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Author's Notes: This is it! The first piece of Underdog fanfiction on the internet, possibly at all! Leitch has become unsatisfied with the petri dish. He has made it my job to search now for a proper test subject — a dawg, preferrably, since there have been some bad reactions to certain kat DNA. There was also often money involved — they wanted to be paid, or wanted their loved ones to recieve great sums of money if they perished.

Neither options were available, considering the classification of the process. But something had made Roberts quisy when he thought of thrusting the needle into a cancer patient, and he was forced to depend on finding the former. He was still uneasy, roaming the gutters and alleyways of Washington, D. But here he was, in the gutters of the gutters, where he doubted one would pass up an offer such as one he offered.

There were many dawgs amoung the poorer crowd, but most were old and feeble, or pregnant—to weak for the experiment. He passed over one who spit alochol over his shoes when he took an extra second to gaze. Possibly hundreds of homeless were cramped in a series of a few rooms, curled up on cots with ragged blankets and pillows if they were lucky — more likely something else soft rolled up. One kat slept with his head over a radio, apparently his only possession, perhaps in fear of it being stolen.

The air was abuzz with the sounds of coughing and sneezing — after all, cold season was in full bloom. He saw a small paw come out and grab the end of the blanket, pulling it closer down. Curious, the scientist slowly let his paw out just so it touched the blanket, disturbing the owner. The owner pulled himself out from under to see who the intruder of his personal space was.

Roberts gasped as the huge head of a young dawg came out, dusty and sickly pale. This poor thing could not have been above twelve years old. He was of the beagle breed, known for those floppy black ears and huge black nose, and he had a pale-gold tint to his fur. He smelled a bit, as Roberts imagined one would after hanging out too long in such a place.

The dawg was a sickly pale, and coughed several times before responding to seeing the well-to-do scientist above him. It sent Roberts back a few steps; he had never seen such hate venting from someone under eighteen. Maybe to get a hot meal or a change of clothes? So get the hell away and go bother someone else trying to sleep.

It would all be fair pay. Roberts doubted the dawg had any sort of job or family, and the reply made him sure. We just want to see the natural reaction to some medicines. A growl from his stomach, however, hold him his system had already made the decision for him. He wrapped himself in the blanket, which Roberts realized was probably the only sort of coat he had. Roberts had to smile; the kid had probably not been in such a car in his life. The least I can do is feed you. He remained silent while he wolfed down the mouthfuls, attacking the cup like a starved pup — which was precisely what he was.

After several minutes, he finally put aside the container, and turned back to Roberts. I just have kids. The dawg took them in his own paws and held them very, very close to his face, as if trying to get the pictures into focus and failing.

I think I was seven when I still had a pair. His next impuse was too cough, which threw him into another heavy coughing fit that took several minutes to control. Just close your eyes and sleep. Roberts sighed tiredly, securing the blanket over the dawg before turning back to his own folder of work. Leitch seemed rather pleased that I had chosen such a young boy, and while his records are still up for review, it does not seem like there will be any conflicts with the experiment in past history.

He coughed, then pushed away the blanket to give himself some air. The room was simple — a bed, a desk, and a small adjoining bathroom. One of the walls was lined with a mirror, and it could not have occured to him that it was one-way. He set upon it, gobbling up the bread and soup before going for the chicken. The only time he really got a good shower was in the summer, at the beach, but that all had closed down months ago.

Jonathan remained in there for quite a while, and finally heaved himself out of the steady stream of hot water, feeling cleaner than he had in a long time. He had just thrown his new clothes back on when the scientists entered.

First was an old, grey kat on the plump side with large whiskers and a stern look on his face. Behind him was the scientist he remembered, though he never quite caught his name. Both were wearing lab coats and carrying clipboards. He leaned back on the bed now, with his back to the wall — still feeling quite achy. He was a tan-fured kat with dark brown hair in maybe his early thirties, much taller and simmer than Leitch. Since you were three? Did you have any sort of formal schooling?

Roberts mentioned that. And this illness of yours. Maybe a month. No major loss to society, whatever happens. Roberts sighed and turned back to the curious dawg.

Jonathan was repeatedly impressed by the facilities of the laboratory. It was made up, mainly, by seemingly endless white hallways with endless rows of doors leading to rooms or possibly other hallways.

A few were open, and he could see into the rooms with white-coated scientists hunched over microscopes or test tubes, taking notes and muttering to each other in some kind of technical language the dawg was oblivious to.

