Slowly, the darkness dissipates, turning into a blinding white. A slow, monotonous beeping noise cuts through the silence. Wile blinks, and the image clears up.

A hospital room, lined with beds. Beside him, a machine which he does not recognize outside of TV dramas, a green line tracking his heartbeat. An IV injects a clear fluid into his arm. On the opposite side, Ralph is holding his hand, close to bursting into tears. "Thank God, you're finally awake!"

Wile, in his barely conscious state, connects the dots one by one. "Ralph, did I…?"

"You had a panic attack," Ralph answers for him. "It was really bad, too. Passed out and everything." He picks up a duffel bag from the floor and sets it on the chair. "By the way, I cleaned you up a bit and brought a fresh change of clothes. Can't have you looking like a mess when you check out, can I?"

He should be grateful that his partner was around to help him. Yet he also feels shame. Shame for causing trouble for his loved ones, shame for acting stupid and reckless, shame for being a pitiful excuse of a hunter.

"Can't say I blame you. In our short time working together, that was probably the worst thing either of us have seen. Damn near fainted myself."

Wile lets out a small sigh. At least he's not alone in finding that corpse frightening. "If Anne's not responsible for that murder, then…"

"Here's a theory I came up with while you were out. Anne isn't the Repo Man, but one of many running about. Some might be just rogue copycats looking for attention, but the rest are likely affiliates of the Underground, just like her."

Entertained by his conjecture, he expands upon it. "The black market's organ trade activity has been running since long before Anne's arrival, as shown in Don Henery's documents. Considering the skill it takes to safely remove and transport organs, those involved in the trafficking ring would have to have surgical training. If Anne is acquainted with anyone else in her profession, it's possible for her to convince one of them to hunt down a victim at a time when she was on her date."

"I was just thinking the exact same thing. Even if the murder was just a coincidence, the mess that guy left behind would put the trafficking members at risk of being exposed. Anne may be just one brick in the Underground's Jenga tower, but if we're lucky, her capture could knock the whole thing down." Wile gives him a curious look. "I'll teach you how to play sometime. It's pretty fun."

"Speaking of messes, that brings me to my own theory: the killer from last night wasn't a copycat–not a good one, anyway. The murder looks too brutal compared to the ones credited to the Repo Man. The beheading is similar to Sophia's death, but the disembowelment…" He lets his words fall into silence, unable to utter the next statement.

At that moment, Deputy Sam and Herman show up at his bedside. Herman smiles in relief as Sam gets to the point. "Ralph, Mr. Coyote… Wile E., I'm sorry to interrupt you at this time, but as a witness I need to ask you some questions." Subtly glancing at Ralph, he adds, "I'll be quick about it."

The interrogation starts off simple as the duo recount the events leading up to their gruesome discovery. They summarize their motives and theories, with Sam nodding and jotting down notes. When Anne's name is brought up, his ear perks up curiously.

"So this Anne Toilette is associated with the Underground, you think?"

"We don't think she's involved, we know she is," Wile snaps. "I caught her preparing to kill someone. She even confessed to it!"

"Calm down, son," Herman cuts in. "We're not doubting you. These questions are just formalities. In fact, your testimony just now has given us the biggest lead in this case. Second to myself, of course."

Sam clarifies, "Herman is already lending us his facility and providing the autopsy reports. More importantly, he's a frequent visitor to the Underground, making him a key witness in our investigation." He looks around, ensuring that the room is unpopulated by anyone but the four of them. "I'm also the only member of the K-9 force who knows of his immortality."

Ralph says sheepishly, "I might have told Sam about the whole 'Anubis' thing."

"I'm lending the medical and forensics team enough of my information and blood to assist them in the drug case in exchange for their confidentiality. As we speak, they're hard at work examining the Tears samples Sam's friends managed to confiscate."

"Everyone's doing all they can to bring peace to Acme City," the deputy says. "The K-9 force is preparing to raid the Underground, but there is still the matter of the murders happening on the surface. My comrades don't look too highly on me relying on vigilantes, but I know you're capable of things we can't do alone. So if you can catch Anne or any of the other Repo Men, I'll see to it that you get rewarded."

Ralph's tail starts wagging. His enthusiasm is cut short when Wile speaks up. "Since we're working together, I need to ask… what's the report on the body?"

Sam stays silent, letting Herman answer in his stead. "So far, what we can determine is that the victim's murder mirrors that of Ms. Silk's–with one major difference. Detectives at the scene noted finding bite marks on the flesh, suggesting the killer wasn't intending to sell the organs." To Wile, he asks slyly, "You probably already knew this, didn't you?"

A hesitant pause, then: "Yes."

"This doesn't disprove either of your theories, of course. It's just as likely the bite marks came from a desperate straggler with no relation to the case otherwise. However, if the killer and cannibal are one and the same, this mission may prove far more dangerous than you'd expect." His hands folded in prayer, he says, "May the Netjeru protect you, Wolf & Coyote."


