PROLOGUE - THE TRIGGER
"-ievery, despite the recent crackdown on lawbreakers in recent years, has not been quelled. Cases are clean-cut and perfected, and police have been unable to find any leads as to the perpetrators. Many believe that the elusive Cooper Gang are behind the most recent jobs…"
Carmelita forcefully shut off the radio, sighing as she leaned back into her patrol boat. Her posting at the edge of the Alaskan shoreline was pointless and irritating. "Cooper," she spat, mostly because she could. "Hah. As if."
Stretching, she grabbed a cloth and returned to cleaning off her Shock Pistol. Rotating it in the early morning sunlight, she admired her long-time companion weapon and sighed.
Why does it remind me of Sly so much? She mused forlornly.
Blinking, she frowned at the strangely colourful glimmer to its shine. Looking up, she turned to the western horizon, out into the seemingly empty ocean.
Rising to her feet, she froze and stared.
Out at the edge of the horizon was a myriad of dancing lights.
"Father, look," Jing cried, alarmed. "There are lights!"
Shaking off the remains of his sleep, Panda King studied the horizon. Up north, there appeared to be bright and waving lights. Years of travel and experience told him that they simply weren't natural. Rising shakily to his feet, he nodded to his daughter.
"Let us go investigate, Jing," he mused gruffly. "Those are not normal." And thus he hurried inside to snatch up his fireworks - just in case…
Deep within the ice of Northern China, a spew of almost liquid light was pouring out from the ground. Peering through the deep, frozen blue, a metal door marked with a familiar cane began to glow.
CHAPTER 1 - THE CLOCKWERK REPORT
"I'm in position, over."
"Ten-four, sending you the data. Stay safe."
"No problem."
Gloved hands fiddled hurriedly with their goggles, the large frame lighting up a gentle green. Peering into the glass of the tall, darkened police station, they quietly scanned the small view they had of the interior of the department.
Long shadows cast themselves protectively over the desks and whiteboards scattered about the room. Outside, a guard yawned into the cool, early-morning air, his brief moment of blindness just enough to let the swift figure hurry past undetected, light feet dancing over the pavement and leaping up to the roof. Landing, lightweight, on the hard stone, the figure glanced briefly down to the tired guard before falling to their stomach and scurrying into the cold iron vent.
"I'm in the vents, send him out," the figure whispered into a small microphone, eyeing the burning red lasers warily. "Tell him to disable the lasers, I can't slip past these ones."
An affirmative hum, and the shadowed thief settled in to wait. Not five minutes later, there was an odd noise, and the lasers shut down, the red-eyed nodes slowing to a stop and the burns in the reinforced steel finally getting a break. They didn't waste time; crawling forward, and dodging the snags of metal in the near-untouched ventilation system, they followed the short prompts on their goggles, keeping one eye on the nodes which lay silently vigilant, ready to fire off lasers again at any moment.
A light near the end of the tunnels caused them to smirk slightly. Scampering quickly past the last turn, they edged to the grate and peered down into the room.
"I'm right above the Inspector's office," the feminine voice reported. "Is he on his way?"
"Sending him over." came the soft reply. "Open the back-left door."
Bounding over, the figure paused. "That's the one," the quiet voice confirmed. "It looks like a rotation lock. You know the drill."
"All in a day's work," she replied smartly, her slender hand grasping the lock and tilting it gently. Her ear was held close to listen to the precise clicks as the lock turned under her exacting touch, smirking at the slight shift. Turning the other way, she repeated the process until the lock unclipped, falling into her hand.
Opening the door, a small metal orb rolled in, stopped, and shuddered. Swiping it off the floor, the figure grinned. "Fancy seeing you here," she commented, shifting her weight against the door to close it gently and snapping the lock back onto the door with a soft click.
"I haven't seen you in years," the orb chirped in reply.
"Enough horsing around, both of you," the figure's earpiece grumbled irritably. "Inspector Fox's computer is somewhere in this room, she keeps it tightly under wraps. Gloved Hand, I need you to crack that code on the desk drawer and attach Blood Pact to the computer. Blood Pact, I need you to override as administrator and retrieve the appropriate files, anything with keyword 'Clockwerk'. All clear?"
"All clear," the orb, 'Blood Pact', chirped cheerfully. "And I haven't got any blood, what a silly codename."
"Shut it," the voice threatened, "or I'll rewire your circuits to make you dance the polka. Get on with it, we haven't got much time. If we fail we'll have to plan for retrieving a physical copy."
"Understood," 'Gloved Hand' replied, snickering under her breath as she began flicking at the three-number dial. A twist and flick of her hand had the numbers rolling, and the lock soon came undone. Pulling the drawer open, she placed her spherical companion next to the small laptop.
