Preparation Room 7 was transformed under the twilight simulation. The harsh clinical edges softened in the dim light, and the smart glass ceiling displayed a perfect replica of the night sky over what had once been Huan Mei valley—stars unblotted by artillery smoke or radiation haze. This wasn't just atmosphere; it was psychological preparation. Research showed exposure to natural night sky patterns reduced pre-procedure anxiety by 28% compared to standard fluorescent lighting.
The sedation had been mild enough to calm frayed nerves but not enough to erase memories. The dogs moved freely within the room now, no longer confined to kennels. Water stations offered electrolyte-enhanced hydration. Feeding platforms dispensed nutrient-dense kibble formulated for pre-enhancement metabolic optimization.
WiWi approached the water station cautiously. The facility staff had been gentle, their touches careful, their voices soft. Yet beneath the kindness, she sensed something else—a thickness in the air, a weight in their movements. She remembered Father Chen's trembling hands, Mei's tears that smelled of salt and grief, Jian's small arms wrapped tight around her neck. This place didn't smell of home. It smelled of chemicals and hidden sorrow.
A Pomeranian with a faded blue ribbon approached her, his tail wagging tentatively. WiWi offered a soft play bow, and they circled each other in the ancient canine ritual of introduction. The Pomeranian's name was Fluff—she could smell it on him, that unique signature that identified him to his family.
Nearby, the two Dachshunds huddled together, their long bodies pressed side by side for comfort. One had a toy—a small, worn rabbit missing an ear—clutched carefully in his mouth. Despite the facility's protocols against personal items, someone had allowed him to keep it. A kindness.
The Shiba Inu watched from a distance, her red fur catching the starlight from the ceiling. Her posture was alert, watchful—the stance of a creature who understood something significant was about to happen.
Dr. Yun returned after an hour, carrying a data pad that glowed softly in the dim room. He moved among them, checking monitors, adjusting environmental controls, but mostly just watching. His sadness was a tangible thing, a scent WiWi could almost taste.
"They're forming packs already," he murmured to an assistant. "Look at the Dachshunds. The Corgi and Pomeranian. These bonds will be critical after Paradise. Without them..." He didn't finish the thought.
The assistant nodded. "Batch 446 had a 12% psychological breakdown rate during first deployment. Most were isolated individuals who hadn't formed group attachments during preparation."
"Make sure they stay together," Dr. Yun ordered. "Group C must remain intact. Logistics and Morale Division depends on pack cohesion."
As night deepened in the simulation, the facility's hidden systems began their work. Subliminal sound frequencies—inaudible to unenhanced ears—pulsed through the ventilation system. These weren't manipulations but anchors: recordings of human heartbeats, of children's laughter, of household sounds (dishes clinking, doors opening, familiar footsteps). The Paradise procedure would enhance memory retention by 300%, and these sonic imprints would provide emotional continuity during the transition.
WiWi found a soft spot near the wall and curled up, her head resting on her paws. The Shiba Inu approached and settled beside her, not touching but close enough that WiWi could feel the warmth of her body.
"You smell of rain and boy," the Shiba Inu seemed to communicate through posture and scent. WiWi responded with a soft exhale, sharing her own signature—maple syrup from Jian's breakfast toast, the wool of Father Chen's work sweater, the lavender hand soap Mei always used.
A technician moved among them, placing small items near each dog: a smooth stone for one, a piece of fabric for another, a feather for a third. These weren't random. Each was selected based on pre-facility behavioral assessments. For WiWi, they placed a small wooden block carved with intricate patterns—something her enhanced paws would later be able to manipulate with precision.
"The toys help them process the change," Dr. Yun explained to a new assistant who had just entered. "It's not about distraction. It's about continuity. The dog who chases a ball today will still chase it after Paradise, even when she understands exactly why she's doing it."
The assistant frowned. "Sir, isn't that cruel? To preserve their joy while preparing them for war?"
Dr. Yun didn't answer immediately. He watched the Pomeranian, Fluff, batting at his blue ribbon. "Do you have children?"
"Yes, sir. A daughter. Six years old."
"Then you understand this equation," Dr. Yun said quietly. "We're not choosing between kindness and cruelty. We're choosing between kinds of sacrifice. Without these dogs, your daughter would be drafted at twelve. Without them, the Paradise Zones would fall, and there would be no safe places left for children to grow up."
He touched WiWi's head gently, careful not to startle her. "The cruelest part isn't what we're doing to them. It's that after Paradise, they'll understand why we had to do it. They'll forgive us. And that forgiveness will be their heaviest burden."
As midnight approached in the simulation, the facility's environmental systems shifted subtly. The temperature dropped 1.5 degrees. Humidity increased by 8%. These micro-adjustments triggered ancient canine instincts, preparing their bodies for the profound biological changes to come.
A low vibration began in the floor—not loud enough to cause distress, but palpable enough to create a sense of connection between the dogs. They shifted positions, forming a loose circle in the center of the room. The Dachshunds pressed closer together. The Pomeranian abandoned his ribbon to join them. Even the watchful Shiba Inu moved toward the group.
Dr. Yun observed from the perimeter, his data pad forgotten. "They know," he whispered. "They always know when something important is coming."
WiWi felt it too—a pressure in her chest, a tightness behind her eyes. Not fear exactly, but awareness. She remembered Jian's whispers in the dark: "I have a plan. When they take you to Paradise and make you smart, you'll find a way to come home." His small hand had stroked her ears with desperate hope. She had pressed closer to him, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, memorizing his scent.
Now, in this white room filled with strangers, WiWi closed her eyes and searched for that memory. The scent of maple syrup. The sound of laughter. The feeling of small arms wrapped tight around her neck.
A soft whine escaped her. Not from pain or fear, but from love. From the unbreakable thread that connected her to home.
The Shiba Inu beside her responded with a gentle nudge, her own body radiating quiet understanding. Around them, the circle tightened. Paws touched paws. Warmth shared warmth. Breath synchronized with breath.
In the control room overlooking Preparation Room 7, monitors displayed their biometrics. Heart rates stabilized. Stress hormones decreased. Oxytocin levels rose by 41%—a physiological response to pack bonding that would significantly improve Paradise procedure outcomes.
Dr. Yun watched the readings with tears in his eyes. "They're teaching us how to be human," he murmured. "Even now. Even before they can speak."
The night simulation deepened. The starfield on the ceiling shifted to match the actual astronomical positions over Huan Mei valley as it had existed before the war. Somewhere beyond the facility's walls, in the Paradise Zones, children slept safely in beds. Parents watched over them, grateful for the sacrifice they didn't fully understand.
Inside the white cathedral of transformation, thirty dogs shared warmth and breath, forming bonds that would carry them into hell. They didn't know the words for what was happening to them. They didn't understand the science or the politics or the terrible mathematics of survival.
But they understood each other. They understood pack. They understood love.
And in their final hours as ordinary dogs, that understanding was enough.
Dr. Yun remained long after his shift ended, watching them sleep. Near dawn, as the ceiling began its slow transition to morning light simulation, he knelt beside WiWi and placed something small and soft beneath her paw—a child's drawing of a dog and boy, given to him by a family during a previous batch processing.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the ventilation system. "I'm so sorry for what we're about to do to you."
WiWi stirred in her sleep, a soft whine escaping her as dreams carried her home one last time. In her dream, Jian laughed and threw a tennis ball across a green field under a clear blue sky. She ran after it, her body light, her heart full, her paws kicking up summer grass instead of blood mud.
For now, in this liminal space between dog and soldier, between love and duty, between home and hell—there was still this moment. This breath. This dream.
Soon enough, there would be Paradise.