The eyes belonged to a beautifully cloaked animal, who's mind had been put under so much stress for such a long time, she sometimes found it difficult to remember her own name. Wait - did she even have a name? She hadn't heard it in so long...
"Chenoa." the sudden youthful voice caused her start, her umber eyes looking in the direction of a lilac-colored body. She stared at it for a long time, wonderingly. How did it get in here? What was it doing?
"Chenoa!" it said again, this time louder. The marble fox cocked her beautiful head.
Oh, yes! That was her name! And Shilah was the youngster - her cagemate.
Chenoa blinked her eyes several times, as if to force away the grip of insanity, and got to her paws.

The lilac youth lifted a tender paw off the painful wire and watched Chenoa step closer, tenderly, shyly. She was being cautious, her ears resting against her skull and her head low. Was the beast around? She sniffed the air. It smelled like fear, stress, insanity, and, above all else, death. Chenoa shivered and slunk back to where she was. Shilah took another look out at the surrounding waste, and padded tenderly back to where Chenoa had laid back down.
"Can we leave now?"

Shilah, like nearly all the foxes at the farm, had been born into this disgusting lifestyle of torture and death. He had a very strong sense of instinct, however, that sent him apart from foxes like Chenoa. After years of inbreeding and captivity that her ancestors went through, what little instinct that Chenoa still retained wasn't nearly as honed as Shilah's.
Sometimes it pissed her off. But Chenoa was never one to argue or complain.

Shilah sighed loudly as his question went unanswered and struggled fruitlessly to find a more comfortable position. It was all the same and after several minutes, the lilac youngster got up again and shook his fluffy coat.
"Sleep." Chenoa said, her voice quiet and shy, like a soft breeze.
"Not tired." replied Shilah.
"Try."
"I can't."
Chenoa sat up tenderly and leaned over to clean the youngster's ears. Shilah sat down and let himself be cleaned. Inside the youth's mind, he was screaming to be free of this place of torture, if not by being wild, then by being dead.

[Nekoda and Angra Manyu]

:Nekoda lay with his side pressed against his cage wall, luxurious fur touching the back of the female who lay on the other side of the divide. He had spoken to the angry little female near-constantly for the last handful of hours, with nothing left to do but chatter at her, his voice calm and soothing despite being a deep, booming baritone. A few new cuts had oozed blood when he approached too swiftly, in the first part of the very once-sided conversation, when the female was still defensive- the shockingly beautiful (if thin) female had been moved to the cage just yesterday, perhaps put in the slightly smaller cage so that two, maybe even three bobcats or lynx could be crammed into her previous one. Whatever the reason for her arrival, Nekoda was intent upon making this cat his friend, to not fail the female that had just been dragged away kicking and spitting...
Don’t think about it. It won’t help to think about her.
:Over the hours, however, Nekoda had slowly managed to win the bobcat over, telling her tales that he had heard from other cats, speaking of the wild, coming up with fantastical creations on the spot when he found a weak spot to the other cat’s soul. She hadn’t really spoken yet- Nekoda didn’t even know her name- yet she no longer attempted to kill him, and that was all Nekoda really cared about. He could get her to speak later. After all, is that not my penance? To befriend, make less fearful, to bring joy, to any female I meet? After what I did? No. I should not think of that, either. I have stopped. I do this out of kindness, now, not in penance. My penance is paid, to myself, to the mothers, to the kits. Nekoda did not stop his voice’s purring deepness as he continued on with his tale, the story of his life.
“... So, after all of that, they put me in a breeding pen with this female lynx- spit fire, black-coated demon of a female, flaming red eyes with silver pupils and fangs the size of a human’s finger- and she hisses at me, and I know better, so I tell her right off the bat: ‘Honey, I don’t want nothin’ to do with this, either, so we might as well just not start fightin’, cause I ain’t bringing any kits into this world, and I ain’t doin’ anything you don’ want me to.’ And you know what she tells me? Nothin’. That lynx completely ignores what I said, and she flings her skinny little body at me, and that’s how I got this here scar on my muzzle-“ Ah, so the female bobcat was listening- her head swiveled to look at his face, golden eyes tracing the scar that ran across the bridge of his nose “-and she beats me up somethin’ fine, until a human comes rushin’ in to save me, grabs me by the scruff, and throws me in this here cage. And you know what, hun? They never came back for me. Them ignoramuses forgot me here.”
:Angra Manyu giggled, a strange sound coming from such a terrifically flighty and rage-filled creature. Nekoda grinned with pleasure- he had thought that him telling her, straight-up, that he used to be a breeder, might put her off, and she had, had snarled at him and glared at him all the darker. Even if she hadn’t been breeding stock herself- Nekoda had been a fur farm-ey long enough to be able to tell breeding and fur stock apart- she responded negatively to the statement, as all the cats in the place did. No one liked the idea of being bred without choosing your mate. Thankfully, she calmed down when he told her that he had tried to make up for it, encouraging the other cats, and anyway, it had been more than a year since then (unless he had gone completely bonkers, and lost total track of time).
“Don’ you have a story to tell, hun?”
:She looked at him, eyes half-lidded in a predatory gaze. Those did not seem the eyes of someone who could giggle- so it was that Nekoda always found himself surprised, in this place. Usually, by the manners in which madness could manifest, making the sudden realization that traces of childishness, of innocence, could still be found in his life.
“My name is Angra Manyu. I think I might be rather mad. I know that I’m angry. I know that you’re off your rockers.” The cat yawned, and, back still pressed to the side of the cage, curled up to sleep. Nekoda purred softly to show his happiness with her revelation, stayed still even though the urge hit him to pace- after all, he had done good work here. Now, he knew the cat’s name, knew that she knew her own level of insanity to some point, that she wasn’t one of the particularly crazed ones that didn’t even know they were bonkers.
:Ones, for example, like the overly gregarious Nekoda.:

