Marcus had decided to take a little of his spare time to clean things up as best he could. He had basically been living out of the front seat of Ixis' car for the past 24 hours, and it was beginning to show. Having placed most of his personal effects and clothes in the trunk, Marcus did manage to scare up a new and somewhat clean smelling t-shirt as well as a bland blazer he wore out clubbing from time to time. The kid wasn't going to win any fashion awards, but it was a marked improvement from the dishwashing attire he had been in prior.

It was half past seven when the man finally immerged from the building. Marcus had already determined that keeping a routine was clearly not this man's forte. Schedules bent at his whim as if that was they always were. Naugus did what he wanted when it suited him.

"Sir," the kid said politely as he opened the car door for the crime lord.

Ixis paused for a moment to look him up and down, nodding subtly before sliding himself into the plush leather interior of his waiting car.

Now onto the hard part, Marcus lamented to himself as he found the driver's seat. He still hadn't made heads or tails or of Ixis. The man was quiet, calculating, and unpredictable. There was little way to tell if he was in the mood for a conversation or would prefer the silence of the city's chorus.

"You went to Bernard's," the man began in such a way that it didn't seem like a question.

"I did. Thank you again, sir."

The remainder of the ride consisted of nothing more than the occasional sound of a page turn in what remained of the day's newspaper.

"Sametime tomorrow," the man said as he stepped out onto the curb in front of what Marcus presumed was him home.

It was another statement, a friendly reminder by his standards.

"Of course, sir."

"Get some sleep tonight, you look like shit."

All the kid could do was smile and try not to laugh. Marcus had already caught a glimpse of his own darkened eyes staring back him in the mirror. He barely looked human.

"If you're up to it, I'm going to put you through some self-defense classes starting tomorrow," Ixis added.

Is that something I'm going to need? Isn't that why you have Fiona, he wanted to ask aloud, but instead nodded, "I'll be ready."

"Good," the man replied curtly before walking his door.

And like that he was alone again.

"Look Fiona," he said out of habit as he got back in the car, "I don't have time tonight for whatever it is you want to do. I've got to get some sleep. Speaking of sleep, when do you do that because you seem to always be around, and I mean always. Plus, Ixis wants to put me in this self-defense class tomorrow, so if you want to make fun of me or whatever, maybe you can do it then instead? And I still need to find out where I live, which sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I mean it's even worse if I add on the part where some crime lord I just met gave it to me."

Nothing but silence followed his rant.

"Fiona?

Finding it hard to believe the vulpine had missed an opportunity to sneak up on him, he turned around peering into the foot wells, searching for a reddened shadow.

She's in your head, Marcus, she's in your head.

There was a loud knock on his window that jolted him back to a seated position. A man in a pinstriped suit loomed outside his window. Fumbling for the button, Marcus rolled it down unsure of how to greet the expressionless individual.

"Why are you still here?" the thug asked.

"I – I lost something between the seat," Marcus lied, "I'm just looking for it."

"Look elsewhere."

"You mean like in the trunk? Because I don't know how it would have got…"

The man's disposition somehow got less friendly. Marcus wondered when he would regret inheriting his grandfather's sense of humor that knew no limits. It had gotten them both into trouble, and they had always joked it would only be a matter of time before it got one of them killed.

"You know what I meant," the brute said through gritted teeth.

"I'm his driver," he pleaded.

"I know who you are."

"So…"

"So, you're still here."

Marcus pulled on the shifting stalk until the gear lurched into the drive position.

"Nice meeting you," the kid smiled as he pulled back out into the street.

That must be why Fiona didn't appear, she saw him coming.

"Let's have it then," he asked of the passenger he still suspected of lurking somewhere.

Still, no one responded.

"You know," Marcus sighed aloud, "I was just starting to get used to the whole you're right behind me creepy thing you do, and now you're not here to do it."

Talking to himself wasn't something he normally did, but the lack of sleep and the red shadow that crawled inside his head were beginning to have some side effects.

The Barn Yard was an aptly named establishment. It catered to anyone who had enough credits to drink the cheap beer they served. Human or not, it made no difference to Ixis. Money was money to him, regardless of whose pocket it came from. While the majority of business owners were beginning to enforce an increasingly popular ban on Mobians, Naugus was welcoming them with open cash drawers.

Across the street, Marcus reminded himself before frowning. Government housing looked more appealing than the boarded-up buildings that greeted him.

