After remembering that all of his clothes were still in the trunk, Marcus approached the closet on the far side of the room. He didn't expect there to be anything in it, but at the same time he wasn't surprised to find there were more suits than he could count, each neatly organized by color.

"Right," the kid said aloud as he removed the first one on the rack.

It wasn't his style, but he didn't feel like he was in a position to complain. The pinstripes made him look trimmer than he was. However, there was no denying the clean look. He certainly looked the part of a mobster now.

In his still new to him living room Marcus found a slender red fox passed out on his couch snoring softly into a throw pillow. Had it been a different world or even a different fox, it could have been construed as cute, but he knew better.

Looks are deceiving with this one, he reminded himself.

Food wrappers and crumbs were everywhere, strewn about the coffee table and counters alike. The vulpine hadn't wasted any time taking him on his invitation to stop by.

There's no way I'll regret this, he laughed at himself.

Marcus carefully stepped over a stray combat boot and into his kitchen, eyeing an already warm pot of coffee.

Well that was nice of her I suppose, he thought before pouring himself a cup.

With a deep inhale he let the aroma relax him before taking a sip. Almost instantly he had to spit it out. It was clear the fox had never made coffee before. It was well past three times stronger than it needed to be.

It wasn't until he returned to the garage that he understood the true extent of his predicament. He hadn't backed the car in the night before, and yet that is how he found it now.

She's doing this on purpose, he reminded himself. She's messing with me… or she's taking joyrides…

He could hardly be one to judge. Hot-rodding around town in stolen cars was half the reason he was in this mess to begin with.

Not wanting to dwell on the subject any further, he set off on his journey. As far as jobs went, prior nights excluded, was shaping up to be one of the easier ones he had. Picking up Ixis and driving him to work seemed like a cake walk.

"Good morning," Marcus said with an overly cheery voice to the man from the night before.

The thug did little more than grumble in response as he motioned Ixis to the car.

"That's more like it!" the man exclaimed as he reached out with both arms, placing a palm on each shoulder. "Now you look the part, my boy. No one will question who you work for!"

Naugus' grip was surprisingly firm, holding him in place with something that bordered on admiration.

"What about him?" the kid laughed as he nodded at the man who towered over the two of them.

"Who, Igor?" the crime lord looked back at his bodyguard, "don't worry about him. He's just doing his job."

That seemed to be the case with everyone who worked Ixis.

"Come now, no time to dally. I have a busy day, and so do you," the grey-haired man proclaimed as he scooted into the back seat of the car. "Igor, keep an eye on the place while I'm gone."

The boy guard's eyes didn't seem to let the kid out of his sight, even as he found a way to nod his thick neck in reply.

"Now tell me," the man began as soon as their drive began, "was everything to your liking?"

"If I didn't know better, I would tell you it's too much."

"Well it's a good thing you know better," the man chuckled as he unfolded his paper.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, what's his story?" Marcus nodded nondescriptly back towards the ogre of man still standing on the curb.

"He keeps an eye on things while I'm not around," Naugus replied not paying the question much mind. "After my dinner with Kintobor the other night, he's been a bit overprotective."

"Every time he looks at me, I get the impression he wants to break me in half."

Ixis shrugged, "he might want to do that. But don't worry, he won't unless you give him a good reason. Remember you work for me, same as him. We're a family, do try and get along."

The kid gulped. He had never had an older brother. The thought of inheriting one that could crush him with his bare hands was intimidating.

"And Fiona?"

"What of the fox?"

"She's part of the family as well?"

"Of course," the man answered much to his surprise. "Anyone who works for me and pulls their weight is, and she pulls a lot of weight."

It was unusual for such a prominent individual to so openly talk about a Mobian as an equal, let alone family.

"You seem surprised by this?" Naugus raised an eyebrow.

"It's unusual. Where I come from, they were either servants or farm hands."

"I hope that's not disapproval I hear in your voice," Ixis leaned forward with a stare that could melt the glass of the mirror.

"Not at all, the opposite really," Marcus assured him. "Fiona has grown on me… helped me understand that she's more than she appears."

"Careful," the man cautioned him, "don't let her sink her claws into you, boy. Fiona is a bit too smart for her own good."

Marcus wasn't sure how to tell him it might be too late. The fox had already managed to take up roost in his home. It pained him to think what she could be doing right now unattended in his brand-new apartment.

"How does that happen?"

"What do you mean, my boy?"

"How does a fox like her start working for you? Let alone one that is too smart for her own good?"

"Looking for dirt on her already?" the man laughed.

"She seems to know an awful lot about me," Marcus smiled nervously.

"And so you've decided to play her game," Naugus leaned back into his seat intrigued. "No one else has indulged her. They all ignore her or complain to me. A pity really."

"Why is that?"

"You could learn a lot from her if you open your ears."

"She doesn't say much."

"On the contrary, my boy, she says quite a lot if you know what to listen for. I could help you," his new boss mused, "but, I don't think that would be fair to either of you. Nothing worth learning should ever come easy."

"What is her game exactly…?"

"What makes you think I'd tell you even if I knew?"

"Professional curtesy?" Marcus suggested in an unusually earnest tone.

