The camera has been running for roughly forty minutes. Perched safely on the side of the room, the drone provides a somewhat elevated view of Senn in his casual clothes, pacing around the center of the barren station quarters. Pacing opposite him is a muscular, grey-brown slaver hound. It is not Voodoo, who lies a few yards away on Senn's cot, watching the new beast circle his brother. This hound is significantly larger, and since the camera activated, has been periodically attacking and wrestling with the pilot.
"People say slaver hounds are murderers unless they're raised as puppies," he says in an absent tone, bespeaking the concentration required not to have one's throat bitten out by this beast. "Usually that's true. They can smell fear. They feed off weakness. If they don't like you, they'll eat you."
Even as he finishes his words, the animal lunges for him and tries to close its lethal jaws around his neck. Senn sidesteps the hound and wraps an arm around its throat, catching his hands together and using his body's weight to pin the beast. However, within seconds it has thrashed and bucked its head free, and circles once more. The moments are tense as the two continue their juking, circling and twisting, testing one another.
"In the wild they run with alphas. Despotic hierarchy. The males fight constantly. Prove who deserves to lead."
Again the two lock horns, and again the pilot manages to overpower the larger beast. He never moves to harm it, only to prove he can overpower it, and each time the hound fights back. Slowly, the hound begins to lose its stamina, surprising considering its advantage in weight over the capsuleer.
"Some Blooder officer had this boy aboard his battleship. Mr. Caman found the leech in a complex, along with plenty of friends, crowding one of their cathedrals. Took all the ordinance we had to put them to sleep. When the firefight ended, the only escape pod had a hound in it. Either he had a personal one, or the leech had the heart to give up his own."
This time, the animal tries to jump upright to push Senn over with both paws, but the pilot uses its weight to his advantage and flings it on its side. The hound scampers to its feet and rushes in for a vicious strike, capturing Senn's arm in its teeth. The pilot grits his jaw and breathes through the sensation of fangs sinking into his flesh, blood seeping around the hound's jowls. It stares up at him with wild eyes, its ears flat against its skull, the fur around its shoulders bristled imposingly. Senn holds back its shoulder, sparing himself being clawed at, and leaving the two in a standstill.
"You're a fighter," the pilot says. He speaks through clenched teeth, staring squarely into the eyes of the canine. "I think you were waiting for us... I think you guided us to the leech."
After a few more minutes of struggle, the hound's features soften. With no strength left in its body, it lets its jaws part and sinks down towards the floor, lying on all fours and resting its jaw on the ground. Senn takes a moment to treat the bite marks in his arm, brushing away the clotting red fluid on his skin. He crouches down and sets his palm firmly on the hound's head, ruffling its fur slightly. The beast seems suddenly docile.
"You're 'Shaman' now," the pilot instructs. The hound makes no protest.
Voodoo lets out an excited panting sound, padding over to the newest member of the pack and biting his ear in a strange show of acceptance.
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