…

I can't say I'm surprised, however, nor did I care all too much. It was more or less expected, or rather, I was surprised there were still survivors.

Myself included.

'The Pit', as I've come to call my home, wasn't exactly a place for young beast-men to thrive. My siblings and I were always laying on a thin blanket that barely served to separate us from the cold, grating, stone floor that was seasoned with bodily fluids and waste. We were bound to get sick sooner or later after rolling around in our own excretions.

The day he died was pretty hectic, to say the least.

Mom went hysterical, the guards got p.i.s.sed, and the higher-ups were even more livid because of this. Apparently, the guard who was watching over us was being overly negligent to us do to extreme racism. I say extreme, because everyone in 'The Pit' was racist, but he was a cut above the rest in that regard.

In fact, he went against orders and decided it was better off that we died. He couldn't do it himself, of course, so he made sure our living conditions were barely survivable.

…And so?

They hung him; made an example for the rest of the staff to not mess with their merch.

And apparently, we're the highest pick of the litter; literally, and figuratively.

They called us "Cloud" cats; an EXTREMELY rare breed of cat beast-men who specialize in spatial abilities. From the way one of the elites chewed out the guards, we were near-priceless commodities that served as a mobile-storage unit once our abilities were developed.

I was especially looked after, due to the shade of my fur; a "Nebula" variant, they called me. The pink-purple stripes of my fur are apparently the sign of a pure-bred, meaning I'd be especially talented in the art of being a purse. My siblings were akin to a carriage, while my potential would be something like a bank vault.

I'm not really sure what all this means just yet; I haven't really gained the ability to speak words besides "Myeew," or "Nyaa." Unsurprisingly, my limited vocabulary has stunted my educational progress on how the world works, and prevented me from asking the questions I needed answers for.

Not that I really expected to get any answers from a prison where every authority hates you just for existing.

I've been making due, though.

*Crunch*

"NYAOOOW!"

…

Yes, that strange cry was me.

A sharp pain was constantly grinding at the tip of my tail, barely failing to break the skin. I turned my head to see who dared to chomp on my additional appendage.

Unsurprisingly, it was Mable; the second eldest of our siblings.

Well, she is now, since our brother Gildo is deceased.

"Nyeeew, Nyew."

She's been overly attached to me.

Creepily so.

A normal infant, when upset, would probably respond with tears or crying right?

Not her.

She lashes out physically if she can't have me near her. She'll grind her nails on the floor, hiss to her surroundings, crawl around to find her brother; her hairs would constantly stand on end until I was within acceptable proximity.

I've come to the conclusion I'm going to be having issues with her from now on.

She's a natural born nutcase.

"Mable," said a soft voice with a hint of derision. "Leave his tail alone, I don't want Chess all grumpy again, you hear?"

She's chewing harder now; say something Ma!

"…awww. His pouty look is so cute! Mama can't take it!"

I'm not pouty.

I'm disappointed. I thought mother's were supposed to protect their children? Not bask in their sufferings, like now.

"…"

…and as usual, the youngest of us, Karv, is just watching from the sidelines. He doesn't really do much besides hide away all timid-like while constantly keeping an eye on me.

I have no clue why, but at least he hasn't invaded my personal s.p.a.ce.

"…Nyu, Nyu, Nyu."

Though his random chuckles are ten times more off-putting, at least it's done in moderation.

My mother, finally seeing I was reaching the peak of my frustration, decided to play hero and separate the two of us.

"Enough now, Mable. Chess doesn't want to play, ok?"

She's not listening; she's too busy eyeing my tail like a chew toy.

"Come, little ones. HE," she spat, "will be checking up on us soon. Let's get you cleaned up, ok? Please be good for mama. Please?"

It should be obvious, but cats and baths just don't mix well.

We don't get cleaned up everyday, but since Gildo died a couple months ago, one of the elites of "The Pit" took it upon themselves to check our well-being. He, along with the other leading officials of this place, want to make sure we were given at least the bare minimum for survival.