The orb chirped idly for a moment. "Password, run as Administrator, override security," the masculine voice mumbled. 'Gloved Hand' took the moment to glance around at the room.
Her breath hitched when she noticed a camera, idle but slowly moving. Slamming the drawer shut with 'Blood Pact' still inside, she ignored his startled yelp and curled under the desk, pulling in her feet and hoping.
A fearful silence ensued. None of the three dared to speak as the camera whirred in the background, the minor lighting from the moon the only piercing ray in the darkness. Eventually, the whirring ended, and the orb chirped from within the desk, "I got the files. Could you let me out now?"
Rising, she quickly opened the desk and let him roll up her shoulder and clip to her mask. "Right, let's get out of this place before-"
An alarm blared, breaking off her words and distracting from the rattling at the door as someone struggled with the lock. 'Gloved Hand' hunched, glancing around and quickly deciding the window was the only way to go.
A blast knocked down the door with a solid Clang! And let in a fox policewoman. "FREEZE!" she cried, cocking her shock pistol to aim around the room, her slim frame assuming a fighting stance.
With a crash 'Gloved Hand' launched herself through the window, just moments before the pistol fired. She twitched in pain as the shot grazed her tail, but ignored it in favour of hitting the rooftop and sliding down a drain pipe, leaping off at the end and flipping out her paraglider.
The Interpol agent hopped to the desk and aimed her pistol through the window, glaring at the retreating silhouette. For a moment she felt herself fall into a familiar rage, but blinked out of it just as fast when she recognized the retreating form.
"...Sly?!"
Turning around, she reached into her bag for her emergency flashlight. Shining it around the room and in the drawer, she felt her hopes fall as no calling card was revealed.
Eyeing the floor again, she gave it one more blast of light and paused. Lying on the floor were a few singed tail hairs, all slightly burnt but intact.
Carmelita Fox smirked.
Bentley -
While we are not exactly friends, I believe this will be of interest to you. I acquired them off a fleeing criminal who invaded my office yesterday.
Please tell me the results. I will meet you on the rooftop of the Théâtre du Marquis in three days time. I swear on my honour as an Interpol agent that I will not arrest you during this time… some things are more important than arresting inactive thieves.
Inspector Carmelita Fox
"Inspector Fox?" Bentley squinted at the card, then hurriedly pulled an evidence-bag, containing singed grey hairs, out of the envelope. He felt a hopeful smile pull at his face as he recognized the possibility she was presenting him. Putting down the paper he'd been working on - he had been writing out a complex formula few would ever understand - he took the card, bag, and envelope and rolled his way over to his chemistry lab.
It was time to analyze some DNA.
A pair of figures sat together on the rooftop of the Théâtre du Marquis, gazing out at the stunning light show below as cars drove by, oblivious. Soft yellows were contrasted by startling blues and soft whites, which illuminated the dusty streets for the people as they hurried to and from their homes. The larger reached into a basket and pulled out a sandwich. Chewing on it pensively, he finished it just as a fox leaped onto the roof with them, rolling out the fall and rising only meters away.
"Well, what were the results?" she asked, getting straight to business.
Bentley pulled a set of papers from a satchel built into his wheelchair. "The results are optimistic," he announced, gesturing for the two to pull in closer. "Initial results have confirmed that the hairs are definitely from a raccoon. Further, I can assure you that the odds of this being from a Cooper are 99.93%."
"So it's Sly?" Murray asked hopefully, hopping from one foot to the other. "Is our pal okay?"
"Who else could it be?" Bentley replied rhetorically. "If Sly had any other relatives, they would have adopted him before he got to the orphanage. Cooper lineage is very specific, it's highly unlikely that this DNA is anything but a Cooper's. Unless Sir Galleth managed to reverse the time machine, which I highly doubt," he remarked, "it has to be Sly."
"Do you think Sly is smart enough to rebuild the time machine?" Carmelita inquired quietly. She eyed the blueprints with surprising softness. "I know he was smart, but…"
"I know, it would be difficult," Bentley agreed. "But Sly likely had time, and I made all my machines with manuals and guidebooks built in. He knows how to access them, so it isn't beyond the plausible."
"It certainly looks like the case," Carmelita allowed, leaning back onto her heels. "So - what are we going to do about it?"
"Well," Bentley hedged, frowning, "I have been working on the Time Machine in my spare time."
"You're rebuilding it?!" Murray yelped, hopping from foot to foot. "Oh, oh, are you going to time travel again? Can I go with you?!"
"Of course," Bentley agreed enthusiastically. "I was hoping to find a way to trace Sly over time and space… though, if he's already here, there's not much point."
"If it turns out Sly isn't in the present day," Carmelita interjected, "then you'd better take me with you, too. I need to reintroduce Sly to my shock pistol as soon as possible," she announced vindictively.
