Espio also had a name to follow up.

"Arya Rane. 'Bout a year ago, this rich hag loaned a collection of twenty-four small emeralds – the museum displayed 'um in their geology wing. Some sort of shlock about minerals and how crystals grow. Fourteen of those loaned emeralds are missing, and the museum'll hafta fork over some serious insurance bills if they're not returned."

Vector leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he listened to this very sudden report. Six o'clock and the orange sun stretched its dimming light down the blotched hardwood floor of the office in a long, tired stretch. Cheap blinds dissected the rays and cast shadows like prison bars along the crocodile's busy desk. His headphones lay still. Any moment now he expected a little tap on the window, the signal of a honeybee rushing home as a rusty sky charred to black.

He also expected some explaining.

"How'd ya figure all that out, Esp? Newspapers?"

The chameleon had dictated his findings from his fiercely guard niche at the corner of the equipment lockers, ever the image of rough attitude with his eyes shut and arms crossed. "Hmph! 'Course not," he snorted. "I walked into the museum and asked the supervising soldiers for a damage report."

Vector kept his eyelids steady at these leering remarks. Obviously the mighty Mastah Investigator was offended over the suggestion that he resorted to such trite information sources.

"Radio then?" Espio only continued his introverted lounging. Vector moved on. "So Esp, this fire at the museum … a cover-up?"

Two fingers shot up like a wall to block Vector's mistake. "There was no fire," informed the sage chameleon. "That was just the cover-story to keep the sheep calm and happy. It was another break-in." He paused, skin pigments flickering in a faint shudder. "This time, something went wrong."

Vector let him continue. "Our Mystery Thief went after Rane's emeralds." The report stopped. Vector leaned his head over the desk, awaiting more.

Espio opened an eye and pushed himself out of the groove he'd contorted into the sheet-metal locker. Very suddenly, he spun away from the crocodile and hurled a dagger into the back wall. The shredded dartboard shook from the impact. Bulls-eye.

The crocodile smashed an elbow into his desk and collapsed his head into hand. He'd been eager for news, and snorted at the worn-out diversionary exercise. Same as usual: the jerk shut up, went stone-dead and immediately switched topics – too cool to care about finishing a conversation; so bad he could ignore a room full of crowded people. The motions were obvious after three years, and Vector could list a thousand-and-one means of communication when you were too proud to admit something unsettled you.

The latest blade missed centerpoint – nearly missed the dartboard – and almost imbedded into the wall. Vector winced. "D'ya hafta throw those knives?" he pleaded, very much liking his home in one piece.

"They're not knives," Espio explained, his back always to the crocodile. "They're kunai." For demonstration, he balanced one of the arrow-headed missiles in his palm, touching only the metal key-ring loop at the base of the hilt. "And in the hands of practiced ninja, they were essential for their light weight and versatility. These were climbing tools, a shovel, a peg, a small hammer, and in combat held the flexibility of both melee and long-range attack weapons."

A set of skeptical fingers drummed on the office desk. "You tryin' sell me steak knives? I still can't believe how fast ya memorized that whole catalogue leaflet!" Vector altered topics with a cough of his throat. "Now, 'bout this 'museum news'," he added, doubtful of the chameleon's sources.

Espio glanced at his partner like an adult looking down on an infant. "You need it written out or somethin'? Robbery. Cover-up." Very casually, Espio stowed his latest shot back into the compartments of his wristlets. "Look, if you want we can go down there and see for yourself."

A growly laugh hooted through the office. "I wish!" Vector howled, collapsing in his chair. He'd sell his CD collection just to get past all those hoverpods and armed guards blockading the museum and glance at the crime scene!

With a blank boredom on his face and a casual calm in his motions, Espio plucked his trenchcoat from his locker. "Let's go," he repeated.

Vector straightened up. "Huh? Y'mean, go down teh the museum?"

A rude little snort flew from the chameleon while he donned his long, concealing coat. "Where else?"