Sylvester wakes up to the faint sound of singing. Rubbing his eyes, he exits his room and plods downstairs to the ground floor. The delicious smells of bacon, eggs, and coffee tickle his nose, perking him up slightly. He looks over to the open entryway into the kitchen. A fluffy monochrome tail sashays to the rhythm of the song as the bacon sizzles. The cook turns around, revealing a beautiful set of pink eyes on a cute skunk's face. Anne. "Breakfast is ready!" she announces.

"You're awfully sprightly this morning," Sylvester comments.

"Well, after what happened last night, I felt this is the least I can do to lighten the mood." She hands him a plate with eggs and bacon arranged to resemble a smiley face. A typical sort of presentation, but one that doesn't fail to bring a bit of joy in the morning. "By the way, I haven't seen Pepé at all today. Do you know where he might be?"

Sylvester thinks back to the previous night's events. After Anne fainted in his arms, he drove her over to his house to let her recover while he checked up on the kids. Pepé, Junior and Charles' babysitter for the night, was apprehensive about Anne and kept his distance from her. "He likely left last night. Things have been crazy with everything that's been happening, so he would want to stick close to home."

Her face contorts in dismay. "Oh, well, that's a shame. I was hoping to talk with him about something." She smiles warmly. "But it's not that urgent. For now, I'd like to spend more time with you and the kids. How about we go to a park or–"

DING DONG!

Sylv rushes to answer the door. Standing at the door is a stern-faced German Shepherd in a police uniform. "Officer Shepherd, good morning!" he nervously greets the visitor. He can already guess what's going to happen next.

"Morning, Mr. Pussycat. I've been told that you were at Heavenly Road the night of the murder. Is that correct?"

"Yes, at the Fête Céleste."

"Sorry to interrupt your morning like this, but I'm going to need you two to come to the station with me ASAP. We need you to testify as witnesses." He looks over the cat's shoulder, catching a glimpse of the skunk doe from afar. "Is Ms. Anne Toilette home with you?"

"Y-yeah. She was my date last night."

His serious expression turns dark as he says, "I hate to tell you this, but your girlfriend is under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Sophia Silk."


How did I go from trying to bust a huge trafficking ring to babysitting a couple of kits? Ralph wonders as he drives across the North Quarter. Reflected in the rearview mirror are Junior and Charles, chatting and giggling. If only Wile was here with him; he seems to get along well with children. At least George makes for good company, if nothing else.

"I'm not sober enough for this," George mutters, slumped against the window. "Can't we drop 'em off at a daycare or something?"

"Just bear it with me a bit longer. Once all this is over, we'll go to the Rockin' Cock later tonight for drinks. Deal?"

He smirks. "Deal."

The GPS' robotic voice cues Ralph to turn left into the parking lot of a building shaped like a block of Swiss cheese. "Here we are, Cheese E. Sneezer's!"

Junior bursts out, "Cheese E. Sneezers!" The kids hop out of the car and head for the entrance. "Hey Charlie, do they have Cheese E. in Québec?"

Charles peeks through the window, enamored by the flashing lights and colorful decór. "We do, but I've never been to one before. Tata says it's too expensive."

"Well, today's your lucky day, kid!" Ralph leads the group inside, where Charles can see for himself the full scale of the restaurant.

On the farthest end, animal animatronics perform on a stage before an audience of diners–mostly parents and very young children. Adjacent to the dining area is the "Fun Zone", a playground of arcade games and a ceiling-bound maze of colorful overhead tubes. The sights, sounds, and smells all merge into a sensory overload of excitement and wonder.

After getting their admission stamps, George goes to find an empty table while Ralph takes the kids to buy tokens. When he brought them over to the register, he did not have the intention of getting involved with the facility in any way. But as he observes the back wall full of gizmos and goodies, a strange idea starts to take form. "Gimme another set of those tokens! I'm playing, too."


Tokens in hand, Junior and Charles rush over to the Fun Zone. Junior scans the area and spots a dinosaur-themed light gun game with Cretaceous Reservation Revival slathered across its side. "Ooh, this one's my favorite!" They approach the arcade machine, a large-screened cabinet with two colored guns wired to the front. He feeds it a token and picks up the blue gun. "The gameplay is super-simple: you just aim the cursor at the zombie dinosaurs and pull the trigger. If you run out of bullets, you can reload by shooting at the lower edge of the screen."

The buck picks up the red gun next to Junior and they start playing. Unlike the console games his friends play, this one does not require learning button and joystick commands. One button, one shot. Bam! Dead. He likes this game already.

"Wow, you're really good at this," Junior compliments him.

Focused on the game, he simply says, "Thanks," and fires at the virtual monster heading towards Junior.

After a half hour of rail shooter fun, they finish the final level, and the machine spits out a long, snaking trail of tickets.

"Regardez, we're rich!" Charles shouts with glee.

"And that's just the start." He points at a netted basketball game with a pair of hoops. "We can both get tickets by playing–double the rewards!"