:Hecuba started from an uneasy sleep, raccoon-like head raising on her thick neck. She squinted against the bright glare of headlights, ears flattening at a sudden burst of half-whispered human-speech from in front of the sheds. The lights flicked off, and the sound of heavy clomping could be heard approaching the cages. Hecuba stood, stretched, bright eyes locked onto the approaching shadows. The break in routine, the sudden arrival of something odd, had caught her attention, and she wasn’t quite frightened- more, fascinated.
:Priam, on the other hand, was startled- he had been completely worn out from his day attempting to convince Hecuba to breed, and was sprawled on his side on the wire bottom of the cage when light across his eyelids woke him. He sprang to his feet, teeth bared and fur bristling from shoulder to haunch. Hecuba glared at him, much to his annoyance- seeing that the other raccoon dog wasn’t affected by the sudden light and noise, he calmed down, figuring she knew something he didn’t. It didn’t occur to him that she was just a bit more bonkers, and thus unaffected by anything that would normally be stressful.
:The men set to work swiftly, carting dog and cat carriers and wire cutters, snipping away the door locks and ripping down cage walls, yanking out struggling canines and shoving them into the depths of the plastic cages. Priam and Hecuba watched, both fascinated, both stock-still in a surreal state of calm as many others were dragged, screaming, away. Both were somewhat shocked when the men came to their cage, as if they expected they would just look them over. The duo reacted differently in their surprise.
:Priam hackled, backed up as far as he could, rump squashed against the back of the cage. Hecuba regarded the man with a steady gaze locked onto his face, fur bristled slightly, tail held dominantly and posture regal. The human looked surprised, scruffed her, and threw her into the cage, giving her a few moments of panicked struggling before Priam joined her, fighting and snapping. As the male threw himself upwards, teeth flashing as he attempted to chew his way out of the new enclosure, Hecuba spoke:
“Oh, please. None of that. Can’t be worse than where we were.” Priam glared at the female, settled, panting and still looking panicked.:

:In the area where the lynx and bobcat were kept, Nekoda was putting up more of a fight than was probably good for him. Unsheathed claws tore into the leather of a thick glove, needle teeth bared and glittering with the light of the flashlights, yowling as if the demons of his nightmares were after him. Humans cursed, fought with the struggling tom, finally managed to shove him into a create. The man who had dealt with the bobcat panted, wiped a hand across his forhead, cursed when he realized that a wayward claw had managed to score on his upper arm. He didn’t even remember the cat getting that close to his throat.
<You should get that checked.>
<Shut up. Just take this one to the van, and I’ll get the female.>
:Angra Manyu smiled sweetly at the human as he began to cut away at the wires of her cage. One can imagine how that situation went. Eventually, however, both of the bobcats were loaded into the van, and the men moved on, picking out the healthiest specimens they could find, cutting away at their cages, shoving them into crates...:

[Raccoon Dogs Foxes Raccoon]

<Their cage located in the depths of the farm, Deip and Gusztav were not awoken by the headlights that never reached their cage, nor the quiet sound of gravel being flung up onto the grass as tires ground to a halt in front of the barns. Indeed, the pair was still sleeping soundly, curled around one another in a tight bundle to keep away the cold. They were not stirred by the increased sounds of distress coming from the other barns; shrieks and snarls of terror and agression were always common on the farm, and had become white noise to the duo. The strangled cry of a raccoon having its throat stomped, the high-pitched whines of fox pups sniffing over their deceased and maggot-ridden littermate; it was all old hat, a typical soundtrack of every day life. The cries of misery were breeze in the leaves, robins singing on a spring morning.
One thing, however, that was a deviation from the norm was the feeling of Gusztav's body being violently wrenched away from her own. Deip's eyes shot open just in time to see her mate's overgrown claws scrabbling against the wire door-frame as he was dragged away by a gloved hand. One claw caught in the wire, twisting his toe violently and eliciting a sharp scream from the white canid. The nail split with a spray of blood, but it slowed the human long enough for Deip to launch herself across the cage and sink her teeth into the black-clad human paw.
Her teeth met a thick, synthetic fiber that left a foul taste in her mouth, but she held fast, grinding her jaws to and fro despite her sore, infected gums from the poor nutrition. Eventually, her canine peirced the skin, and she felt blood pool around the tooth with great satisfaction. She then winced, anticipating the inevitable blows and abuse she always recieved if she attacked during feeding. Yet though the human gave a hiss of pain, he neither released Gusztav nor struck her; instead, he muttered something low and soothing that she neither understood nor appreciated.>
[It's ok, little one; I won't hurt you.]
<The man's words were in vain, for she only continued her hold, though found it hard to cause any more injury through the thick fabric of the gloves. Eventually, he worked his other hand into the cage and grabbed her scruff before she could even release her current hold and attack. Shrieking and twisting, Deip was dragged from the cage along with her mate, and the two were uncerimoniously dumped into a large plastic crate in a heap. They were terrified... but at least they were together.>

