Missing Gunner

Harper pushed open the door to her bedroom just as the roar of an engine surged from the driveway below. Tires screeched against the gravel, carrying Harrison and Chloe away toward the hospital. Even when Chloe merely pretended to faint, the entire Kensington household spun into a panicked frenzy. In her previous life, watching them scramble over Chloe’s fabricated fragility had felt like a needle digging into Harper’s ribs, leaving her constantly questioning her own worth. Now, the commotion only brought relief. The further they were, the easier it was to leave.

She swallowed two fever reducers with a glass of lukewarm tap water, pulled a battered cloth suitcase from the closet, and began tossing in her few belongings. She took only what had belonged to her before entering this house: a handful of faded shirts, worn denim jeans, and her personal identification documents. Everything the Kensingtons had bought to remodel her into an acceptable society daughter remained untouched on their velvet hangers. Within ten minutes, she zipped the bag shut, gripped the handle, and rolled it out toward the second-floor landing.

As she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, a sharp voice cut across the marble foyer.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Martha Higgins stepped directly into the center of the hall, planting her feet wide and crossing her arms over her chest. The Kensington family’s head maid was in her late fifties, with graying hair pulled into a tight bun and small, calculating eyes. Having raised Chloe from infancy, Martha had treated Harper with open contempt from the moment Harper arrived, constantly sabotaging her meals and whispering complaints to the parents.

Martha looked Harper up and down with an insolent sneer. "You upset Ms. Chloe so badly that she had to be rushed to the emergency room. You have no right to walk out of this house like nothing happened. Go back upstairs and stay inside your room until the master returns."

Harper paused, resting her palm flat on the luggage handle. She tilted her chin down, looking at the older woman. "Martha, has your advancing age made you forget your station as a hired servant?"

Martha stiffened, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "What did you say?"

"Clean your ears and take a look in the mirror. Since when does a maid have the authority to grant me permission to come and go?" Harper spoke evenly, her tone carrying neither warmth nor anger.

Martha’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. Having spent decades serving the wealthy household, she had long begun viewing herself as an honored relative rather than domestic staff. She drew herself up, jabbing a thick finger forward. "I have served this family for thirty years. I watched Ms. Chloe grow up, and I am practically an elder to you. Who taught you to speak to your elders with such disrespect?"

Harper did not spare her another syllable. She dragged the suitcase past Martha’s shoulder, ignoring the woman entirely as she pushed open the heavy front door and stepped into the courtyard.

The afternoon air was cool, carrying the scent of damp grass and distant exhaust fumes. Harper bypassed the cobblestone driveway and headed straight for the landscaped garden along the eastern wall. Near the tall wrought-iron fence sat a custom wooden doghouse with a shaded run.

"Gunner, time to go," Harper called out.

Silence answered her.

Gunner was a tricolored husky she had found three years ago after he was struck by a car and abandoned at a small clinic. Harper had been an unknown extra back then, scraping together bit parts to survive, but she had drained her savings to cover his orthopedic surgeries. When he recovered, her career had begun to pick up momentum, and she had always considered the goofy, energetic dog her lucky charm. When the Kensingtons brought her home, Chloe had immediately claimed an allergy to pet dander, forcing Gunner to live outside in the yard.

Harper approached the enclosure, expecting the dog to be napping inside the cedar kennel. "Gunner, wake up. We're leaving."

The pen was deserted.

The heavy wire gate hung slightly ajar, swinging on its hinges with a dull metallic squeak. Inside, the metal water bowl had been kicked across the gravel, its contents spilled into the dry dirt. There were fresh scuff marks near the threshold, along with the distinct imprint of heavy work boots that belonged to neither the gardener nor the groundskeeper.

A sudden chill swept down Harper's spine, cold as winter river water.

Memories from her past life crashed through her thoughts like a shattered mirror. In that previous existence, this very afternoon had slipped by in a blur of tears and bitter shouting matches with her biological brothers. By the time she had realized Gunner was missing that evening, hours had passed. Two days later, after the police finally pulled surveillance footage, she had been led to a filthy, abandoned industrial lot on the outskirts of the city. All that had remained of her loyal companion were mangled limbs and bloodstained fur, discarded among piles of rusted scrap metal.

