Of course you knew about the war. Almost a millennia of fighting by the time you were born into the heartland of a dying empire. The war was mostly far away, even as drafts went out. Technical workers and those who didn't support the industry of war that drove the core of the empire were first.

You, a coal miner working the backside of a seam that had been burning longer than anyone could recall should not have been selected. Yet when you emerged from the ground that day in 11648HE one winter morn, you were grabbed by two imperial recruiters. You were alone in this, no others taken alongside you.

Fear turned the blood in your veins to ice. The empire obviously kept records on people, but you figured with your job and living out in the middle of nowhere you would get away with the bathtub estrogen you'd been dosing yourself with. After all, the moonshiners got away with their sales. You only made your estrogen for your own purposes.

The black bag over your head and punch right to your tit let you know that the empire was aware and had targeted you. Pain from the hit made your head spin as they threw you into the back of a running vehicle. You'd been hoping to get away with a capital crime in the empire by hoping you were enough of a nobody to slip under their radar.

Execution would have been preferable to what was in store for you as a last-ditch fighter.

You were driven to the military camp, the steady hiss of a tank of nitrous and the rumble of the tires the only sounds of your journey. Zip cuffed and drugged, you bounced around in the back of the van yet your hood stayed on. The drawstring, tight around your neck yet still allowing you to breathe keeping you ignorant of the outside world.

Thoughts replaced by a fearfully giddy haze clouding your mind. The empire is falling, yet your concern now was how they might be disposing of you. They obviously wanted to get rid of the undesirables as quickly as possible in the waning days. It would not be the first time a failing empire turned from the defense to trying to maximize the damage against those it hated. Perhaps it would be simple and quick, a bullet to the back of the head. Rumors existed of the cruelty of some in the imperial forces. Maybe they'd force you to suck off the gun before granting you the freedom of death.

The shaking subsided as the van arrived. You were too out of it to care about the upcoming execution as they dragged you through what felt like a maze. You could hear the hum of failing lights overhead and feel the polished floor tiles dragging against your feet.

You were blinded briefly as the hood was ripped off and you were shoved through an open door. The room was sparse, a single chair occupied by a disgusted-looking lieutenant. Thirteen others sat around on the floor looking confused and scared.

"Finally, your last squad-mate has deigned to grace us with its presence."

She seems to be referring to you as she continues.

"What, exactly, do you have to say for yourself?"

You're still out of it from the nitrous, pointing to yourself questioningly while looking around at the others. She's fast, or it's your perception of time as she's instantly in your face. You have a brief look at her before you're doubled over, gasping for breath. You see her fist where you just were before the pain sunk in.

Shit, she did mean you. You're gasping as you try to respond, eyes watering as she slaps you. She's returned to her chair to give the details.

"You are now our last-ditch weapons. We know all about you, and you never were people. You should thank us that we let you be of use to the empire in any capacity, as worthless as you are."

“I am Lt. Rebecca Halstead, leader of what is being called the 'hellfire squad' of which you are now all weapons."

"Any who are worried about training or conversion to be suitable for war should not worry. You won't remember it afterwards."

She gets up, grabbing one of the others who was slumped against the wall by their hair and dragging them out of the room. You don't have to willingly follow the screaming as medical workers enter and begin to grab you and the others.

You're dragged down a hallway to an operating theater set up for a communal surgery. Each surgical table folded to an upright panel facing each other in a circle. Your legs are kicked out from under you and your chest pressed to one of the tables. Heavy leather straps bind around your ribs tight under your arms and run over your shoulders, keeping you kneeling down and unable to move.

The nurses stand beside the subjects as surgeons shuffle in. Two rows of seven each, fanning around the circle in lockstep. A choreographed dance of machine men, machine minds. The walk of the ones who are already dead yet march to their execution. The cogs in the war machine of the empire, Moloch demanding the sacrifice of your present being. Steps taken in unison dwindle in loudness as the last two take their place behind you and the subject next to you.

You look around the circle, seeing the other terrified faces looking back as surgeons prepare their tools. Stainless clattering into trays and bottles of iodine set onto carts. The cold washes down your neck as you feel it poured onto you to disinfect.

A shot in the arm from a nurse, clear liquid slowly fed in from a syringe wrapped in an orange warning. Midazolam, the label said. You feel your worries slip away, the nurse in the blood-stained scrubs taking your troubles. No need for you to worry, she will do that for you. Weapons don't worry.