Naugus burst into laughter.

"Still quick with the wit, aren't you?" the old man managed between breaths. "Hopefully you're as quick with your hands."

"Sir?"

"I've arranged something special for you today. Go ahead and park around back."

He was having trouble thinking of something that Naugus had arranged for that wasn't special. Not wanting to disappoint, Marcus turned the car down the back alley and into a reserved parking space.

"On the lower level of the hotel there's a room at the end of the hall," Ixis said as the kid helped him from the backseat. "Someone will be waiting for you. He's an old friend."

"I won't keep him waiting," Marcus replied.

The bowels of the hotel were hardly different than any other building its age. The stone walls were damp with perspiration and the stale smell of mold clung to every corner. Dodging the occasional laundry cart, Marcus made his way across the cheap linoleum floor until he found what appeared to be some type of dojo. Everything from the floor all the way up to the ceiling was lined with padding.

"You must be Marcus," a man said without looking up from his stretching.

"Mr. Naugus told me to meet someone?"

"Put these on," the man said as he closed the gap between them, "Ixis won't be happy with either of us if you ruin those new suits."

He could't help but bring the clothes to his nose. They were the type of musty that suggested they'd been tucked away in some forgotten drawer for the better part of a decade.

"You look familiar," Marcus managed as he folded his suit and pulled a yellowing t-shirt over his head.

Even if his hair was grey, the man was arguably one of the most fit people the kid had ever laid eyes on, making it near impossible for him to even begin to guess his age.

"How old are you?" the man replied gruffly, bordering on a tone of insulted.

"Seventeen," he answered trying to ignore the fact that the shorts were at least two sizes too small.

"You're what?" the man seemed perplexed before muttering under his breath, "is this a joke, Ixis?"

"I've been getting a lot of that lately…"

"Let's put it this way, kid, your grandfather probably had a poster of me on his wall growing up."

"Dirk?" he guessed with some optimism.

The boxer was legendary, even by today's standards. And he was right, his grandfather did have a poster of him on his wall, the difference being it was still there to this day.

"Not that, please" the man grimaced, "I never liked that nick name."

Marcus couldn't remember the man's real name, only the stories his grandfather told him.

"Simon is fine," he continued after the kid continued to stare.

At this point nothing should have surprised him but getting lessons from a fifteen-time welterweight champion boxer certainly did.

"How do you know Naugus?"

The man hesitated, "…he helped me get my career started. Now I'm paying him back by training a lot of his staff and bring boxing matches to a few of his venues."

Grandfather would do anything to be me right now, the kid thought selfishly.

"But enough of this idle chitchat, let's get right into things," Simon said as he produced a pair of padded hands. "Go ahead and hit these however you want. Let's see what we're working with, shall we?."

Marcus was no stranger to throwing a punch, but suddenly he felt overwhelmed. One of boxing's legends was watching him, judging him. The jab he threw was swift, and he quickly followed it up with another before moving his feet, just as his grandfather hand shown him.

"Not bad," Simon mused, "I can see you've had a lesson or two, but you're going to have to change your guard; angle your shoulders more, keep your hands up and closer together."

Marcus did as he was told, and soon the old man began to swipe at him. At first, they were easy to dodge or block, but gradually they came in faster.

"If you don't move your feet more you're going to get hit," Simon warned him.

Having been at it for nearly ten minutes, Marcus was running short on breath. The prospect of having to move faster seemed impossible. And just when he thought he couldn't take any more, it ended.

"Good, take a break," the man said in a neutral tone. "Lots of work to be done, but I've seen plenty worse."

The clapping was slow, its sound muted against the padded walls.

The two of them sighed as they looked over to find a crimson vixen sarcastically applauding their efforts.

This clearly isn't his first run-in with her either.

"Dirk," Fiona shouted playfully.

The man rolled his eyes, "you weren't invited. You never are."

"But someone needs to show this kid the ropes."

"He's doing just fine, don't you worry."

"Don't listen to him, Marcus. This old timer takes things way too slow. In the real world, there aren't going to be water breaks, no one is going to get in the ring with you or quit when they hear a bell. Out there," the fox pointed to the door, "it's do or die."

"Fundamentals, Fiona, fundamentals," the man replied as he massaged his temples. "He needs to learn the basics first."

"Agree to disagree," she responded before stepping between them. "Nothing teaches quicker than actual experience."

Oh no, he thought, I don't like wherever this is going.

"Hit me," she said in a tone meant to dare him.

"No?" he wasn't sure how else to answer.

"I won't hurt you," she promised him an almost sincere tone. "Please, hit me."

Marcus was stuck and he knew it. He didn't want to hurt the fox, and he also did not want to be hurt by the fox. His best course of action seemed to be to simply bow out of the fight and hope she went away, but deep down he knew that wasn't going to happen.

"Fiona," he pleaded, "I don't want to hit you."

"Why not?"

"You're," he began.

"If you say a girl…"

I was probably going to say that, he admitted to himself.

"My friend," he continued without missing a beat.

