Hello everyone, I'm back. I'm sorry so I've been gone for such a long time, but I was busy with school and my novels. And I'm even sorrier about deleting my Ocean's 11 tale, I was too busy to finish it and I felt so uneasy about having an unfinished story on the internet. But after watching playthroughs of Sly Cooper games (Sly 2 being a favourite since it's similar to Ocean's 11 heists and they actually steal stuff, plus the humour), I've got interested in the Cooper Gang and had a fan fiction day dream that I would like to write out to you. Now I'll only post a chapter every once in a while so I can still keep up with my original novels and fan fiction message board role-play. Now, I'm not trying to make this a cliché Mary-sue story, this is just what I had in mind. And my OCs Tom and Wily have a relationship I based off the best friend relationship between Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain, and between Danny Ocean and Rusty Ryan. So they treat each other like best friends sharing witty insults and comments. And Sly Cooper and the rest of the gang aren't featured in the prologue, but they will certainly be featured in the rest of the story. P.S. This takes place between Sly 2 and Sly 3. And I tried to make it respectively like the games as much as I could. P.P.S. OCs names, middle names and surnames have meanings, look it up. P.P.P.S. Be warned there is some swearing, but then again…Carmelita did swear in the first promotional comic book.

Wow, a lot of 'p's.

The Sly Cooper franchise completely belongs to Sucker Punch Productions, and everything too related to Ocean's 11 like music belongs to Warner Brothers and the creators of one of the most awesome movies ever, while all OCs belong to me. This written work is for entertainment only.

Cheshire Cat: A Sly Cooper Fan fiction

Prologue…The author is too lazy to write the first chapter (Writer's note: Hey!). And when reading this introduction, please imagine it with the introduction music of Ocean's 11.

Thomas Machiavellian Cheshire was pleased to be out of prison. It has only been six months or so, but no one likes to look at metal bars and be with a burly cell mate who smells like rotten eggs out of a farting chicken for too long. Tom took a deep breath to suck in the fresh air, turned around to look up at his robust and smelly gorilla cellmate, and gave the criminal a…certain…rude sign with a…certain…finger, along with a sneaky smile. It caused the gorilla to go into a tantrum, screaming Tom's name and for him to rattle the bars. Sure, Tom now had a new member on his 'Criminals who are going to try to kill me once they get out jail' list, but it was worth it. Before coming out, he managed to get change into the outfit he was wearing when he was forced into the clink: a dark blazer, a white dress shirt, dark pinstripe trousers, black shiny loafers, and black aviator sunglasses over his gleaming yellow eyes and black diamond pupils. The fibres brushed comfortably against his chestnut brown fur on his wiry and tall body and the hole at the back of his trousers was perfect for his flexible tube-like tail. Tom wished he brought a fedora, he would've looked even more amazing with it in between his cat ears and on top of his extra fur (Writer's note: it's the words I'm using to describe head hair since furries technically have 'hair' all over) styled as a few spikes drooping down, with a small grey streak as a sign of age…Tom liked to think it was a sign of his wisdom, a certain family member just thought it was a sign of the fact he needed extra-fur dye. To everyone around him as he walked down the streets of New York, he looked more like a celebrity manager or a Los Angeles detective rather than a world class con artist and thief on parole: sleek, smart, and maybe even...sly. Thank god he had his wallet; otherwise he wouldn't have made it on the next plane to Chicago.

It was worth all the terrible airplane food and awkward flight movies in the world to see Tom's partner in crime again, six months is a far too long for best friends to be apart in different cities, not matter how annoyingly snarky they are. Tom looked around in most of Chicago's museums, art galleries, banks, and jewellery stores to find his right hand man; he was ready to give up until he spotted his almost life-long friend in an arcade, playing a car racing game, spinning a wheel while in a fake car seat to control a virtual vehicle. If you want to use technical terms, his right hand man was actually a right hand girl. The sophisticated black cat with chestnut brown fur rings around her yellow eyes of black diamond pupils...eyes similar to Tom's...was at the age of sixteen. Her extra-fur on her head, surrounding her cat ears, was in a deeper black shade; but in the light it appeared to be a glossy blue tint, all in the style of a medium wavy bobcut with matching bangs. She wore a long black velvet snap tailcoat, an indigo top, black jeans with a hole for her nimble and skinny pipe-like tail, and short black riding boots over her slim yet slightly petite body.

Tom didn't think she would notice him sitting down into the race car game next to her after he lit himself a cigarette, until she saw the 'Player Two Added' words on her screen, "I still really think you should dye your grey streaks into the same colour as your fur, they just make you look too old."

