*The Cliffnotes version for the fur on the go

Steward was your everyday average businessman, he ran a successful corporation, had more faithful workers than he knew what to do with. The only difference between him and other business managers, his business is making those workers be faithful. Griz and Chuck were two unwitting pawns for Mr. Smith, who, fed up with the unruly pair, took them for a visit to Stelwards ‘Process’, a place they wouldn’t remember…along with everything else they ever knew.

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*The Full Story;

Behind a two way mirror, two figures in business suits stood watching as a machine on the other side of the glass slowly placed a helmet upon a seated badger. The muscular subject was motionless, with a blank, nearly lifeless expression upon his face. A second, equally hulking figure stood beside the seated badger, a metallic helmet with red visor already affixed to his horned head.

As the helmet finished its descent, the steel cords that had seen to its placement detached, only to withdraw back into the shadows above whence they came.

Of the pair on the other side of the glass watching closely, one nodded with approval at what he saw, reaching up to stroke the stubble upon his chin thoughtfully.

“And you’re certain all willing thought is removed?” He asked of the being beside him, turning away from his observation of the process to acknowledge the shadowed figure.

“Yes.” The answer was a flat, tired one, oozing impatience, as if it’d be asked the very same question countless times before.

“Very good, and what of bothersome relatives or friends that might come sniffing about too-“

“Let me cut you off there, Mr. Smith.”

Though he couldn’t see it, the first onlooker to the proceedings could feel a slight breeze coming what assumed was an impatient wave of the hand.

“I realize your need for assurance you’ll not feel any repercussions for my service here, but we’ve gone over this before, many many times and I’m a very busy man, with very little patience.”

The voice that answered Mr. Smith was cold and curt, sharp as a knife, and if the otter wasn’t standing the distance away that he was, he was almost sure he could’ve been cut by them.

“Please forgive my concerns, Mr. Stelward, I meant no disrespect nor to imply any doubts of your machinery.”

Stelward sniffed diversely “I’m sure you didn’t, no one ever does when they badger me with these bothersome questions, do they?”

Mr. Smith flinched at the retort, unknowing how to immediately respond.
Stelward didn’t give him the chance as he reached into one of the inner pockets of his suit jacket and withdrew a cigar. From the same pocket he produced a silver lighter, and clicked it alight.

Mr. Smith was unable to suppress a cringe of revulsion as Stelward did this, for the flame of the lighter briefly illuminated his face. The grotesque visage of a partially burned face bathed in an orange glow met the otter, a single, empty milky white eye boring a hole into his skull.

“Any authorities, friends or family who come ripe with troublesome inquires are given more answers then they know what to do with. In the event they become far too bothersome for their own good, certain measures, IE, mind modifications are made to ensure any trouble they cause is short lived, as explained to you upon our first meeting in my office.”

Stelwards voice, cold and calculated, didn’t miss a beat as he lit the end of his cigar, tucking the lighter back into his inner coat pocket after a few choice puffs. Smith was thankful that the end of the cigar, luminescent as it was, was only bright enough to light up the ‘normal’ side of the scarred panthers features.

“Yes, yes of course, thank you Mr. Stelward.” Smith had begun fidgeting fingers without even realizing it. Soon catching himself however, he stowed his paws away in his coat pockets.

A moment of silence between the pair, as, from the corner of his eye, Smitt caught a glimpse of the badger rising from the metal chair he’d been seated in from beyond the glass. He rose so slowly, with as much precision as a hardwired machine, it was both astounding and unnerving to him.

“Have you any other queries, Smith?” The panther was resented having to ask, but knew it was a required courtesy. But more of prompting of the two to part ways to him.

“Oh, No…no, none whatsoever, I thank you for allowing me the honor of witnessing your operations, I’m sure I’ll be happy with the final ‘product’”
“They’ll be much less disagreeable now, yes.” Stelwards voice had a faint trace of a smile, a wheezing chuckle following.

There was a moment Smith caught another glance of the marred right side of the panthers face, and again he balked. It looked something attune to a grinning skull when the feline smiled, it was a look the otter knew would haunt him for days, if not years.

“I had best be going.” Smith soon found himself longing to be anywhere else but there, and he swiftly went to gather his hat from a lone standing wooden rack, as well his cane.

“Remember where I directed you to collect your charges.” It was more of a statement on the panthers behalf rather than a question of whether or not the otter remembered the way.

“Yes, I shall, thank you!” Quickly placing his hat upon his head, the otter jerked open the door, and hastily made his retreat.

Stelward watched with mild interest as the door was hurriedly shut, nostrils twitching as he sniffed the air. Fear, the otter had been rank with it throughout each one of their meetings, the panther could’ve chocked on the stench.

He was used to giving his clients, as well as everyone else he encountered a certain measure of unease. He was a state of mind that, just because those around him experienced an awkward discomfort, why should he? It was those very weaknesses of the mind the panther detested so, rare it was someone could look him in the eyes without seeing anything but a mangled gargoyle of a cat.

“Sir?”

