It was a couple dull hours before someone came to get us. Micky tried a couple more times to see if I was interested in him, but we both were exhausted, and fell asleep until someone called for us to wake.

To my surprise, it was a particularly gloomy looking Amy. Maybe I should have been less surprised, actually.

"Guys." She said like she was a tad scared to be talking with us. "Come with me."

Micky leapt to his feet and hurried out. I took a bit longer to wake.

"You're not going to kill us, right?" Micky said too excited for his doubting jab of a question to really hit.

"No one is." Amy said quietly. She glanced back and met my eye. "I sort of owe you."

"Speaking of that time back in the tunnels, why do you even have that base if this much larger one exists?"

Amy swallowed. "This is sort of a... mixed group. Two different factions. The one I was in, The Banes, is more peaceful."

"The war crimes tribunal guys?" Micky asked. "Hey, you guys weren't looking to charge me with anything, right?"

"I think the idea is anyone who committed a war crime." Amy said. "I didn't pay that much attention to it. Just liked to hang out there."

"Where are you taking us?" I asked.

"Going to clear you to be let go. I have to talk to Bouquet for that."

"We want to join!" Micky insisted enthusiastically.

Amy broke her morose mood to glare back at him with skeptical confusion. "I don't think they'd like that."

"I bet I could talk them into it."

"If you want to try, be my guest. Martin, you in on this?"

"I need to head home." Micky sent me a worried look. "Hey, I got you in here."

We came to one of the identical white doors near the end, and Amy took us inside. This chamber was a bit larger than the others, and a couple of chairs were arranged around a table. A circle of primarily young men sat in them, eyes flickering between us and Amy.

"Can we let these two go?" Amy said, pointing at us. "Neither of them have done a thing against us."

"Michael Withers there has." One of the angels said. "Who cares about the other? We should have Michael Withers killed."

"Or not!" I jumped in. "He won't do anything. Neither of us will. We'll keep quiet, I'll make sure of it."

"I want to join you guys." Micky said.

A wave of angelic washed across the table, leaving three of those seated to stare in tired patience, presumably unable to keep up.

"No." Said one man. Judging by the others' reactions, he must have been the leader, Bouquet. "Here." He stood up, pistol in his hand, and fired right at Micky twice.

I stood dumbly still. There were a few things happening all at once. The gunshots. The knowledge that Micky was going to get shot. The searing pain in my right arm as I got hit instead.

I fell to the floor screaming, my millisecond of slowed down time up. I had never experienced a severe wound while human, and fuck, it was bad. Screaming is hard to describe besides the obvious, the rolling around and screeching.

My face was coated in tears. At some point I managed to shout out "You're a fucking awful shot!" to the angel I could barely see with my clouded vision.

I heard him say "Huh", but my hearing was wrecked. A few people had come to my side, and because my throat felt like it was cracked, I stopped screaming and began to hyperventilate.

Someone grabbed my arm, and someone else held my hand. Someone began to wrap a cloth around my wound, but then I heard the distinctive voice of Micky deliver me advice: "You're a hellhound."

Right. I was a magical sparkling death wolf. I coughed out the word "Shit" and flopped around on the floor until I remembered how to change shape.

Taking on my other form helped clear my mind and ease my pain instantly. Though the wound was still there, worse than if I had been shot in this shape, the pain was subdued. I did not care to stand, but lay on the floor, panting. My bullshit healing powers would probably fix me up in an hour or so.

The angels seemed a bit unsettled with my hellhound state, but they settled back into their seats. Bouquet still had a gun in his hands, but he was eyeing it curiously. That might have been the first time he had tried firing it.

Micky seemed to have disappeared, but then I realized he was sitting by my side, mostly hidden behind my back. I didn't blame him for cowering. Bouquet did not look happy.

I wanted to speak, and a whole angry speech was coming to my head. Something involving yelling, accusations, and plenty of storming about. I had just been shot. I knew that most people in Hell were strangely content with that, but I wasn't.

I was shot, in pain, and wanted to get out of here.

But, being a dog and all, the most I could do was sort of growl and bark.

"Well, we'll have to kill both of them now for certain." Bouquet said. "No witnesses."

"No witnesses." Someone at the table agreed.

I stood up, trying not to put weight on the arm that had been shot. I bared my teeth, growling. It actually took a lot of mental work to act like a dog. I had a bit of a headache just from trying to perfect my 'danger' pose.

Bouquet raised his gun again, this time steadying his shot with a hand on the barrel. I looked to Amy to see if she would step in before I was forced to tear this guy's head off.

Bouquet looked with me. Amy yawned. "Ugh. I tried." She waved her hand, encouraging Bouquet to act.

Somehow, that little gesture pissed me off like nothing else. I had had it with her and this whole scenario. I swiped at Bouquet with one paw, knocking him over easily, and changed back into a human.

"I'm- Fuck-" I said, cringing as the pain to my arm return. "I'm sick of this. Fuckin- Amy, what the hell is wrong with you? What the hell is wrong with all of you? Really? A rebellion? Are all of you fifteen? You've killed like one hundred people, and- for what again? Is it because your poor Michael's dead? Is it because he's coming back? Do you even know?"

I was talking as fast as I could, trying to ignore the staggering pain.

"I mean, fuck it, you know? I'm fucking sick of this. Getting dragged to some bizarre place, getting shot or stabbed, and then doing it all over again. Do you guys think about things before you do them?" I looked to Micky. "This goes to you too, by the way. Chill the fuck out. Stop running into bad ideas" When Micky cringed, I sighed. "Okay, sorry, I don't mean that."

"Martin-" Amy started.

"Name's Blake." I said, cutting her off. "And Amy, seriously? Okaying people to die? You're like thirteen! You shouldn't be spending so much time with creepy ageless adults who partake in bloodshed and pointless antics." I stared her right in the eyes. "Really, what went wrong with you?"

To my surprise, she burst into tears and flattened against the wall. I didn't want to ignore this, but it would have been too awkward of a situation to try and offer support. Suddenly, my loud and pain-induced rant was feeling a little mean hearted. The silence was broken by Amy's sobs. I was starting to feel a little bit like an asshole, actually.

I grit my teeth and looked to Micky. "I'll take you back." I said.

Taking my hellhound shape, I was large enough for Micky to sit on my back. It was a queer feeling, but the most effective way to dodge through the other rebels and scurry back to Hell. I was even capable of leaping from the window onto the floor, though it did hurt my good arm landing on it.

Micky didn't speak to me, even when we sat in the elevator , my wolf body curled and crammed into the tight space for long enough that my joints became sore.

At the city, we parted ways a little past the rebel's niche. As soon as we were in the empty streets, I ran away as fast as I could, heading for my apartment.

There, I again did my best to traverse the interior as a hound, and only change back when I was clear to collapse in front of my door.

Ria opened it, cued by my desperate knocking.

"Dang." She said, noticing my bloody arm. In my exhausted, overwhelmed, and severely pained state, I was sort of proud of her for maintaining her avoidance of curse words.

"We're going home." I told her.