Essentially, it was the same as our last chamber, but the floors weren't as filthy and we had a wooden barrel as our bath and a hole in the ground that served as our toilet.

It may not seem like much, but this was state-of-the-art equipment for slaves like us. We even have piles of hay for our bed.

When you've been sleeping on a hard surface from birth for several months, you tend to appreciate the smaller things in life.

[>>>] FAST FORWARD:

[>>>] 30 minutes later

After the arduous process of taking a bath with my siblings, a large man came into our cell.

He was at least 2 meters in height and looked to be in his forties. His grayed hair, with streaks of black, was slicked back in a dignified manner. He looked like a war-torn and battle-hardened veteran; his charismatic stature with his arms tucked behind his back displayed his experience as a leader and authority without the need for words.

His beard was well groomed and his green eyes were stern as he gazed at us. I felt no affection from the man before me, and though I knew there would be no such feelings, I admit I still had some expectations from him.

He was our father, after all.

And a human, at that.

"s.h.i.+re," the man spoke in a near, commanding tone as he looked to our mother. "How is their health?"

Our mother, s.h.i.+re, glared with heat in her voice, "They've been fine, now. Not that you actually care."

She held us tighter in her embrace as tears threatened to escape her eyes. Her lips quivered and the lids of her eyes began to s.h.i.+ver, as she looked to an empty s.p.a.ce in the room; a bale of hay that remained untouched.

"You didn't care when my little Gil was kill-"

"He was mistreated; not killed. It was unfortunate circ.u.m-"

"He may as well have been killed!" she retorted. "That guard didn't care for your PRECIOUS goods, and did his d.a.m.ndest to make sure we died of 'natural' causes or 'unfortunate' accidents."

She huffed with anger, but still trying to keep her tone low. As crazy as she could get, she was still wary of her surroundings, and didn't want to risk an entourage of guards flooding into the room…again.

Father merely stared at her and approached with a casual air.

*SMACK*

"Don't take that tone with me; you should be grateful I blessed you with children at all," he said, staring at s.h.i.+re as her cheek began to redden. He s.h.i.+fted his eyes onto to me, saying, "… and ones of such high quality, no less."

She fixed a glare onto the offending hand that struck her, before looking into the man's eyes.

"These children are the ONLY good thing that could ever come from you."

He didn't bother to respond, as if doing so was below him. He was never angry from the start, and only showed an expression of boredom and annoyance at times. He simply continued to stare at me, ignoring all else in the room.

"How is-"

"Chess?" she cut off. "You have other children too, you know."

"Yes," he agreed, "but they can't be compared. They are valuable, yes, but young Chess is a treasure."

"He," father said, whilst pointing at me. "Is special…like you. But more so, in his case."

"…"

Mother frowned in silence, not liking how curious he was of me.

I wasn't a fan of the attention, either.

Not by an old man, at least.

"I've heard from the guards: he's begun forming words and attempted walking."

Mother became silent at this, as did I.

I understood my actions were weird, but it was painfully obvious that

ORDER

was right about this world. It'll take more than intellect to survive.

Hence, I began my own training regiment. No matter what I did, I figured they wouldn't kill me at the very least; not after I understood my true value.

"They say he's a genius; a prize of 'The Pit'." he continued.

"…yes," she uttered slowly; arms pressing tighter onto my body. "He never cries and always uses the bars to help stand himself up. He's not strong enough yet, but I feel he can walk in a week or so."

Mother must've been getting the same odd vibes I was feeling, because she started to back away from him a bit. We both knew that the only reason she could talk to him the way she did, was because he could care less.

If he truly did get upset, she knew she would never stand a chance. Worse, she might even put us at risk if she flew off the handle so carelessly.

She might have a screw loose, but she wasn't stupid. In fact, I'd say she was pretty d.a.m.n intelligent. She knew what b.u.t.tons to press, how far she could go, and when a threshold was reached. Her dialogue with the guards, including this man, required patience, careful thought, and well-placed barbs now and then to release her frustrations.

I respected her.

