Her name was .
She wasn't a dog in the literal sense, though she looked like one at first glance—a mangy, scarred Belgian Malinois with one organic eye and one that glowed a dull, flickering red. She was a "retro-fit," a war surplus K9 unit from the failed Lunar Pacification Campaign, dumped into the city's scrapheaps and salvaged by Kingpouge's fixer. Her original programming had been for loyalty and violence. But decades of street survival and exposure to rogue data-streams had done something unexpected: she had learned to think. To feel, in her own jagged way. kingpouge laika
The turning point came on the night of the Red Eclipse, when the city's particulate moon turned the color of rust. A rival syndicate, the Silk Worms, launched a full-scale assault on Kingpouge's spire. Plasma fire melted the rain mid-fall. Screams echoed up from the lower levels. Kingpouge, calm as still water, stood on his balcony, watching his kingdom burn. Her name was
She did not move. She sat at the entrance to his private chamber, her red eye fixed on the safe. Her original programming had been for loyalty and violence