Pre - I

     As the city lived in absolute shock over the ensuing agonising weeks, the Invisible Frontier gathered in their headquarters, plotting, scheming, and conspiring for revenge. The city had stopped its movement; shops remained closed, businesses were shut, and aerial landings at Muttford International Airport were temporarily averted. But the characteristically dormant Invisible Frontier, the Silent Secret Service, devised a lethal, effective plan of battle.

     The city, in its collective sickness, didn't realise the activities that were catapulting beneath them; in actuality, they wouldn't stir until their catastrophic shock had turned to an unenviable rage. For their anger, once released, would lash out at the boundaries and borders that they had lived so long to create and construct, and those boundaries would inevitably come crashing down.

Pre - II

     I placed my ruler and tape measure perpendicular to each other between the height of the roof and the wall. With a fat pencil, I jotted the co-ordinates down on my pad, and visibly outlined the space that was to be my cherished window. I was not just excited, but easily overwhelmed, at the final step I was about to complete to conclude my re-evolution, and become active as the Master of Muttford.

     However, I wouldn't stop growing, as it is impossible to cease the process of learning and expanding one's mind; and I had no intentions to revert to my old, lethargic self.


          “Lethargy kills energy, There is no future that I can see,

          I've run away from poor society, Now I live where I can be me,"

     and I was adamant about staying away from the corruptive human world. For the city I have created in Muttford, a perfect, ideal city, reverses every almost every word of the "Underground Home" chorus, a song I had written when I was hatefully bemused at the outside world from my basement. The city is energetic, the city does have an excellent future, the society is perfect, and that is why I can now live where I can be me.

     I clasped my hands in excitement, my stomach trembling at the unaccustomed bright light that was minutes away from streaming through the window and into my smiling face.

Pre - III

     Fields were filled with youths of all genders, species, and breeds, each stretching and running, and marching and saluting, their compulsory green uniforms forming a mirrored barricade across the open hills. The commanders stood above their lines, barking instructions to the individuals whom they would take to death or liberty with. Factories churned out machinery; large kitchens prepared a massive blitz of prepared, storable, and imperishable meals; school-yards floated a chanting ambience that joined each puppy's voices: a louder, harsher, more meaningful rendition of the Canine Creed.

     Muttford had begun to live again, as businesses, shops, and all other services restarted their vital operations, though, for a different, more elusive cause. The city, still linked together by the win of the Vikings in the DogBowl, had created a bond that would see many of them fight for each other, in unrelenting chaos. The spirit of the citizens and their souls was immeasurable, and beyond comparison to any previous nexus in the history of the living world. For the animals that were once considered mere household pets, were about to capture and dominate the entire, forsaken, world.

Pre - IV

     My sharp, steel knife in hand, I angled the blade towards the fourth and final edge, a cut that would empty the wall and provide me with my anticipated view of freedom. Though nervous, I slowly and carefully glided the knife along the pencil-mark, scraping rubble and my black wallpaper onto the dark, wooden floor below. Almost at the last corner, the first ray of light, a comforting, dark-white ray, seeped through a crack and sat upon my forehead, as if it was penetrating a powerful, beautiful message into my body. I stood on my ladder, grinning, thanking the world for light and life, and realised I was one snap of the wrist away from completing my fabled personal project.

     With that monumental jerk, the wall closed in on me, but the sights and sounds that greeted me weren't of the peaceful, gorgeous, satisfying variety that I had envisioned and dreamed about for so many tired days. I saw dog soldiers, each with a large gun in hand, each in a military uniform, and each expressionless, ruthless, and wanting nothing more but to kill. I slapped myself hard on the face, perplexed at the meaning of the soldiers, before wondering whether I had created a television instead of a basic window. But having realised that the brutally depressing sights before me were not fiction, I felt the bitter sting of helplessness and powerless, and my balance lost itself, heaving my gaping mass to the hard, lightened ground beneath me.

          “I thought I had outlawed the military, defence, and weapons,” I pondered, now passed the state of shock into one of rushed anxious self-incrimination. “If only I had done all of my work before I decided to take a short sabbatical. Then what I am seeing now... well, I wouldn't be seeing it.”

     I collapsed into a heap on the floor, reversing my evolution and metamorphosing into the useless mass that I had been just months ago, without influence, without mastery, and without life.

     By now, thousands of troops, marching towards the border, were ruthlessly chanting the Muttford march songs, each in perfect tune, perfect time, and perfect step.

          “Perfection is Perfect.”

     But it isn't. Too much Perfection is deadly.

Pre - V

     Europe stepped to the beat of the military drummed, shouting and calling and dragging his gun. His mind had become disoriented and all-too familiar with tragic sights, and inside himself believed that murder by his hand was a beginning to the complete cure that he required to cleanse him of his hatred.

     He marched along with his other troops, he would march and fight to eternity of death, for Dollar, for Secord, for his wife Monique, for his father, for his sister, for his mother London, but most importantly, for him.

Pre - VI

     Majerle, having packed up his office and relocated his belongings to the Wordolg War Office, peered out of the window through his penthouse room, and gazed around the broken city. To an outsider, it would appear normal as the splendid spectacle it was, but to Majerle, it was bitter disappointment. The emotional and physical output from his citizens was tenacious and unstoppable, and, wanting little part in the actual killing combat, he offered to donate his mind to the leaders of the war, to help Muttford eventually retain their freedom, to help his beautiful city become free.

     Majerle descended the building via the elevator, which crisply and quickly landed him on the floor of the lobby. Momentarily confused at his current environment, Majerle ran around the lobby crazily, before he soared the many stairs up to his office. Realising his mistake, Majerle looked in a mirror and laughed, the last happy laugh Majerle would have for many years to come. For he was still the Master's dog, and he was still important, but power and authority never distracted Majerle from the true, amazing individual that he had always been, and always would be.

Pre - VII

     At nine-thirty-nine on the night of February the first, the city of Muttford declared violent war on the remainder of the human world.




"Nineteen Eighty-Four" by George Orwell
Copyright 1949 by Eric Blair.
Published in Penguin Books 1989.

"Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley
Copyright 1932 by Mrs Laura Huxley.
Published by Grafton Books 1977 (reprinted 1989).

"Winter's Tale" by Mark Helprin
Copyright 1983 by Mark Helprin.
Printed First Pocket Books August, 1984.

"Mr. Self-Destruct" by Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails
Copyright 1994 leaving hope/tvt music.
Released as musical album 1994 by Nothing/Interscope records

Various segments from "Onward Muttford" and "Dark White Rays" by Spencer Ansley of Death-Head Incest

Copyrights 1995 and 1996 by MCS/DHI and Majerle

Released as musical albums 1995 and 1996 by MCS Records

Back cover

          “S.E. Ansley truly captures the essence of the glorious city of Muttford, setting up each
character brilliantly with his flair for description, and leading the reader down a terrifying path to the story's unimaginable, catastrophic conclusion.”



S.E. Ansley