The hypnotic effects of the drug made you fail to realize that was spoken out to you, the words becoming your internal thoughts. The choreographed dance of the surgeons continued, each of you in the circle able to see what was happening to you by looking across.

Oh, you had headphones on, now that you see the others wearing them too. A glass tower, tubes within tubes is wheeled into the center. Silicone hoses swell under the pressure of the water circulating, and the soft hiss of oxygen can barely be heard. fourteen tubes run to the top, each one being carried in turn to the fourteen weapons.

At once, fourteen lances stab into necks, blood flowing down to the middle. You feel light headed for a moment until supplemental blood substitute is given, the red filling the glass turning pink as the milky-white synthetic blood mixes in. A fountain of bubbles, a dark blood foam being caught on the top of the glass tower as pink blood is pumped back to your body.

You're now truly bonded to the other weapons of your wolf-pack, a part of them now a part of you. Anti-coagulants and immunosuppressants kept the blood from reacting or clotting.

Another needle to the arm, red wrapper warning of vecuronium. All capitals screamed out 'PARALYTIC DRUG' on the syringe. Sensation didn't fade, but you felt yourself relax. Your muscles no longer responded to your mind, and you felt the air turn still in your lungs. Panic was kept minimized by the first drug, but neither of the two dealt with the pain to come.

You suffocated with plenty of oxygen, and your heartbeat slowed in your ears. The gentle pressure in your arteries from the pump let you know you still lived. Hands were first to change, fingers cut off at the proximal inter-phalangeal joints. Ripper blades were fused to bone, stainless covers placed over gleaming ceramic-edged knives.

You could touch again with the covers in place, if you could move. Rippers, a known black market modification. The blades replaced the fingers and could tear through even the toughest body armor.

Elasticator band snapped over your testes, blood flow cut off entirely to them. Evidently they were in more of a hurry as you felt the sharp hook knife part the skin and relieve you of some weight. You'd been hoping to be rid of those, unable to work up the nerve previously to have an accident at work with a hammer. Blood barely dripped as the band performed its job.

All the while the soft voice is talking you through the operation. Relax, she says. You have been selected for greatness. We know what you are, and that makes you the perfect weapon. Fight for your homeland, hold off the invaders. You can feel yourself slipping into the clutches of the disembodied woman speaking to you as the hypnotic drugs work on your brain.

You have to trust her, it's the only way you will live. You're pumped full of paralytics, you need the security of her voice to survive. Pain, grating sounds echo in your head as a stainless loop is hammered into the cervical vertebrae of your spine. The grating as the rough section to fuse to bone is ultrasonically welded into your body. The attachment point for a leash.

Prostheses were next, your human strength requiring augmentation. Your body was peeled all over, air brushing the underside of your skin creating the utmost in agony. Micro-hydraulics and servo-electric bio-synthetic muscle fibers augment every usable bit of your body.

Your legs are split apart at the feet, clawed prostheses replacing a once-human foot. You could see others in the circle receiving the same, carbon springs and oleo-pneumatic dampers allowing inhuman abilities. You'd no longer run on two legs once you learned how to use your new body.

A long, stainless tail with gleaming micro-motors is added, dozens of coarsely-threaded screws and titanium neuro-interface wires run into the full length of your spine. Vertebra after vertebra studded with fasteners to bolt your new tail in place, the gaps between providing access for the wires. Even kneeling, you felt the improvement to your balance from the tail. Autonomous, tipped with a gleaming hooked spike with a ceramic edge. As much a weapon as you already were.

All the while the voice spoke. Relax, pup. You'll be a wonderful wolf yet for the empire. You'll serve well and get to be the woman you know you are. It will all be worth it in the end. You won't even have to live with the sacrifice of the soldier, to live knowing you have killed. We will take all of the pain, worry, stresses away from you. You've been selected to give yourself to the empire, the highest honor possible. Service to be rewarded by being allowed to live, given the cunt your body knows is supposed to be there.

You know all that you are good for in the life you had, the potential to be so much more, to get what you are. The voice promises salvation and acceptance free of the weight of guilt. Kill, every body you stack one step closer to salvation.

Hair-fine platinum and careful brain surgery is essential for neural implants, insulated titanium will form scar channels and be rejected in a year. Hounds like what you and the rest of the wolf-pack were being made into were not expected to live that long. You didn't need to know that, only the sensation of the knife as it crossed over the top of your skull.