Ego suddenly refracted into honesty. Vector shot out of his chair, suspecting the worst. "Did you bribe someone? A soldier, teh let you in?"

"No."

Something lower. Dirtier. Vector's imagination made him pause. "Well who told ya all this stuff then?"

Espio was falling asleep answering all these questions. "I told you: I walked into the museum and asked the supervising soldiers for a damage report."

Heartstrings gave a jerky warning twitch, but Vector ploughed into the danger-zone anyway. "An' the Guardians just let you in fer the grand tour?"

An indifferent shrug as he strolled up to lean his elbow on the desk. "Pretty much."

The bars of orange light continued their leisurely stretch. Vector finally pieced it all together and swiped his palm to slap Espio. The little creeper dodged.

"I get it now," Vector growled, managing to chuckle at his folly. "How far can I yank the Croc's chain?" Grim seriousness. "Quit playin' around! While you were out doin' jack, I spent my day getting' a real lead on this Mystery Thief!" It was time to announce Ellie Slater.

Espio's boredom got the better of him. "I told you – I investigated the museum…"

"Y'expect me the swallow that gahbage?"

Another shrug as Espio fished around his pockets. "Why not? I just showed 'em my ID and they let me in." Out came his wallet, which he dropped open and displayed. Vector squinted and his chest constricted as the all-too familiar print returned:

G.U.N.
Guardians of the United Nation:
Intelligence Division

Only this time, Derek Smithson's haughty face wasn't around to cast a smug glance at his nemesis Vector. No – this time, superimposed underneath the most precise slit in the laminated material, was the cold glare of a leather-brown, pigment-camouflaged Espio the Chameleon.

"Pretty good, huh? Took the pic at one of those mall photo-shops."

Had Vector the misfortune to be a mammal, the sudden shock would have left him bald and gray in an instantaneous poof of discarded hair.

Espio was impersonating a government agent.

The Blue Screen of Death crashed his pulmonary system. Vector froze in mid-outrage – jaws wide, finger pointed, eyes blasted open – paralyzed by a pain worse then a hundred kicks below the belt while Espio compiled a mental snapshot for his collection of stories that began with "you should have seen your face that time when…"

Once more – just as Vector was making headway towards that shimmering tunnel of light – the world had the horrible decency to hit alt-ctrl-delete, and Vector rebooted.

"YOU SLIMY LIDDLE CREEPER! I TOLD YA TA GET RIDDA THAT THING!"

Espio heaved a weary sigh, impeccably calm and merely tired for a man about to have the ground ripped from under his feet. "Here we go," he droned. He could already see Vector beginning to pace back and forth.

"I don't believe this! The kid's stealin'! What's he gonna think – yer committin' identity theft like it ain't nothin' big!" Vector stopped, noticing the chameleon rolling his eyes and using a hand to parrot his flapping jaws. "You listenin'?"

From his calm, cross-armed stance, Espio made a dismissive snort. "Relax, Gojira! This isn't a little Mom-an-Pop corner store where everyone knows everybody. G.U.N.'s a big machine, an' everyone inside's just a name and a number. No one cares if one random guy out of a million is human or a chameleon.

"All that matters to them is what's on paper," he continued, dangling the ID card in Vector's face like a toy.

The creeper actually raised a good point. Vector softened, his opinions swayed, and admired the brilliance of the trick. "Wow," he said, truthfully astonished. "Yer right. That's pretty smart, Esp."

The bars of orange light across the floor caught Vector's gaze. Prison bars. Vector freaked. "I mean … I mean, …" he stuttered for the right words. "NO! No, no, no, no, no! This is dirty! Illegal! We're better than that!"

Espio snorted. "Oh stop being such a tightwad and thinking you're so high and humble. It was a cakewalk this afternoon. The Suits heading the investigation – they took one look at the card and I swear the worms wet themselves. All I have to do is flash the goods, and everyone bows like I'm king! Hoverpods too – once they scan the barcode they drop their guns and shut down."

