Prologue 3236 DYs 26 Years Old

Imagine this: you're a male dog, a crooked kind of male dog, rich too, living in the only city in these dry, burnt, grassless lands. You're in the only city that uses metal to create tall, small, and complex buildings to make this city luxurious and homey; while also making some of those small, tall, and complex buildings a hidden place for the corrupted dogs to act "natural" to later get their paws dirty. This city also has lots of flashing, colorful lights, like red, blue, purple, orange, and much more, shooting out at the pure, dark and impenetrable clouds, in order to attract the attention of all kinds of canines in the New World for all of dogamnity to find, whether if those canines are good or bad.

Some of those dogs are crooked, greedy, and devious, like you. Some are worse, like addicts, murderers, rapists, you name it, but you're within ALL of those categories.

There are other dogs who are innocent, kind to the world, and suddenly being treated like the shittiest dog in the world. None of that is you, but you would love to strip their innocence until they're broken and useless, make them feel like they're the shittiest dog in the world, because your obsession of their bodies to please yourself makes you a sex addict, especially how frequent you are doing such an act. You're also greedy for any dog's valuables and Paws they've worked hard for, as you would take almost every bit of their Paws 'till they can only afford a piece of plastic. But until then, they end up dead by your men. Maybe that part doesn't make you look like a murderer to you, but believe me, I know for a fact that you've murdered someone.

And cruel enough, you're one of those dogs who are targeting the lowest to the average of canine lifestyles who are either living peacefully in their homes, or trying to scavenge for Paws in the streets to keep up with rent, or are working for themselves or someone else to keep a stable income, or once again; to keep up with rent; but sometimes their bosses; pimps; owners; are heartless and brutal. Me however, I work for myself, I may seem crooked too, also with a side of me being a murderer, and I sometimes end up being treated poorly as well; but I am definitely heartless and brutal to the likes of you. But just to keep things straight... I'm the VERY last canine no other canine wants to get killed by. And you, my corrupted "friend", is marked for death.

You are currently sitting and chilling on a rolling office chair, you're also in front of your glass desk with a computer reflecting a holographic screen up your sinful face, and you're listing debtors off with a swipe of your front paw on the screen. You're also checking your contacts as well, though all of your dirty allies have not been answering your messages lately, and the dogs who are in debt blocked you. And lastly, a male wolf you've been talking to for a month has not replied to you after your last response twenty minutes ago, which was, "come on baby, I'm the right man to be with a huge meat hanging and waiting for ya eagerly, you do want the Paws after all, right? We'll meet same place, and I'll make you a good boy at of you like last time, yeah? And forget about my bitch, she won't find out, you're my bitch after all".

Trust me, I didn't want to read that crap when I've been trying to get info from ya in secret. Shit got me fucked up. But you are cheating. Bold, but fucked up, and desperate. Who are you exactly cheating on though? A Doberman woman known as Bridgette, the one who wants cha dead.

The fucked-up part is that before you mated Bridgette, you gave her a piece of jewelry as a gift for existing in your crude, second life, then after the harsh mating you've delivered to her, you immediately went back to check your messages with that wolf. You even bought Bridgette from a local sex trafficking ring, and later forced her to be your "mate", because you were sexually frustrated and would do anything within your power to get what you want, which is endless pleasure. I can't blame you, but I mean, I would find the most beautiful lady or feminine-like male in a sex trafficking ring, kill the leader, then free everyone from it, then later treat that girl or man that I borrowed with great passion. You however, you don't treat her like that, but instead you would beat her if she does something you don't like, or really, you beat her because it's a joy to get out of. Should I really call it love if you're harming her for the sake of your sick pleasure?

That specific jewelry you gifted to her tonight before you mated with her, it was stolen rather than bought with your own Paws you "rightfully" earned, because you see, you send your own dogs to fetch, beat, and brutally slaughter low and middle class-dogs that you marked for debt of their Paws or belongings, usually by force, and that is how you get rich off them. You're a loan shark if you strangely have not caught up with who you are, but I would surprise, you are what you are after all, and someone needs to remind you of that.

All of your men were killed. Shot to be specific, and I supported and asked all of the dogs you've put in debt to block all communications coming from you to plummet your scheme, and I warned the male wolf about what you will most likely do to him the next time you both meet, something that would immensely satisfy your needs rather than your wants. And lastly, Bridgette told me everything you've done to her, and also to those you have put in debt, and then later to death, and she so willingly wants me to blow your head off, something the law in this city won't do. And would you look at that, she just left the building, knowing exactly what's going to happen to ya!

You're now completely alone, anger growing inside of you, and I can perfectly see you through your huge window with no blinds.

Oh? What's the matter? Something caught your eye through the window? You see a bright, gleaming glint flashing at you? You're trying to get a closer look? Yeah, let me see that crooked face...

Perfect.

Cha-BANG! Ssss...

Exactly how Bridgette wanted you to die: an exploded head. I hope I didn't kill anyone else through the apartment though, this heavily mechanized sniper has the right power to penetrate through at least 40 walls of any kind, plus with a special caliber bullet that is as long as an anti-aircraft bullet, to be specific about size.

Who am I? I'm Waves Young Waverly. Most call me... hold up, lemme get on my back real quick.

Hmmf! Thud.

There we go. Or really, there I go. Actually, there we go is better, my big ol' snipey-snooper is with me, the one that is chilling on the ground, resting after a good shot. Anyways, where was I?

Oh yeah, the Big Bad Beagle. At least, that's what most clients call me since I'm known as a legal-illegal professional assassin marksman, freelance work of course, but it definitely pays well.

Been doing this for a few years now, and I'm improving by the day! My mate, Dasha, knows about it too, but he doesn't really mind, but what's really in my mind is that he should quit being a stripper and perhaps just relax. Besides, I'm basically making way more money than him, working hard too, and he's been working there for a good long time too and hasn't retired, plus, Casantro can pick up a different boy stripper and no one won't tell the difference.

Tonight, once I get back home, I'll just tell 'em to quit his job, maybe get some action off her, and we'll just live our lives. What's the worst can happen, eh? Haha!

Ha...