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Daniel lived between bullet wounds and body bags. He couldn't live, couldn't die. He was only capable of waiting and watching, prying and praying into the sufferings of man and beast, and all in between. An essential thing to understand about the sixteen year old hybrid was that his mind was not his own. It was possessed by his power and the many minds it had consumed in collecting its assortment of torments. His business was misery, and his business had fared well in the Skirts.

Dying a thousand times, only to brush the dirt off and walk away had left the canine callused. Surely, he was damaged underneath. The catacombs within his mind were infinite and vast, stained with the sins and sorrows of thousands, dead and living. But outside, Daniel functioned like a well-oiled machine, albeit a skeletal, panting, savage one. Surely he was damaged, but Pain didn't care, and Daniel's body belonged to its cravings. What was left of the boy who vanished? Only the boy knew, but one thing was even less certain. Somewhere inside, there was a small tinkering genius, giving his dominant monster purpose in investigating the mysteries of the human and hybrid underworlds. Or it was the other way around, and Pain drove the lost boy's body to solve and search for more abstract pleasures, the mysteries at the core of Eden, and in effect the world. Did this being subconsciously seek to devour the most unholy forms of suffering in preparation for the psychopath's own vendetta against humanity? Not even Daniel was sure.

The Dalmatian killed because he could and he killed those who caused suffering for their own selfish pleasures and gratification. He hated the self-righteous and their assumed entitlement and moral immunity. Murderers and rapists also made the perfect subjects for experimentation and dissection. They wouldn't be missed, and ironic ends were always the most delicious to experience. These were his only reasons. Right and wrong was of little consequence.

That was until he had met The Raven. And He would make Daniel responsible for everything that happened next.

***

Daniel had met Seymour by a stroke of timing and chance. Both had been tracking the same group of canine marauders. Seymour was five at the time, very clever for his age but naïve and tender footed in the ways of tracking and hunting. He was approaching them from upwind, perhaps under the ignorant conception that lizards had little scent. While it is generally true that lizards release substantially less odors than their mammal competitors, lizard hybrids, depending on their particular condition and physiology, were still capable of releasing sweat and oils in extreme heat to regulate body temperature, not being fully cold-blooded.

Heat regulation in lizard hybrids was among the most groundbreaking developments of human/hybrid evolution, utilizing the pros and cons of both ectothermic and endothermic systems. Lizard hybrids, depending on their diet and surroundings, could manipulate how their bodies regulated temperature. On a small diet and in areas of constant temperatures, a lizard could allow its body heat to be regulated by external heat sources. The lizard could then survive on substantially less food, meaning more food for a growing colony.

However, the Skirts were a very unstable ecosystem, and with many having to adapt to living above or below ground in an instant, with colonies constantly being invaded or, in the worst cases, destroyed by seismic activity or construction flaws, maintaining such homeostasis was impossible. Food was eaten without reservation because no one was certain when the next meal would come. In the ever changing temperatures, and due to the previously mentioned notion of getting as much sustenance one could, most lizards have a greater dependence on endothermic heating, and as a result, increased metabolism.

Above all else, the primary reason for this failure to utilize and understand this adaptation was that most were uneducated in how their bodies functioned, and considering that the lizard hybrid subspecies had only existed for less than two decades, their anatomy remained baffling to even the most well-resourced scientists.

It was a particularly hot day, and Seymour had wandered into the range of the canine muzzles, including Daniel's, who was farthest downwind. Seymour had been in Daniel's telepathic range for at least an hour or so, but it wasn't until he sensed the canine's change in pace and direction, driven by hunger, that brought Daniel to consider him of any consequence. An anonymous subliminal message triggered Seymour to find shelter amongst the lumber and dirt mounds of a long abandoned construction site of the endless suburbs.

Get out of there, kid! The image resonated through the lizard's head again, but fear and an uncommon determination seized him. Trembling hands around a foreign, dangerous, and heavy object was all Daniel needed to know that it would be on him to save the young and foolish stranger.

A German Sheppard, a short Chihuahua breed, a fox, and a wolf reached the construction site seven minutes later, their knives and guns drawn blazing in that irksome summer's haze. The lizard had the high ground on one of the mounds, but he had no real defense to speak of. The thugs were nightmarish in appearance, clad in roughly refitted gasmasks for muzzles, bandanas, leather, and anything reminiscent of gangsters and revolutionaries. Their shirts and pants were bloodied, sweat-rancid and stolen. Jewelry, heirlooms, and other valuables ripped from the hands of lizard nomads.

"Looks like we have a survivor, friends!" the Chihuahua grinned wide and salivated, wagging his tail and running a claw over his needle-dick knife blade. "Who will have the honors?"

"Shut up, Runt!" the wolf chewed his words like he was ingesting stones. "We probably butchered his family back there. There should be a measure of diplomacy and personal touch in how we take care of this one."

"So is this how a stranded biker gang amuses itself?"

The dogs turned away from the hill to find Daniel standing at the edge of the lot, hunched, panting, and hands twitching at his sides. He almost swayed with the dusty wind, threatening to fall over.

"Fuck! Is he rabid?" the fox's words muffled through the steaming gas mask.

"Why are you wearing a gas mask? That's completely irrational in this weather. There is no fallout... yet. And..." Daniel took a step, stumbled slightly, licked a finger, and tested the wind, "And rabies isn't airborne... yet. So before all this shit happens, and it probably will...," Daniel shrugged and stood bowlegged before his enemies.

"I'd say the heat broke him," the German Sheppard suggested, aiming his shotgun at the Dalmatian as a precaution.

