Page 99 of Strays
They sit, and the next pack rises. They’ve got a striking look with olive-toned skin but light blond hair and pale green eyes.
“Zervas pack, ATF, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.” The leader’s voice is firm. “We handle cartel weapons, illegal gun trades, explosive seizures. Mostly raids and supply chain disruption.”
They sit, and the third pack stands. All three have dark brown skin, dark eyes and shaved heads. They stand still as stone.
“Harris pack, FBI,” their leader says. “Organized crime, gang networks. RICO strategy, asset dismantling, surveillance. We’ve worked joint ops with just about every federal agency.”
Once they sit, Josh looks straight at us. “As you can see, each pack has been assigned to a different agency, but the work intersects constantly. Collaboration makes us effective. If you see something that smells like a shared thread — aliases, routes, funding — bring it to the team. It doesn’t matter who closes the case; what matters is that it gets done.”
“And we keep it clean,” Samuel adds, eyes on us. “We don’t have to be best friends, but we have to coexist.”
Josh folds his arms and looks at the other packs around the table. “On that note, I know a lot of you feel some type of way about the new pack. So say what you need to say now, because after this, I don’t want to hear any more bullshit. Formal briefing’s over, speak freely.”
One guy from the Zervas pack leans in, eyes fixed on us. “Let’s address it. You’re the weirdest pack I’ve ever heard of. Stray aegis who somehow scent-bonded with a Prime. I figured you’d be humans’ little bitches, since you’re Steve Bureau’s pets. Then you break a human’s face like a damn Tier-Five.”
Every eye in the room’s on us. Normally, people say that kind of shit incorners, quiet enough for leadership to pretend not to hear, not like this, out in the open. I can’t decide whether this is better or worse.
“Yeah. That’s us,” I say, meeting his stare.
“Care to explain?” he asks.
I lift my chin. “No.”
I glance at my brothers. Both hold their heads high. Good.
“I’m not attacking you,” the Zervas guy says. “Like Sam said, we’re a small team; we can’t afford beefs. I’m giving you a chance to help me understand you, because right now, your presence doesn’t sit right with me.”
He’s direct. I’ll give him that.
Shane speaks up. “We don’t apologize for who we are. We’re strays. A drunk asshole came for our mate. A big guy like you shouldn’t need help to understand things this simple.”
One of the FBI aegis snorts. “I like your attitude. We’re not asking you to apologize for being strays, but don’t expect us to apologize for how we feel about having Bureau’s motherfuckers in this garrison either.”
We’ve done this dance too many times. “Feel however you want. We’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of ours, and we’re good.” I say.
The tension lingers. No one speaks.
Then one of the Bielke pack, one of the strawberry-blonds, breaks the silence. “Just tell me this: how the hell can you call Steve Bureau ‘father’? Man talks about us like we’re some special breed of dogs.”
What?
Shane’s eyes narrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We all know the strays call him father,” the ash-blond replies.
Jay exhales. “I’ve seen Dr. Steve Bureau twice in my life. Never spoke to him, and he never spoke to us. Both times I heard his voice, he was talking to the med team about us like we weren’t even in the room. Far as I know, I’ve never called anyone ‘father’, not even the son of a bitch who knocked up my mother. So where the fuck did you hear that?”
Half of them shift in their seats, passing quick, silent looks across the table.
One of the FBI guys clears his throat. “So what is the nature of your relationship with Steve Bureau?”
Feels like a trial. I don’t like it.
“We don’t have any relationship with him,” I say. “Like my brother said, we saw him maybe twice. And I don’t think he ever thought to speak to one of his program’s subjects, probably figured it’d be as stupid as talking to a monkey. But I’ll say this: I’m grateful he created the Strays Program. Without it, we’d be solitary aegis. I know he’s a piece of shit, but I won’t lie: he saved my life and gave me my brothers. So, that’s that.”
The FBI pack trades glances. Their leader leans forward and stares at us. “There’s a photo of Steve Bureau surrounded by smiling kids from the programhugging him.”
“We left the program eight years ago,” Jay says, voice steady. “But I doubt it’s changed all that much. The only way aegis kids are smiling around Dr. Bureau is if he offered double sensory deprivation to the ones who didn’t.”
