Pepé, after much tossing and turning in his corner bed, succumbs to exhaustion and closes his eyes. But even still, the flood of past horrors continues its havoc.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself on top of a moonlit building. Above him, stars dot the blackened sky, and below, an empty parking lot. The adjacent structures bear a resemblance to those in the central parts of Acme City–company buildings, conjoined into the amalgamation that is ACME Corporation. He cannot ascertain why he is here, yet he feels oddly calm. Some part of him knows what will happen next.

Behind him, the door slams open. He turns himself partway, spotting a familiar face in his peripheral vision. A gray-furred wolf, dressed sloppily in a T-shirt and jeans, storms towards him. "Oi, what's so important that you had to call me all the way over here?" he asks in a gruff voice. "Shit timing, too-me an' the mate were gonna f–Oh, right, I forgot who I was talkin' to." He lets out a wry laugh.

"You have a mate, eh?" Pepé–or rather, Henri–points out. "Tell me, mon ami, how do you get along with her? Or him. I won't judge."

"Why do you want to know, you smelly weasel?" The wolf hisses, baring his teeth.

"Because, as a newlywed, I have my concerns. How can I please her? How can I be a good husband?" Henri chuckles. "Forgive me, this monogamy stuff is a bit perplexing from a skunk's perspective."

The wolf stops scowling, caught off-guard by the skunk's remark, and his lips curl up into a menacing grin. "Oh, that's all you wanted? You could've asked to meet up somewhere more lively. I know a great place downtown from here… Hey, what's that smell?"

Though he does not immediately sense it, Henri can smell a fresh fragrance emanating from him, fanned by slow, methodical motions of his tail. The scent is light and flowery, invoking an emotion akin to falling in love through unexpected circumstances… the smell of serendipity. He turns and approaches the wolf, staring up with his bubblegum pink eyes. "It's l'amour. Love is in the air. Tell me, how does it feel, being in love?"

The wolf looks down at the skunk, his brown eyes glazed over. "I… I feel like I'm in Heaven." He turns his attention to the horizon. "No… I am in Heaven."

"What do you see?"

"I see a light…"

"What are you waiting for? Go, go forward! Your mate is waiting for you!"

With a soft affirmation, he walks towards the edge of the rooftop, then takes a step past it. Henri watches with sinister satisfaction as the entranced wolf falls over and lands with a thump, a tragic victim of Earth's gravity.


Pepé wakes with a jolt, the echoes of the corpse's impact still resonating in his mind. That was no dream, he concludes. That was all my doing.

Gripping his tail, he takes deep breaths to shake off the fright. Once he finds himself capable of rational thought, he recounts the details of the memory. Heaven… Scent of flowers… L'amour… Wasn't there a similar incident written in the journal? Yes, there was. On that night when I–

He stops himself short. Henri La Moufette was responsible for those things, and he is not Henri. Not anymore. He is Pepé Le Pew, and he is going to correct that monster's mistakes, no matter the cause.

He looks down at his tail. The strange smell and its effects, his current inability to spray, and the timing of the events cannot be pure coincidence. Could there be some sort of connection? While he can't guarantee its accuracy, his deductions lead him to the conclusion that his scent glands were mutated by the Illudium potion, and the antidote inhibited their functions as a side effect. Assuming this is true, what sorts of other effects could Illudium have on Sapients? The journal is rather vague on the details, but if those missing pages hold something important, then he'll need to hunt them down ASAP.

In the meantime, he's going to need test subjects.


The next day, at the crack of dawn, Pepé catches Wile E. alone in the kitchen. Over coffee, he summarizes his findings (careful not to mention the darker, more personal details of his past self's life), and offers one simple request.

The coyote spits out his drink. "You want to inject what into my blood?" he snaps.

"Please, Wile, it's just a quick shot," Pepé responds. "I promise I'll make it painless–"

"That's not the point! We're talking about putting Illudium into a living being. We don't even know what that stuff is capable of, let alone what it can do to our bodies." With a sigh, Wile E. continues. "Alright, let's think this through. You need to test the Illudium's effects on Sapients, right? How about we go on a smaller scale, like… blood samples?"

Pepé scratches his chin. "Live subjects would be preferable, but you do raise a good point. If I can observe those effects to any degree, it's still making progress. D'accord, I'll take a moment to gather the supplies and leave the rest to you."

The skunk empties his mug and scurries off. Not a moment after, Wile's phone buzzes from the counter, prompting him to pick it up. On the screen is "Lycopolis", a name which incites an eagerness in him. "Hello? Mr. Wolfgang?"

Through the speaker, a familiar-sounding baritone answers. "Good morning, Mr. Coyote. This is Duane Mutterland of Lycopolis. Remember me?"

