Juvenalas Penitatas
Camp Northrock

“Welcome to Camp Northrock!”
The words sent a shiver down Danny Wu's spine, for they made his fate all the more real – as if the crude, archaic manacles chaining his limbs didn't do that already. He was once again six years old, and not by choice; tried and convicted of grand larceny, assault and battery, possession of illegal weapons and a collection of pettier charges that all got lost in the white noise, Danny and his co-conspirators had found themselves on the sharp end of Halkat justice. He didn't know where the others had gone; no doubt they were all scattered to different prison camps to reduce the risk of further conspiracies.
“I think we can dispense with the manacles now,” the camp staffer said with a grin. As the manacles were removed by the escorting police he added, “and your clothes. We want you in bare scale for the next part.”
Danny felt a shiver run down his spine. The way the man grinned at him, combined with the camera drone hovering at his shoulder inspired all manner of dark thoughts. He'd certainly heard rumours of how much these people enjoyed their work...
He resisted at first. Most did. All that earned him was a series of harsh strikes to his thighs until, howling in pain, the little boy agreed to bare all. Stood naked in the open, he shivered as the camera focused on him. The fresh welts across the front of his thighs were clear for all to see as he recited his name and sentence. Once he had performed this ritual to the man's satisfaction, Danny was treated to another round of punishment – a swift, vicious paddling that left him an utter mess. Broken by the whole ordeal, he was marched naked towards one of the camp's white-washed office buildings to begin his integration.
Once he'd been inspected by the nurse, measured for his clothes and provided something new to wear, Danny was sent to begin his new life. He'd arrived just in time for lunch. Penitatas were lining up at the mess hall, mostly Karrians like himself but with a few other species represented. They wore a selection of different colours, though he wasn't sure of the significance: black was the unifying theme, typically on shorts, trousers or trim. Danny's primary colour was yellow, but there were also red, blue, and green rejuves waiting for their food. Danny was escorted past most of the queue to a grouping of yellow-dressed boys. “Whyl, meet your new bunkmate.”
Danny only met Whyl's gaze for a moment, and that was a moment too long. His scales were black, the darkness broken only by irregular yellow bands that conjured instinctive associations with poison. This reaction was only heightened by the venomous glare in the eleven-year-old's eyes. “Make sure he knows what's what around here, won't you?”
“Yes, Mr Kal,” Whyl's response came through grit teeth. No-one outwardly protested as Danny was inserted into the queue right behind Whyl, but there was a palpable increase in tension. “You're the new meat for Cabin 2? Then let's get something straight right now: I run the cabin. You do what I tell you when I tell you, or I will fuck you up in ways that'll make you want to sleep in the spanking booths! Do you understand me, new meat?”
“I hear you,” Danny replied, cursing how weak and timid his new voice sounded. He knew he had to walk a tightrope here – too weak and he'd be prey, too defiant and he'd risk the wrath of an older, and likely supported boy.
Whyl's lip twitched, but no reprisals were forthcoming. At least the food was decent.

Isabelle Holdenthorpe's arrival at Camp had been much the same as Danny Wu's, albeit with a lot more lip and, as a result, a lot more marks upon her body.
“I do love it when the little girls defy me,” Kal cooed happily as he brought the switch down upon her thighs, leaving long, painful lines across the howling fox-girl's front. She'd long since surrendered and was now begging to strip, but Kal was clearly ignoring her. He kept on whipping her thighs until she was so utterly distraught she could no-longer speak, and only then did the thrashing cease.
“I'm looking forward to introducing you to the nettle patch,” Mr Kal whispered into her ear as she stood trembling in her bare fur, sobbing out the burning in her thighs. “You little girls are just so adorable with those little dimples all over your private parts!”
That exchange birthed a long-standing hatred for Mr Kal, one that he would build upon for years to come.
Isabelle had missed her meals, but thankfully wasn't made to go hungry. After she'd been thoroughly spanked and sent through processing, Mr Kal was at least kind enough to give her a bowl of hot soup and sandwiches to eat as a hearty supper, not that she felt in any way inclined to thank him for it.
Her new home was Cabin 5. Six bunk beds provided sleeping arrangements for the penitatas within,  with ten girls stood anxiously with their pants down and shirts pulled up to show their nipples. The youngest was five, the oldest ten.
“See how your friends are presenting themselves? I expect you to do the same.” He pointed to an amber-scaled girl. “Go stand next to Sun and present yourself.”
Sun was seven, or thereabouts. She gave Isabelle a sympathetic smile as Kal walked the line of girls, examining each of them. When he reached the window at the end of the cabin he turned and pointed sharply at Isabelle. “Once you are put to bed, you are expected to stay in bed. This-” he tapped a metal bucket with his foot “-is for emergencies. I suggest you learn to handle your potty needs before lock-in if you want to make friends in here!”
He stepped forward to the nearest pair of girls and knelt down in front of each of them in turn. Isabelle watched with disgust as each girl pushed her hips forward slightly so Mr Kal could more easily slip a finger between their thighs to gave their cunny a short, gentle tickle. When his hand was pulled away, the girl made herself decent and climbed into bed.
Sun was climbing up onto the top bunk when it was Isabelle's turn to be 'tickled'. She flinched as Kal's finger caressed her privates, and went on doing so far longer than with any other girl. “My little ones are forbidden from masturbating, understand?”
“Yes!” Isabelle barked, snarling at the filthy smirk on Kal's features. His finger finally pulled away and the fox-girl flung herself into bed, curling into a little ball of pain and humiliation while her tormentor finished his routine. It was still light outside and the thin blinds of the cabin did little to help with that. Isabelle resorted to hiding her head under the covers.