Tom instantly changed the subject, "So, Wily. This is what you've been doing for the last six months while I was in the prison? Playing a video game?"

He missed Wily's remarks and was glad to hear it again...sort of, she spoke back to him with sarcasm and without even looking at him, "Yes, I've been spending my valuable free time playing a still car racing game for seven months straight without food or water when I should've been doing solo heists and cons."

"Six months."

"No, I'm sure it's been seven months."

"You're a strange kid, you know that?"

"Would you rather have a teenage right hand girl who has tantrums to get you to buy her new clothes, or begs for a raise in her allowance? By the way, can I have a raise in my allowance?"

"No."

"I hate you." She grinned when she said it, so Tom knew she never really meant it.

"You obviously been playing for too long, it's melting your brain."

"Smoking is bad for you."

"Anyway, I came up with a new heist plan while in the joint."

"Already?"

"Aww, Wily. Oblivious looks so good on you."

"Really? I think it makes me look bloated. What's the job?"

"10 billion bucks and a couple of Old Masters from Richard Avarice's bank."

"Tempting, one of the most secure banks in the world. But why?"

"Why else, justice. Avarice has been running the Malicious Mafia; they have been exchanging people's lives for the exact amount of money and the Old Masters, his crimes still unknown to the police, Interpol, and other law authorities. I know because most of the guys in the jail I was in were part of his mafia."

"Even more tempting. But please don't say 'justice' again, sounds like something a corny superhero would say. How about good-guy-ness?"

"Alright, for good-guy-ness. It sounds okay, since we're the good guys really. Now are you in? I do need my right hand man back after all."

"I'm in, as long it doesn't turn out like New York City."

"Why?"

"Oh, oblivious looks better on you. I don't want it to turn out like NYC because; oh I don't know...you broke our number one rule: don't get caught."

"It wasn't my fault. If you wound up the wind-up toy a little longer, I wouldn't have gotten arrested."

Wily sighed at the end of race and looked into Tom's eyes, "Never mind. Let's cut the apologising crap and go onto business. I'm in...It's good to have you back, Pop."

And so Tom and Wily Cheshire left as the elite con artist father and daughter duo, once again ready to attempt another heist that will be another well-chatted topic amongst thieves and Interpol.

Wylleighina Cheshire never admitted this, but her father was the best dad in the world. She knew if her dad actually heard her say that, he would boast about it for weeks. Wily was glad she had her dad back, not because he was family...but because she didn't see him as someone older with more authority over her, she saw him as a mere partner in crime and a friend she could tease, with him teasing back. It was like she was the same age as him and were having maturely childish conversations. Although, she did wish for her mum to join the fun, but she can't change the past.

"Ready?" Pop asked as he and Wily were outside of the Avarice bank with the grand reopening ball.

"Ready to blow stuff up? Sure, why not." Wily shrugged, "But why do rich criminals always have fancy parties where their priceless objects are? It's just stupid; they should know thieves like us would go right at the opportunity."

"Dunno, I don't hold the parties, I just take stuff during them." Pop shrugged as well and straightened his bow tie; he sure did look good in a tuxedo for an oldish dude.

Wily glanced down at what she was wearing and back up to Pop, "I feel ridiculous."

Pop shook his head and looked at Wily's simple black silk dress, "I think you look lovely."

"I'm wearing a dress. I don't like dresses."

"Girls wear dresses. And I'm pretty sure you're girl, unless I changed the wrong baby's diapers."

"Not all girls, and I'm not one of them."

"Like I said, you're one strange kid. Don't worry; you'll only be wearing it until phase two."

Before entering the bank's party with fake names, Wily patted her purse. It not only contained a vital part of the plan, but what was closest to her...a DVD she would watch every night before and after a heist on her portable DVD player (Writer's note: usually Wily would have the DVD in a back-pack, but since she was in a formal disguise, she reluctantly had to use a purse.) The DVD didn't have some fictional film; it had a video journal with years of footage of Tom Cheshire and Connor Cooper back in the days of the original Cooper Gang, back when their wives were part of it, back when they were bringing their little baby or toddler kids along with their travels. Formerly made for both Tom's baby girl and Connor's little kid for when they grow older. It was all before everything Tom held dear to him disappeared...except one little girl. Wily only watched it to recall the memories of her as a baby to a toddler, to see her mum's charming happy face.

Wily's thoughts were snapped by the wobbly voice of the incredibly ballooned bear wearing a fancy silk suit known as Richard Avarice continuing with a story, "...And then she said he said she said he said he said she said she said she said he said she said he said he said she said she said he said that the baron was pissed off."