You felt every shot, pain inside your head failing to scream through the paralytic. Hundreds of hits, each driving dozens of fine titanium interface wires into your brain. The implant was installed under the skin, wires to nerves to speed up your thoughts and connect you to the outside world and your prostheses.

Your eyes were next, complete exenteration. Orbits scoured down to the bone, the only sensations the pain and her voice in your head. Complex sensor suites installed into the empty sockets, multi-spectral mono-centric plenoptic sensors replacing flesh. Ultraviolet to thermal, day to night, all became yours through perfect spheres of fused silica as nerves were connected and fasteners fused to bone.

The only part left was your face. Your lower jaw cut down the middle for greater articulation, titanium structures mounted to the bone of your head. Armor sections protected your brain, the only opening for your vision sensors. You could see the jaws and animal-skull-esque extensions your blood companions were getting. Razor teeth, serrated back edges with golden titanium nitride coating on the metal. Serrated black diamond-like carbon cutting edges protruded on the tips and serrations.

Your body was built for-no, begged for blood to coat the titanium jaws. To crush down on a neck, to drag your ripperclaws through the skull of an enemy. Overwhelming pain mixed with the desire to kill. You would show that voice just how worthy you were. Resolve in your mind as you were sewn back up, ceramic-fibers machine-woven into your skin as armor.

Dozens of plates of ceramics and complex overlapping discs on joints took away the last visual glimpse of the humanity you and the others once had. Where had once been terrified soldiers to be were now cybernetic wolves, bent on the hunt. you could smell the unease from the medical staff as the last senses were hooked up.

An androgynous figure in a tinted gas mask stirs their finger in the blood foam, a censer hanging from the other. Blood dripping off a black glove as he goes around the circle, drawing a line of blood down the middle of the new titanium skull. The metallic smell of the blood, the smell of some sort of hallucinogenic drugs from the censer mixed with incense, each in turn receiving her first blood mark. Bonding you together as one pack.

Pain filling your world meant you didn't notice the third shot, only the world going black.

You awoke, sun streaming through the window onto your face. You don't recognize the bed or the room at all. You feel someone moving behind you and roll over. There's a woman there, messy black hair with a streak of white. Soft brown eyes, lips that beg to be kissed. Light brown skin without a single visible scar or anything to mar the smooth perfection of her body.

She gives you a soft kiss on the forehead.

"Look who is finally up, glad you could join me."

Her stunning beauty and her forwardness are enough to make you blush as you stammer out "I'm… I'm sorry, I…I really don't remember".

She laughs softly, gently ruffling your hair with her free hand.

"Well, you did drink a lot last night. Come on, let's get up. I want you to meet the rest of our polycule."

"When did I-"

She cuts you off. “Last night, at the party."

Ah, you had gotten blackout drunk. That would explain a lot.

You slide out from under the covers and search the room for your clothes. It's only when you see your reflection in the full-length mirror that you're truly taken by surprise. One might think you'd recognize the woman staring back at you, yet you don't. Since when was this you? You had vague memories of childhood as a young boy and time spent in a mine. When was this beauty looking back the person you had become?

Shoulder length hair in a vibrant shade of natural red, the sides of your head shaved down. Moderately light skin, freckles sparsely dotted around your whole body. Hazel eyes you could fall into. Some seriously nice tits crowned by a geometric tattoo across your chest. Even the cock hanging between your legs doesn't detract from the overall appearance.

Fuck, when did you get so hot?

A change that major and that right in your life should have been memorable, especially as the empire had no tolerance for that. She sees you staring at yourself, utterly transfixed. She snaps her fingers, trying to get your attention.

"Hey. Hey! Hello! Yes, you're hot and naked, why do you look like you've never seen a mirror before?"

Embarrassment rises in your face and you try to explain. The memory gap, the impossibility of this.

“The fuck are you on about? An empire? Look."

She throws a small square of glass and metal to you. You look at the date and check the news. There's nothing about the war, the sovereign. It's 11708HE and the news is only about housing prices and celebrity gossip.

“I think you had a pretty fucked up dream that just felt real."

Hearing her say it out loud make it feel less insane of a thought. Just a truly bad dream. It just felt real, a life lived and ended in a flash. You decided not to tell her about the ending where you were kidnapped and taken to some sort of holding cell with others.

Nor did you tell her just how much she reminded you of Lt. Halstead. That might sour the mood.