After a few minutes, the girl's ears began to burn. The bed above her shifted as Sun descended. The Aspatrian's heart began to pound, her mind racing with terrible imaginings of what might happen in the dark...
“Hey,” Sun's greeting was soft, far from what Isabelle had expected. “Your name is Isabelle, right? I'm Sun. Nice to meet you.”
The little white fox shuffled under her sheets, rolling over and poking her head clear to gaze at the softly-smiling girl. “Yes. I'm Isabelle.” she answered.
Sun didn't seem phased by her new companion's curtness. “I saw the stripes on your front. Mr Kal gave you a little extra in your welcome, huh?”
“He beat the shit out of me,” she replied, snarling at the recent memory. “then he started talking about how much he wants to sting my pussy with nettles.”
“Yeah, he's really into that,” Isabelle noted a few other girls were listening in. All of them flinched. “We've learned a few tricks to keep him sweet. Doesn't save us from everything he throws our way, but it makes life here a little more bearable.”
“Such as?”
One of the girls opposite shuffled to the end of her bed. “The perv is desperate to fuck us, but I don't think his bosses will let him. Just play into his horniness.” she shifted her voice to a higher register. “'Please, Mr Kal! Don't let my first climax in this body be from the nasty nettles! Anything but that!' Fucking worked, too!”
“So what-” Isabelle's question was cut short by a sudden bolting of the other girls back to their beds, triggered by an excessively loud cough from one of the girls closest to the door. Eyes clenched tight shut, her ears turned instinctively to follow the sound of the cabin door opening and the heavy footsteps of Mr Kal entering. He hovered at the end of Isabelle's bunk for what felt like a lifetime, as if studying the two girls to make sure they were truly asleep. Eventually, he turned and stalked away. No girl dared stir from their beds for the rest of the night, but Isabelle felt thankful her new room-mates had, however briefly, put their hides at risk to greet her. It wasn't much, but it salved her fears just enough to let her sleep.

Arno Cleed smiled as he surveyed the unhappy faces turned towards him. All of them wore matching yellow shirts and black shorts, though that was where the similarities largely ended; the age and sex of the Karrian children varied greatly, as did the colours of their scales and, more importantly, the colour of the marks on their paws. Every single one wore a “P” on the back of each claw, but the differences there spoke of the nature of their wrongdoings – silver for the lesser offenders, black for the really bad ones. You saw a lot of Black 'P's in Camp Northrock.
“Honeybees! Buzz your butts on over! Come on, come on!” his forced cheerfulness served only to make his charges all the more miserable. “It's public service day once again. See the wash house behind me? It's your turn to clean it. Every shower, sink and toilet scrubbed until it shines!”
“I'm not scrubbing fucking toilets!” one boy snapped. His outburst was greeted by the sound of almost a dozen other rejuves all breathing in at once.
Arno's eye flicked to his notepad. “Daniel, isn't it?”
“Danny,” he growled back.
The camp guide accepted the correction. “Danny. You're still new here, so I'm going to assume that you meant to say 'yes sir, Mr Cleed!' and somehow misspoke in a spectacular fashion. You didn't mean to swear at me, did you?”
“Yes I-”
“Because if you did mean to swear at me then you will all be cleaning toilets with your tongues. Cubs! Raise your hand if you believe my threats are real.” Every single Penny, bar Danny, threw their arm into the air. Danny's bravado faded fast.
“I didn't swear at you, Mr Cleed,” he mumbled, head bowed in submission.
“That's what I thought.” Arno clapped his claws together. “Everything you need is inside waiting for you! Chop-chop!”
As the dozen penitatas scurried off to begin their chores, Arno stood outside with a smile on his snout, tail flicking idly behind him. From the nearby trees to the south came the overlapping calls of wild birds, from the north the familiar wails of misery as one of the convicted campers met the business end of a paddle. His eyes caught sight of a pair of cubs in blue hobbling their way towards him, struggling to lift an excessively large paint bucket between them. Arno took two smart paces backward, clearing the way, allowing himself to study the odd pair. The boy was a grey scaled Karrian, one of the rarer colourations, while the girl was a white furred fox. He looked up to see the rest of their work gang stood by a raised wooden platform in the middle of the camp space. “I think you two are going the wrong way,” Arno said once they'd passed.
The paint bucket thudded to the ground. Both penitatas turned to the supervisor, though their expressions couldn't have been more different. “Mrs Chass told us to carry it all the way round the quad,” the boy explained. The Aspatrian girl merely glared, pumping all the contempt a six-year-old fox could muster into her narrowed eyes.
“Carry on then,” Arno said with a wave of his claw. Muttering under their breath, the pair resumed their heavy lifting. He turned and caught Mrs Chass' eye and mouthed 'lip?' while gesturing towards the fox. The female Karrian nodded. He watched the pair struggle along for a while, then decided to see how his own little Cubs were getting on. No doubt someone was slacking off in there, and that someone would soon regret their laziness!

Isabelle's arms ached from the effort of hauling the excessively large paint pot around. Her wrist throbbed from the repetitive strain of dragging paint across wood. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hard, rough ground. All of this she conveyed with her sullen expression and incessant whimpering. “If you keep on like that, Mrs Chass will give you something to really cry about!” the twelve-year-old boy next to her warned.
“I'm in pain!” Isabelle snapped, though she was smart enough to keep her voice low. “Unlike you, I'm not built for physical labour!”
The grey Karrian snickered at her protests. “Better get yourself rebuilt then. There's not much demand for book-smart Pennys round here.”
