The Forgotten Cooper

A fan fiction by Jacob Lorance

Set in the universe of Sly Cooper, slightly after the third game.

Sly cooper and all related characters are trademarks of their respective owners. All other characters, major or not, are the product of my imagination and henceforth belong to me and me alone. This story may be redistributed anywhere as long as credit to the author (me) is given.

Chapter 1- A Rude Awakening

"Just hold on! I'm almost there!"

Sly was pushing his legs as hard as he could, his lungs burning as he rushed past the burning timbers of the collapsing building. Hopelessly lost, he skidded to a halt as he reached an unfamiliar stairwell, doubling over in coughs as the thickening as surrounded him. Despite the heat, he felt a chill as he realized he had no idea where he was. There was no-

"Sly!"

His ears shot upwards as her voice reached him. Without a second thought, he rushed up the stairs, into the inky blackness of the upper floors as he frantically followed the voice. The steps below him began to collapse, racing him upwards as he made a final leap onto the top floor. A wall of flames appeared in the doorway he was in moments before, and he stumbled forwards. His eyes, coated in grime, darted back and forth across the large room before him.

"Carmelita!"

He had found her.

A deafening crack forced him to look upright just as he was buried, the searing boards tearing his flesh to pieces as he could only hear his fox's terrified screaming getting more and more distant.

…...

Sly awoke and sat bolt upright, his breathing ragged as he slowly realized where he was. Trembling slightly, he leaned forwards and placed his head in his hands, swiping away the layer of sweat that had appeared. Taking several unsteady breaths, attempting to clear his mind of the final fragments of the nightmare, he stole a glance at the alarm clocked perched on the nightstand beside him.

"2:40," he said, coming out as little more than a labored sigh. Staring at the blurred red numerals of the clock, he shifted his weight to the side as he threw the now constricting blankets from on top of him. He internally thanked himself for deciding to wear something to sleep in as the cold air of his room struck his legs as he swung them to the side. Standing unsteadily, he looked around as he let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior.

It wasn't too much, to be perfectly honest, but it was as much of a home as he had ever had. A small brown dresser, upon which his alarm sat, stood next to his bed. A dull red rug traced along the floor to a well-worn desk in the corner, bound in place by an old office chair tucked neatly beneath it. Topped by a collection of random papers, schematics, pens, pencils and other what-have-yous, the desk was the very same that Bentley used to keep bolted into the back of the van when they were taking their first forays into the unknown. Sitting upon it, along with the papers, was a polished silver desk lamp with 'INTERPOL' etched authoritatively into the base. A token of previous exploits, to be sure. A few various trunks and boxes rounded out the corners of the room, holding within them innumerable trinkets and memories of his past. A quickly diminishing past...

With tendrils of sleep still attempting to pull him back to bed, he shook off the unwelcome sensation and reluctantly hobbled towards his dresser, each step on the cold wooden floor more jarring than the last. Fumbling momentarily with the latch, he drew out the lower-most compartment and retrieved a worn, blue shirt and a pair of gray pants. Fighting to pull them across his sleep-stiffened body, he smoothed out the fabric as he walked towards an unassuming wooden chest at the foot of his bed. He knelt down in front of it, dispersing the dust that had gathered upon it throughout the night to reveal a stylized brass 'C' inlaid across the top, and began to toy with the tarnished lock that held the lid in place.

He let out a long, deep sigh. That nightmare... It seemed to make less and less sense each and every time it occurred, but the outcome was always the same; always just out of his reach, barely slipping from his fingers was...

"Carmelita."

Their falling out had been something Sly had tried to avoid for as long as he could manage, but he had been forced to reveal the truth eventually. A slip of the tongue here, or a reference made to something that should have been forgotten there, she soon began to piece together that his act wasn't all that it seemed. He had never seen her quite as angry as when she finally figured it out... 'Always the same,' as she had described him. 'Should have expected this.'