Vector opened wide to yell again. Two fingers shot up and blocked the crocodile's mouth. Espio spoke with total seriousness. "No one gave me any flak – this guy is someone important, Vector." He swallowed carefully. "I think he's an Enforcer."

Vector shoved the shushing hand off his snout. "A What-Now?"

Espio shook his head once more at the infant. "An Enforcer. I read about them in this conspiracy-theory book. They're this secret covert-ops. program G.U.N. keeps under wraps. Enforcers work outside the system and don't kiss up to anyone but the highest-ranking commanders. They're the hands of the high councils – if a General needs something dirty done, he sends an Enforcer. These are the guys who assassinate world leaders and sabotage the Doctor."

"You talkin' 'bout that wimp I beat up at the docks?"

A snaky hiss escaped Espio's lips. "Huh! You think G.U.N. would send their best out to kidnap and torture a little kid? I read about this – Enforcers have a caste system; they're specialized for different tasks. That Suit back at the harbor was probably in one of the lower ranks, the ones who collect information and work with civilians. Now, the bad ones – they don't ever let themselves be seen. They're one-man armies and we're just lucky those Enforcers are held back for the big stuff."

The conspiracy babble was the final push. Vector thrust both his hands over the desk and nabbed Espio by the lapels of his coat, pulling him into the air.

"This is a felony!" he preached with hurricane force, thankful for his height and strength and the authority it allowed him over the deviant runt of a chameleon. "When they find ya, partner, you ain't even gettin' a trial! Yer just gonna disappear!"

Espio refused to struggle. He let himself hang limp, still grinning, still collected. "So I guess you don't want to see the museum?"

Vector winced through clenched jaws at the low blow. That was one mighty-temptin' apple that there snake had. Again, his eyes found the floorboards, and the pattern of dark and orange stripes like a honeybee. He immediately drew himself up, dropped the creeper and turned from Espio with snout high and untouchable.

If fazed by the moral refusal, Espio didn't show it. A hush of silence fell over the office and the divided camps, sulking and pondering. If Vector had cared to look, he might have noticed the cunning smugness illuminating Espio's skin.

"Right then, I'm gone."

Vector's determination teetered and he risked a glance at the departing creeper. "Where you goin'?"

"Museum. Gonna take one last look 'round."

"Not without me you ain't!" Thundering footsteps met Espio at the door. The chameleon glanced up for explanation.

"What? Someone's gotta keep an eye on you an make sure you don't do nothin' stoopid! Lez go!"

Jacket over his shoulder, Vector barged into the hallway, congratulating himself for spotting a morally reasonable loophole through the dilemma.

Espio just smirked.

--------------------------

Any idiot tourist could have told them not to use the bronzed tramcars commuting up and down the city's sharp hillside streets. Not at this late hour, when an orange globule of sun teetered between dark skyscrapers and red sky, dribbling away like beads in an hourglass. The drop in heat could be read plainly on the scrunched up growls of two snarky reptiles, stuck with empty pockets and snails-pace transportation.

Vector played his music extra loud just to annoy Espio. The seats were too small, his tail was going numb and he wanted to know just what was going on at this museum! Not that he would admit to that last reason for his irritation.

Vector counted his one-hundredth-and-thirty-fifth palm tree lining the streets when he suddenly shot up as though poked by a needle.

He toned down his headphones and consulted with Espio. "We locked the kid out, didn't we?"

No arguments on that point. Vector slapped his stupid head with a humiliated moan.

The croc recovered quickly, though. "Too late teh go back, I guess. Meh, he'll be okay – I'll work somethin' out later." He shrugged and filed the trouble away for a later hour or date.

Espio held himself too high for passive-aggressive child's-play, but his will didn't seem strong enough to avoid scratching the metal seats with his ninja weapons, making Vector twitch between tracks with teeth-grinding pain. Mutual annoyance bounced between them like a volleyball, while faster traffic rushed by the tramcar tracks. Somewhere within the seaside metropolis, a haunting yowl like a wolf's cry sang to the setting sun.