A petulant huff answered his observations. The Karrian paused his painting to watch her for a moment before placing his brush down and shuffling closer. “You've rushed these parts. I know Mrs Chass said to hurry, but we've got more time than she lets on. Trust me, this ain't the first time I've painted this stage. Use a bit more paint and use long, slow strokes, like this. See?”
“Thanks. I guess.” Isabelle briefly met the boy's eye, studying his features.
“What's with that look?” He asked.
She moved her focus to his section of the wooden boards. What he'd done so far was done well, certainly better than her own. “I was trying to figure out if you were setting me up to fail.”
“Get that a lot, do you?”
“I'm an Aspatrian,” Isabelle replied.
The boy grinned at her. “Well, 'Aspatrian', I'm Timothy. He extended his claw towards her.
Isabelle went to accept the gesture, but paused when she saw the green paint on her fingers. A frustrated huff slipped from her vulpine maw. “Fuck! That's never coming out!”
Timothy's claw closed around her fingers. “Nice to meet you, 'That's never coming out!'”
To her own surprise as much as anyone's, Isabelle laughed. It was an alien sound in Camp Northrock, which is why it drew so many gazes. Both rejuves hastily turned back to painting before Mrs Chass could accuse them of slacking.

Life in Camp Northrock was far from the summer-camp jolliness its facade made it out to be, and that wasn't just because of the sadistic staffers. A long day of scrubbing toilets, plucking weeds (by claw, naturally) and other miserable, hard-labour duties had left him feeling utterly wretched. Danny had cursed his way through it all, though not loudly enough for the watching Mr Cleed, nor anyone else to take issue.
After a shower in the freshly-cleaned washroom and a subsequent evening meal, the last bout of misery for the day was a trip to the spanking booths. They filled a large warehouse-like building at the end of the cabins, directly opposite an admin building of some kind. Cabin by cabin, the unhappy little boys and girls were filed inside where a cold, mechanical voice ordered them to strip down and stow their clothes before an automated paddling kicked in. Danny, like everyone else, hated the spanking booths immediately. It wasn't just what happened inside; it was the silence as you waited your turn that made them truly evil. No matter how long or loud they cried – and by God did they cry – not a peep could be heard by those stood just a few feet away. A sickening thought wormed its way into the young boy's thoughts: these machines could be beating you to death and nobody would know until the doors opened...
He was one of the last to go through the ordeal. He lived through it, though the deep bruising the heartless machine inflicted almost made him regret that fact. When it was finally over he marched in sullen lockstep with his peers back to his cabin, his clothes balled up in his paws. Nobody got dressed after an evening paddling, it seemed.
Danny followed Whyl into their cabin. He was a fellow 'Honeybee', though whereas their workday had seen them in a mixed-sex group, the cabin was all boys from all four 'Clubs'. Mr Cleed turned out to be in charge of him at night as well as during the day, barking a curt order to his boys to get into their pyjamas and go straight to sleep. Whyl's bed was above Danny's, which meant both boys were close during their bedtime prep – close enough that the poisonous older boy's glares were obvious.
They had been tucked into bed for just ten minutes when Whyl descended. Danny didn't open his eyes, which is why he didn't see the attack coming. A pillow was shoved over his head to muffle his cries right before a fierce punch slammed into his kidneys, knocking the wind out of him and making him curl up in pain.
“What the fuck was that bullshit you pulled on clean-up?” Whyl snarled. “Are you fucking stupid or something? You some sick fuck who wants to eat people's shit?” the questions were punctuated by more harsh blow to the gut.
When the pillow finally drew away, Danny gasped for air and tried to scramble out of his bed, only for the older boy to grab him by the throat and push him back down. “I'm going to teach you to watch your fucking mouth around here.”
Two other boys approached Danny from either side. One snapped a belt around his muzzle and yanked it tight, the other helped to pin him down until the gag was in place. Then all three dragged him to his feet, Whyl slamming a fist into Danny's side once more for good measure before throwing him onto the bed face first. “If you fuck with me, I will fuck you!”
Danny screamed into the gag as he felt the boy's fingers tug at his waistband. He had an older boy on his back, pinning him down so it was difficult to breathe. Someone had his tail held up and one leg pulled away. He heard Whyl spit, and moments later felt a moistened cock press against his tailhole. His muffled wails and cries for mercy went unheeded as the older boy stretched his virgin rear wide open. The thrusts came deep and swift, Whyl clearly wanting to make this ordeal as painful and humiliating as possible for Danny. The slamming of his hips against Danny's spanked cheeks rocked the bed, but he barely registered the pain this caused; the deep, violating shame of the raping overruled such feelings entirely.
When it was finally over, Whyl pulled his cock free and dragged Danny off the bed. Pushed to his knees, the belt was pulled free. “Clean me up, you little shit!” Danny was in no mood to protest. He took Whyl's cock into his mouth, retching at the salty taste of seed, but sucked it until Whyl was satisfied. One of the other boys then scooped up the cum dribbling from his anus and force-fed him that as well. “Now you know your place. Better not fucking forget it.” All Danny could do was climb back under the covers and fight the urge to cry; the last thing he wanted now was to show any more weakness.

Beyond dull chores, the staff of Camp Northrock seemed to love organising games for their charges. Isabelle and her fellow 'Sea Foxes' (she felt sure her being in that club was itself a terrible joke) were often pitted against a rival group of rejuves in a game with painful stakes. Even otherwise fun activities like kickball or netball were twisted by routine and widespread insertion of punishments. The crime of being on the losing team was punished by a trip to the spanking booths, which ensured all thoughts of camaraderie and fair play went out of the window. It was all the worse for Isabelle because, being one of the younger penitatas, she was physically outclassed by older rejuves and put at a severe disadvantage. The young ones were inevitably blamed for when their side lost, and in turn given little to no credit for any victories.