You gather up your clothes from around her room and get dressed. Disheveled is fine, it's not like you can hide what you both did last night anyways. They evidently already knew.

Downstairs to a waiting buffet-style breakfast growing cold and thirteen other women sitting around. All varied in appearance and age, the youngest in perhaps her early 20's and the oldest in her late 40's. The only thing some of them seemed to have in common was the trait you too shared, a bit of an extra bulge where there is not typically one.

It seems you've found your people, even if introductions are a blur. Names and faces you struggle to remember. Some openly friendly, some merely politely acknowledging you. One of them gives you a tight hug. You feel accepted, one of them with no judgment or questioning on their part. It's as if you had always belonged with them.

There's Sharon, tall and pallid. Captivating brown eyes and curly black hair adorn a square-jawed yet soft face decorated with a scar on her left cheek. She's toned and friendly, welcoming you with open arms.

There's Talia, tall and bronzed. Alertness defines her expression even when she was relaxing. Brown hair in an undercut that she's evidently very proud of. She has leather gloves on and expensive clothes that are visibly worn and repaired but also ill-fitting. A woman playing at class that she doesn't naturally embody.

Tyne, tall and lanky. Fair skin and a crooked smile framed by messy black hair. She's got both eyebrows pierced and tattoos across her face and neck that you can see. She's got a silver bracelet on that seems permanently affixed to her wrist and she embraces you immediately.

Selene, muscle bound and otherwise hard to determine much else. She's got a burn that covers her head and much of the right side of her body, scars splitting open on her right arm. Blue eyes peer out of gnarled flesh decorated with exquisitely done makeup. Her hands are soft and slim and she grabs yours in welcome, in stark contrast to her build. You can see as she speaks that she's got a pierced tongue.

Willow, short and tough. Olive skin and gray eyes to match her gray hair. Visibly the oldest, she still maintains a stylish asymmetric cut that reaches to her jawline. She's in shorts and a sports bra, sweating from recent exercise going by her abs. Tattoos cover her thighs, complex geometric and floral patterns.

There's Elena, short yet athletic. She's got a burn mark on her face that's visibly from a steam iron and is the most unenthusiastic yet. Honey skinned and thick black hair in a side-shave set off by the silver drop pendant necklace in the shape of a bomb.

Vivian, tall and willowy. Pale skin and one brown eye. Chestnut curls drape her face, and she's obviously got a fake eye going by the unnatural color of the other painted in concentric rings.

Valerie, Samantha, Paisley-no, Paige, Andrea, Juliet, Abby. The rest of the names swirl around in your head as you try to remember who is who. All visibly distinct in their own way yet overwhelming when introduced in one go.

They invite you to not just spend the day around them, but to move in. You're pretty sure you only really own the clothes on your back and have no formal lease. You spend the day relaxing and talking to the various women of the house. Your house, now.

The day is wonderful, even as someone with no memory of how she got here. Even the coldest of the others isn't actively mean, just showing a range of personalities at play. You get to learn the others, their hobbies and interests. You feel like you fit in, and despite the lack of a memory you feel like you've never fit in somewhere like this before. You were truly home, with a family.

You awaken in a cage packed with inhuman machines, some staggering around as they attempt to stand on their rear legs. Titanium jaws and abnormal colors abound, inhuman grunts as they seem to search for prey. You're lying on a blanket on top of uncoated concrete, coagulated blood pooled around you.

The nightmare has returned. One of the creatures shrieks, the unmistakable howl of a person permanently broken from the surgical torture. The pleasant thoughts of your new family, torn to ribbons by the metal teeth glinting on the bare canid skulls around you.

Not even the sheer horror of the beings around you served to wake you from the living nightmare. Leads connected to steel loops in the necks, human-looking hair decorating the cap of titanium skulls. Teeth and blades, armored wires dropping with each lead and connected to the head of these cybernetic wolves.

The voice of Lt. Halstead forced its way into your head, welcoming you to the first day of the rest of your life. You will be forged anew into the weapons of war, the final line of defense for the empire. Your will, torched in the fires to a white-hot hate. Death incarnate, every day of training another kilometer lost.

Failure was not an option, and the person built into the machine would have its modifications speed up too.

“You will become women" the voice of the Lt. echoes in your head.

It was then you realized those around you were the same as you. People, twisted in form as the empire saw fit. To be rapidly feminized so that the programming may take hold faster and the training progress faster.

"You've been given synthetic implants that will complete the physical transformation in one week."

