AN: Me no own, so you no sue. Okeedokee?
Spot belongs to. Disney (along with one fifth of the world), and everything
else is property of their respective owners.
-----
Spot tapped his cane against his leg as he sauntered across the Brooklyn Bridge. Something seemed oddly familiar about this day, the world around him, even the way the black clouds seemed to engulf the darkening sky. A shiver ran through his spine as he attempted to shake off that feeling, but it wouldn't leave him.
He tried to put it out of his mind as he focused on the last poker game he had just played, a game from which he was heading away from, a game in which he had lost spectacularly against, of all people, Specs. He fumed as he recalled Specs' cocky grin looming over a straight flush, and the defeat that must have been apparent on his own face when he placed down nothing but a pair of kings. How could he have been so stupid? He may have been called many things, but King of Poker was not one of them.
A whimpering noise came from an alley not far from him. At first, Spot ignored it. Probably some stupid mutt. But his eyes wandered down the alley and what he saw was definitely not a dog.
There was a girl in the alley. Not just a girl, in fact, but a girl and two large, surly looking men. They were advancing on her, one holding a bat and one adjusting the brass knuckles on his hand. Spot stood there like an idiot, not knowing whether to jump in and possibly die or to stand back and have the girl die. In any other situation, it would've been an easy decision to make, but he couldn't just let her sit there, helpless.
Spot ran in with both fists flying. Not that he was the most skilled fighter, nor the toughest, but a few handy props would help him to win this fight. He grabbed his cane like a baseball bat and swung at one of the men, sending him tumbling back into a set of crates. The man with the bat took aim at his head, when Spot swung his cane below him and hit the man right between the legs.
"Run!" hissed Spot to the girl behind him as the bat dropped out of the man's hands and he fell to his knees. The girl looked at him with terrified eyes, her mouth slightly open and her hand clutching at the collar of her dress.
"Just run, dammit! Go!" Spot yelled. Her doe eyes fluttered softly.
The girl collapsed on the ground, unconscious.
"Oh, Jesus Christ..." Spot muttered, and turned his attention back to the men. One of them lay inert on a heap of boxes and splinters of wood. The other was still bent over on his knees.
"Get the hell outta here!" Spot shouted impatiently. The man looked up with a glare that contorted his entire face, stuck out his lower lip, and let the saliva fly from his mouth and onto Spot's shoe.
A sickening crack was heard as Spot's cane struck his face. He grabbed the girl around the knees, threw her over his shoulder, and fled from the alley.
-----
"We've found one."
"Where is he located?"
"Brooklyn, 1900."
"Jesus, 104 years ago? Those confounded MSA's never make it easy on us," a woman muttered.
"Gypsy, this guy's radar is going off the scale! Apparently hundreds of them have made their mark. And what's worse, he's got a new one with him," the other one remarked, pointing at the screen.
"What?!" Gypsy screeched. She looked at the screen again.
"This is bad, Gyps."
"Yeah, no shit Jester," Gypsy cursed. She looked around anxiously.
"Get Hyland in here."
-----
Spot tapped his cane against his leg as he sauntered across the Brooklyn Bridge. Something seemed oddly familiar about this day, the world around him, even the way the black clouds seemed to engulf the darkening sky. A shiver ran through his spine as he attempted to shake off that feeling, but it wouldn't leave him.
He tried to put it out of his mind as he focused on the last poker game he had just played, a game from which he was heading away from, a game in which he had lost spectacularly against, of all people, Specs. He fumed as he recalled Specs' cocky grin looming over a straight flush, and the defeat that must have been apparent on his own face when he placed down nothing but a pair of kings. How could he have been so stupid? He may have been called many things, but King of Poker was not one of them.
A whimpering noise came from an alley not far from him. At first, Spot ignored it. Probably some stupid mutt. But his eyes wandered down the alley and what he saw was definitely not a dog.
There was a girl in the alley. Not just a girl, in fact, but a girl and two large, surly looking men. They were advancing on her, one holding a bat and one adjusting the brass knuckles on his hand. Spot stood there like an idiot, not knowing whether to jump in and possibly die or to stand back and have the girl die. In any other situation, it would've been an easy decision to make, but he couldn't just let her sit there, helpless.
Spot ran in with both fists flying. Not that he was the most skilled fighter, nor the toughest, but a few handy props would help him to win this fight. He grabbed his cane like a baseball bat and swung at one of the men, sending him tumbling back into a set of crates. The man with the bat took aim at his head, when Spot swung his cane below him and hit the man right between the legs.
"Run!" hissed Spot to the girl behind him as the bat dropped out of the man's hands and he fell to his knees. The girl looked at him with terrified eyes, her mouth slightly open and her hand clutching at the collar of her dress.
"Just run, dammit! Go!" Spot yelled. Her doe eyes fluttered softly.
The girl collapsed on the ground, unconscious.
"Oh, Jesus Christ..." Spot muttered, and turned his attention back to the men. One of them lay inert on a heap of boxes and splinters of wood. The other was still bent over on his knees.
"Get the hell outta here!" Spot shouted impatiently. The man looked up with a glare that contorted his entire face, stuck out his lower lip, and let the saliva fly from his mouth and onto Spot's shoe.
A sickening crack was heard as Spot's cane struck his face. He grabbed the girl around the knees, threw her over his shoulder, and fled from the alley.
-----
"We've found one."
"Where is he located?"
"Brooklyn, 1900."
"Jesus, 104 years ago? Those confounded MSA's never make it easy on us," a woman muttered.
"Gypsy, this guy's radar is going off the scale! Apparently hundreds of them have made their mark. And what's worse, he's got a new one with him," the other one remarked, pointing at the screen.
"What?!" Gypsy screeched. She looked at the screen again.
"This is bad, Gyps."
"Yeah, no shit Jester," Gypsy cursed. She looked around anxiously.
"Get Hyland in here."