"Why does it feel like I'm regretting this more and more."

There was still no response.

"Regretting a life of crime?" Marcus asked himself in a high pitch voice, doing his best to imitate the vixen.

"I wouldn't call a single day a life, Fiona," he responded, "but by golly, yes I am!"

Turning down the alley opposite the bar, he watched as Mobians darted out of the path of his headlights. It went without saying that Ixis would have a place to safely store such an expensive vehicle. Sure enough, there was a reinforced garage halfway down the narrow dead-end road. Fumbling through the buttons on the dash, he pushed them all until the garage door squeaked to life, it's metal beams bending and folding noisily until they had receded into the ceiling.

After turning the car off and shutting the garage, Marcus retrieved the silver key from his pocket. The corridor that led into the stairwell was narrow with steps rickety beyond comprehension, but the place was strangely more well put together than the façade suggested.

Top floor, the crime lord's voice sounded inside of his head.

Five flights of stairs later Marcus found himself looking down a dimly lit hallway with only one door.

You've made it this far. Just breath, this will all be alright. How bad could it be?

His heart was racing as he inserted the key. Somehow crossing this threshold seemed to seal an invisible deal in his mind. Not just the kind where he sold his soul to the city's most fearsome crime boss, but the kind where he became his own person, not the one his parents wanted him to be.

No turning back now.

He eased the door open, expecting to find a run-down room with nothing more than a cot and microwave balancing on a cardboard box. However, Marcus decided if there was an opposite of that, it was the space that greeted him. Apartment hardly did the space justice. It was a palace, even by his standards.

A sprawling, well-lit, and elegant room greeted him, all of its wood surfaces polished to a rich sheen. A strangely fresh and sophisticated smell wafted about. The kitchen was filled with stainless steel appliances and white subway tile that help bring about a modern touch.

"Holy shit," he said aloud in disbelief. "This can't be for real."

As his heart slowed, he began to wonder if it was true. Not because it seemed too generous, but because of the running water. Approaching the kitchen Marcus leaned his ear towards the wall. There was no mistaking it. New innards or not, this building was still using old plumbing, and having grown up in a century old mansion, he recognized the hum a running shower anywhere.

Is someone taking a shower? Am I in the wrong place…? But the key, it worked…

Creeping around into the bedroom, Marcus peered into expansive space.

"Hello," he called out softly as knocked on the open bathroom door.

Steam rose from behind the curtain, the water still running. If he didn't know better, perhaps who ever had cleaned the place had simply left it running. However, the intermittent splashes of water on the fiberglass floor told him otherwise.

"Look," he began tragically unsure of how to threaten someone in this position, "I'm not sure you know who this place belongs to but I don't think you are supposed to be here."

There was no response.

"I don't want to have to hurt you," he added for good measure.

"That's the last thing I'm worried about," a familiar voice quipped in response.

"Are you kidding me?" the kid shouted. "Don't you have any concept of personal space?"

Ixis' car had been one thing, but now his new home. He hadn't even stepped foot in the door and the vixen had already made herself at home. Fiona's never ending crusade to be there when he least expected it knew no bounds.

"You weren't here," the vixen replied. "A fancy apartment isn't one my job perks, and no one else seems to have room for me."

"You don't say?" Marcus said blandly as he sat himself down on the closed lid of the toilet.

"Do you know how long it's been since I got to take a warm shower?" the fox asked sounding genuinely content.

Rubbing his temples, he was struggling to think of a way to get rid of the creature before realizing he was sitting on it. Plumbing this old always had pressure problems, one flush could easily ruin someone's shower.

Without so much a thought as to the consequences, he reached to his side and pressed the lever. The reaction was almost instant. The shower curtain exploded outwards amidst a spray of water and high-pitched yelp.

"That'll teach ya," Marcus laughed until he found himself staring into a pair of angry eyes. Lifting his hands to his face, he shielded his eyes to allow the fox some privacy. He hadn't intended for this to happen, as funny as it was.

Aside from holding back a snarling growl, she was drenched to the bone, her fur matted down to match that outline of a surprisingly toned body. However, as quickly as he had put up his blindfold, he lowered it, his curiosity and the fox's lack of shyness getting the better of him.

"That wasn't very nice," the vulpine said in a menacing tone before blowing a puff of air into a lock of hair that was inconveniently strewn across her face.

