The thick, gelatinous yellow blood of the insectoid had still not dried when the wheels of Loveless's stretch limo drove over that sunny summer morning. The tinted windows teetered on the razor's edge of legality, a matter he'd never concerned himself with once in his adult life. Most issues could be waved away with cash, the rest with a gentle smile, monetary support of some kind, or, his personal favorite, threats.
Garou Loveless sat silently dressed in a slick all black suit that still somehow managed to contrast against the darkness that was his bodily fur. He'd rejected the proposal to wear the formal suit and tie that most, if not all, presidential candidates had opted to wear. Choosing instead his tailor-made business blazer, the top of which hung from a hangar above the left window.
Standing over six feet tall and weighing over two hundred pounds, all of which owed to muscle, Garou cut an imposing image even as he sat at the rear bench seat, head tilted forward, eyelids closed shut with his arms crossed in front of his wide chest. The wolf remained nearly motionless, betrayed only by his right paw as it tapped against the cushioned floor of the vehicle.
The dire wolf was in deep contemplation, though, over what most lacked the courage and strength to ask, not if they valued their careers and potentially their lives in the slightest.
Sitting across from Garou were two of his most loyal employees. Or to be more specific, the only two he could trust around the general populace: The Beastcorps—an elite force of heavily trained, very dangerous soldiers that each specialized in one specific skill above all else. What would be considered a detriment in any other force proved to be what helped them excel in the field.
Syndel, a Maned Wolf known for her flawless planning and operation execution, sat with a stoic, deadpan expression across her beautiful face as she fiddled with the touchscreen of her tablet.
For all her intelligence and abilities, she could not stop her glasses from sliding down her snout.
Beside her sat a slender Hyena named, conveniently, Task. He, like Garou, was bald and thus had no unique hair growth, unlike the Maned Wolf sitting beside him, who kept her auburn mane in a secretary bun.
Task and Syndel were the only two publicly known members of the Beastcorps, as they also doubled as employees both on a daily operational level within the company and in PR. They were the ones to always appear in recruitment ads for not just Beastcorps, but LovelessCo in its entierty and were, in a lot of ways, more the face of the company than its namesake.
NOW ENTERING BRICKHEDGE
Population: Growing
Read the wooden, hand-carved sign that moved past the vehicle in a blur, Garou only catching the briefest glimpse as they passed by, officially entering the city limits.
"We'll arrive at a town hall in approximately seven minutes, sir." Mused the maned wolf as she glanced at the GPS app. Garou did not reply, nor did he bother to acknowledge the fact one of his elite soldiers had exposed her genitalia to him as she uncrossed and then recrossed her long, slender legs.
Garou had used Syndel on multiple occasions to fulfill his, more often than not, violent sexual cravings, an activity that she took with great pleasure whenever asked. Sex within Beastcorps had been strictly prohibited as it could prove both a distraction and a source of potential drama amidst the ranks, so libido inhibitors had been distributed daily to the members of the force.
When the call to travel with the boss came, Syndel knew that the use of the drug would be halted and that she could fulfill her desires.
No matter the time or place, when Garou came calling, she'd answer with a wild desire. On one occurrence, they'd fucked in the VIP lounge at the Yankee Stadium and had two witnesses walk in on them, but no resulting scandal ever came about. Garou never showed the slightest hint of worry, even as the two that had bore witness to their messy sex entered the room just thirty minutes later to watch the game.
With Garou, Syndel felt she could do literally anything and get away with it.
Task remained silent, arms crossed, orange eyes fixed on the big wolf that sat before him, though his gaze hidden behind a black pair of shades. Ready to react at a second's notice in defense of his employer. Task was thin, slender, and had very little muscle, but he was fast and quick on his feet, which had served him well as a runaway on the streets.
The beast that had whisked the Hyena away from a life of crime on the streets, erasing his past crimes from the books and tossing him into the Beastcorps for training that would put him so high above those common street thugs he had been hanging with in Chicago that they'd barely be able to recognize him.
That, and his borderline insane love for the big black wolf.
The hyena knew he'd been groomed, having only been fifteen, when Garou confronted him in an alleyway behind the LovelessCo building. The wolf, shirtless, had beaten the shit out of him and the punks he'd been roaming with. He'd allowed them to flee but held Task by the neck, several feet into the air, demanding the beast swear his allegiance as his eyes literally glowed. He'd never be able to explain why he felt like he did at that moment.