Daniel put his hands up in the air, sending one last warning to Seymour as he continued his drunken performance. He laughed as he raised his middle fingers and slurred, "I bet you I can dodge those. Anyway, all I'm saying is that if you wanna see all that shit happen so you can be a prick about it later, bitching about how prepared you are and how smart you are, you might want to worry about dehydration first." He shrugged again. The lizard still hadn't moved.

"Speak for yourself, asshole," the fox raised his pistol in protest.

"Hey, let's be friends. I'm a dog. I'm a brother. I wanna... I wanna join."

"Let's knife this guy and then get the kid!" Runt said eagerly as he took a step forward.

"Nah, let him watch as we kill the brat," The wolf growled. "Besides, he's half-dead and got nothing on him anyway." He raised his voice and spoke slowly so the Dalmatian could understand him on the other side of the lot. "Sorry, brother, we don't have a position open." The others laughed.

"Well," Daniel shrugged and plugged his paws into his pockets. "That's a damn shame." I warned you, kid.

In the next second, Daniel hunch became a lunge as he charged, his left paw surging from his pocket, releasing a pocket knife into the exposed neck of the fox. Daniel sprinted in a zigzag formation, his first arm slightly grazed from the first blast from the Sheppard's shotgun. The next hit him square in the gut, hurtling him backwards. Daniel howled on his back, giggling at their incompetence. "I can't believe I wanted to grow up to be just like you. I can kill you all without a single bullet. Watch me!"

The German Sheppard pumped another round into the chamber, ready to fire again, when a bullet hit him in the right shoulder. Seymour was standing on top of the pile now, gun shaking in his hands. He wasn't ready for the wolf, who had whirled around with an M16 ready to fire. A sudden shock of pain through the gut, however, caused the towering beast to crumble. Daniel had thrown a second knife with his right arm in between the legs of the German Sheppard.

The German Sheppard had managed to fire again, destroying Daniel's face. A horrified gasp was all that escaped his lips; he was stupefied and incoherent.

"Well, back to business!" Runt's mad eyes seized the lizard with an unnatural starvation. "Looks like I'm gonna have the honors!" He slowly began to climb the mound. The Chihuahua wasn't even a quarter's way up until a bloodied knife pierced him in the back. He let out a gargle and collapsed, bony fingers clutching the clods of Seymour's haphazard hiding place.

Daniel was crouched down by the fox, his left hand bloodied from pulling out his knife. He stood up, preparing to finish the wolf, who was just now pulling the knife out of his stomach. Daniel shouted, "You'd better get behind that mound and cover your ears. You're the only one forcing yourself to watch this."

The wolf was now regretting his removal of the knife, for the blood was starting to flow forth in a constant stream. He dropped the knife and looked at the blood on his left paw; he looked at the Dalmatian and clumsily held the assault rifle with his right. "It's one of those mind tricks. The knife isn't real. It isn't real."

"Then why am I coming to get it?"

Daniel didn't charge. He walked. One step at a time to his armed and helpless target. The wolf fired a few rounds. They all missed, picking up dirt as they danced around the dog's feet or hurtling towards the clouds. The wolf squinted and wheezed. He fired again. The first bullet grazed Daniel's side, and then the second, through his armpit, the third beginning a short and muddled array of bullets across the canine's torso. He grimaced and stumbled onto his knees. He chuckled and looked up to the sky.

"God, if only I were just a mirage. Some heat-induced fever. Right now, you'd be dying from heat exhaustion, and I would be spared from having to do this again."

"Shut up Daniel, you're enjoying this."

Blood started to seep from his mouth. He stared into the sun.

"That's beside the point."

The wolf open-fired, hammering the finished projection with lead and smoke, its virtual pelt and organs writhing and reacting to the cold equivalent exchange of physics. The body remained propped up on its knees until the wolf's magazine was empty; only then did the stubborn corpse surrender to the hard, course earth.

For what felt like several moments, the two survivors of the incident, Seymour and the wolf, just stared at what was left of the meddler. A strong breeze shifted the sand, picking up a large multitude that swirled around the site and stung the eyes. An ominous transition.

Both rubbed their eyes and reassessed the damage. Three bodies of the fallen gang members lay exactly where they were, but the two dead Dalmatians were gone. The only evidence of their intervention was in the faint bloodied glimmer of the two knives, the first still burrowed in Runt's spine, the other lying in the dust.

The wolf started to hyperventilate when he realized that his wounds had not disappeared. He was going to bleed to death. He looked around blindly for cloth, or bandages, perishing the possibility of causing any more damage to his leather jacket. He dropped the rifle and dropped on all fours, staring into the gushing wound. He let out an agonizing scream when something pierced him through his lower back. He gaped at the open fist that had clawed through the other side, out of the knife wound.

"It took a lot of your kind for me to be able to stab all the way through. It shouldn't be possible, tearing through your flesh with my bare hands, but we shouldn't exist to begin with. Isn't that right?" Daniel's other paw was firm but soft on the wolf's shoulder.

"I don't understand!" The wolf screamed, choking on the blood that was spilling from his throat.

"You're only half-human. You'll never be accepted by their kind, and yet you desperately seek to be one of them."

"I just..." The wolf was beginning to fade, his vision beginning to disappear with his pulse.

"No? I'm wrong? Then why do you dress like them, emulate their ancient stereotypes? You think that will give you power, put you on their level. This is the most basic, pathetic display of the humanity that seeks to claw its way out of our hides. Identity and purpose, the most misplaced and undeserved notions of humans. When will we learn that when the humans made us, brought the animal kingdom down to their level, we weren't perfected? They only made us capable of their mistakes."

Daniel pulled his paw back through the wound, letting the wolf's body fall on its face. He looked into the blood-soaked paw, taking a moment to appreciate how beautiful crimson could be in the sunlight.