<Averil wasn't sure if she should be excited or frightened. There were so many things going on! First the big, shiny lights. Then the rattling, clattering plastic and wire boxes emerged. The masked humans, the flash lights, the strange metal sticks that ate through the cages - it was all very fascinating to the exhuberent young raccoon. In fact, she was so captivated by the change in pace that she was standing against the bars, small hands clasping two lateral wire slats and face pressed hard against the walls of her prision, when the humans came to her.
All around, raccoons were retreating, chattering threateningly as they crouched in terror at the backs of their cages. Yet to her, these humans didn't feel dangerous; they didn't have the blood and chemical reek of skinners, or the filthy maggot-ridden stench of the feeders. These humans smelled clean and well kept, and carried no apparent weapons. Though their faces were obscured by masks, she could see some hint of kindness in their nervous eyes, not the dull indifference and frustration most of her caregivers displayed. Could it be that they meant no harm?
Averil would take her chances; after all, the strange boxes they were loading animals into might be the vessel to some thrilling adventure. If nothing else, it might at least lead to her death, which would be more exciting than sitting in this cage day in and day out. The raccon, as thus, offered no resistance as gentle hands lifted her through the jagged wire opening of her cage door.>
___With the din of so many screaming foxes, Adamina would be lucky if his hearing would ever be the same. The russet fox huddled in the back of his cage, wire biting into his urine-raw pawpads, watching with wide-eyed fear as foxes were pulled one by one from their cages all around him and hurried off to some unseen destination that smelled like exhaust fumes and old rubber. Something about the whole affair seemed strange. The humans weren't dressed as they normally were, donning black masks so that their eyes were only beady slits, the whites showing all around like they were perpetually terrified. They held the foxes gingerly, still scruffing them but also cupping their bodies or cradling them gently. And not a one was being brought to the shed where every astute creature around could feel the electricity in the air and smell the searing of tender internal flesh.
___Still, the fox was not optimistic, his face still a mask of fright and ears flattened in terror and submission against his skull. In a way, he suspected some terrible new method of killing, one that lay beyond the vision of the foxes, beyond the killing shed and dead heap. It had to be something really awful, tucked away like that and excecuted only by these peculiar masked men. Though Adimana had never feared death, he always feared dying - and now he feared it all the more. For while he felt deserving of his fate, he wondered how painful it would be, and what if anything lay beyond. In his mind, he invisioned a hell of snarling, snapping, skinned faces of all of his children and mates whom he had offered into suffering over his five long years here.
___Next to him, a black and white fox whose markings always reminded him of the farmer's border collie watched with curiosity and boldness as the looming shadow of one of the men now fell over his cage. Yggdrasil, the strange and tame fox, was too interested by the new smell and sight of these unfamiliar humans to be concerned that he may be facing his death. Standing boldly with stiff legs and his head lowered, he sniffed furiously at the heavily gloved hand that reached towards him, tail twitching long between his haunches. Only when the extended fingers wrapped around his scruff did he finally offer some fight, shreiking like a banshee and twisting with his jaws clattering noisily together as they connected with nothing. And just like that, he was gone.
___Sif, meanwhile, watched with each dizzying round of pacing as the two foxes across from her - the dazzling red and the peculiar piebald - were gathered up thrashing and screaming and carried away. If the humans were doing away with two fancy varieties like that, her standard platinum pelt was never going to save her. Indeed, the red in particular was a prized breeding animal with many good years in him. If he was going down, it seemed only obvious that the humans must have been doing away with the whole lot of them - and the distant smell of fumes suggested the method was geared towards large enough numbers that perhaps the whole fur farm was in peril.
___Just barely able to stop shaking long enough to build up some resolve, the young fox finally stood firm with hackles raised and teeth bared, crying out warningly as the men drew ever closer to her cage. If she was going down, she was going down with a hell of a fight. Indeed, by the time the first human reached her cage door, she was rabid with her resolve, snarling and lunging at the bars and baying ferociously. She nearly leapt free of the cage as the door was opened, sinking her small fangs into the thick fabric and thin flesh of the human's forearm. He shook her off, cursing loudly, but only called for re-enforcements... and the next man had a metal pole with a noose on the end. Within seconds it was fastened tightly around her neck, and no matter now she thrashed or bit, it could not be dislodged...