Back then, she had assumed it was the deranged work of an obsessive fan targeting the newly discovered Kensington heiress.

Harper's pulse pounded against her temples. Gunner had never run off on his own; he was well-trained and fiercely protective of his territory. Someone had entered this yard and dragged him away.

Footsteps hurried across the cobblestones behind her. Martha marched up to the enclosure, huffing with indignant pride. "You need to learn some humility, young lady. If you just go to the hospital and beg Ms. Chloe for forgiveness, she has a gentle heart. She might still put in a good word for you with the master, and then—"

Harper turned around, moving so fast that Martha choked on her own words.

"Where is my dog?" Harper demanded, stepping into Martha’s personal space.

Martha shrank back, her eyes darting away. "How should I know? A dirty mutt probably ran off into the woods. Good riddance, if you ask me."

Harper reached out, grabbed the front of Martha’s uniform collar, and shoved the older woman back against the brick garden wall with a dull thud. Her knuckles grazed the maid’s throat, locking her firmly in place.

"I will ask you one more time," Harper whispered, her voice dropping into a deadly, razor-sharp register. "Where is my dog? This was Chloe’s doing, was it not?"

Martha gasped for air, terror replacing her previous arrogance. In Harper’s eyes, there was no longer the desperate, seeking approval of a neglected daughter; there was only a predatory, lethal stillness that made Martha’s knees tremble.

"I—I don't know anything!" Martha stammered, her voice shaking violently as she clawed weakly at Harper’s wrist. "Mr. Vance just came by with a van... I only unlocked the side gate... It was Ms. Chloe who told him the dog was an eyesore..."

That was all Harper needed to hear.

She released her grip, letting Martha slide down against the rough brick wall. Harper snatched her suitcase, threw it into the trunk of her compact sedan parked near the gate, and climbed into the driver’s seat. She slammed the door, shoved the key into the ignition, and floored the accelerator. The tires shrieked against the asphalt, leaving Martha coughing in a gray cloud of burning rubber.

Harper navigated through the suburban traffic with calculated precision, her hands locked firmly on the steering wheel. Her mind was entirely focused on the route she had traveled once before during the worst day of her past life. Every turn, every rusted billboard, and every cracked highway divider was etched into her memory.

Twenty minutes later, the sedan veered off the paved road onto an unmaintained dirt track leading into an abandoned industrial district. Ahead stood a dilapidated suburban manufacturing plant, its corrugated metal walls streaked with rust and overgrown with dry weeds.

Harper cut the engine, coasting the car to a stop near a row of collapsed concrete pillars.

The moment she opened her door, the faint sound of terrified canine yelps drifted through the cracked windows of the main warehouse. A man’s vulgar laughter echoed over the whimpering, punctuated by the sound of something striking a hollow wooden crate.

Harper walked to the rear of her car, popped the trunk, and reached beneath the spare tire compartment. Her fingers wrapped around the two threaded halves of a heavy, solid-wood pool cue she had bought during her college days. She twisted the brass joint together until the cue locked into a rigid, weighted club.

Gripping the tapered end, Harper strode toward the dented double doors of the warehouse. She did not bother knocking. Raising her right leg, she drove the heel of her boot directly into the rusty latch.

The metal doors flew inward with a deafening crash, slamming hard against the interior concrete walls.

The noise cut through the warehouse like a gunshot.

Inside the cavernous space, dust motes drifted through shafts of pale afternoon light. Four burly men in denim jackets froze in place, turning toward the entrance in absolute shock. In the center of the trash-strewn floor, surrounded by broken glass and discarded pallets, stood Braden Vance. He was the pampered, sadistic heir to a luxury pet breeding conglomerate, and Chloe’s most devoted lapdog in high society.

A few yards away, Gunner scrambled across the concrete floor, his tricolored coat dusted with grime. He was terrified and panting heavily, but Harper’s sharp sweep of his body confirmed he was still whole, without broken bones or open lacerations.