"So, whodunit?" Vector asked, trying to make the most of his time. "Who's this burglar they're investigatin'? It's The Doc, ain't it?"

"Pff! We're not the only ones who'd like to know. Believe me, I've asked around."

"Y'mean…"

"Hoverpods aren't the only wind-up toys G.U.N. owns. The agents at the museum got their orders to examine the crime scene, look over the evidence and report. No one's allowed to know more than they aught to."

Espio's eyes swiveled to the bow of the tram. "Hop off, we're here."

The Museum of Natural Sciences stood alone, spanning an entire block of Sunset Avenue, strafed on all sides by a surrounding garden of flowers and hedges. Vector had visited only once before, and by accident, mistaking the decorative stain glass along the squat building and the eye-catching front tower as the markings of a church. Long, gothic windows stretched down all three stories like alcoves and a tall flight of stairs marked the pilgrimage to the massive oak doorway.

Three days had passed since the incident, but homebound pedestrians still took the time to slow their pace and glance at the museum's recent additions. A heavy, plastic dropcloth covered the shattered entryway (Vector could not spot the splintered originals, wherever they had blasted off to), and Guardian infantry in dark riot gear took position about the perimeter of red tape and black vans shoving the meandering crowds across the street. A scattered mass of hoverpods monitored the onlookers from a higher vantage.

Espio bade pause in the shadows across the streets while he shifted colours to match his identification. "I do the talking," he warned. "Don't draw any attention."

Vector occupied himself chewing bubblegum, so he just nodded. He inflated a pink balloon while zipping up his flame-trimmed leather jacket, and the sphere popped all over his snout in a gooey mess.

For some reason or other, Espio's face was painted over with certain doom. "Just … just don't beat anyone up," he sighed, and began the approach. Vector shrugged and followed, jiving along to the disco funk on his playlist.

Hoverpods descended upon the pair the second they crossed the perimeter fences, circling the intruders like a wheel of crackling, electrified metal. Espio threw his wallet up like a shield. "Stand Down," he ordered in a sharp whisper, waving his hands to shoo the pests. To the pain of Vector's ailing heart, the metal bugs actually jerked away from Espio, like magnets repelling alike charges and lowered their weapons.

Human sentries stepped towards the reptilian pair. They seemed to recognize the horned lizard with brown leather scales and the helmet-like face; Vector noticed the nervous tic flash between their eyes.

"Pardon me, Agent Smithson, but no civilians are allowed…"

Espio shot an icy glare. "He's with me. Problem?"

The guard went rigid. "Sir, no sir!" he barked on reflex. Espio rewarded himself with a little smirk, straightened his jacket and proceeded up the little boulevard to the tall staircase. "Total cakewalk," he repeated.

No one dared give Espio any trouble. Sauntering down the tall, scholarly corridors with his stiff-necked march, he rebuked every objection with a sharp look, and the soldiers on patrol fell in line. Same with the hoverpods floating around the interior. The helicopter eyeballs would approach, and Espio had only to flash his counterfeit ID card with its security barcode to keep them at bay.

Vector focused a cautious attention on the Guardians they passed, scanning the black-suited humans for a familiar tall and awkward height, and a shag of blonde hair down the neck and ears. His knuckles itched hopefully for that devious flash of light across half-moon spectacles.

"Back in line, soldier!" Espio snapped at the human sentries, trenchcoat storming off his back like a cape. "Outta my way!" Even the plainclothes agents running the investigation weren't even bothering to stop and examine his credentials – they were all sidestepping and avoiding eye contact with this lizard, crackling menace like an electrical storm.

Vector wished Espio's demeanor were all an act. He called it an exaggeration. "This must be yer Seventh Heaven," he remarked as another human jumped in the reptiles' presence.

"Hey, it's not like they can disobey an order from an Enforcer."