"I see…"

He turned away from s.h.i.+re, looking outside the cell doors of the prison. His expression betrayed nothing, and is body never left it's proud posture. He seemed unfeeling throughout this whole conversation, and I could only think we truly were related.

"One guard said they caught him doing something like push-ups."

Yikes.

"And another saw him waving his arms around for some reason," he said, before turning his head slighty to her direction. "Did you show him these things?"

Martial arts- or at least, that's what I was trying to do. Just some basic motions to develop my muscles in a combative way.

I didn't realize, though, I was being watched to such an extent. My senses are strong, even just as a beast-baby, and I didn't hear or see anyone…so how did they know?

Was it magic?

"…he must've seen me dancing around or exercising." she said while stroking my ears. "He catches on fast, this boy."

My mom lied. She never did any of those things, and even she found it weird that I moved as I did. Even if she could ask questions, the only answer she would get was some form of "Nya."

I appreciate it, too, because he was clearly asking these questions with something in mind.

For what, exactly, I'm wasn't too sure.

"Hmmm…" he groaned lowly.

Though I'm grateful for her efforts, he clearly wasn't buying it.

"…I'll be back again next week." He said, ignoring mother's obvious lie to cover for me. "Make sure the children remain healthy. We can't afford another loss."

"Loss," she parroted, "You only see these children as property, don't you?"

He was silent.

"I knew that though; and so do you." she said, turning her head away again. Her face turning sour, as if looking at him brought bile to her throat.

"You're a sc.u.mbag, and I hope you burn in h.e.l.l for this."

Clearly, my father was a man of few words and still waited in silence; only caring for a proper answer to his statement.

Mother saw this and frowned. I know it killed her to satisfy this man's ego of authority and dominance, but she simply couldn't stand his presence any longer.

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Biting her lips, she finally caved and responded, "I would've done so, even without you saying."

She paused, before trying to fire another jab at any possible integrity he may still have left in his body.

"At least ONE of us has to be the good parent…and I think it's obvious who that will be."

Satisfied with her response and deaf to her insult, he opened the barred doors and left the cell.

"Good Night, s.h.i.+re."

"f.u.c.k off."

*CLANG*

The steel doors shut loudly as the sound of his steps began to recede with him parting in the distance.

I still wasn't able to learn that man's name, even after all his visits. My mom would always refer to him as "you," "a.s.shole," and many other derogatory terms. She treated it like a poison that would melt her tongue and infect us, if it were ever voiced from her lips.

His name was taboo to our cell-hold, and the curiosity was killing me.

The hate and tension she felt toward that man was palpable, and it didn't take a mind reader to figure out we probably weren't born by choice.

But it was clear she loved us nonetheless; her actions, affection, and obsession with our well-being is probably why that man left us in her care and kept her from the mines.

Emphasis on the obsession.

"…don't grow up to be like HIM, kitties. He only cares for himself and his success; he's a liar and a scourge that feeds off the misfortune of others."

I kinda like him. We weren't all that different, actually.

But I feel a bit indebted to my mother, so I guess I'll have to kill him if she really wants me to.

It's weird, really. I find myself annoyed with her unnatural adoration for us, but yet I also feel a bit…satisfied? Content? I'm still not sure, but I get the same feelings for her as I did for my friend Rich; maybe a bit more.

Maybe it's different because she gave birth to me.

"Heh. You look so cute staring into s.p.a.ce, Chess."

Please stop poking my cheeks.

"It's like you're thinking about something….was it me? How adorable!"

You have no idea how right you are, mam; you're so right, it's actually a bit disturbing.

…I've decided on my first rule of this world.

Don't underestimate a mother's intuition.

"Now," she said loudly. "Let's get you guys ready for bed!"

*Munch*

…please stop.

"And stop biting your brother, Mable."

"Nyu, Nyu, Nyu…"

"Karv, stop chuckling, please. You're disturbing…well, all of us."

That was an understatement.

…

Well, I've had plenty of time to discover my surroundings over the past year, and I've got a few objectives in mind for now.

Get the h.e.l.l out of here.

Fracture a few minds.

And maybe kill some people while I'm at it.