Some morning writing with the Adventures of Red Claw

David looked out the window of the RV at highway traffic. Tires thumped over asphalt joints with a soft, dependable rhythm. To David’s hearing, it was like a slow, heavy heartbeat. A feeling like one gets when they murder a friend. His tail curled protectively around his left leg and he suppressed a shudder.

It was twelve years ago in a small section of Yugoslavia. Infinity Incorporated, the company that created David through genetic tinkering, had rented him and his team out to one Radenko Vu...