That explains why your tits absolutely ache, and the one curled on the floor holding its chest and whimpering. Someone unlucky enough to be genetically endowed was going to have a horribly painful week.

The voice of Lt. Halstead drilled into your mind, repeated mantras echoing. They weren't even heard as much as thought in her voice, the interface in your skull forcing the words into your head. Nothing you could do would stop the new beliefs from building, even the armor woven into your skin immune to your rippers. You could tear at yourself for days to try and claw the thoughts out of your head, but you'd serve only to dull your claws on your armor.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Weapons should not think. Weapons should not and should not be able to damage themselves.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Dissonant mantras overlap in your head, thoughts forced into your mind. The world blurs and twists, reality warping further the more you look at your companions. You tried to stand, to walk. To move over to the bars of the cage and shut out the voice.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

The bolt of electricity coursing through your body was enough to make you collapse back down, your every thought predicted. The voice of Lt. Halstead changed, a stern warning.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

"That implant you have knows your thoughts faster than you do, mutt. Behave, or you will be taught to behave."

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

All the while the mantras faded yet remained as echoing thoughts, the chants shifting to internalized beliefs. You were a weapon.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Time, in a windowless cell all white and starkly illuminated, ceased to have meaning. You would leave this nightmare when Lt. Halstead decided. You were hers to do with as she saw fit, after all.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

The urge hits you and some of the other wolves. Fight. Anything that moves, fight each other. Force on force, weed out the weakest ones.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

The ones on the floor are the first to get beaten. Claws scrape off of armor, but solid blows still strike soft targets. One who looks like Andrea from your new home is the first to fall, a blow to her tits taking her from being on the floor in pain to howls of agony. The victor reminds you of Selene with the glimpses of scars among the metal. The urge hits her to claim her prize and she demonstrates for you all what that means.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

A week of accelerated changes, genetic gifts and time having no further meaning means you think you can actually see her tits forcing themselves into being. The one who reminds you of Selene throws Andrea onto her back, blow after blow landing to her stomach and chest. Inhuman howls of agony get only worse when the prize of the winner is revealed.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

The loser becomes the prize. Fight and fuck, serve your purpose. Selene's not even bothering to be gentle, her claws at Andrea's throat as she brutally rapes the girl. Andrea is screaming, trying to push back but Selene keeps forcing herself in, pulling Andrea back and making her victim take her cock fully.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

That's when you're tackled.

You recognize your attacker as Willow from the gray hair remaining visible. You fight back, trying to land blows to save the remnants of your dignity. Every hit you land causes a wave of pleasure to hit your body and the thought to force its way into your mind. Win, and she'll be yours to enjoy.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

You manage to drag her down to the floor, struggling as near equals as both of you try to gain advantage. You can see she's hard and she can see the same about you. The more hits you land, the more and more that all you can think about is how good her ass is going to feel. You manage to pin her, beginning to force yourself in as she struggles. You've got the upper hand, and she will be yours to enjoy.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Until you're thrown against the wall, cock halfway into Willow. Pain from the impact and things being bent, Willow and a short athletic wolf rushing you. You can't stand against their blows and are knocked to the floor.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

The short one flees from Willow to go attack others, Willow now about to claim her prize. She's mounted you, her clawed hand tight around your neck as she slowly thrusts herself into you. Initial pain is replaced by a not-unpleasant fullness despite her restriction of your air. She's evidently skillful, breathing hard as she keeps thrusting. You can feel yourself slipping away as you try to fight back, the last thing you recall is her howl of pleasure as she fucks you.

You wake up on the couch. Late afternoon sun streams through the bay window, the room uncomfortably warm from the sun. Andrea is there with you, and so are Paige, Juliet, and Abby. You hear keys in the door, struggling through full body aches to look at who is arriving. Sharron, Talia, Tyne, and Valerie are arriving together, all looking like they've been partying far too hard. You hear retching and look over to see Vivian puking onto the carpet.

"What the fuck happened?" she groans out in the brief moments between heaving.

"I don't even remember what we were celebrating. The new girl?" Andrea responds.

The long pause is broken by Willow inquiring "Does nobody remember? We all look like shit after all."

You chime in, slightly changing the topic of the conversation "Whatever it was, I just had the worst fucking nightmare."

Elena joins in, changing the topic even more with her question. "Did someone fuck me while we were out of it? Because my ass is fucking killing me and I don't know which of you did it."

