I wiped the tears from my eyes, ignored the picture of the dead cub in front of me and put down the pistol on the table, within easy reach of my paw.

Grabbing the quill-style ink pen I started to write on the fine-quality paper.

Admission of my sins, last will, of a pitiful creature begging forgiveness he does not deserve:

(Former) President Manuel Slabberclaw, of Banana Island Republic.

I will start from the beginning of the end. Prior to this woeful tail, I was a standard dictator.  I manufactured ways to get access to resources, then used fear, manipulation, alliances, and liberal amounts of illegal drugs and money to get to power.

The exact means are not important but I was a Bad Mammal.  The common mammals hated and feared me. I made it a point to be completely random in how I reacted.  One moment a minor mistake may bring a reassuring speech, and a “friendly Uncle” manner to not do it again, a comment among potential friends.

A perfect performance could bring a bullet to the head, in a public execution because “Today was Friday and I pick you.”  As you might guess, I was not popular with other nations either.  Some disliked the oil reserves I “nationalized” to line my own pockets.  Some others disliked me feeding the poor—with meat taken from political prisoners.  Just for laughs, I insisted that the “trains NOT run on time” just to prove a point: El Presidente was the Alpha canine here.

A new power had arisen in the world some 20 years before.  A mercenary nation calling itself the “Island of Caminante” was formed.  High technology seemed to be their main advantage. Rumors abounded of their abilities, until finally they began to call themselves “deathless” publicly, stating they could not be killed…

I paused, setting down the pen. Picked up the gun, carefully not looking at the dark-haired smiling raccoon-girl in one of the pictures that always surrounded me.  The picture reminded me of shame and failure.

I had invaded the island nation next to ours to expand our land, take their natural gas reserves and because I felt like it.  The Fur-nited Nations stuck their muzzle in it, and demanded I leave and pay reparations.  I told their representative to go rut with his mother, if he could find time in between her other customers.

The Caminante sent notice they were going to get involved. There was a small skirmish in a remote town, killing some 20 soldiers on each side before I called for a cease-fire and spoke about peace negotiations.  I offered luxury accommodations and tours while we negotiated.  Their near total victories with others had made them arrogant. I took advantage.

A bus tour with their soldiers and families was loaded up. In the middle of “explore the pyramids” the bus was captured, the soldiers killed, and 29 hostages taken, all cubs.

Within the hour I had their leader, calling himself ‘The Bastard on a video call. 
“Who the #@$%% do you think you are?! Return those hostages to me now!”, was his reply.

“Take off that silly helmet. I want to see who I am dealing with.”, I said calmly.

The Bastard removed his helmet, revealing himself to be a raccoon.

I waited, and smiled. Finally I said “You will agree to serve me in a binding perpetual contract, or I will kill the cubs.”

“You can’t be serious!”, he replied.

I motioned over a soldier, with a prisoner. I pulled my pistol. “I see you are not taking El Presidente seriously.  I need to fix that.” I said as I shot the guard in the head and then aimed at the cub.

The Cub stood there wide-eyed in shock, covered with a spray of blood from the former guard, now cooling corpse in the floor next to her. Looking closer I noticed a very close resemblance between the raccoon on the screen and the cub in front of me, trying to look brave.

“Wait, I believe you-” started The Bastard.

“I know you believe me.” I said.  “I just gave you proof of what I would do.” I blew on the end of the barrel, then aimed the gun at the cub.

“Wait! I agree. I agree! Just please don’t hurt my daughter! Her name is Melissa and she is only 8 years old!” begged The Bastard, falling to his knees. “You have my binding oath to serve!”

I smiled again, and made the worst decision of my existence.  “Don’t forget I have another 28 hostages.”, I said.

The Bastard looked horrified.  “No! She doesn’t have a backup unit installed yet!  If she dies then she stays dead fore--”

The brave little raccoon cub shakily said “I’m not afraid! My Daddy--” as she wet her pants, revealing how scared she really was.

I squeezed the trigger and my pistol roared out the cry of death, hitting her in the chest, and she fell down in shock.

“Please! She might live if you call a doctor! I’ll do what you say!”, cried out The Bastard.

“You are right. She might survive.” I said with a smile. I aimed the pistol at Melissa the raccoon’s head and fired 3 more times before cutting the call.