There had been the practice jabs and wide haymakers Simon had been throwing at him a few moments ago, and then there was whatever Fiona did. Even if he had been ready, Marcus wasn't sure what he could have done to stop it. He could do nothing more than double over in pain and gasp for the wind the fox had just knocked out of him.

"Fiona," Simon barked at her, "that's enough!"

"How about now?" she asked ignoring the old man. "Do you want to hit me now?"

Yes, yes I do.

Wheezing on all fours, searching for his lost breath, Marcus tried to plan out his next move.

Is an upper cut too mean? He asked himself as he stood, driving his fist upwards. Unfortunately, the fox did little more than step backwards and his fist connected with nothing but air, leaving his mid-section terribly exposed again.

Fiona, thankfully, was kind to him for the moment.

"That's more like it!" she responded gleefully. "Now actually try to hit me this time."

He responded with the quickest punch he could muster, but the vixen seemed to be a mile ahead of him.

"I'm not surprised," Fiona continued as she circled him, "some rich kid with a silver spoon crammed up his ass can't fight."

Marcus could feel the rage building inside of him as he let loose a flurry of punches meant to knock more than the smug look off the fox's face. Yet the fox was still quicker.

"I bet mom and dad finished all your fights for you, huh?"

This time he lashed out with a kick and the fox responded in kind, sweeping his remaining leg from the ground. Before he could get his bearings, he found himself staring at the ceiling, his back in a modest amount of pain.

"Why must you do this every time?" he heard Simon ask. "You're not going to beat better fighting technique into him."

"Maybe not," the vixen responded, "but I'm going to force him to think about the consequences of losing a fight. In here he'll get a bruise or break a bone, out there he'll get dead."

Is this her way of showing she cares? Marcus wanted to laugh as he pulled himself upright where he found himself at a unique advantage. Fiona's back was to him as she continued to address the old man.

"You think a bunch of gold-plated belts mean a damn thing?" she spat. "Have you ever fought someone outside the ring?"

For just a moment he caught Simon's eyes. The man did his best to waive him off his attack, but it was too late. Marcus had committed himself to the tackle meant to bring her to the floor. He was sure his high school football coach would have been proud of the form.

Somewhere between the wall and where he had expected to collide with the fox, Marcus realized she had ducked and flipped him over her shoulder. Whatever the move, he hadn't seen her do it, and for the second time that day found himself without air in his lungs.

"Points for trying," she grinned at him.

It was at this point that Marcus noticed that despite her best efforts to antagonize not only him, but also Simon, the aging boxer hadn't engaged her.

Maybe there's a reason for that, he decided. But how am I supposed to deal with someone like her if he can't? Roll over and die?

A burning rage returned him to his feet as he realized his one advantage.

"For an only child you've got a lot of spunk, I'll give you that," she teased.

Approaching the fox, he avoided spooking her with any quick movements. She was faster, end of story. He would never get an attack past the vulpine, but he could still overpower her.

"But I suspect your parents were right, you won't amount to anything."

Now only inches away he was finally in a position to punish her arrogance. Taking hold of the creature by the shoulders, Marcus lifted her off the ground where she had no leverage. At only eighty pounds the dainty creature was now much less threatening.

Fiona, unable to move her arms kicked at him, squirming about beneath his grip as he threw her back up against the padded wall, pinning her there.

"Stop talking about things you don't understand!" he screamed in her face. "I may not know what it's like to be you, but you sure as hell don't know what it's like to be me!"

The look on her face remained unchanged, "A bit grouchy, are we? Someone piss in your coffee this morning?"

Hey… wait… his mind panicked did she…

"Now what?" the fox interrupted his thoughts with an all too familiar tone, her eyes narrowing, daring him to try and press his luck.

The truth was he didn't know what to do next. Marcus hadn't thought that far ahead. He just wanted her to recognize that he wasn't as powerless as she made him out to be.

"Put her down, Marcus," he heard Simon say from across the room. "You don't know where that thing's been."

Probably for the best he agreed, unsure of what tricks still remained up the vulpine's sleeve.

Without much additional thought he released her, letting the ruby vixen fall back to the ground. Having never grappled with the fox until now, he hadn't taken for granted just how much smaller she was, how much more difficult combat could be for her.

And yet she still kicked my ass…

Not that he had ever doubted she could, Ixis has kept her around for a reason.

"Have you made your point yet, Fiona?" the boxer asked.

"I think so," the vixen grinned slyly as she meandered toward the door. "I think he gets it," motioning to Marcus, "but I'm still not sure about you."

The fox vanished into the hall with a satisfied wag of her tail. Marcus did get it, although he wasn't quite sure if he appreciated the way the lesson was delivered.

"Sorry about that," Simon began, "she has a habit of doing that to all the new people."

"Would it be weird if I said I was expecting her?" he sighed, trying to ignore the throbbing bruises that covered his body.

"Although I can't say I've ever seen anyone get up three times, let alone get her off the ground," the man continued.

"What about you?" Marcus asked out of curiosity.

If someone could put that fox in her place it would be Dirk, or at least that's what would grandfather would say.

"I'm too old to mess with that little furball. A younger me might have been stupid enough to pick a fight with her though."

Roll over and die it is, he sighed to himself. At least she's on my team, right?