Nobody knows, all looking around. Yet, evening is arriving and you're all tired. A sober rest beckons you all as the world fades to black again.

You're back in the training cell, exhaustion beginning to take hold of your mind. Your eyes metaphorically forced awake with stimulants, muscle augmentations beginning to take over. Lt. Halstead is there, yelling to your disheveled group.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

"Training begins now! You will be made into suitable weapons! You will be the saviors of the empire!"

"Obstacle course, now! Follow me you disgusting mutts!"

She turns, marching out of the door to the cell and down the hallway. The stark white fades to a battleship gray as she leads your group outside.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

"You will all spend the next twenty-four hours running this! Whoever runs the least laps will be held down for the others to have their way with!"

Shit. It's your ass literally on the line if you lose. Hopefully the whatever coursing through your system keeps you going long enough.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Lap after lap, your limbs beginning to give way as the sun rose and set. You weren't the first to falter, the one you instinctively recognize as Tyne falling first.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Lt. Halstead doesn't let you stop, forcing you all to keep going. You see Tyne, strapped to a wooden "X" laid flat on the ground. The Lt. has some sort of tablet hooked up to her implant, taking control away from Tyne's body.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

One by one your comrades falter and drop out. You fall second to last, Valerie as a skilled runner taking the winning position as sunrise greeted your group.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Tyne is your reward, her muscles disabled. Valerie gets the first chance as the winner, free use of Tyne until she is done. The rest of you watch on as Tyne gets fucked, ass taken and ridden until Valerie shudders from a final orgasm and collapses.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Your turn is next, the others watching on. Tyne is helpless, and you shove yourself into her ass. The lost dexterity in your claws making stroking her harder as you attempt to share. You can smell her fear as your claws close around her cock as you take what you want of her. Climax after climax as the mantras force their way into your mind. Take your prize, to the victor go the spoils. Forced stimulation to train you to kill for the sexual pleasure.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

You collapse from the over-stimulation, and the next takes her turn. One by one, all watching as each in her place partakes in Tyne.

Your head is throbbing in pain, your instinct to grab your head for comfort taking over. The jaws you thought were there are gone, the nightmare still unbelievably real. Tyne is on the floor, groaning in pain. Bruises cover her body, fear on her face with tears streaking down. She's dripping cum from her ass, her torso coated as well.

She's begging, pleading with you all standing around "Why? Why? Why did you do this to me? What did I do?"

The nightmare brought into reality, the dreams evidently reflecting the worst aspects of yourselves back at you. Your inhuman actions towards the others, twisted by your amnesiac mind into you as a beast. Not even a normal creature, but something with a human form twisted by the evil you've done in your life.

You're ripped from the dream back into the nightmare, the world flipping back and forth between the states at an ever-increasingly rapid pace. The titanium is back, the smell of blood and sweat back in the air.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Lt. Halstead is there, standing smug above the pack.

"Finally, you useless fucks did what you were supposed to. The final test: your first hunt."

You're led outside again, a spray bottle of stimulants puffed in your face. The world shifts, taking on a harsher edge. Lt. Halstead gives the briefing as usual.

"Several people that were like you but useless to the empire have been released into the training area. The last one to kill her target is for the rest of you to use."

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Three days to hunt down your prey, three days to serve your purpose. You can smell its fear on the wind, and run after it. The forest gives ample places to hide, and the stimulants coating your muzzle distort time. You hear a distant scream as one of your pack finds her prey and completes the task. One more unsuitable thing purged. One less mouth for the empire to pretend to feed.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

You don't know how long it's been, but you finally track your target down. It's climbed up a tree, easy prey for one with your claws. It's begging and pleading as you leap up and rip your way to it. For a moment, you see yourself reflected in her face. Someone from a past life who wasn't suitable. You, you were sufficient for the needs of the empire. You, not her, were the defense as the world turned against you.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

One swipe of your claws took the mirror away, the second swipe put it out of its misery. Just a shame you were last, your implant taking control of your body and causing you to fall from the tree a limp rag-doll of a creature. They had your scent, and were coming for you. Weapons obey, and you had been the worst at obeying this time.

The stimulants and the implant twisted your perception, the women taking their turns with you warping into even more monstrous forms. Your implant filled in the gaps, giving you the feeling time after time of each orgasm adding to the cum accumulating in and on you. They get their way with you, each in turn adding her seed to you, a gift you'll carry with you.

The nightmare is gone, but the reality you awaken back to is warped.

