Inukashi survives his second manhunt through luck alone.

Five dogs are missing- two of which are his cousins- lost after he sent them to monitor a Disposer that was rumored to have connections with the city. Inukashi stayed behind to grab some drinking water from the river.

There's no predicting a Hunt.

Now the river was almost white with pieces of plaster that had fallen in from the massacre upstream. The city attacked the marketplace, destroying buildings and residents alike with new powerful tanks and guns. He can still smell the smoke in the air, present long after they've left.

Inukashi would have been there. A cup of dirty water saved his life. Cold terror fills every vein in his body at the thought.

He swallows the bile that rises in his throat- an instinctual reaction to the scent of burnt flesh- as he surveys the damage done. The marketplace is left in shambles, buildings are caved in, wire, dust and brick is stacked in unstable piles throughout.

Carefully, he climbs over the debris, looking for a glimpse of fur or a flash of wagging tail. Instead, he finds the Disposer's body riddled with holes in the middle of the street. Spy or not, he died the same as everyone else, and he rots like any other body on the street.

Where the fuck are his dogs, if not with this body?

Inukashi refuses to die like that. He'll crawl, he'll beg and he'll suffer anything if it means surviving another day— but only if it means survival. To struggle and fight against everything with only one result, nothing, everlasting nothing— Inukashi can't imagine anything worse.

For a moment, he wonders if the Disposer suffered, if he felt each bullet enter him all at once, or was hit in the heart first and simply felt nothing at all. There's something twistedly alluring about the thought of a painless death. A death without suffering, in his sleep, the warmth of his dogs beside him. To live to see old age, and greet it openly, yes, there are worse ways to—

He kills that line of thought. Inukashi hates Hunts. He hates thinking about death. He hates thinking as a whole, if he's being completely honest. If there's food to be won, and breath in his body, he'll continue on. It's that simple.

Inukashi doesn't need to make things worse by complicating life with shit like too much thought.

He steps over the body, sniffing the air ineffectually for any signs of his family.

Instead, he smells alcohol.

A well-dressed man drinks from a silver flask beside the wreckage of a fallen building. He's rocking slightly on his feet. The hotel-owner watches him unsteadily reach out and pour what remains of the liquid in his flask onto the wood.

It's a goddamned waste.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Inukashi yells, loudly.

He would normally teach him a lesson in a less personal way that involves at least 75% more dog— maybe get some money out of the deal—but he really can't afford to risk any more of the dogs. Besides, even young and alone, he's perfectly capable of being threatening in his own right.

The man jumps. Inukashi nearly swipes the flask out of his hand, but before he gets the chance to grab it, the man presses it to his chest like it's some ancient treasure.

"Not for you, boy, you're too small for a mascul…manly drink like this." The man looks toward the wreckage, voice dripping with alcohol. "Haven'tcha heard of liberati-libation?"

Inukashi doesn't have a fucking clue what libation is, but it sounds stupid if it involves pouring perfectly good alcohol onto the floor. Inukashi looks at the puddle of alcohol opening his mouth to say as much when his voice catches.

There's an arm resting on top of the rubble. The nails have been painted with pretty pink nail polish. It's been torn cleanly off from the shoulder, but the gruesome end is wrapped up with muddied cloth. Blood reluctantly seeps through and drips off the splinters of wood, beginning to congeal slightly.

The man's drink has been poured on top of it.

"Oh, damn it all." Inukashi looks away. He doesn't have time for this. The man takes a long sip from his empty bottle and sways unsteadily as he attempts to move away from the severed arm. "You're insane."

"I'm honoring her!" he shouts defensively.

"You're wasting a drink, is what you're doing." Inukashi comments blandly, allowing his eyes to scan the collapsed building for fur. He ignores the arm.

"You'll understand when you're older, boy."

The drunk's voice is wrecked—raw and shitty sounding. Inukashi can smell the whiskey on his breath. He certainly hopes he won't ever understand; there's a twisted sense of comfort in knowing that no matter how far he falls, he will always be better than this man.

He hums noncommittally, taking a step onto the rubble. He'd have to check the house for the dogs—whatever was left of it, anyway.

"Who're you looking for?" The man mumbles as Inukashi lifts up a piece of wood to peer into a somewhat functional section of the house.

Inukashi stops, momentarily weighing his options: no good comes from discussions with drunks, but it's possible he's seen something. With his eyes narrowed in a way Inukashi hopes looks like he's not to be fucked with, he holds up two fingers.

"Two dogs."

The man nods enthusiastically. "Dogs, I see, I see." His eyes are bloodshot, but he doesn't seem concerned about anything. His focus is trapped on the air in front of him, although he seems to think that's somewhere near Inukashi's face. "You know, boy, you smell like dog."

"You smell like booze." Inukashi bites back, sick of smelling everything but dog. "Which is a helluva lot worse if you ask me—fucking drunk."

The man's eyebrows shoot up comedically and he holds up his hands. "I was offering an opinion." He hiccups and then looks at the arm. "Did you know her?"

Inukashi ignores him. "You haven't seen the dogs?"

"I think I knew her." He muses, quietly, scratching his chin. "I know a lot of girls like her. In her prime too…"

"I'm walking away." Inukashi says firmly, not in the mood to deal with the copious emotional issues of a man and his whore- or rather the issues between a man and the severed arm of his whore. He has dogs to find.

"Where's the rest of the body, you think?" The man asks with the same thoughtful-yet-thoroughly-inebriated tone.

Inukashi knows he should leave, but honestly can't help but indulge in a final wave of morbid curiosity. It's going to get him killed someday. He looks once more at the arm, the cloth around the edge seems intentional, like someone was trying to stop the bleeding.

Maybe they were saving it for later? Who the hell would want to save an arm? "Maybe someone's going to eat it."

It's a regrettable comment, sounding stupid even to Inukashi's ears. He regrets it as soon as it's out of his mouth. The man practically jumps back, pinwheeling his arms to keep from falling over.

"Eat—why—" His voice drops suddenly, horrified. "Do you do that? Do you eat people here? Times are desperate my boy but—never that desperate if you have a good nose for business—"

The man seems so genuinely distressed, Inukashi has to physically bite back the urge to roll his eyes.

"You've never had person before?" He deadpans, baring his teeth threateningly. "I've half a mind to take a bite out of you myself."

The man steps back satisfyingly.

"I have to go," he says.

"I agree," Inukashi replies.

Inukashi smiles as he watches him stumble away, tempted to shove him down and rob him for everything he's worth, the damn fool. He doesn't however. Inukashi is desperate, hungry, and alone—but he has family to find, and they will always come first.

His family keeps him human, even when he'd rather not be. They separate him from the men in the tanks, destroying marketplaces and killing innocents.

As long as Inukashi has them, he can continue on.

He searches for the dogs the rest of the night, and into the early morning.