"Of course, how could I forget?" He's a bit disappointed that it isn't Wyatt speaking, but still enthused about the opportunity regardless. "Is Mr. Wolfgang available today?"

"He's busy doing some long-distance management with HQ, but I can set you up for a face-to-face meeting this afternoon. How's two o'clock at Crossover Comix sound?"

"Sounds perfect. But why that place?"

"It's a short walk from the hotel and the sign is recognizable from a distance. You'd have to be blind to not notice it."

He raises a brow. "Y'know, if you wanted us to hang out, you could just say it up front."

"As if I want to be friends with a pest like you!" Duane pauses to clear his throat, then adds calmly, "Though from a professional standpoint, it wouldn't hurt for us to socialize every now and then. Networking is an important part of business, after all."

Wile resists the urge to snicker. Could this guy be any more of a tryhard? "I have a better idea. How about I treat you to lunch? I know a great place in the area. And Mr. Wolfgang is welcome to come, too, should he find the time. How about it, pal?"

He mutters something incomprehensible before answering, "Be there by eleven sharp. And don't forget to bring that thingamajig you made."


Eleven o'clock sharp, Wile E. arrives at the designated meeting spot. Waiting anxiously by the entrance to the comics shop is Duane, dressed in a suit two sizes too large. Unmasked, the canid's effeminate features are in full display: well-groomed brows and long blonde lashes, framed around large, indigo eyes on yellow sclera. The illusion of sweet femininity breaks the instant he opens his mouth. "Good, you're here. I was starting to worry that you didn't know the concept of time. Did you bring it?"

Wile pats the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Perfect. So where are we off to?"

"Miss Prissy's Coop is down the road from here. You'd have to be blind not to see it." He smirks. "Though I worry your presence might frighten the poor hens there."

"What do you mean by that?" Duane asks, voice raised in agitation.

"Well, you know what they say about foxes in chicken coops. Though your cute looks might…"

Duane snaps, "For the record, I am a wolf–Ethiopian, to be precise. And I am not cute!"

"Sure you aren't," the coyote replies, tone slathered in sarcasm. "C'mon, let's hurry. The sooner we get to eat, the better."

They arrive in Miss Prissy's Coop just in time for the transition from breakfast to lunch. Duane reads the menu repeatedly, unable to decide on a single dish. Wile recommends the lamb (Ralph's personal favorite) while picking the steak for himself. The petite wolf just runs with it.

During their meal, they talk about a variety of subjects: life in the desert, their preferred climates, their favorite forms of entertainment, and so on. Then the conversation takes an unorthodox turn.

"So that Wolf guy you work with, how long have you known each other?" Duane asks.

"You mean Ralph? We've only known each other for a few months. As for how we met, well, it's a bit unusual." Wile lowers his fork. "When I first arrived in this city, I was lost, cold, and starving. If he didn't happen to be passing by, I wouldn't be alive, let alone here talking to you."

"I don't believe that's mere coincidence. He clearly had some fondness for you or something of that sort. Nobody picks up random strangers off the street unless they're some sort of saint, and Ma'at knows there's no such thing." Duane's hand fiddles with the fork, poking at the remaining chunks of lamb meat. "I was just a pup when Wyatt's family took me in. 'Cording to them, I was the only survivor in my pack when they were traveling upstream from the highlands. Wyatt and his brother were the closest to a proper wolf pack I had."

Wile, upon hearing this, drifts into pondering what-ifs. If he was brought in by another coyote pack, or any other type of animal, would he have turned out differently? Would his partnership with Ralph be considered something of a pack in itself, species differences be damned? Shifting his attention back to Duane's story, something in the coyote's brain starts ticking. "If you don't mind me asking, how common are African wolves?"

"Certainly more common than my kind. What's your point?"

"When I last saw Mr. Wolfgang, I felt like there was something familiar about him. It wasn't until you brought that up that I realized why: there's another wolf around here that looks just like him." Sheepishly, he clarifies, "Well, not exactly like him, more like a slimmer version of him."

Duane's stare intensifies, and his voice shifts to a menacing timbre. "This other wolf, what's his name?"

Wile, caught off-guard, fumbles a bit before answering. "His name…? It's Herman Blakesley. He runs the funeral parlor over in the West Quarter." Recognizing the potential seriousness of the situation, he stares back in kind. "Duane, is there something I should know about?"

"That's none of your business." Without making further eye contact with the coyote, he snatches the duffel bag from the floor and starts walking off. "Drop by the Acme Grand Hotel tonight, and we'll talk."


Back at the Acme Grand Hotel, up in the penthouse, Wyatt is at the bedroom desk, his laptop and webcam set up for face-cam meetings. On the screen is a green-feathered ibis with small spectacles balanced atop of his slim, black beak.

