Travis didn't care.
Travis's greatest betrayal of childhood was, after getting equal punishment to his middle-school bully of two years under "zero tolerance" bullshit, the realization that authority could not be trusted. Authority is only the threat of power. Rules are an agreement between people strong enough to exploit those they deem naturally weaker, and the masses of people whom agreed not to congregate and rip apart the self-proclaimed lords in a neverending cycle of violence. To simplify, Travis realized that submitting to any kind of "law" or political extortion body (Travis refused to use the term 'government') meant prostating himself to people who see him as lesser.

This is why, as Travis approached the police blockade, he had no trouble lying through his teeth. "They were my grandparents," he fibbed, not that the overcooked bodies in the farmhouse had any standing to argue. He flashed some fake ID to the officer, still intent on restraining him. The goon was probably just trying to cover up for some glowie operation. Travis insisted, feeding into whatever lip service seemed right at the time. A detective walked over. The evidence had already been gathered, Travis figured. He reached into his pocket and rubbed his fingers against some pepper seeds. He pretended to break. He bent down, wailing. He rubbed his eyes. They teared up in the burning irritation. He let if flow. The glowies finally let him through.

Once inside, even Travis didn't quite know what he was looking for. The story the fed hinted that he was to go to the farmhouse. But then, what? He hadn't a single idea what exactly he could find to prove that this was, in deed, the fault of some malevolently evil political extortionists, looking to pass some inhuman authoritarian law in the name of "safety." Travis sighed. Anything could do. Anything that he could find and spread online.

He glanced around at markers in the grass, outlining where some bodies had been found. If only one of them were still able to talk. Even if it were some glowie, or maybe a low-rank grunt sacrificed for authenticity, maybe he could...

...Travis almost stepped on it when he noticed his foot nudge something. A cat. A cat so thoroughly blazed that it looked more like something advertised out of a wet market food stall than anything bounding with life on this once-peaceful farm. A cat who, for where its eyes should have been, only gave two sunken craters of ash and grit. And, to Travis's astonishment, a cat whose burned fur sat over a heaving torso.

It's still alive.
It's not human, but it's a witness, and it's still alive.

Travis took off his shirt, scooping the poor thing delicately. A nearby pig offered to take it to have the poor creature "humanely put to sleep." Pathetic. Of course the self-proclaimed overlords would think it a favor to kill the suffering. Travis wanted to scream at the man. But for now, he knew he wasn't going to find anything more potent, nor would this cat survive for much longer out here. So, he turned around, and carried the cindering pile back to his truck. "No thanks," he said, "I'll take this poor thing to my sister's clinic. You keep up the good work, officer!"

Travis was an only child.

Monkeystar regained sentience. She didn't know if she was sleeping. She didn't know if she was still alive. She was just... there. A self-feeling sensation wrapped in a void, filled with a memory of what she remembered darkness to resemble. She tried to speak, but nothing broke. She tried to look around, but found her presence stationary. A prison of her own mind, wrapping around her very soul.

And then, something sparked inside of her mind. A message wrapped itself in a capsule of pain. Unpleasant, yes, but at least she could feel something once more.

Hello.

A greeting? At least she wasn't alone. She tried to speak back, but the words couldn't formulate. She never felt anything leaving herself, but yet the presence continued.

I have some questions for you.

Monkeystar wanted to proclaim that the feeling was mutual.

Were you there at the barn yesterday?

Of course she was. How could a voice from her own mind forget that? Was this all in her head, a trick her own subconscious was playing in order to get her to recollect what happened?

No. I am outside of your mind.

Of course that's what a delusion would say. Was she dying?

You're stabilized. In a little bit, you'll even regain some feeling. For now, I'd like to continue asking questions. Do you know what happened to the barn?

Monkeystar took a moment to analyze the presence a little deeper. It wasn't a voice in her head. It was more of a primal sense - a basic message sent directly to the core of her brain, beneath what her living sense translated into an inner voice. The essence of thought.

Please answer the question.

It wasn't of her language. This was not a cat.

I can send you back into isolation.

Monkeystar would have leapt if she wasn't just a wayward mind. She tried to remember what exactly happened. There was a fire. Some monster collapsed, then all of a sudden the building erupted in flame.

A "monster?"

It never occurred to Monkeystar that the giant creatures that roamed the Thunderpath might have had some name bestowed from the Twolegs. Of course they must have something.

So that much of the story is true. Do you know how the "tanker" toppled?

Monkeystar thought back to what happened. Something happened before. It wasn't an accident.

Go on...

Earlier, she was sharing tongues with Barley. She was listening to one of his stories about a fight. About Firestar and... who was it... BloodClan. Then a WarriorClan cat came in. Bigteeth. Poor guy. Monkeystar wondered if he survived too. If any others did.

I believe you were the only one who did.

. . .

I understand that's a lot to take in, but please continue.

Bigteeth came in, and shouted that there was some other Clan that was coming for them. Then, afterwards, Barley mentioned something about going to visit Ravenpaw, his "friend." And then monsters arrived and everyone else died.

Who did "Bigteeth" mention?

They were apparently called DeathMetalClan.

What kind of Clan? Freemasons? Neo-socialists?

It had also never occurred to Monkeystar that Twolegs might also live in Clans. Of course some of them got along, and there were different Twolegplaces, but she never saw her housefolk do any sort of dutiful task. Not like the Clan cats of the forest. Not in any of the roles which they set up. Though, this DeathMetalClan didn't sound like that variety. So, who knew what they wanted?

Cats did this?