Vector made as though squinting through fog. "Huh! Conspiracy Book. Izzat whatcha call yer comic books now?" He snorted rudely. "Y'aughta be a whole lot more scared of this guy if yer right 'bout this secret-assassin thing."

"Worried? I'm flattered."

Vector spluttered and flushed, but Espio spared him from explanation. "We're here." The brown-scaled chameleon gestured at the high-arched entrance to the Geology Chamber, the scene of the crime. He ordered the human investigators out and allowed Vector in, once alone.

The crocodile went numb, managing only a whisper. "Holy Guacamole. Looks like someone had a huge shoot-out here…"

High-roofed and humbling in its size, the museum's Geology chamber kept with the cathedral-styled design outside. This church had been desecrated.

Bulletfire had shattered the alcove windowpanes and rattled plaster from the walls. A towering dinosaur skeleton had been reduced to dust and spare-ribs. The rows of glass casements showcasing fossils and precious minerals were now rows of glass and splinters, one scrap heap where each display had once stood. Vector spun his head around, dumbfounded at the display of reckless violence.

"Careful now," Espio warned. "You just stepped one someone's head."

Vector checked his feet – and jumped away from the white-chalk body outline sprawled on red-soaked tiles.

"That was the security guard," Espio explained. "It's fair to guess he walked in on our thief and," again, his skin flickered in colour, "well, I guess that really spooked our thief." Vector fell silent, looking at the overkill.

Espio cleared his throat. "The guy didn't get away clean, though." He prodded Vector through the carnage and gestured to a second splatter of dry blood.

"Is G.U.N. checkin' hospitals?"

"No doubt. But whoever did this isn't stupid enough to visit a public clinic. This guy was professional, Vector. Armor piercing bullets – he came ready to scrap up any nosey hoverpods. Agents found a pulley and winch system on the roof – he lowered himself through the ventilation ducts, cut off the security cameras and knocked out two guards on patrol before Number Three over there got the jump on him."

"An' the other two? They're alive?"

A shrug. "Might as well be dead: G.U.N. picked them up for questioning, an' they know what really happened here."

Vector nodded. There hadn't been a murder in the United Provinces in four months. Not since the Guardians took complete control of national security and newspapers congratulated the infantry squadron who terminated The Doctor's unnamed black hedgehog.

A meek human technician interrupted he moment, shuffling in with a pair of modified Hoverpods. Espio nodded to indicate they were done and gestured to Vector they should leave. Vector bent over to whisper, "What're those?" pointing a finger at the chemical tanks strapped behind the robots' dorsal gun barrels.

"Weekend's enough time to gather all the clues here," Espio replied softly in a roundabout way. "Crews're packin' up tonight; turning this over to city repair crews. Just got to make sure their alibi holds up."

A spurt of flame burst from the Hoverpods' cannon.

Vector's fury hung all the more dangerous when controlled and cold. "Nothing ever changes," he snarled, retreated in memory. He refused to leave just yet, shoving Espio and his recommendations aside, and marched furiously to the far wall, to the one display case left unscathed. The glass front had been hammered to pieces, contents snatched in a hurried escape, but the frame kept intact.

"An' all this," he gestured to the ruined artifacts and the defiled cathedral. "All fer a fistful o' rocks!"

Espio stood at his side, muttering suggestions of departure. Vector shoved his hand in the creeper's face and knocked him to the floor, storming outside by his own accord.

Through the broken windows entered a cry like wolf's howl, serenading the growing flames.

……….

The Curator's third-floor office was a posh little study space lined with bookshelves, filing cabinets and a library-like atmosphere of cleanliness and silence. Vector sulked from a hard plastic chair while Espio dug through the museum's records.

"Made a copy of Arya Rane's file this afternoon." The museum kept accounts of all its contributing philanthropists. "She lives here in Corvalis. Couldn't find her all afternoon – wrote down a bad address, maybe." He interrupted his broken mutterings with a curse. "Where'd that master copy go?"

"So that's yer plan? Get the ol' lady teh hire us?"