You're bruised and battered, leaking cum out your ass as you lay on the floor. The other women are gone except for the one you recognize now as the Lt. Halstead from your nightmares. She's got the cruelest smirk you've seen on anyone's face as she looks down at you.

"Pitiful creature, but you've completed your training."

"By now even a mutt as stupid as you should understand this was fake, serving only to help you bond together. Weapons forming a wolf-pack."

You want to reject it, fear and pain shouldn't be your reality. She walks closer to you, cocking her fist and landing a blow to your stomach. Dermal plates and ceramic fiber appears in your vision where her blow landed.

Fear takes hold of you, you desperately try to scramble backwards away from her. Anything to escape the nightmare you were now experiencing. A slap to the side of your face, the titanium jaw reappearing. You'd never been a person, that's why your memory was missing. You were a weapon that got to, for moments, dream of being a person.

"Now you finally fucking understand, trash."

"You think you'll get a cunt from the empire for this? Weapons don't need that. You will kill, you will break, and you will be the tool that saves us."

She snaps her fingers, and the world ends.

You're out in a city with your pack. The smell of diesel fuel mixed with bodies. Crumbled buildings and the rumble of tanks. Distant explosions signal the advance of the enemy forces, the last stand of the empire at hand.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Lt. Halstead is there in front of your pack, shouting out orders. The fog machine at her feet pumping airborne drugs into your snouts as the orders are drilled into the very fiber of your being. The enemies to hunt, the targets to focus on. Elite squads of merely human soldiers fell to weapons sculpted to perfect killing machines, enemy leaders torn to shreds.

Every kill a wave of pleasure, every victory further conditioning the wolves.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

Selene is the first to fall, a sudden hollowness in your mind as her life is snuffed out by an enemy tank round. Your armor might be great against regular bullets and knives, but an APFSDS round will tear one of you apart.

You can sense her presence as her life fades, loping over to her body as the others finish mourning the loss of a fellow. You take your turn, riding her corpse until you climax. The implant sending the sensation into your body of her twitching in you, her cum landing deep inside. You can feel it in you as you get off to howl in anguish, a warmth deep in you. A last gift from her you'll always carry the memory of.

Weapons don't think.

Weapons obey.

Weapons kill and no more.

How long has the fight even been? Exhaustion fills your limbs, the drugs and actuators forcing you ever onward. Blood fresh and old coat your muzzle and body, viscera adding to the horror of your tail.

The Lt. is walking up, shouting indistinctly at your group as you mourn your fallen pack member. The crack of a supersonic round, the smell of fresh blood. The absence of the mantra from your mind, the realization hitting you as to what you've had done to you. Howls of anguish and agony replace those of loss as you stagger around.

Union forces are moving in with pole-arms, a wire loop tightened around your neck as your limbs are grabbed. Soldiers in exoskeletons grafted to their bodies struggle to control you as one of their unit works to sedate you all. Carfentanil blown on the wind by a soldier in a helmet marked with a green plus, your enhanced senses causing it to quickly sedate you.

You're groggy, mind and vision fogged. The pain is gone and your body relaxed. You can see where your flesh has been opened, abrasive cutters and ultrasonic knives lying on the counter of the operating room. You're fully strapped down to the table, your augmentation actuators disconnected. You try to claw into the table, but your blades have been snapped off.

Two surgeons are beside you, the parting feel of a blade through flesh dancing around your face as metal and body were separated. You see your wolf skull set back down in front of you, the scarred titanium marked with blood looking back at you with hollow sockets.

The lower jaws parted, your face no longer built exclusively for death. Teeth you only needed for war plucked gently out and put aside. Battle was another life away as they worked to peel the organic from the synthetic.

You hear footsteps approaching down the hallway, someone chasing another. Their scent no longer is felt by you.

"Dr. Ziegler. Dr. Ziegler! Those dogs we captured, you need to see this."

You can hear the dismissive sneer of someone who sees the topic and person as below them.

“I'm not a vet, nurse. Why would I care about some filthy mutts?"

"Doctor, we opened one up after taking x-rays. They're not dogs; they're human."

Footsteps quicken, the doors behind you slam open. The two people stay behind you, watching on in a horror you can only presume must exist at the sight of the creature in front of them. A human, promised her womanhood and instead twisted beyond recognition. The animals they thought they had captured revealed to be far worse, the depths the empire would sink to laid bare with every stroke of the scalpel.