A few glanced at him in his passing with Dr. He was, after all, an oddity — a homeless pup in a sea of white coats and glasses. Nearly everyone was wearing some sort of security pass cliped to their clothes or on a ring around their neck. A moment later, there was a minor beeping sound, and he pushed the door open. Bartol is going to take a look at you in a few minutes — so just hop on the bed and wait.

Jonathan swung is legs back and forth over the side patiently. After what seemed like an extense examination, to Jonathan at least, Dr. Bartol came to the conclusion that he had a prolonged double-illness of broncitus and a minor strain of the flu, and began medication immediately. After he recieved a pair of working glasses, Dr. Leitch wanted to know his intelligence level in every subject. One involved trying to work his way through this maze on the computer before this mouse did in a cage beside him.

Roberts explained. Jonathan shot him a look, and he just laughed. Roberts was probably the doctor he saw the most. Though Dr. Leitch was the head of the project, Roberts was apparently assigned to keep a closer and more personal watch on him.

He was present for most of the medical examinations, and the teacher for almost all of the study sessions. Jonathan decided he liked him early on, since he seemed to be the only one experienced with dealing with anyone under eighteen and the most understanding. He tended to ask a lot of questions about his kids — one four, the other two — and his wife.

Daniel Roberts. Leitch has recieved the clearance from the commitee to go forward with the project — much to his expectance, for he feels the subject has been ready for several days now.

The subject will now begin to be exposed to the syrum, which Dr. Leitch and I have both had paws in setting up on a pattern of size and concentration in fluid. The original agreement in the shelter mentioned the tests, and Roberts had been hinting it for most of the time, but otherwise the dawg had been told little or nothing about the actual procedure.

Jonathan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading one of the newer books that had been given to him. His voice was still an attempted mask at nervousness. Calmly and quietly, he followed him outside. Leitch was still looking over the jar racks containing various, diluted dosages of a yellow liquid. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, going back over his notes to check and requeck and measurements.

His fur was tan, and his hair a dark brown. His pudge face was already beginning to show signs of wrinkles. He was clocked in a large, blank trenchcoat. Jonathan began to feel his own stomach butterflies when Roberts brought him to a section of the labs he had never been in. In front of them was a heavy, metal door. Roberts took both their ID cards and slid them into a slot.

He always worse his ID, but had never had a reason to use it before. The door opened to a dark lab, filled on the walls with desks and shelves brimming with test tubes, microscopes, and other tools of science. Leitch was hunched over the main desk, illuminated by a small desk light.

The only other light, this one much brighter, was right over an examination table in the center of the room. Aside from a few various lab technicians, the only other notable figure was a kat in the corner he had never seen before, smoking peacefully to himself.

It was slanted on a fifty-five degree angle, roughly. As soon as he managed to get up, two of the lab technicians began to strap him down, securing him to the table. Leitch rise from his desk with a syringe in paw. Without hesitation, Leitch brought the needle up to the fur and made the puncture in the skin layer of his arm.

His body began to convulse and he was sweating bullets. He continued to convulse, thrashing around under his straps. After several minutes, the shaking settled, and he rested his back against the metal. Groaning softly, he twisted his head to look up at Roberts, who doubted he could see him with the glassy, drugged look in his eyes. The light above him made everything hazy, and his body had long-since gone rather limp.

He could sort of make out the words, something about his paw, but was unable to answer. Whatever he tried to say came out in a gutteral sound far from comprehension. Aside from the pain? Jonathan looked at him skeptically, and Leitch backed off, towards his desk. Roberts began to loosen the straps, with the dawg much too weak to go anywhere. Jonathan took them from him, and as he held them in his paws before setting them back on the bridge of his snout, Roberts noticed his paws were still shaking.

During this period of time he seems to have begun to become accostemed to the injecction, because the more painful and apparent side effects—such as convultions and haluccenagentic indicative actions — have calmed down considerably with every dosage. Leitch has slowly been increasing the amounts steadily, but under the advisory of myself and status superior colleges he has slowed the accelaration so that we may better observe the signs of change that are beginning to appear.

Both scientists found it facinating as to how fast Jonathan was beginning to pick things up. Or are we just the first ones to try and educate him? Especially Doc Leitch. Is that syrum making me smarter? After the experiment? If the effects prove to be permanate. You would be schooled by a series of tutors, and then I suppose would end up as a scientist. Where do you want to go? Jonathan, some things only come with experience. Leitch about it yet.

His IQ seems to be accelerating expodentially, and has begun to effect his mood and character. Some of us wonder whether this is dangerous to a ten-year-old child, and today we will submit our request to slow the raise in dosages to Dr.

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