Monkeystar believed it as much as anything else by now.

The name repeated in her mind, a distinct shouting completely unlike the crude presence intruding before. This one felt like the names of her departed Clanmates and the kind old soul that welcomed them with stories of the past, rasping in anguish and pain.

"DeathMetalClan."

"DeathMetalClan did this."

"DeathMetalClan."

Yes. Cats had done this. And they had names.

That's enough. Thank you, Monkeystar.

A resolution wasn't a good sign. Monkeystar needed to know that she wasn't going to be left alone in here (wherever "here" was).

Unfortunately, it's better if I leave you like this for a moment. I don't think you want to see what's become of you.

Monkeystar would be happy if she could see anything.

Are you sure?

Positively.

The presence remained silent for a moment. Alright. You at least deserve to know.

From the same primal genesis as the presence, Monkeystar received a blinding white flash that penetrated the rest of her mind, tainting it like a drop of blood spreading throughout an otherwise puddle. She could not feel as though she had a physical presence anymore. Perhaps that was for the best. This time, as her mind gave its commands, there was some response, each some horrifying alien machinations.

First, she glanced at her surroundings. She was in a Twoleg nest, with a single male Twoleg. Young, but still an adult. A bit ungroomed, but physically toned. Around him were scraps of metal and knick-knacks that looked like they came from the underside of a monster, or a monster cub. A butcher shop of machines. Then, she glanced over to her left. A screen, displaying some light in markings that the Twolegs seemed to understand, the one in this room staring at it intensely. He pressed his fingers at some little squares in front of it, and the presence proclaimed, "Try not to think that much for a moment." Monkeystar did, too frightened to disobey. The screen remained still. As soon as she noticed this, the screen continued again. And then more. She tried to shiver. It was reacting to her. She was being violated in the cruelest way imaginable; somehow her mind was on full display!

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!" Markings she knew resembled her words took up their own space on the screen. The Twoleg moved some device around, then hammered away at the squares again. Monkeystar's mind screamed again. "ANSWER ME!" The Twoleg took out some kind of wand, and spoke into it. A moment later, the presence made itself known again. "Testing. Testing. Can you hear me?" Monkeystar tried to step back. To step away. To run away. Yet the only thing she could do was have the screen spit out "I CAN HEAR YOU. CAN YOU HEAR ME? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" The Twoleg spoke again, and the presence translated. "I saved you. The explosion almost killed you. I took your vitals and augmented them onto a life support system I've been experimenting with." Monkeystar was equally confused and horrified. Vitals? What about the rest? Though she was certain the question was proudly displayed on the screen, Monkeystar was too afraid of the answer to properly ask.

The Twoleg moved one of his screens to face Monkeystar. On it was a picture, of black and brown body, surrounded by Twoleg tools and monster bits. The body resembled a cat. Its fur was mostly burned away. Her skin was cracked and dried, fissured with streaks of a dark crimson wounds that had been naturally cauterized. The body's head was just a skull wrapped in mostly-featureless flesh. "This was you," the Twoleg conveyed in the primal-communication. Monkeystar was silent. Something on the screen moved, and then the image started to animate into a scene, as if she were watching someone else's memory. She watched the Twoleg separate her skin, being careful to damage as little as possible even as smoldering bits flaked away into puddles of blood. She watched him sever her skeleton apart, and pick her own organs aside, putting them in some little containers, embalmed in fluids of who-knows-what. She watched as she was flayed on the table. She watched the precious innards, bits she should have never paid any mind to, be put on display, marked with some little flag with some Twoleg etchings. She watched them be reconnected to mini-monster parts, or replaced with some gray replica, such as when the Twoleg scooped out some sloshy goop where her eyes should have been, and replaced them with two metal orbs adorned in artificial, miniature lights.

By the time it was over, the only thing she recognized was her own cheekbones, part of a head forever locked in a face of agony, its body replaced by some crude Twoleg contraption, and with little mini-monster veins, connecting to the monitor she was sure was in front of her.

Monkeystar remained silent.

The Twoleg explained. "That's what you look like now."

Monkeystar remained silent.

The Twoleg continued. "I understand if you're shocked. However, the police aren't going to do anything about these terrorists. So, when you're ready, I want your help finding them. Don't worry. I'll give you as long as you need to get ready."

Monkeystar's mind refocused. "What happens if I say no?" The Twoleg looked back at her, not on the screen. She hadn't noticed until now that he put something on his ear, which held the wand close to his mouth. As he spoke this time, the presence acted almost immediately, "I don't expect you to. But if you don't want to, I'll help you find a good home. I just want to see how many people, and cats, I can save." Monkeystar narrowed her lids, realizing that she still had them. "You're lying." The Twoleg said, "Yes. But to be honest, I don't expect you to understand my real reason. Even what's happening now is a little much. So, take my word for it that I want to find the ones who destroyed that barn."

Monkeystar glanced back at the screen. Bigteeth was dead, and so was Barley and the rest of WarriorClan. She wasn't certain if, compared to them, she got a bad deal. But, she knew she couldn't complain. She was the leader of WarriorClan, even if it was only one cat. She knew that she had a duty to stop these DeathMetalClan monsters, just the same as Firestar had stopped Scourge from destroying the Clans in the past.

"I'll do it." This time, when she spoke, a mini-monster generated some electronic sound resembling a meow.

"Great," the Twoleg proclaimed. "Let's go over your weapons." The Twoleg set down a box, filled with several contraptions of his design. Monkeystar scanned each one, remembering what it was like to have resolution burning in her eyes.