Bentley hesitated for only long enough to notice Carmelita's hand twitching over the pistol's handle. "Sure," he agreed quickly. "I'm sure… uh, that if we find Sly he'll be glad to see you."
Carmelita nodded firmly, satisfied with the answer. "And this time machine isn't going to get stolen?" she pressed him.
"It's locked up tighter than Fort Knox," Bentley replied. "It'll only allow me in. Any attempt to bust into the vault from the outside sets off alarms and breaks the machine. I've got plenty of defenses surrounding it. I've also coded the plans, and I switch it up frequently."
"Airtight," Carmelita mused. "Though someone could kidnap you and have you get through the locks for them."
"Over my empty shell," Bentley replied grimly.
A morbid silence permeated the air. The bleeping and honking of cars below as the vehicles squabbled over road space overrode any of the softer noises that might have been heard, and yellow lights played off their faces as Bentley turned to Murray. Carmelita brushed a small, curly hair nervously out of her face, glancing between the two friends, who seemed to be having a silent conversation with each other.
*beeep beeep beeep*
Carmelita whisked her phone thankfully out of her skirt pocket, thankful for the diversion from the quiet. "Yes, Inspector Fox speaking."
"Ms. Carmelita." The feminine voice was loud enough for Murray and Bentley to listen in. "Have you met with the misters Bentley and Murray?"
Carmelita glanced surreptitiously around her. "Who are you?" she demanded. "I warn you, if you don't speak now I'll…"
"Run me through with electric bullets, yes, I've heard of your trigger-happy ways before," the woman replied, amused. "Relax, Ms. Carmelita. My informant was very discreet, for all Interpol knows you're asleep in your bed."
Carmelita felt ice crawling up her arms. Anyone who could claim to have more information than Interpol was considered dangerous in her books. "That doesn't answer who you are," she replied, trying to keep her voice firm.
Refined laughter echoed out of the smartphone. "Alright, Ms. Carmelita. My friends refer to me as Pangur Ban, but I assure you that is not my real name. I am… a researcher of the social kind. Knowing people, their pasts, their friends and their foes… it's my job. Now, it seems you're currently searching for one Mister Sly Cooper?"
"You know something?!" Carmelita cried into the receiver.
"Of course not," Pangur Ban replied calmly. "That's why I'm offering to fund your search… Anonymously, of course. A client of mine is particularly interested in the Cooper family history, and I personally am interested in the Time Machine being developed. I presume it will function similarly to the previous one, Mister Bentley?"
Bentley gulped. "Yes, though… my plan was to rewire it to follow bloodlines," he admitted. "I figured if I could use two in tandem I could skip back a generation or two and get a bit of Cooper DNA to trace Sly with." He scratched his chin. "Though it would take years to develop and complete them both and allow them to work together. I can't see how else to do it."
"Bentley," the voice was slightly mocking, "Did you really think Sly has no family? It may not be immediate, but acquiring Cooper DNA can be arranged."
"Sly has family?!" Murray asked loudly.
"Yes, he never told me about any family," Carmelita agreed.
"Nor I," Bentley pitched in. "You're sure?"
"Absolutely, Mister Bentley. There are currently five living relatives of Sly Cooper. Two cousins, two aunts and an uncle. Of these, one cousin carries direct from Sly's grandfather."
"Incredible," Bentley awed. "I did some research before, of course, but I never found anything like this!"
"It's my job," Pangur Ban stated flatly. "Now. Do you want my help or not?"
"What's the catch?" Carmelita asked suspiciously.
A cheery laughter echoed over the connection. "I ask only that you allow anyone carrying the Cooper blood to make use of the resulting machines, assuming they discover its existence. Though, an oath of silence on our interactions would also be helpful."
"Deal," Bentley decided.
"Yeah!" Murray agreed.
"I agree to keep this quiet," Carmelita ground out, "If you tell me who you are."
"Of course, Ms. Carmelita," Pangur Ban agreed smoothly. "My name is Grima Pangura. You'll find my legal record is clean. I am one of Sly's cousins, though I was not involved in my extended family until recently."
"So Sly contacted you?" Carmelita pressed. "Do you know where he is?"
There was a short silence.
"I'm sorry, Carmelita. On all accounts, Sly's still stuck in the past."
A/N: Testing the waters for the Sly Cooper fandom. Unless this gets a really good response, I'm not going to bother continuing with it until the school terms are over and I have some spare time to do the necessary research into - whoops, spoilers. Regardless, enjoy what's here so far.
(at 50 reviews/follows/faves I'll post the next chapter [though I still need to start that, please note]. If enough interest is expressed I'll also throw in some of my backstory notes for the as-of-yet unnamed characters... and Grima Pangura.)