Espio abandoned the top drawer and hunched down to rifle through a lower cabinet. Vector snorted, his mind lingering over the crime scene. "Heart o' gold y'gat there, Espio. Heart o' gold." The chameleon hadn't shut any of the previous drawers. If he stood up, he'd whack his head on their underside.

He did. Clutching his head, Espio stumbled out of the overhang and made to curse, but contained himself with a long, cleansing growl that left Vector chuckling.

"Y'know," Vector interjected, "I know a lady who could use some help too. We aughta look her up."

Espio was on the edge of finally cracking. It was not good timing. "Look," he began, heaving the words out with great big helpings of frustration. "I have a real case here, with a broad who's obviously rich and who'll pay big time to have her valuables returned. We have rent due. We don't have time for some crackpot fur-bag who saw an alien."

"The rent'll work out. Stop worryin'!"

Espio just hissed in reply. Vector gave up, and approached an interesting box of files left on the curator's desk. "Forensics reports, an' rest of the evidence," Espio grunted, one eye swiveled sideways at the croc. The counterfeit 'Enforcer' had apparently ordered a summary of the investigation this afternoon.

Vector dug around morbidly for clues, shivering at the autopsy photos Espio had perused. He quickly switched to a postage envelope marked Security Interviews. Inside were two unmarked tape cassettes.

"Transcripts from the interrogations they pulled on the two guards. Don't bother – they were both too freaked to say anything smart."

A walkman had been provided for Espio's convenience. Vector jacked in his headphones anyhow and popped in the first tape, noting the title Lizard Interview.

A crumpled paper ball bounced off Vector's snout and into his hands. It unfolded, and Vector noted the photocopied duplicate of Ms. Rane's now-misplaced file. Yet another roundabout call for help from the self-absorbed egoman. Vector shook his head and glanced over the personal information, searching for the address.

"Lemmie see …" He frowned. "Central Station?"

Espio spun sharply. "What're you babbling about? That's her street address there."

Vector dictated the exact wording. "216 Central St. The St. is fer Station, right?" He added, "Besides, there ain't no Central Street in Corvalis. Guess ya figured that out the hard way this afternoon?"

The photocopy exchanged claws, and Espio gave a seemingly casual study, fighting the red blush illuminating his face. "She puts the train station as her address?" he muttered with disgust. "Lady must be crazy! And what kind of a name is Arya? That's not a proper mammal name." He was just ranting now to hide his embarrassment, so Vector tuned him out and returned to the tape cassette.

It began with official remarks. Date, time, Interviewee: Tyro the Gecko, bla, bla, bla … Vector fast-forwarded to the good stuff.

A crackling distortion caught him off guard. Vector raised the volume, and his eyes widened at the sound of fearful shivering. Hands pressed his headphones close to his ear canals – the speaker spoke in panicked little breaths, tongue held by a horrible terror.

"Dark … I, I thought I saw someone … Lights were off; I couldn't tell. … But I felt it. This … this, chill up my back, this … this cold, creeping feeling. Like I was being followed." Ragged breathing. Vector felt the recent past stir to mind.

"But I couldn't hear a thing!" The speaker whimpered, reliving a torture. "It was total silence, but this … this thing, I swear I saw it, gliding around, … like a mist. Like … like a ghost!"

A cold aura dropped over the room. Vector spun the volume dial, straining for the final words, voices and their story overlapping in his mind.

"It, came up behind me … and … and then…"

Vector punched the stop button. Espio received the full weight of his serious stare, still babbling on about the foolery of mammals. Vector spun his partner round and locked eyes. "What's Rane's address?" he demanded.

Espio rightly deduced he should skip over any quibbling. "Uh … two-sixteen?" he offered.

A glance out the office windows confirmed sundown over the city. That wasn't enough deterrent for the investigator. "We gatta catch a ride. Now!" Guardians had converged on Cid Wheeler only hours after the call for police went out. They might be too late already…

Two reptiles burst through the museum's tarp entrance and vaulted the blockade into the cold night air. A flash of yellow, and Vector dived to barricade traffic, stretching his arms and forcing the taxi to stop. He'd mooch fare off Espio, but right now they had no time to waste on snails-pace tramcars! "Horn-Top, git movin'!"