Other days were, on the surface, more merciful. At the end of Isabelle's first week, Mr Kal took 'his' girls to a more remote cabin halfway to the lake and invited them to paint. It seemed such an innocent activity at first, but after letting his girls indulge in childish creativity, the twists began.
“Now you've had a little warm-up, I think we should try something a little more focused. To help you achieve that focus, I want bare bottoms all round!” the order was met with huffs and mumbles, though all were quick to obey. The more savvy ones noted the paintbrush Kal twirled in his fingers, and let out unhappy moans as they guessed what he intended. “Why don't we try a little self-portrait, hmm? I want each of you to paint a picture of yourselves bent over with a nice, red bottom! Those who don't try their best will get some real-life inspiration!”
“Piece of shit!” Isabelle rasped as she went in search of a pencil. If his plan was to thrash her for doing a sloppy job, she'd sidestep that well enough – drawing was harder with these small, unfamiliar paws, but she still had technical knowledge enough. She would sketch out guidelines and compose the unwanted scene before putting paint to canvas.
She heard Kal step up behind her. The man knelt down, his breath on her neck sending a disgusted shiver down Isabelle's spine. His paw, clutching the brush, curled around her thighs. She tried, but failed to resist from flinching as the soft bristles tickled against her lower lips. “Am I distracting you, little one?”
“No!” Isabelle risked a sideways glance at the man, but her gaze first caught the shock on Sun's face nearby. “No, Mr Kal!” she answered in a more respectful tone.
“Good. Then you won't mind if I just stay here and watch?”
All she could do was grit her teeth and try to soldier on. Kal kept her in a firm hug with his free hand, smiling and humming softly as he brushed her privates at a lazy pace, sending unwanted tingles through Isabelle's body. She tried with all her might to focus on her work, to get the proportions on her characters correct, deliberating on what colours to use to best portray white fur on white canvas. But despite her best efforts, and against her own desires, her breathing grew heavier. A hot, shameful blush formed on her muzzle as her body reacted to the teasing of its own accord, her private parts growing warm, labia puffing as her fresh nerves were teased over and over. By the time he grew bored and moved on to fresh prey, Isabelle was left hot, flustered, and furious.
Back towards the main camp a bell rang, calling the campers to lunch. “Nobody is going anywhere!” Kal called out. The girls stood at their canvases, bare legs shifting anxiously for fear of what might come next. Kal handed out sandwiches and juice for them all, even giving them permission to chatter, providing they didn't move.
The next stage of his little game reared its head when one of the younger girls called out to him. “Sir? Can I use the bathroom?”
Kal met the question with a sadistic smile. “If I hear another girl ask permission to use the potty, every single one of you will go to bed with nettles up both holes!”
After lunch, Kal paid extra attention to the beige-scaled girl who'd asked for relief. First, he made her drink more water, a full litre by Isabelle's guess, then he subjected her to the same teasing she'd endured. So shameless was the man he even opened his pants to let his vile erection hang out for all the girls to see.
Isabelle tried her best to focus on her work. It was coming along, technically solid if utterly hated for its subject. Kal moved amongst his girls periodically, mostly to force them to drink before returning to his chosen victim to brush away.
The fox's eyes couldn't help but turn as beige-girl's whimpering became more frantic. Isabelle was starting to feel the pressure, but her ordeal must have been far worse. Kal's cock bounced merrily as she squirmed under his attention, mewling and whimpering, her feet wriggling in place. Kal had been clear on that as well – each girl had two little green circles beneath them, marking the exact spot their feet had to occupy at all times.
When the inevitable happened, it came with a blub of shame from the girl, and a delighted little sigh from Kal. His brush danced over her clit as she pissed herself; warm, rank urine splattered across the wooden floorboards and splashed against her own legs. Once she'd finished, he finally went in search of a third girl to tease.
Beside her, Isabelle heard Sun let her own bladder go. At first, the idea repulsed the fox, but she quickly saw the wisdom in it – better to let it out on her own terms than wait for Kal's brush to come back. She was hardly the only one; soon, to Kal's audible delight, he had most of the room pissing themselves as they painted.
Once they'd all relieved themselves, Sun had one last surprise. She broke the rules of keeping her position and walked sheepishly towards Kal. All heads turned to follow the amber lizard as she approached the rock-hard male, raising her shirt to reveal her nipples. “Sir... I'm... I'm desperate.”
“Desperate for what?” Kal asked, lust dripping from his words.
“For cock, sir. Please?” she didn't wait for permission, simply leaning in and taking Kal's cock into her mouth. Murmurs of pleasure slipped from her snout as she suckled on his tip, eyes closed and seeming to enjoy the act. Kal's own eyes fluttered shut, his heavy panting indicating just how close to relief he was. Hardly surprising, given he'd spent all morning teasing himself at their expense.
He blew his load with enough force to make Sun gag, the girl pulling away and retching at the thick load fired into the back of her throat. Kal shuddered in delight, using his paw to ease himself through the rest of the climax and letting his seed fall where it may. His drunken grin and hot blush stiffened into something more akin to embarrassment, a clear case of post-nut clarity. “I think we can call it a day, girls,” he said, hastily shoving his softening cock back into his pants. He stepped to the nearest canvas and tore the half-drawn erotica off, scrunching it into a ball. He did this with all of them. “You have leave to go down to the lakeside! I'll catch up with you there in a moment or two!”
Just to be safe, the girls kept themselves bare below the waist until Kal returned, almost fifteen minutes later, and told them they could dress. Many chose to do the opposite and skinny-dip in the cool waters, if only to get washed up. A few girls expressed a desire to scratch the itch Kal's teasing had left them with, but that proved to be a step further than the man was willing to permit. There was only so much the girls were willing to push their luck.
