“It is time for you to be sent on your first mission. It is a simple task - a foul mutant rebel criminal may be at large in the north of the city. She is a young adolescent girl and may have the ability to conceal herself from the sensors. But I am hoping her powers will not cover your senses. You are to hunt her down,” stated the officer, almost as though she were conducting a mission briefing.

Crouching upon the floor in a feral pose, Kirsten watched as the Mistress opened a closet with a touch and revealed a rough manikin adorned with the opaque sections of armour which her first confrontation with a Hound had revealed.

Removing a studded hood with an incorporated metal banded collar from the manikin, the Mistress returned and turned it inside out to expose an elegantly carved device at the ear which looked like a hearing aid and fed a slender wire to twin ovals at the featureless zone where her larynx would be.

“This will keep us in radio contact and allow me to monitor your actions. The collar holds a tracking device and a powerful explosive should you decide to try and disobey.”

The thought of escape was almost intangible, as though she could no longer apply a meaning to this word. Had she been reprogrammed to such an extent where all notion of freedom had gone?

Gathering up the hood, the officer stretched the studded garment over Kirsten’s head, the material gripping her skull as the collar was locked shut. Instantly she felt her strength returning, the device which had been keeping her mutant powers suppressed had been silenced and her limbs were gathering might at a phenomenal rate. She had forgotten how glorious the feeling of strength was and, drunk on power, she peered out through the acute eyeslits and studied her oppressor as she removed the elegant vambraces and opened the metal shells, snaring her forearms and snapping them shut, the devices clamping to her skin and studs to take firm rein on these anchors. Her fingers were tipped with claws and her shoulders and shins coated with the chitin armour, the lightweight shell fitting perfectly. A short leash snapped to the collar and with a soft tug she was brought scampering in the officer’s wake. Her heart fluttered at the prospect of finally leaving this Stygian domain.

The door to the lift accepted the Mistress’s card and slid aside, exposing the only means of exit from this realm. Instantly the heavy portal yawned open to permit ingress and with the push of a button her stomach seemed to lower and she was being borne aloft.

With a soft ping the doors opened and exposed more of the same dull corridors, causing her to question if she had moved at all. She flinched as a KGP soldier walked past along an intersecting passage, the sight of someone else after all this time frightened her. She had not realised how attached she had become to her prison. Now that she was freed of it, all she wanted was to return, causing her to ponder whether this homing instinct was an intended response, or something she had developed individually.

Drawn down the maze of corridors, past offices and barracks, she regarded the others with a sense of dread, her intent to cling to her owner for shelter strong and difficult to resist. The intrigued stares focused on her passing, her uncanny visage being responsible for the unsettling and intimidating attention. She was acutely unprepared for such publicity, her years prior to captivity having been ones of segregated isolation, the proximity of others something she had innately convinced herself to fear and now, as the centre of dozens of interested, quizzical, or covertly licentious stares, she was riven with a phobic terror.

Glass doors parted and opened onto a large open rooftop, exposing the awaiting folds of night lying beyond. She was atop a tall building, staring out over the city, the air cold and crisp, filled with a howling wind whose streaking gusts were corrupted and twisted into wild turbulence by the awaiting helicopter that churned the air with its blades. The navigational lights below the black craft pulsed and flickered in time to one another, bathing the underside of the opaque helicopter with their dull shades.

Engineers and mechanics scuttled around the awaiting transport like ants, tending the great machine with safety checks and fuel, as soldiers watched from the perimeter, cradling their rifles and regarding the scene with an impassive detachment, more concerned with their cold bodies than security.

Drawn onwards, she was ushered into the belly of the midnight craft, where she found a small squad of six KGP already sat upon the benches, faces grim, rifles clutched before them. They regarded her with a quizzing wonderment, not sure what she was. They knew she was a Hound, that much was certain, but the truth of her recruitment was lost to them.

The Major dropped into the last remaining space and drew Kirsten close, having her huddle willingly at her boots like a faithful dog. From the shadows of her humble position she looked up and saw the occasional flick of a stare to the officer, the men jerking a gaze to the woman’s figure. The concupiscence was infuriating and Kirsten tensed, her anger at their crass wants evoking her choler, brooding on how they dared regard her with such base lusts.

With a screeching cry the hatch was slid back into place and locked. A thumbs up from a retreating mechanic signalled the all clear and the helicopter shuddered as the rotors built to full speed. A wrench to her innards signalled the sharp rise from the pad and, dipping forth, the building fell away and they leaned off into the air.

Closing her eyes, Kirsten steadied her heart and listened to the repetitive lullaby of the engine. A gloved hand covertly reached down and took hold of her shoulder, steadying her nerves with a reassuring touch. In response she put her taloned fingers to the Major’s boots for comfort and tried to distract herself from the flight.

A blaring alarm and a crimson bulb flashed into life, alerting the interior. The leash came away and the sense of motion eased as the helicopter began hovering. With a yank the hatch was hauled back, exposing the night in its all nebulous glory.

Rooftops lay below, the distance a fatal fall to a human, but to her it was a mere skip. Hurling herself from the aperture, the air thundered around Kirsten in her moments of freefall and with a crunch she dropped into a low skulking squat, the roof tiles fracturing under her graceful fall.

Looking up, she saw the helicopter close its door and leaned aside to wander off into the darkness, its steady chopping song ebbing until vanished completely. Rising from the ragged craters she had punched, Kirsten turned her mind to the skin about her, lending it her will and causing her form to flicker and shift as the camouflage settled into full use.

Regarding her arms, she could only see the aura of her mutant blood, all trace had vanished from normal sight, the unsteady distortion that remained being almost imperceptible amongst the shadows.

With a smile she drew in a deep draught of the air, sucking it through her hood and filling her lungs with the menagerie of smells. Throwing up her arms she skipped forward and plunged into a cartwheel, carrying herself along the roof before back flipping over the chimney. Her toes grazed the hard panes beyond and she broke into a mad dash, her elation at this exercise far beyond the mere state of rapture.

Charging along the terraced houses she launched from one to another, looking across the dark streets with a piercing gaze, seeking the flickering aura of chaos that was her quarry.