Harper lowered the tip of the wooden cue against the cement floor, her gaze fixing onto Braden with lethal focus.

"Did Chloe send you to do her dirty work?" Harper asked, stepping forward into the dim room.

Braden blinked, recovering from his surprise. A smug, ugly smirk spread across his greasy face as he looked Harper up and down. "Well, look who decided to show up. Harper Kensington. Did you really think you could disrespect Chloe and just walk away? I told her I’d handle your stupid beast for you. Don't worry, I haven't started peeling the hide yet, but since you're here to watch—"

Harper did not let him finish.

She closed the distance in two explosive strides, shifting her weight as she brought the weighted end of the pool cue up in a tight, vicious arc. The dense wood bypassed his reaching hands and struck Braden’s right kneecap with pinpoint precision.

A sickening crack echoed off the corrugated metal ceiling.

Braden let out a high-pitched, curdling shriek as his leg buckled beneath him. He hit the filthy cement hard, clutching his shattered joint with both hands, his face instantly draining of all color as beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.

The three hired thugs stepped back instinctively, their eyes wide with sudden dread. None of them had anticipated an unarmed girl charging into a warehouse and instantly crippling a grown man without uttering a single warning.

Braden writhed on the floor, groaning between ragged breaths. "You broke my leg, you crazy bitch! Do you have any idea who my family is? My father will ruin you! He’ll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life!"

Harper stood over him, resting the butt of the pool cue on the ground near his temple. She looked down at him with an expression of freezing detachment.

"The Vance family built its fortune on elite kennel clubs and luxury pet retail, didn't they?" Harper said softly, her voice carrying clearly through the silent warehouse. "Your family’s entire brand relies on a clean, animal-loving reputation. Tell me, Braden, what do you think will happen to your father’s stock prices if unedited footage of you abducting and torturing a family pet leaks across every major social platform tonight?"

Braden’s groans choked in his throat. His bloodshot eyes widened in genuine panic, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. He knew precisely how fragile the Vance family’s high-society standing was; an animal cruelty scandal would obliterate their commercial contracts overnight.

"You wouldn't dare," Braden whispered, his voice trembling violently.

"Try me," Harper said.

She stepped over his outstretched leg and looked toward the corner where the husky was trembling behind a wooden pallet. Harper lowered her weapon and softened her posture, extending a hand forward.

"Gunner. Come here, boy."

The husky's oversized ears twitched. His amber-blue eyes widened as he recognized her voice, and in the next second, he scrambled forward with all four paws scrambling frantically against the smooth concrete. He sprinted toward her like a furry missile, skidding to a dramatic halt right against the toes of her boots.

Gunner puffed out his broad chest, threw his head back toward the rusted rafters, and unleashed an ear-splitting, operatic howl that shook the entire room.

Harper crouched down on one knee, reaching out to bury her fingers in his thick neck fur to calm his trembling.

The moment her skin brushed against the dog’s coat, a crisp, mechanical chime resonated directly inside her mind.

[Ding! Host has successfully bound with the 'Save the Fluffies System'.]

[Rescue logged: 1/100 targets secured. Reward: OasisCrest Zoo unlocked and transferred to personal inventory. Please review your status panel to claim your settlement.]

Harper’s hand paused in Gunner’s fur, her brow furrowing slightly as the strange mechanical voice faded into the quiet of the warehouse.

Before she could process the digital interface flashing at the edge of her vision, Gunner suddenly collapsed onto his back, kicking his four legs straight up into the air in a display of utter theatrical agony.

A loud, booming voice echoed clearly in Harper's ears, matching the rhythmic thumps of Gunner’s wagging tail:

"Holy dog ancestors, they beat me within an inch of my life! I was half a second away from crossing the canine rainbow bridge! Look at my coat, it's ruined! Ruined! My majestic pride can never recover from this humiliation! Human, you have to avenge me!"

Harper stared at the flailing husky, completely frozen.

She looked at Gunner’s wide, expressive eyes, then down at his dramatic wailing posture. Having clawed her way back from the grave into a second chance at life, Harper realized that gaining the sudden ability to hear an overdramatic dog speak fluent human was simply part of her new reality.