Kal had only stayed to destroy the paintings and clean up his personal mess. By sheer coincidence, the task of cleaning up the piss-stained floor fell to Danny and the other boys of Cabin 2.

Arno watched as old Bowden made his slow, ponderous tour of the camp. He was currently inhabiting a body close to ninety, and from what Arno could tell this one was his fourth. The appeal to living to a grand old age was one Arno could never fathom – surely it made far more sense to simply rejuvenate once your current body began to wear out, rather than doddering around as a greying invalid?
“Good evening, Arno,” the old man called out. Arno nodded in acknowledgement. “How's the new boy faring?”
It took Arno a moment to recall the lad's name. “Danny? Settling in. He's got a spiteful streak still, but he's shown progress this past month. Fell into line nicely.”
“I've noticed him a few times. He's got a certain... hurt way about him. Even on a good day he looks like he's just been whipped.”
“Can't say I've noticed.” Arno replied with a shrug.
Bowden's eyebrow raised. “You see him most every day, Arno. How could you not have noticed?”
Arno gave another shrug. “What difference does it make?”
The old man sighed. “I wish you'd care more. Same for most of the staff here. Caring used to be part of the job.”
“I don't think we covered that in training,” Arno said idly. He wasn't really in the mood for the soft-touch stories of how much better the old ways were.
Bowden opened his mouth to speak, but his breath halted. He cocked his head towards the cabin and raised his hand to cup his ear-slit. This was something Arno could at least understand; both men stepped quietly towards the cabin door. Arno threw it open, revealing the mostly-silent room beyond. All boys appeared to be in their beds, though there was a little too much movement from Whyl's bunk. He walked inside, Bowden close behind, listening to the tearful whimpers coming from Danny's bunk. Arno prodded the upper-bunk boy. “Were you out of your bed, Whyl?”
“No, Mr Cleed.”
“Danny? Was Whyl out of bed?”
“No, sir!” Danny blubbed, keeping his face buried in his pillow.
“No, sir.” Arno repeated back, clicking his teeth in annoyance. “That had damn well better be the truth.”
The two men left, clicking the door shut behind them. Cleed stayed by the door, listening just in case. “Your boys weren't spanked tonight, where they?” Bowden asked.
“No.”
“Then what was wrong with young Danny?” The old man peered through the front window at the rows of silent beds.
Arno had no answer. He'd worked Camp Northrock for almost twenty years, and his ability to care for the children there had perished swiftly. He knew them only as monsters; criminals and reprobates who would prey upon others any chance they had. He saw it all the time – they couldn't even be trusted to play a simple game like baseball without trying to crack someone's skull open with a bat! If Danny was crying, odds were he'd done something to earn it.
The pair soon moved on, unaware of the violent carnal act they'd interrupted. Whyl would have to go to sleep unsatisfied, though he'd have his fill again tomorrow.

Bringing Antoinette into Isabelle's tiny social circle wasn't easy. Despite being a girl, the sandstone furred Roferian bunked with boys in Cabin 1. “On account of my Y-rep,” she explained.
Isabelle understood the broad idea, if not the specifics; somehow, by tweaking the rejuvenation chamber, it could 'filter out' certain genetic information and make alterations to a person. Removing genetic defects was an obvious one, but it could also be used to turn men into little girls, or women into little boys. Apparently, Halkat liked to “Y-rep” their most violent male criminals into young girls as part of their punishment, and by the sound of things men like Mr Kal were happy to make their lives extra miserable.
“Why would I want him- her- that as my friend?” Isabelle spat when the idea was raised to her.
Sun, ever patient, simply answered, “Because she's a friend of Timothy's, and so are we.”
The other hurdle was the general lack of crossover. Camp events were either done per-cabin or via the Cub Club. The latter put Timothy and Isabelle together in the Sea Foxes, Sun in the Oliphants, and Antoinette in the Red Kestrels. Just about the only place they could consistently be together was the dining hall, and even then Antoinette was often absent for unexplained reasons. Timothy and Sun seemed to know why, but Isabelle was kept in the dark.
When she was present, she was a vile, caustic little bitch from the first exchange. Timothy had introduced them. “Isabelle, this is Antoinette. We call her 'Sir Andy'. Andy, Isabelle.”
Antoinette – or Andy, or whatever – had curled her cruel little lip and asked, “have you fucked her yet, Timmy?” Isabelle decided there and then the two would never be friends.
Timothy had rejuvenated not long after the pair met, but even though he was back to age six he seemed to be in good spirits. How, or why, was yet another mystery Isabelle felt unable to solve. She put it down to the fact his letters were silver, not black – in theory, that meant softer time. Antoinette wore a black P with a circle round it, indicating especially harsh and heinous punishments. Sometimes, Isabelle enjoyed thinking about what that little shit must go through.
Towards the end of their meal, Timothy inched a claw over to caress Isabelle's wrist. “There's something I'd like to ask, if you're willing. Would you-”
Before Timothy could finish a black-scaled Karrian snapped at them, “you're sat at our table.”
Isabelle didn't know the boy's name, but she knew the shape he filled in the world. Mob boss, crime lord, Camp King... whatever term you cared to use, she instinctively knew this was someone best placated.
Antoinette either failed to register this, or simply did not care. “Walk away, shit-stick.”
“Andy!” Timothy raised his claw for calm. “This is their table. We're going to move. Right?” The other three were already getting up. 
“You know what this is, right?”
“Yes, Andy. This is us being smart,” Timothy pressed. Isabelle had already put a whole other table between herself and whatever was about to go down.