For a short time after that my victories were assured. The Bastard sent out a copy of the video to the world, and announced their forces were to be considered an ally of mine, all contracts nullified, and all alliances no longer in force.

What I didn’t know was that they allowed information on the kidnappings to be released to the whole worlds defense forces.

When the video of my murder of an innocent cub hit the world stage, my own people cheered publicly, except for a minority group I had not yet wiped out.

While I was making plans to eradicate these untrustworthy filth I was called by one of my top generals.  A special forces group had sneaked in and released all the hostages I had foolishly kept all together.

Immediately the Caminante forces tuned on me, and the entire Republic was being attacked, and frankly we stood no chance, which confused me at the time.

The Presidential Palace was attached by several small squads, who kept foolishly attacking separately.  I was called down, and the helmet was removed from one.  A wolf soldier.  So what?
Then the next helmet was removed, another wolf soldier.  Odd.  Twins?

Slowly it was revealed….unless the Caminante forces were all populated by quadruplets we were being attacked by the same people, over and over again, and no matter how many times we killed them, they kept coming back.

My forces were driven back, and finally no matter how many threats I made, my army simply laid down arms and surrendered.

I found myself facing The Bastard face to face, and pulled out my trump card.
“You can do nothing to me.  Your own laws and your oath prevent you from harming a head of state or deposing me.  We both know if you break your oath, your own people will be forced to kill you.”, I said.

He took off his helmet and glared at me with pure hatred.  “Why?  Why did you m….murder my daughter?” he asked.  I could see the rage temporarily change to anguish, and he started crying like a blubbering old woman.

“I will make this right for you, Bastard.  ‘Melissa’ was only a girl child.  I offer you the Blood Price of $1 Million dollars….” I started to say. 

He grabbed me by the collar and stuck his muzzle in my face. “Make it right with money?  Tell me how!  Tell me how much I need to pay to get her back! Who do I pay ?  Give her back and I will pay twice the amount!”

Letting me go he continued. “I will lay the wealth of the world at your feet, just give her back to me, alive….Please!”

As you have guessed I had no answer to that. The next actions were not as predictable as you would guess.  The Bastard started to scream for someone to bring something he called the ‘Black Anvil’.

He announced he was going to shame himself and the Caminante and break his oath, and shattered his ceremonial dagger that he carried on the anvil, and told me I was not going to die.

I was taken away, drugged, and given an operation, and I woke with a sore spot on the back of my head.

The Bastard was there in the recovery room. He shoved a picture in front of me.  It was the little raccoon cub again, this time having a birthday party with a big “6” on the cake, playing with friends.
“You took her from me, you miserable son of a bitch. Now I will see you suffer for all eternity.”

I was tortured horribly for several years, until finally the torturer screwed up and I died. I woke up suspended in a capsule full of goo, naked, and strapped to a breathing tube.  Only to begin again.

Eventually they stopped physically harming me, but her picture was hung up on every wall so I could not avoid her. Videos of her short life were played constantly.  Finally I begged The Bastard to simply kill me, and send me to hell.

I do now know how long this went on. I stopped counting the years after the first century.  I tortured myself when they would not.  The Bastard had to remove all the sharp items for a while after I stabbed myself in the eye as an act of forgiveness.

There was no forgiveness offered.

I hunted around and found all the “recovery systems” and shut them all down.
In a move that would have shocked everyone, including myself and my parents I fell to my knees and prayed to the Ancestors.

“Ancestors, I know I am an unworthy wretch, but I plead for this. Please send me to Heaven if you forgive me, or send me to Hell for my punishments but let me die.”, I prayed.

Writing down the last words of his account, El Presidente put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.

He felt himself rise up into the clouds, and saw his mother looking at him holding up her paws in greeting. Just as he was about to reach her, he felt himself falling, and went into a black place.

There were red-skinned furs around. He was not surprised to find himself in Hell.  “Please give me my punishments, demons.  I deserve whatever you give!” he said, relieved at last to be properly dead…

Opening his eyes El Presidente found himself in a recovery capsule again, facing that picture of Melissa Raccoon.

“Looks like I killed myself again for no reason.”, he said, getting out of the tube to face his ever living hell once more. He had hoped that 347th time would have been the charm.