"Upuaut, are you absolutely certain he has what it takes to run the company?" the ibis asks, his voice tinged with concern. "Duamutef was never the most mature of the Colony subjects, and if I can be blunt, I wouldn't trust him with company assets for a second."

"Trust me, Thoth, he's got what it takes," Wyatt reassures him. "He and I have been inseparable for five thousand years and going; this is going to happen sooner or later. And for the record, I'm not bringing him back to Asyut." His gaze turns to the large window, through which he can spot part of ACME Corp's towering presence, and he smirks smugly. "I have much bigger plans in mind."

The implications do not escape Thoth. "I know that look. I've seen it when you plot out your battle tactics, and each time it happens…"

"The tides turn in our favor, without fail," the wolf finishes for him. "But this battle won't be easy. Our enemy has the Queen of the Throne on their side, along with who-knows-what-else. If we don't play our cards right, the whole planet is going to Hell in a handbasket." On the desk, among other assorted items, is a business card with the name Wolf & Coyote embellished on it. He picks it up, thinking back to the night of the All Hallow's Fête.

That red wolf I met looked a bit familiar. But where have I seen him…?

In his mind, an image of a forest on a moonlit night appeared. Fifteen years ago, he recounts. Fifteen years ago, he briefly parted ways with Duamutef during their travels across North America, leaving him to rest in a vacant cave far from civilization. Along the way, he came across a sleeping young wolf. With one of his wind arrows, he created a path for the pup and led him to where he needed to go. The epithet the pup gave him still rings clearly in his mind: "Mister Angel".

"You have a familiar glimmer in your eyes just now," Thoth chimes in, the edges of his beak curled up in an approximation of a smile. "Care to share one of your enlightening tales?"

"Another time, Thoth. But there's one thing I have full confidence in saying: I think I found my secret weapon."

Before he can clarify further, the door slams open, cutting him off. The interrupter, Duane, storms into the bedroom and drops a duffel bag on the king-sized bed. "We need to talk," he orders Wyatt. His eyes shift to the laptop. "Alone."

Unable to refuse without muddling the situation any further, Wyatt mutters an apology and shuts the laptop. "What's so important you couldn't even bother with tact?" he asks.

The smaller wolf unzips the bag and digs out an unusual-looking weapon. "I met with the coyote and got his stupid prototype."

Wyatt takes the weapon and inspects it, amused. "Looks like a projectile launcher of some sort. Questionable design, but I can see myself having some fun with this."

"That's not all I got to share. During our conversation, Wile E. mentioned having met another wolf in town just like you. Goes by the name Herman Blakeseley, and he's a mortician. Ring any bells, Upuaut?"

The larger wolf's brows wrinkle, and his fangs are bared as he growls under his breath. "Anpu, that bastard! Of all the times…"

"Look at it this way," Duane tries to lighten the mood, "he could have mellowed out in the past century."

"Easy for you to say. Anpu doesn't hold some weird, undying, passive-aggressive grudge against you." He rests his head against his left hand and sighs. "The less I get wrapped up in his twisted antics, the better."

For one half of his "secret weapon" to have ties with the one living creature on this planet he wants nothing to do with, his "bigger plans" just got more complicated and frustrating.


AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello, hello! It is I, Sullen, and I am back with another chapter in our favorite goodbois' epic mis(?)adventures. I'll be the first to admit that the writing quality is a bit on the weak side, being one of those "transition" chapters wherein I'm fumbling to get to the next major plot point. That said, if you still enjoy the story regardless, I greatly appreciate it.

While I can't dip too much into the Egyptian gods' story roles or their presence within the universe without major spoilers, I can at least confirm a few basic details. First, every animal-headed deity in the pantheon is a Sapient in-universe (the humanoid ones are a different story entirely). Second, there is only one Horus, but his influence is such that his legacy has diverged into five distinct entities. Third (and arguably the most spoiler-y of the bunch), the myths in this universe are the result of various details in the "deities"' lives getting lost in translation as word of their triumphs and tribulations spread amongst the population.

About the storytelling process, I originally wanted to put the OCs in the backburner for the current story arc-in-progress, but things changed and they slipped through nonetheless. Admittedly, as their creator, I do enjoy my OCs and want to slip them in more, but I also acknowledge that not everyone is fond of OCs in fanfics and that the arc I had planned out doesn't require them to be in the spotlight. I can't make any guarantees, but for the short term, I do intend to keep their presence more in the "subplot" category while the more relevant stuff plays out. Once the arc blows over, things'll re-focus on the dogs and the OCs will gain more focus in turn. Again, no guarantees how this will play out.

If you've read through all this babble, then I hope you enjoyed W&C so far, and I hope we can meet again next time!