As if on cue, the one individual who could look upon Steward without the slightest trace of disgust or discomfort appeared out from within the shadows of the observation room.

“Garvan, what ideal timing, my thoughts were leading me to you.”

Turning to address Garvan, Stelward viewed the familiar hulking presence of the horned hyena, a half-breed, frowned upon individual, much like the panther. He had approached with an eerie amount of silence, given his muscular girth and height, and in two beefy fists he clasped several sheets of paper.

“I’ve yer papers from th’ Girv subjects, n’ th’ twoo new clients on yer waitin’ list.”

Gratefully Stelward took the papers Garvan had been holding out to him, not really bothering to look them over, choosing to do so later.

“Thank you, Garvan.” A tilt of his head indicated the panthers' appreciation.

A flick of his paw from his lower jacket pocket produced a short metal stick. With a second jerk the rod extended to a full length cane, which, unlike the stately otter, who used his mostly for show, the panther depended on to aid in a slight limp in his step.

“Walk with me, won’t you? We’ve much to speak of.” The panther smiled coyly, catching himself. “Or rather, I’ve much to say, and you to listen too.”

The bull-hyena nodded with a gruff nod of his head, grunting in understanding. Garvan had never been much of a talker, in fact, had he his way, he’d probably never speak.

“Mr. Smiths subjects proved to be a bit more accommodating then previous undertakings. The specs I gave you to tweak the machine really did the trick, I think.”

Garvan nodded impassively as the panther lead them from the observatory room to the outside hallway, closing the door after the pair. Cool steel walls to either side of a vinyl tiled floor lead feline and half-breed to a second door, which opened up to Stelwards office.

“We should be able to triple or productivity If things continue to go this smoothly.”

Cane still in tow, Steward walked lamely to his desk, ebony tail flicking beneath the cut of his suit. He sat himself down as Garvan still walked heavily behind, slowly closing the door after himself.

The hulking Garvan didn’t really appear to be listening, or if he was, his blank expression simply told of the inability to really soak anything in. Once he’d managed to move deeper into the room, he seated himself in a tall back chair placed before Stelwards desk, the oaken wood it was constructed of groaning as it strained to hold him.

Seeming to read Garvans blank expression, the panther smiled shrewdly “Yes, I know, boring.”

“I’d like t’ knows whit ya plans t’ do about th’ cops orderin’ alla them new ‘subjects’, ain’t legal for I’m t’ mess with th’ prisoners ‘eads loike that.”

An opinion from the overly large brute was a rare thing indeed, and though Garvan himself didn’t appear terribly interested in his own concerns, Stelward was intrigued. He waited to respond though, for Garvan had removed a cigar from his left jean pocket, and was in the process of lighting it as he made his query.

“You know officials, dear Garvan; they like to feel they’re in control of things. If my services are the only way they can feel secure in the belief they’ve a hold on the city, so be it.”

Garvan snorted smoke through wide nostrils in disgust “Seems t’ me yoo should be controlin’ everything.”

Stelward couldn’t help chuckling softly.

“Oh, But I am, I am, I’ve no mean to imply you’re a touch slow, Garvan, but you simply fail to see the big picture.”

For once the bull-canine appeared thoroughly interested, one brow lifting as cigar smoke coiled around his gritty features.

“See, I can program the process to employ any information into a subjects mind I deem necessary for my needs. Whatever else is ordered of me from the client is in material, and it isn’t as if they’re bright enough to follow what I do or do not program into their drones.”

Garvan snorted a second time, but this time, with a knowing smirk.

“Roit, hadn’t figured you’d go rogue with the info you dump into these gits empty ‘eads.”

Steward nodded, interlocking his ringed fingers together, and propping his elbows on the desks surface.

“It’s a simple thing to follow, least for you and I, I like to allow my clients the belief they’re in control of what I’m doing here, and what they do with their subjects outside the machine.”

Garvan chortled lewdly to himself, smoke billowing between his unshaven lips.

“It’s part of a bigger plan really, one I’ll expand upon to you in due time, but for now, I’ve another patron to attend to, should be here any moment.”
Garvan bowed his head in understanding, rising from the chair he’d sat down at only minutes before. From his right jean pocket, he extracted another match, and holding it with forefinger and thumb, he flicked it alight, and all at once the smog of smoke that had accumulated from his cigar dissipated in a brief ‘Woosh’ of blue light, leaving the room perfectly clear.

He lumbered out much as he had lumbered in, shutting the door behind him, not looking back. Still within his office, the panther smiled as he could hear as his faithful operative ran into the next customer, Garvan huffed some hurried greeting, the client sounding baffled in his at the half-breeds size.

What followed was a soft, shaky knock at the mahogany door frame, causing Steward to smile even broader.

“Come in.”

~*~

A commission for  raizy, After all the hard work poured into this one, I felt a bit inspired for the story, though it deals more with the man behind the machine rather than the victims (I know, you'd probably have preferred reading about that end...I didn't have any inspiration for them strangely enough)

Hopefully he likes this!