Perhaps it had been the asphyxiation, or the sight of the sharp-eared, near-monstrous wolf had awakened something in him. Regardless of what it was, he'd pleaded his allegiance and then found himself in some top-secret military-like barracks later that week.
From then on, he'd received weekly private messages, phone calls, and care packages addressed by Garou himself. This continued until his eighteenth birthday, in which he had been granted a three-day weekend off to do whatever he pleased.
Garou had claimed two of those days, finally reaping the fruit of his labor as he brutally fucked the now-legal hyena over and over in his office.
Sex was how Garou had bonded with the select warriors before him: One he had found simply enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh and had, to his amazement, been more than capable of enduring his brutal way of fucking.
The other was one he had to simply wait for. Like a fine wine, it had to mature before he could crack open the top and indulge himself in the intoxicating content within. He had been influenced by the actions of others like him who were in places of power and money but had failed in their attempts at grooming younger beasts until they reached sexual maturity. There would be no scandal here or there. The world simply did not work that way when it came to the Loveless name.
The world as a whole, that was, until the name Brickhedge appeared before him one day.
It had seemed that what few words had got out about Garou's malicious intentions with his younger employee had somehow managed to circulate in a local tabloid in a small town located in the middle of nowhere.
How such a thing could happen had piqued his interest. Never has any news source run with stories about him or his company that didn't paint him as anything but a devilishly handsome, successful, yet stern businessman. Not even the biggest national tabloids were able to get things about him printed, even in this era where "fake news" sold.
So then, why was this little no-name shithole able to get his name printed and in such a light when the rest of the world simply smiled and waved at him as he raped and murdered in plain sight? A potential problem for his presidency run, and one he could easily take care of should an "accident" happen amid the chaos of his rally, resulting in the town burning down.
The stretch limo carefully rounded the corner, coming off the freshly paved Potato Street and emerging out on Main where a police officer stood on the corner, the press and curious onlookers standing behind him, and the barricades that had been put up in preparation for the day's events.
Inside, Garou slipped his blazer back on and then gestured to the driver to continue as he rolled down the windows, allowing the journalists and news outlets to capture his historic arrival.
He did not blink or acknowledge them. Public appearances were rare for Garou Loveless, and the nature of this particular outing had garnered more attention than even he could have possibly imagined. "Oh, what a mess this must be causing for the poor mountain folk that dwell here," he thought to himself as the only other government-owned building in town besides the post office came into view.
As the chilled air within the extended cab slipped through the open window, Syndel felt her erect nipples begin to soften as the humid summer heat seeped into her formal-looking pale gold blouse. Despite her flat chest, her nipples were quite large and made a showing of themselves quite easily.
Task sneered at the reporters who tried to get closer to the vehicle, ready to rip the jaw off of any beast that so much as attempted to touch his master. The dirty, uncouth hands of the inbred hillbillies that called this place home had no right to bare witness to his grace like this. He wanted to question Garou for his insitence on coming here, but knew better than that.
When the stretch came to a halt, parked perfectly in front of the town hall in a way that had been done so specifically for photo ops, Task and Syndel emerged from the vehicle to a collective gasp and awe by the crowd.
"Add 'uncultured' to that list of yours, Task," Syndel said as she circled the car and approached the door from which Garou himself would emerge. "You can tell just by looking at their slacked jaws which ones are the locals."
"It's really fucking disgusting. Master-- Mr. Loveless deserves a much better welcome than this," Task's accent resonated heavily with that of the city of Chicago from which he came.
"While I agree, don't question Mr. Loveless's decisions when in my presence. I will not repeat myself." She shot him a sly side glance, venomous and dangerous. Task shrugged. He'd resented how close Syndel had gotten to Garou in the past, and now her defending him from a harmless quip had pissed him off.
The door opened, and Garou swiftly stepped out, towering over both the lanky-maned wolf and the shorter hyena.
The dire wolf merely straightened his shirt, allowing just long enough for more photos to be snapped before turning toward town hall.
Through the crowd's murmuring and cheering, he thought he'd heard a tiny little voice shout, "Grump 2024", a fact that greatly irritated him.
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