Antoinette rose from her seat, took her empty tray in both claws, and swung. There was a loud clopping sound as her tray met Whyl's, bouncing the boy's food up and onto his chest. Before a single crumb had hit the floor the black-and-yellow brute reacted, slamming his tray forwards into Antoinette's snout with a loud crack, then following up with a haymaker punch that slammed the girl to the ground. He got a pair of solid kicks in before one of the camp supervisors tackled him, but by then the whole place was a riot.
Isabelle ran. The trick wasn't to run far in this case – the chaos would surely mean the staff were about to come down hard on them all – but just far enough that she was out of the immediate blast zone. Close enough, however, that she'd be found immediately when people came looking; close enough that she could, with some justification, simply claim to have been frightened of the attack and waiting outside where it was safe.
She picked the stage. If she stood there in the open, not moving, then only the most deranged and vindictive of staffers would accuse her of running away. If the black-scale or his cronies came looking, the high ground gave her an edge. A few other Pennys followed her example; Sun amongst them. Timothy was still inside.
An alarm began to sound. Various staffers answered the call, including Bow-leg Bowden of all people. Exactly what the geriatric manager was going to do was anyone's guess, but he came out all the same. The ancient Karrian, his scales bleached white by age, glanced up at the penitatas on the stage and glared until Sun explained themselves. “We wanted to stay away from the fight!”
“A good idea. Stay put.” He moved on. Isabelle watched him go, though not far; he stopped at a nearby tree to kneel beside a terrified little boy.

“Are you alright, young man?” Bowden asked.
Danny looked up at the old Karrian, tears running down his cheeks. “No!” he whimpered.
A softly-trembling claw tried to provide a comforting touch. Danny flinched away from it. “I remember visiting you the other night. You were crying. What happened, Danny?”
“Nothing! Nothing happened!”
Bowden nodded. “I know all about 'nothing', Danny. I know how cruel a place this camp can be. I also know that it can be difficult to talk to us, because you feel like we're not always there to protect you. But there are things we can do to help, if you trust us to. Before we can help, we have to know what's wrong.”
Danny kept his lips tight shut. He felt certain that Whyl, when he returned, would beat him to death just for speaking to Bowden. The old man lingered, hopeful the silence would break, but eventually he gave up and moved on. Proof, as far as Danny was concerned, that the staff would never keep their word.

The spanking booths had worked overtime after the cafeteria fight. Some wondered why it had happened at all, but not Arno Cleed. He knew all too well – it was their nature. Little shits picked fights because that was all they knew how to do. Whyl was poison, inside and out; the Roferian girl had been a sadistic rapist and torturer in her past life, and Cleed saw no evidence she'd changed at all while in custody. The rest were little different; some had seen the eruption of violence as an excuse to throw a few blows of their own, settling real or perceived injustices. Others had bolted for the treeline, trying to flee from Camp Northrock entirely. They were all ultimately rounded up, many in the dead of night, and their exhausted little bodies were dragged straight to the spanking booths. Their loud, agonised howling as they were sent back into their cabins inevitably woke up the penitatas trying to sleep. This would, Cleed knew, be justification for yet more fights later.
The dark cloud lingered over him for weeks, long enough for the second outbreak of camp violence to kick in. A night-time brawl in Cabin 3 left a dozen boys with bruises and bloody noses. There was no reason, as far as Cleed could tell – the boys just snapped. Animals did that, sometimes. When you backed animals into a corner they went savage, so mad with rage and desperation that they'd attack anything, no matter how big, in their bid to escape.
As if summoned by his dour mood, rain began to fall. Nobody bothered to patrol in the rain – it kept the brats indoors. Escape attempts or night-time thieving was for warmer weather, or at least clear nights with moon and stars to navigate by. Thick clouds blotted out all natural light, and the hammering of rain meant you wouldn't hear a staffer sneaking up on you.
“But we can't hear them, either.” He spoke the thought aloud as his eyes turned towards Cabin 2.
He walked towards Cabin 4 rather than going there directly. He didn't know why, precisely; it was just an impulse. The rain hammered him, soaking him to the bone in seconds as he broke cover and crossed to the cabin he rarely checked. All seemed quiet inside. He slipped down the narrow gap between Cabin's 4 and 5, doubling round to approach the rear window of Cabin 2. The blind was down, but there was just a little line between the bottom of the blind and the window frame, a viewing slit to let him peer into the dark.
He could see shadows moving, and as his ears strained he picked up soft, rhythmic bumping.
Keeping low, he crept back around to the front of the Cabin, crawling on all fours so no boy looking out of the window would see him. He reached the door, crouched, and opened it as he stood up. There was a sound of frantic scrabbling as he reached for the light switch. The flash of illumination revealed Danny with his pants down, and Whyl scrambling up his bed's ladder, the tween's hard-on bouncing against the metal. Even though he was caught, he still hurried under his sheets and pretended to sleep.
“Danny?” Arno crossed the room, eyes focused on the bent-over boy. Danny hadn't tried to hide. His reddened tailhole twitched and clenched as silent tears trickled down his cheeks.
“Danny?” Arno repeated the boy's name as he drew near. “What was that I saw?”
No answer came. None was needed. Danny's face was a mask of pain and shame. Arno leaned closer and whispered as softly as he could. “Danny. Was he forcing himself upon you? Nod if he was.”
After a long hesitation, Danny nodded. “Was this the first time?” Shake. “How many times?” Danny raised a claw with all digits outstretched.
Monsters. All of them.