Marcus was certainly scared but also distracted; his eyes ran from the floor to the tip of her ears.

"See something?" she asked suggestively before reaching for one of his towels. He wanted to protest about the use of his linens but realized that she hadn't cared much for anything he had said to date and doubted she would start now.

"No, actually…"

Which was the truth. She was covered head to toe in fur.

She's was a fox, he felt the need to remind himself.

There was nothing to see despite his imagination's best attempts. However, Marcus was having a hard time discerning if he was disappointed or intrigued.

"…I mean, why bother wearing clothes? Mobians have fur." he continued. "I'm not sure why I've never thought about that before."

"That's a good question," the vixen responded as she dried off. "Humans mostly, I guess. Some modestly complex that makes them think we need them. That if we don't dress the same way they do, we're breaking the same rules they would be if they didn't wear them…" The fox trailed off as she ran the towel through her dark red hair.

"Which is kind of funny when you think about it," Fiona continued. "People like Kintobor are constantly running around preaching about how different Mobians are. That we're animals, the kind of animals that don't wear clothes. Yet there are actual laws in most human cities that require us to wear clothes. They can't really seem to make up their mind about who or what we are."

"I've never gotten the impression you cared about laws."

"I don't. I guess I got used to wearing them. Having pockets is nice," the fox admitted as she pulled back on a pair of black denim jeans. "But it does kind of have a weird impact, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Marcus asked.

The fox had hardly said so many words since he met her. When she wasn't being snarky, Fiona wasn't a half bad conversationalist.

"Just now," she began, "you treated me like a human and averted your gaze because you thought you might see something you weren't supposed to."

He nodded in agreement.

"The only reason you thought that is because you see me wear these," the vixen exclaimed as she pulled a black tank top over her head. "You thought I had something to hide because part of me is hidden from you. That's why we're stuck with them. It's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"How so?"

"We need to hide what amounts to nothing only because you think we have something to hide. And the reason people think that we have something to hide? We're made to wear clothes just like everyone else."

"Hmm," Marcus mused, "I see your point. It's like the locked door fallacy. Not all locked doors have something valuable behind them, but because people wish to protect their belongings, they lock their doors. A locked door doesn't necessarily mean there is anything of value behind it, even if the lock suggests it. Of course, people who lock their doors might be interested in some privacy, which does bring me to another question about the door to my apartment."

"Thanks for letting me shower here," Fiona said as she tied her hair back with a tattered yellow ribbon.

"I didn't," Marcus replied, "but I'm sorry, that joke was a little crueler than I intended."

She smiled faintly at him before turning to leave.

"Fiona," he called after her.

She stopped, waiting in the doorway while he shut off the running water.

Please don't make me regret saying this, please don't make me regret saying this.

"I suppose," he began as her tail immediately began to wag, "if you wanted to, or don't have any place to go or whatever, you can drop by."

"Getting lonely already," she said as a canine extended past her lip.

"You're the one who showed up at my place uninvited," he reminded her with a warm smile, "carful who you call lonely. And something tells me you'll be back anyway, so you may as well feel invited."

As mysteriously as she often happened into his life, she disappeared. Reaching back into the shower, Marcus turned the water back on.

I need a shower too, he thought as he closed the bathroom door.

He paused for a moment, staring at the lock on the door. No doubt the fox could find her way through if she wanted but given their recent conversation, he had hoped some boundaries had been drawn.

"People who lock their doors might be interested in some privacy," he repeated to himself, as he twisted the deadbolt into place. "Why else lock the door?"

So this chapter was written to address one thing specifically that I never got into in any of the other Resistance series. Mobians and Clothes. It's been one of the most common comments and observations people leave in reviews or PMs. So I've decided to address that in the world with this chapter. This, however, only addresses it from the character's perspective.

For anyone who is curious. The reason I almost always describe Mobians as wearing clothes are roughly as follows:

1 - Clothes add a layer of personality. A change of garments can signal a shift not just in appearance, but also attitude. And because they're layers, they can be added, subtracted and combined with other parts of a character's persona. Removing clothes can suggest a lot of things. For instance we as humans tend to feel more vulnerable as we shed article of clothing. Letting someone see you in that state and being okay with indicates some trust. Adding in clothes was a conscience choice I made early on to help the characters express themselves.

2 - They provide utility. Mobians in my story tend to need things like pockets or protection against elements.