Espio had followed reluctantly at first, but now he walked in total daze, horn up in the air, stargazing with uncharacteristically wide eyes. "Vector?" he mumbled disbelievingly, pointing two fingers skyward. The croc turned his snout upward at the polluted gray-orange sky.

The concrete stars draped over the night sky had fallen, and their pinprick electric eyes had magnified in size and clarity, like a hundred harvest moons. The swarm hovered at attention, no longer above, but within the city, a hundred meteorites swollen and burning with electric fire, poised to strike the earth.

--------------------------

The cabbie could never be fast enough for Vector's need, and a horrible eternity lasted before he and Espio could barge through the doors of Central Station, nerve center of the Corvalis rail lines, for this one desperate investigation. Espio hesitated at the doors – straining to catch a foreign wail, something like the haunting, pure howl of a wolf – but Vector set himself to this one-shot chance, trekking down the tiled floors into the main terminal.

A janitor's waxing machine whined in the distance. The loudspeaker system announced a final boarding call to the emptiness. The great hall stretched long enough to admit an ocean of conversation, but now only the march of their footsteps clicked through the hollow building.

Vector steered their walk to aisles of gray, gunmetal lockers, stacked in columns and available to any commuter wishing a storage space. His snout swished from side to side, muttering as he walked. "Two-sixteen … two-sixteen."

A new set of footsteps disturbed the search, hurried and closing a gap. "One side, Leatherhides! Teh future's comin' thru!"

Two fast hands shoved the reptiles into the walls, and a snickering trenchcoat flowed through the new gap, shabby fedora cocked over a ratty ear and a fat, purple tail swishing across the floor.

A spark of electricity twitched through Espio's eyes and his throat growled thunder. Before he could lunge, Vector latched onto the chameleon's shoulder. The Chaotix exchanged looks, Espio protesting why he could not rip apart the obnoxious little mammal. The senior partner directed the chameleon to look ahead.

The greasy mammal buried under stained trenchcoat and fedora halted at locker 216.

They observed from the sidelines, trivial things forgotten and ignored, as the raggedy newcomer ran his eyes up and down the locker, like a crook inspecting a bank vault. His clothing placed him beyond identification – just a gorged, club-thick tail swishing beneath the coat, and a long, thin ear tucked along his head and hat like a feather. All the time, his gloved paws twitched and fidgeted, like a musician fingering an imagined instrument. One drummed against his pocket, the other twirled an icepick through its fingers.

The rat struck like a thunderclap, jamming his impromptu lockpick into the keyhole, hands wiggling it with what seemed like uncontrollable jitter of a caffeine rush. It was merely a practiced swiftness. Three seconds and he ripped the cubbyhole open, poking his nose into the metal cave and pulling at something inside that gave off the sound of heavy, strained metal-scraping-metal.

Another glance went between the detectives. Vector nodded for the approach.

The rat sensed them – his thin ear popping up like a windshield wiper – and spun quickly to face his opposition. He seemed to have expected more.

"Nyaah, whaddya yew leatherhides want? I dawn't give handouts!"

A hesitation ran through the duo. A few nasal octaves higher, but that ratty, oily voice sounded just like Vector, right down to the Jersey accent.

Espio lowered his horn and closed the gap. The mottled rat reeked of sweat and rotten meat, long overdue on a shower. Just getting near was like getting a blast of Vector's breath!

"I don't need money from some gutter-trash fur-coat like you," the chameleon growled, two fingers outstretched, ready to jab. "Furry," he added.

The warrior stood at a disadvantage, eyes reaching only the stranger's thin and wobbly swan neck. The rat lowered his grubby, untrimmed muzzle and snorted on the lizard, face still hidden under the fedora's brim. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout that, Scale-face?" His fingers danced even faster at his sides, curling like spider legs.

