Intern’s Log: Chips Looks Like That Guy from The Great Escape

  Date: Redacted

  Intern ID: Reynolds, J. (I think I just met the scariest dog in existence.)

  So, let’s talk about Chips.

  Chips is the team leader of the Good Boys.

  And if you think that means he’s the friendly, charismatic, golden-retriever-type, you are very, very wrong.

  Because Chips is not friendly.

  Chips is not warm.

  Chips is not a dog.

  He is a soldier, first and always.

  And right now?

  Chips is sitting in his quarters—because apparently calling it a ‘cell’ is bad for morale—bouncing a ball against the wall like that guy from The Great Escape.

  And that?

  That is deeply unsettling.

  Phase One: The Moment I Knew Chips Was Different

  When I first got to Project Canid, I assumed the team leader would be… I don’t know. A little more approachable?

  Maybe like a veteran K9 unit handler. Tough but reasonable.

  Nope.

  The first time I saw Chips, he was being escorted out of a debriefing room with the kind of military efficiency that screams “we don’t want to call it solitary confinement, but we also don’t want him near anyone right now.”

  His expression was unreadable.

  His posture was perfect.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  And as they walked him past me, he didn’t even glance in my direction.

  Not once.

  Which, honestly?

  Made him way scarier.

  Phase Two: The Ball. The Wall. The Silence.

  At some point during my first week, one of the lab techs (who had been there longer than me) pointed toward Chips’ door and muttered:

  "You ever seen The Great Escape?"

  And I, like an idiot, said:

  "Yeah, why?"

  He just gave me a grim look and walked away.

  So naturally, being a moron with no self-preservation instincts, I peeked through the reinforced window of Chips’ quarters.

  And there he was.

  Sitting on the edge of his cot.

  Bouncing a rubber ball against the wall.

  Over.

  And over.

  And over.

  Expression completely blank.

  No twitching ears.

  No tail movement.

  Just absolute stillness, except for the steady, rhythmic bounce of the ball.

  And that’s when I realized—

  Chips isn’t waiting to be let out.

  Chips is waiting to escape.

  Phase Three: The Part Where I Nearly Got Mauled

  Later that day, I asked Dr. Archer about Chips.

  "What’s his deal?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

  Dr. Archer gave me a look.

  "He’s a problem," he admitted.

  "A problem?"

  "Chips was designed for battlefield leadership. Tactical command. Precision decision-making. The perfect soldier."

  I frowned.

  "And?"

  "And the problem," Archer said, rubbing his temples, "is that he knows it."

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Phase Four: My Very Poor Decision to Talk to Him

  Later that evening, I was walking past his quarters again, and for some stupid reason, I thought:

  "Hey. Maybe I should try talking to him."

  Because, you know. Why not poke the bear?

  So I knocked.

  The bouncing stopped.

  And for a long moment, nothing happened.

  Then, slowly, Chips stood up, turned to the door, and walked over.

  And that’s when I got my first good look at him up close.

  And Jesus Christ.

  The German Shepherd genes were obvious, but everything about him was too precise.

  ? His posture was perfect.

  ? His uniform was immaculate.

  ? His eyes? Dead. Absolutely, completely dead.

  "Can I help you?" he asked, like I was wasting his time.

  And I, brilliant conversationalist that I am, blurted out:

  "You, uh. You good?"

  And I swear to God, he almost laughed.

  Almost.

  But instead, he just stared at me for a long moment before saying:

  "Do you think I need help?"

  That was my cue to leave.

  Phase Five: The Realization That Chips Is Not Normal

  After that?

  I started noticing things.

  ? Chips does not talk much.

  ? Chips does not joke around.

  ? Chips watches everything.

  ? Chips does not just follow orders—he studies the people giving them.

  ? Chips is constantly evaluating who is in charge. And whether or not they should be.

  And that ball?

  That goddamn ball?

  That’s not a coping mechanism.

  That’s a timer.

  Chips is waiting.

  For the right moment.

  For the right mistake.

  For the day when he decides that he’s done taking orders.

  And when that day comes?

  I am praying I am nowhere near him.

  Because Chips is not a Good Boy.

  Chips is a ticking time bomb.

  And I?

  I have a front-row seat.

  End Log.