Later, when he was asked about the events of that night, Cleed would truthfully state he had no idea what compelled him to do what he did. He grabbed the boy's blanket and threw it across the room, jerking the boy forward in the process. With his other claw he hastened the motion, grabbing Whyl by the pyjama sleeve and yanking hard enough to tear the fabric. Whyl shrieked as he tumbled out of bed and slammed face-first into the floor. As he rolled, Cleed stamped down on his tail, drawing yet another shriek. “Spanking booths!” Arno snarled, cold fury dripping from his lips. He took another firm hold of the boy and dragged him out into the rain, though Whyl fought every step of the way.
When the boy was finally shoved into a spanking booth and shut inside, Arno let out a long, frustrated sigh. He tapped the touch-screen on the booth's control panel and brought up the internal camera. Whyl was banging on the inner door, raging away. Arno pushed the comm button and said, “Strip and surrender to the machine.”
“You broke my fucking nose, you piece of shit!” Whyl howled back. Cleed didn't believe him, though his snout was red and there was a trickle of blood coming from one nostril. “You're dead, Cleed! That's assault! You're going to end up in here with the rest of us, and I'm going to fucking bury you!”
“Have you been inside one of these machines when I press the 'hostile occupant' button? You won't like it, Whyl. Surrender while you can. Ten... Nine...”
The count got as low as two before Whyl finally stripped down. He turned to face the body rest, and Arno commanded the machine to restrain him. Padded bars pressed against the back of his knees to make him squat. Mechanical arms took hold of his wrists and pulled them forwards, forcing his head and chest against the appropriate rests before restraining bars lowered to hold him in his new posture; leaning forwards, with his bottom nice and exposed. The last touch was a final arm to grip his tail and hold it up. In front of Whyl, a screen lit up with the message 'Penitatas restrained'. That screen would, in time, tell Whyl what kind of spanking he was about to receive.
“What's taking so long?” Whyl snarled. He'd been left in place for several minutes. Normally, spankings started as soon as you were locked in place. Why the delay?
The door opened. Arno stepped into the booth. Whyl couldn't see him, but he could hear the soft clink of a belt, the ruffle of fabric, and the wet spurt of a gel being squeezed out. His eyes went wide in horror. “No! Get the fuck away from me, you sick filth!”
Arno didn't give him a reply. He worked the lube over his cock, squatted down to get the right angle, and thrust himself into the helpless boy. Whyl howled as karma caught up with him, his innards stretched by the larger male's cock. For what little it was worth, Cleed was more gentle than Whyl ever was. He didn't finish – that would have been a step too far, and not easily explained away. No, Cleed just wanted Whyl to know how it felt to be used. A dozen good, hard thrusts was enough.
The door slid back closed as Arno studied the console. The delay in his action had been to find something to use as lube, yes, but also to figure out how to shut out the security fail-safes. Anal violation was just the first step in Whyl's punishment.
He was an animal, likely beyond redemption. What was the old saying? “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”
Inside the pod, Whyl blinked away tears as the screen flickered back into life. A neutral, artificial voice narrated the words on the screen before him. “Punishment routine accepted: You will receive Twenty. Five. Thousand. Two. Hundred. Spanking with an age-twelve wooden paddle.”
“What?” Pure terror coursed through Whyl's body. He only had time to let out that first cry before the roulette wheel in the ceiling span the chosen paddle into place and brought it down hard on his rear. “Ow! No! Stop! That's- Oow!” The paddle clapped against his cheeks once per second, alternating from left to right. Within a few seconds he was sobbing. After a minute, he was balling like a newborn. After ten, he was screaming and thrashing against his binds in mad, animalistic terror. After an hour, he'd lost his mind.
After seven hours the door to the pod swung open. He had pissed, soiled, vomited and bled over the ordeal.
It was Mrs Chass who found him. She tendered her resignation the very next day.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Bowden asked.
“Yes, sir. I know exactly what I have done.”
Bowden had the look of a man who expected to wake up in his bed at any moment and find his day had been just a bad dream. “Why, Arno? Can you at least tell me that?”
“He was raping that other boy, sir. Danny. I caught him in the act. Not the first time, either.”
“That... that is terrible, Arno, but it does not justify what you did. It doesn't even come close.”
“I know.” Arno let his head drop low. “I will cooperate with the authorities. I know my career, and my life are over now. I've become just like them. Just another monster.”
“That's how you've always thought of them, isn't it? Monsters? You never saw them as children in need of care?”
Arno looked up, struggling to understand why Bowden seemed so... sympathetic. He'd expected rage, not this almost heartbroken reaction. “I tried to care at first, but they threw it back in my face. I don't know when I stopped caring. I don't know when I stopped seeing them as people.”
Bowden sucked up on his knuckles as he paced around the desk. “I expect you to resign, Mr Cleed. Immediately.”
“Resign? What difference would that make?”
Bowden looked him square in the eye. “What you have done is unforgivable, worthy of a penitatas sentence. But the fact you seem to know that, accept it even, makes me want to give you another chance. Mr Cleed, Arno... I want to help you. I don't believe the penitatas system as it is now would do that. Maybe, just maybe, the new one would. But I'd rather spare you all that grief and misery. I can't imagine what it would be like to be one of us sent down amongst the convicted. In truth, I'd fear for your safety. So for that reason if no other, I want to help you. We... we will say this was a terrible malfunction, a tragic mistake. You will resign on principle, if for no other reason. Yes? And we'll move on. We'll move on.”
“No.” The softly-spoken protest caught Bowden by surprise. “I deserve to wear their letters for what I did.”
Bowden smiled. “As much as I care for them, I don't know of a single child in this camp who would ever say those words. Go, Arno. Just go.”
“I don't deserve your kindness, Kerlin. Thank you.” The two shook hands, and Arno left the office for the last time.