Vector made the first move. His gorilla paws shot out and snatched Espio round the snout, muffling the chameleon's protesting swears. He let his shadow drop over the mammal, head tilted to the side and razor teeth on display.

"Dat's Ellie Slater's locker," he boomed at his helium-voiced double. "Y'ain't gat no right lookin' through there, y'liddle grave-robber! So back off an' let us do our job."

Fur bristled, tail stiffened, and those maniac fingers skipped a beat on their invisible piano. The grimy mammal was obviously intimidated, but stood his ground, and tilted his chin up to analyze the crocodile with sneaky eyes sunken in the cave of his hat.

"Ellie?" he repeated with a squeaky hint of surprised. "Wait – wait a second." His tail snaked up and pointed incredulously at the reptiles. "You two – yer lookin' fer the Red Queen? You guys?"

A nasty little cackle split the air, not exactly booming or menacing, but high and feminine and annoying, like a witch's broken chortling.

"Aw man!" The raggedy rat wiped his teary eyes. "Yew don't 'ave any clue who yer dealin' wit', do ya? Yer gonna bring down the Red Queen? Ha! Little Ellie's gonna make coats outta you Leatherhides! Nice costume, by teh way," he added, gesturing at the croc's garish and mismatched ensemble.

His temper boiled over. Vector barred his teeth and crunched.

Those fast hands moved with knee-jerk reflexes – flew into coat pockets, snapped upward and shoved two pistols between the croc's astonished nostrils. All before Vector could make a downward swipe.

The manic spider-fingers had finally stopped moving, their energy focused and tugging eagerly at the triggers of two black, anonymous guns lengthened with silencer muzzles. The rat smirked at his one-upmanship and removed his pistols. Vector didn't move, and clamped behind his palms, Espio watched the backtracking firearms in a shade of pale, porcelain pink.

"Aye'd put you boys outta yer misery," the rat smirked, "But yer probably so stoopid, you'll choke on yer spit an do teh job fer me." The pistols holstered in a quick flash, and the Chaotix resumed exhaling.

The rat took one last glance at the empty locker and tipped his hat to the reptiles. "I'll see ya 'round, Leatherhides." The concealed face grinned with his side-tilted muzzle, displaying an ugly set of yellow canines. A snaggletooth fang, long and sharp as Espio's arrowhead kunai hung off his jaw in a nasty overbite. The rat smirked at their disgusted faces and sauntered off, hands in pockets, tail swishing with dark pleasure.

"Happy huntin'!" he added, trailing that high-pitched, weasely cackle as he disappeared.

Espio took the moment of tensed silence as an opportunity of to kick Vector in shin. With a yelp, he dropped out of the croc's head-clamp and laid on the interrogation.

"Mind explaining what we're doing down here? Or why some rich lady is living out of a stationhouse locker? And who's this Ellie chick, this Red Queen? I thought we're after Arya Rane!"

Vector pulled his snout from the locker, already picked clean of any possessions by the Guardians or some other party. Their assailant had taken the bait though, and left a valuable clue anyhow. "It's an alias," he muttered.

"What?"

"An alias." He turned around. "There is no Arya Rane – just a name teh smuggle stolen goods under." He peered into the locker again, at the false sheet of metal backing the rat had struggled to move. Deep behind this second trap door, Vector could smell the lingering scent of flowery perfumes.

The Red Queen. He'd heard that name before, years ago.

Espio had to raise his voice just a flicker to be heard. "Will you kindly explain Who – Is – Ellie – Slater?"

"A crook, maybe." Vector replied with a growl. "An' a murderer." His voice shook with the deepest levels of disgust. "She's the one G.U.N.'s all frazzled about."

"Not much to go by," Espio sneered.

"Yeah," Vector admitted, losing none of his edge. "But we're gonna find her. We're gonna figure out who she is, where she's hidin; everythin' there is ta know about her.

"And we're gonna catch her."

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