He has awoken.

The nightmare has been put on hold; the lids they projected onto have raised, and crimson, the furious and vengeful crimson, glares out into the sunlight.

He will come to be known as the Dog, loyal to a fault, new allegiances fetched, old hatred snarled at and gnawed on, protectiveness renowned within the unwilling masters.

His loyalty that killed him will drive him forward. And when he meets his Sheep again, his unneeded breath will be taken from him, and his cold heart will thaw, shocking him into the realization that he truly is alive, even though a shard of steel pierced the lower lung. Watch, Sheep, as he lies as his last act of protection to you. You, that woman. She, who had tamed him, had been cursed with offspring wrought of daemons from the heavens. How befitting, then, that he has come to be possessed with mutants from the underworld, that same realm where his own loyal companion was forged. But even without that friend, he will toil forward, avenging the woman so many called him pet to.

But without that friend, new compatriots will have to be made. The first will be the same chamber the that fired the metal that shattered his rib, the same cold, unrelenting Silver. Quick to maim, it will carry the spirit of the young, the reckless, of insanity, but being so young, it will rarely leave a mark unless dirty trickery is used doggedly on the opponent. They will be unwilling comrades, and one will be hurriedly discarded, tossed to a monster as mindless as it and replaced with a new tool. Tools~that is all he will know them as. He will care for them, of course; tools are useless worn down, after all. But none will be friends, none but that first loyal muzzle which moved with him as one. No, these will be tools that will deliver that Lynx to the shadows.

The Lynx. Oh, that Lynx that will make his blood burn. You have wronged him, you have killed him. You have taken something from him that was his. Dogs are unrelenting with their possessions, greedily hoarding all they are given by their masters. The Shepherd gave him the Sheep to protect from things that go bump in the night, including you. But that is his sin. Cats are crafty, enticing the innocent with their purrs and coddles and promises of sweet reward. But you introduced the Rat to that naive girl, and she fell in love with the darkness. Born from this darkness came the Black Lamb, so very favored by the Shepherd, so very manipulated by the very master that gave the Dog the impossible mission of guarding. He does not know that now, but as the pieces fall into place, the nightmare will grow. As will the guilt, as will the pain, as will the confusion of the simple mind~which master is to be obeyed?

For he will come to know these people as his masters, these people who were foolish enough to open a broken heart boxed in with lid sealed tightly. And he will protect them, even when they shrink back in horror at the terrors that will burst from his mind. And when the Cub gives them all that choice, he will desert for the city of nightmare. And in that palace of torture, he will find it again~his dear lost companion, his own loyal canine~this one with three mouths: one for hatred, one for retribution, and one for agony. Armed with this new sensation, his mind will begin to break down. The torment will be reminiscent of that which had him bound to the chopping block. Another sin, to kill the Black Lamb, born of his inability to save the original Ewe? To kill the one who might hold a piece of his remaining emotion~just crush it? Or would it be fixing the broken hearts, shattered by bullets and scalpels and torture unnatural, to finish off the curse that the Shepherd has rained down on the world? Yes. With his faithful hound at his right, the Dog will return to that airship and spend the night carving apologies into each and every ellipse of ammo that is to pierce that broken man. And when he volunteers to go with the assassin party, he will be his own master, the Alpha male, flanked by the three wolves of Hades that snap at his heels to push him forward again, driven mad with years of insatiable hunger. And care for his pets he will. Even when the internal voices convince him that he loves the Black Sheep that destroyed his coveted beloved. Even when his insanity shrieks in pools of blood. Even when the Shepherd unleashes its final monsters. Even when he Devil nearly dissolves him into the End. That constant pack will stay at his side. The Dog, whose loyalty will lie with the entirety of the Planet, until the dirge. The dirge of the Cerberus.

But for now he has awoken, and the Nightmare has ended...

Foolish Puppy.