For some reason, the snobs surrounding Avarice laughed along with him poshly as if they had swallowed seals. But then again, one of them was a seal.

"What was he-" Wily began to ask.

But Pop stopped her from there, "I have no idea. After all the rich crooks' balls I've been to, I still don't understand their jokes. Let's begin phase one."

Wily did like her pop's plan, but phase one of it was just plain disgusting. With a sigh of reluctance, she and Pop wandered through the crowded party to make it appear as if they were guests. Within ten or fifteen minutes, Wily fell to the ground with her eyelids shut, as if she was unconscious or dead. Everyone around her shrieked, terrified there could be a dead kitten in a party.

"Priscilla!" Pop shouted Wily's horrible fake name and rushed over to her, checking her pulse, "She's not breathing! Does anyone here know CPR?"

"Richard does!" the yell came from Avarice's bunny publicity agent.

"What?" Avarice hissed.

"Richie, you'll earn a heroic reputation if you save this girl's life. Think about the headlines 'Good Guy Bank owner Richard Avarice does it again! Saves a kitten's life by CPR!' It'll be big!"

Figuring he would earn a good reputation to throw off the law authorities' scent of his true occupation, Avarice went for it. His drooling mouth stuck onto Wily's and he exhaled plenty of oxygen and spit. Once Wily felt enough of his saliva in her mouth, she fluttered her eyes open and saw only flashing lights of journalists' cameras, taking pictures of Avarice posing next to the fully alive Wily...even though she faked being dead with her dad pretending he felt no pulse on her neck. She kept Avarice's saliva within her mouth and hurried after Pop through the surprised crowd.

She heard Pop speaking to a pair of guards/mobsters...a tall one and a short one...in the hallway containing the vault and the Old Masters' gallery, "Hey guys, there's an ice-cream truck outside."

"Really?" The tall one chirped gleefully.

"Yeah, but they'll only give ice-cream to people wearing casuals, uniforms don't-"

The guards/mobsters were already so excited about the ice-cream, that they took off their uniforms leaving them with underwear still on and rushed out of the hallway. A little too casual. Not exactly what Pop or Wily would want.

"-count." Pop finished off, "Why are goons always so dumb?"

Wily couldn't take it anymore, she raced off to a scanner that opens the vault door and spat most of Avarice's saliva onto it and did the same thing with the scanner at the gallery door. The saliva scanners recognized it as Avarice's spit and opened both doors automatically.

"Why couldn't you do phase one, Pop?" Wily grumbled, ready to soak her tongue in beach.

"And have Avarice 'kissing' me? No way. Besides, which would have him racing after a good reputation: saving an unconscious little girl, or saving a guy who's now on parole?" Pop displayed with his hands an imaginary scale, 'saving an unconscious little girl' was winning. Wily glowered at him, Pop smiled and held up two small sausages each on a toothpick, "Would you stop glaring at him if I give you one of these cocktail weenies?"

Wily shrugged, plucked a mini sausage and stuffed into her mouth. She was about to go into the vault, Pop held her back, "Not yet, Wily. The security system is still up. If we take any of the money or the paintings, the alarms will be blaring throughout the building. And then I'll be back in prison for attempt theft, but with you to keep me company."

"Not to mention breaking parole. This is the reason we have phase three."

Richard Avarice was pleased to have a sharp publicity agent like Jenny. Without Jenny, he would be in jail as soon as journalists write up stories about his illegal activities. Thank god she gave the idea of saving that filthy teenage cat for the press. But tonight wasn't about his mafia, tonight was a time to celebrate his recreation of his bank. A nice soothing glass of a martini would've gone down just nicely if his tall and short mafia members hadn't snuck up on him with their uniform masks on.

"What is it, you morons? Can't you see I'm celebrating?" Avarice growled.

"But sir, we have a problem." The tall one spoke first.

"Is it a big problem like we're going to be under attack by the Other Kin, or a small problem like running out of cocktail weenies? Those things are going like crazy."

"The vault and gallery room are on fire."

"What?"

"You know," the short one explained with sound effects and his arms waving around like flames, "Fire. We think it started just a minute ago."

"Look, Inspector Fox is here and I can't let her know that the money and paintings I have illegally are in flaming rooms."

"Because you'll get arrested."

"Well, that and I kinda have a thing for her and letting the building go up in smokes is not a good first impression. Here's what we'll do, I'll turn off the security system with my remote to allow you to get the paintings and the money before they're melted, without alarming the guests or Inspector Fox. I'll get everyone out and call the fire department."

The two mobsters nodded obediently and went off. They didn't ask for ice-cream or anything.