Stories of that dark night would circulate for years. A terrible malfunction, the rumours said – Mr Cleed had put the boy into the machine and set a seven-hour spanking cycle, knowing full-well the AI controller should never have let it get that far. There were failsafes, and failsafes for those failsafes: the machines monitored your vital signs and should have stopped when pain and stress responses exceeded safety tolerances. But this one didn't. A one on a billion fluke caused by a solar flare shifting a single bit of data in exactly the wrong line of code in at exactly the wrong time.
Or so the rumours said.
Danny Wu only saw Whyl once after that vile night. The boy had been put into an entirely different cabin upon discharging from the infirmary. He saw him on a punishment evening, while waiting in line for the spanking booths. The boy began to scream, howling like a banshee, wailing like Death himself was coming for him. He lost control of his bladder and bowels as Mr Kal tried to restrain him. The site of that insane child being dragged away haunted all who saw him. Danny learned, many, many years later, that Whyl was reclassified within a week – Psycholos. A person so deeply, irreparably traumatised that they required rejuvenation to a new childhood and raising in a specialised household to restore them. The Danny Wu that learned of Whyl's fate was rightly horrified, recognising that no-one, not even someone as cruel as Whyl deserved to be put through such unspeakable trauma. But Danny the penitatas, having been sexually abused for months by that boy, felt nothing but joy at seeing Whyl's mind so utterly shattered.

For Isabelle Holdenthorpe, the breaking of Whyl marked a subtle, but noticed change in her own life. Mr Kal, ever lustful for his little girls, seemed to be a little more reserved in the wake of the tragedy. He had come into Cabin 5 to find his girls all lined up, pants round their ankles, little breasts exposed, but had appeared embarrassed, even fearful at the sight of them. “I... I think you've shown yourselves to be good little girls,” he'd said, a subtle tremor in his voice. “Shirts down and pants up. From now on, you can line up... line up ready for bed, alright?”
It didn't last forever. After a month of fully-clothed line-ups he gave one girl a pat-down, as if searching for concealed contraband. By the time Isabelle turned seven, the girls were occasionally made to bear-all as part of a “surprise inspection”. By the time she turned ten, the girls were lined up with pants around their ankles and chests exposed again. But the 'goodnight tickle' never returned, and she was glad of that.

Danny Wu was one of the last residents of Camp Northrock. In the last days there were just fourteen of them. The few remaining staff were at a loss with what to do with them, which meant they were largely left to their own devices. Danny, embittered and deeply scarred by his early days, used it as an excuse to prey upon others.
Had the Camp remained open, Danny would likely have perpetuated the cycle of violence Whyl had begun. Instead, he grew up in a new-build home in the centre of what was now Northrock Town, raised by two newly recruited Penitatas Parents named Shon and Liki. He was a terrible son to them, but despite that he received more love in his first year with them than he ever did at Camp Northrock. It wasn't enough to fix him, but it was enough to begin the healing process.
Years later, when closing his store, Danny Wu would be surprised to find a little girl banging on his front door. He saw the terror in that little fox's body language, but moreover, he recognised the evil in the eyes of her father.
It had been a man named Ross who had come to drag Francine back home, but it had been Whyl whom Danny slammed the door upon that night.

Northrock changed as the years rolled on. What had been a quiet village for Camp staff to live in grew, year on year, into a proper town. The Department of Corrections built offices there; more houses were raised, and foundations for a school were set down. Arno had no idea what a 'Penny School' entailed; he assumed a boarding school, working on a similar basis to Camp Northrock. He was against it, loathing the idea of living amongst penitatas – for multiple, conflicting reasons.
But Bowden had been right in the end. There was a new system coming forward; Arno chose to prepare for it, requesting to be put through the new training programs and learn the new ways. He was one of the first to get the new Penitatas Parenting Licence, but he expressly requested his name be pulled from the parental roster. When pressed, he simply answered that he didn't feel ready to make the change. It helped he wasn't the only one: as the closing date drew near, most of the Camp Northrock staff were choosing retirement over retraining.
Five years passed, and as he'd yet to take a penitatas, Arno's parenting permit expired. He retested. And again. And again. Always qualified, never active – it drew many eyebrows, but he'd found a new career to busy himself with, away from Northrock or any other penitatas town. He rejuvenated, growing up again in Ashfeld; still keeping his credentials valid, still keeping them unused.
He met Reel while on holiday, and it was the sort of whirlwind romance Arno had assumed only happened in cheap novellas; two weeks after they met, the men vowed to stay in contact. A year later they were making plans to move in together.
“There's something I need to discuss with you,” Reel had said over a romantic meal. “I'm thinking of applying for a PPL.”
Arno's fork had stalled halfway to his mouth. “You want to raise a penitatas?”
“I think I do, yes. I know that's not someone everyone is comfortable with.”
“I was a staffer at Camp Northrock.”
Reel's eyes widened. “You've never told me that before.”
“It's not something I'm proud of. It... it wasn't a good place, Reel. Not for me, and certainly not for them.” He lowered his fork and sighed. “You deserve to know the truth. But... but if I told you... I don't think you'd love me any more.”
“Nothing you say could do that,” Reel assured him, and so, reluctantly, Arno confessed. Everything.
To Arno's eternal surprise, Reel stayed. Six months before Miss Tulu would begin her sentence, and after almost a hundred years of waiting, Arno Cleed returned to Northrock and moved in to a quiet little house on the end of a remote row of homes.
“I will do right by you,” he vowed as the hovercar carrying Tulu touched down upon the sands. “In spite of all you've done, and whatever you do after, I promise I'll do right by you.”