The Slipspace Juncture

Chapter 7 - Shipped

[Third Person POV]

The semi drives through the snowy night, its large body plowing through the snowed in terrain. Railings dot the side of the road, reflective panels serving as the only way one could really tell where the roads began and ended. The semi barely manages to weave around bends and corners, throwing caution to the wind as it desperately attempts to take its cargo to a more 'suitable' location in the quickest amount of time possible.

During its travel, it comes upon a T-Junction with cars that it just manages to stop at; the sudden braking seeming simple enough for the young driver and his compatriot in the passenger seat who seem quite content with the knowledge they didn't just smash into traffic. However, the same cannot be said for the stowaways hidden within the container the semi holds...

[Second Lieutenant Amber POV]

My claws rake across the sheet metal floor as I am once again sent careening towards another end of the godforsaken shipping container. How shit do these drivers have to be!?! I feel a claw, left forepaw on the ring finger, chip, causing me to suddenly yelp in pain. Fuck. I clench my muzzle tight and freeze, once again trying, unsuccessfully, to move my ears under my helmet to try and listen to see if I was heard. With the truck at a sudden stop, I feel a surge of anxiety course through me. But nothing comes.

I cautiously prop myself onto all fours and quietly crawl back over to my corner of the crate, a sharp pain radiating from my left forepaw. However, as I'm about halfway to my corner I am suddenly sent sliding forward as the truck begins moving again. Careful to not use my claws, I dig my hindpaws and the palm of my forepaws into the metal 'floor', slowing myself down. Hitting the wall of the container, I stifle a grunt before moving the small distance to put myself back in my spot. I move my forepaw up to my face to see the extent of the damage. The tip of the claw is, obviously, removed, leaving behind a broken and jagged stub. On top of that, there is a sizable crack running along the length of it that penetrates as deep as my quick, blood trickling from the cracks.

Rubbing my right forepaw along my muzzle, I let out a tired sigh tinged with a growl of frustration and clench my left forepaw into a tight fist in hope that the pressure will relieve some of the pain. Not wanting to deal with blood smearing across everything I touch, I move my right forepaw down to the EMB on my hip and unzip it, quickly slipping my fingers within and grabbing a small amount of bandaging. I unravel a small amount of it before holding my breath and tightly winding it around my fingertip and claw, gritting my teeth together and letting out a heavy breath through my snout. The condensated breath washes over my paw as I finish up with the bandage and use my claws to rip the remaining fabric. Stuffing the bandage back into the EMB, I allow myself to start breathing again as I pull out some tape before using it to fasten the bandage more securely.

Bending my finger, I glance at it, the bandage clings tightly and painfully to it. Feeling the truck's driving becoming more smooth, I lean my head back against the sheet metal wall. I roll my head over to look at Rex, who I've strapped with rope to the only thing in this whole damn container that offers some semblance of stability; that disgusting metal box. His unconscious body is a bit... well... strewn out all over the place. I should probably take advantage of the fact he is still knocked out and finish my investigation.

Getting low on all fours again, I crawl, carefully, over to him. Upon reaching him, I once again reach up for his helmet strap, my forepaws fumbling around on what appears to be the clip holding it shut. With a small click, the cloth bands fall, allowing me to remove his helmet. Putting my forepaws on both sides of it, I feel what is most likely a combination of mud, snow, and, very possibly, blood, rub off against my forepaw pads. Trying not to think too hard on it, I lift the helmet up off his head and find that, to my surprise, he doesn't have ears folded back within the helmet. In fact, his ears are actually hard to notice, to the point I had to check again to even notice, being located on the side of his head, indicated by the small bulges in his balaclava. The glasses, too, are interestingly attached to the helmet.