Everyone was finally out of the building, including the lovely Inspector Carmelita Fox. Avarice told them to go out and admire the new contemporary design of the bank. A tall glass skyscraper in a twisted shape like a liquorice stick. Somewhere in the building was a faint orange glow behind the foggy glass. A gigantic red fire truck arrived at the scene, red and blue lights flaring and its alarm blaring. So much for being subtle.

The beautiful fox wearing a long black dress and her luscious black locks up high strolled on her high heels over to Avarice, "Someone set the bank on fire."

"How did you know?" He gasped.

Inspector Fox snorted sarcastically, "Lucky guess."

The firemen dashed inside and took down the flames of both rooms, but Avarice's goons didn't come out of the bank when it was safe. Avarice fiddled with his thumbs nervously, what's taking them so long? He was at least hoping Inspector Fox won't suspect he was nervous for the money and paintings, and expect him to be anxious for his new building.

Avarice pulled Jenny by her business suit collar and whispered into one of her long ears, "Go up the vault and gallery immediately, and see what's taking my guards so long."

"Yes, Mr Avarice." She nodded and rushed up into the building.

Avarice felt a tap on his shoulder, he spun around and saw his mobsters who were assigned to guard the vault and the gallery...dressed only in their underwear? "Where have you idiots been?"

"We went to get ice-cream." The short one innocently licked his vanilla ice-cream.

"While there was a fire going on?"

"What fire?"The tall one dumbly asked and licked his ice cream.

"The fire you told me about! And where are your uniforms?"

"We had to take them off to get the ice-cream."

That simply raised more questions than answers, but Avarice was still focused on one thing as he tugged on his extra-fur, "Do you at least have the paintings and money I've gotten from those victims?"

Inspector Fox's ears pricked up, her arms crossed, "Victims?" Avarice turned around cautiously, stupid slip of the tongue, the inspector continued on, "I think you need to be brought into questioning about this."

Jenny emerged out of the building and scampered over to Avarice, "Mr Avarice! Someone set up the fire and stole the money and the Old Masters!"

Avarice growled, "Duh! Do you at least have something on who stole them."

"They left this behind." She held out an onyx sitting cat figurine with a broad smile made up of diamonds.

A note was stuck onto it. One half of it in suave writing read 'One of the most secure banks in the world? Yeahright.

And the other half was in childish writing with the same pen ink that read 'P.S. Buy breath mints.'

"That figurine," Inspector Fox muttered before she gasped, "The Cheshires! They're back."

The two uniformed guards/mobsters removed their masks in an empty dark alley to reveal themselves as Tom Cheshire and Wily Cheshire, carrying duffle bags with 10 billion dollars and stolen Old Master paintings inside. Ha! Wily grinned to herself, hearing the nervous breakdown howl of the mob boss from a couple blocks down.

"I think that was a good night's worth. Good-guy-ness has been served." Pop dusted his hands.

"Yep, Avarice's slip of the tongue got him arrested and we gave him a taste of his own medicine in a less gory way." Wily kept grinning.

"So, does this make up for New York City."

"You're still here. So yeah."

Wily spoke too soon. Out of nowhere, this black limousine parked instantly at an alley's end. Someone or something emerged out, snatched Pop, and knocked Wily unconscious for real this time, all in one undetectable word.

Wily had no idea why she would say it, but the last thing she said was a cry, "Daddy!"

She hadn't called him 'Daddy' since she was a baby; it was one of those 'on the spur of the moment' things, her dad was taken once again, faded away in darkness as she laid flat on the alley's rough ground. She seemed to have ignored the fire engine's sirens and blocked out the smell of the stuffed dumpsters nearby. Within one black coma, Wily sprung up, awakened and remembered the punch from that thing at what felt like an eternity ago. She was hoping the limo and the thing taking her father was all just a nightmare and she would be back in Pop's arms, prepared for another adventure. When Pop was arrested by the police, she knew his good behaviour would get him out soon, so she didn't sob or anything and simply waited. But this time, Pop could've been taken by criminals more sinister than she had ever faced, this time she knew her dad...her best and only friend...would never come back. Tom was all Wily had ever since her Godparents...the Coopers...were murdered, ever since her god brother disappeared as a little boy, and ever since Jim McSweeny turned himself in, but most of all...ever since her mum passed away. Wily was then all alone, she always thought of herself as too mature and experienced to be blubbing like a baby. But it was too late to stop; she tumbled to the ground and cried into her paws, gathering pools of tears. Wily stopped as she spotted something on a ground. A video tape marked: Instructions.

Who even uses video tapes now these days? Wily thought to herself with one raised eyebrow.