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he tossed open the lid of the chest and began to dig around, feeling for his leg-pouch. Removing it from the chest, he looked at the worn, yet still bright object, running it well over with his eyes as he made note of the many scuffs and frayed seams that composed it. Fastening it loosely to his thigh, he made a mental note to have another one made so as to properly retire the aging article. As for now, however, he shrugged. Smoothing down the remaining fabric about his outfit, he rose quickly and began to make his way towards the cracked window opposite his bed. Stopping abruptly midway, he shook his head slightly as he centered his thoughts. Turning back around, he locked his eyes on what he should not have forgotten.

Attached to the underside of the lid with a series, gleaming softly yet proudly in the darkness, was his family cane. Kneeling once again, he ran his hand along the length of the smooth wooden handle and then proceeded to unfasten a latch that held it firmly in place with a satisfying 'click'. It had seen far too little use lately, having spent most of its time pinned in storage. Retrieving his family's priceless heirloom, he held it loosely with his right hand, reveling in the unsettlingly unfamiliar weight and balance of it. Grasping it firmly, he rose and began to walk back towards the window.

Sliding it open with a single, deft movement, he slid noiselessly through it. As he stood on the ledge outside of the small room, balanced precariously on the slim edging of wood, he shook his head, sighing softly. The times were changing. Or had they already changed?

He used to have it all. He and his lifelong friends, just a short number of years ago, were at their prime. More successful than they had ever been, they seemed to be off on some grand adventure seemingly every day, quite literally saving the world on more than one occasion. He had secured himself the love of his life, and everything was in order to play out smoothly. Now, however, everything was different. He was back with his friends, yes, but there were no more big adventures. Things had been quiet for the last two years; no evil organizations, no more chases, no more heists... no more fun. He should be happy that things were still going so relatively smoothly, though, he thought. He may have lost the girl, but that's life, right? You can't win 'em all, right? ...Why did it have to be that battle that he lost, though, out of all the ones he fought... Why did he have to lose the girl?

Banishing the rambling thoughts from his head, he began to make his way onto the roof of the building. His room being on the top floor, it wasn't much of a climb. Grasping the eve of the old, abandoned apartment building, his cane clenched between his teeth, he none too gently hauled himself up.

The cool Parisian air was far from cold, but the chilled night wind still did wonders to wake him further from his groggy state. Rolling his shoulders to work out the remaining kinks, he lowered himself and sat. Hanging his legs off the edge of the roof, swinging back and forth idly, he let his eyes wander across the picturesque cityscape. A lot of people would pay a lot of money for a view like this, yet here he was, internally worrying about how everything had turned out. He set his can to the side, leaning backwards onto his hands, reclining on the smooth tiles of the roof. Life, no matter how many odd turns it had taken up to this point, was good.

He laughed softly, his joy carrying across on the breeze. Life was good. He closed his eyes, tilting his head backwards and perking his ears. The warm glow of the stars above him, the soft touch of the tiles beneath him... the growing sound of sirens... the acrid stench of smoke...

A cacophony of screams began to pierce the fragile serenity of the night, his eyes bolting open. The air danced as flames licked at the sky in the distance before him.

A/N

Alright, I'm in the process of going back and rewriting/editing every chapter in this darned thing so that I can be happy with it. If you were to read the most 'recent' chapter and then come back to read this one (before the edit, of course) the change in quality would be horribly jarring. It really shows that I started this thing when I was a sophomore in high school, and I'm not completely happy with how some of it progressed. This thing has been online for a LONG time, so bear with me here as I work my way through it and bring it all up to snuff. This thing has been a blast to write, even if it did take so long to overcome the horrendous bouts of writers block I encountered last year. I got to experience so many awesome things, and discovered a love for writing that I'm still polishing up. Thank you all so much for sticking with this thing for so long, and for your continued support through your favorites, reviews, and PM's (those are the best!). I still can't quite fathom how this thing manages to be one of the most favorited Sly stories on this site. I almost started hyperventilating when I discovered that this thing has more favorites and follows than my personal favorite story on here. Again, thank you all so much for reading, and this thing will get finished!