They make their way to the hoops when an obstacle suddenly impedes their progress. Standing in their way is a smug-faced mastiff pup much larger than either of them, crossed arms and puffed-up chest to make himself appear larger. Directly behind him is his lackey, a chihuahua who acts tougher than he looks.

"These hoops are ours," the mastiff asserts. "Go play somewhere else, vermin."

Junior stomps his foot and stares the mastiff in the eyes. "They're not your hoops, they're everyone's, including us."

The chihuahua cuts in. "We run the Fun Zone, and our rules state no vermin allowed." He jabs a finger at Charles. "'Specially not walking stink bombs like him!"

The young skunk's eyes grow watery, but he rubs them before any tears fall out. When he looks up at the wannabe guard dogs, his face is contorted in rage and his tail is standing upright. "You can make fun of me all you want, but don't you bring Sylvester into this. You mess with him, and this 'stink bomb' will blow his fuse and take everyone with him!"

Everyone else steps back instinctively. Even though he had never seen Pepé use his spray, Junior knows better than to get within the range of a threatened skunk. "Charlie, stop!" His words fall on deaf ears, as his friend continues to approach the bullies.

Once they're backed into a corner, Charles closes in on the bigger pup, wearing a visage that Junior is certain he will see in his nightmares. "You think you're so tough now, but have you ever experienced true fear?" Then he releases his sulfurous spray…


"Terror struck Heavenly Road last night as the Repo Man takes another life! The victim–not yet identified–was killed gruesomely and presumably cannibalized, according to detectives at the scene. Detective Bloodhound states–"

CLICK.

"It's a dog-eat-dog world out there–"

CLICK.

"Up next: The sensational journey of the Donner Party–"

Wile turns off the overhead television and tosses the remote aside. This is bullshit! He flops backwards, his head hitting the barely-filled pillow. Staring up at the speckled white ceiling, his mind wanders in a repetitive, circular pattern, like a hamster running in an exercise wheel.

I killed my father. Dad is dead. That body looked like him. Stop thinking about him stop thinking about him stop thinking about him stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking I can't stop thinking–

A speck of turquoise shimmers among the white. A turquoise bead and blue and brown feathers. Hanging around a coyote's neck…

"Mum?"

He blinks. Looming over him from his bedside is a coyote… or rather, the shadow of one. Their fur is black, with dark grey spilling from their muzzle down their frontside. Snow white freckles dot their snout like stars, and their curious eyes are an eerie pale blue. They don't look like any coyote he's ever seen, let alone his mother, yet there is an air about them that reminds him of her.

The black coyote smiles. "I could be if you want." Their androgynous voice is as ambiguous as the rest of their appearance. "I consider all coyotes my children. Including you, Wilder Ethelbert Coyote."

He flinches. Not since the loss of his parents had he ever heard anyone speak his name in full. It's embarrassing. It's painful. It reminds him of Dad, who named him after his great-great-grandfather. "Who are you? What are you?"

The surrounding area fluctuates between light and darkness. He tenses up. Are the lights not working or…?

"I don't tie myself to any name. But if you must call me something, call me Mai. As for what I am…" Inexplicably, the room turns to complete blackness, with Mai's eyes and freckles as the sole fragments of light. "…I'll let you figure that one out."

Wile's hands start to shake. This is no normal coyote. This is some sort of specter or demon, here to consume his soul. This is–

"May I ask you for a favor?"

"If you'll spare my soul, I will."

Mai laughs. "An acceptable exchange. Now tell me, child: what do you know about catching hares?"


Ralph is the first to smell something wrong. It's not particularly strong, but his olfactory senses could catch the sulfurous odor. Skunk spray.

Around him, he can hear screaming. The diners and employees, previously docile, are now raving and scrambling about. Some have resorted to violence–towards themselves, strangers, and even loved ones. Slowly, everything starts changing. Surrounding Sapients transform into incomprehensible monstrosities. The colorful interior darkens to a rusted, blood-covered shadow of itself. Voices and music distort into a ghoulish cacophony of whispers and screams. This is no mere skunk spray: this is the scent of Hell itself.

"…alph. Ralph!"

He snaps out of it and turns around. "George?" A shocked gasp escapes from his lips.

The Basset hound he knows and once loved is a shambling mess of rotting flesh and maggots. He blinks, and briefly gets a glimpse of his non-zombie self before it disappears. "We gotta go," George says while grabbing his arm. "If we stay here another second, there's no telling what'll happen."

Ralph wrests himself free. "Charles and Junior are still here somewhere. I have to find them." He puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine, I promise."

The zombie dog is hesitant, but concedes. "You got five minutes. If you're not out by then, I'm dragging you out myself."

They part ways, and Ralph delves deeper into the Fun Zone. The terrible odor is nigh-overpowering, but faintly he can still catch a whiff of the kits' recent presence. The scent trail leads him to the tube maze's entrance, a netted structure escalating to the ceiling. He climbs the net and slips into the opening. Fortunately, the hellish smell has not spread to the tubes, allowing him a moment to regain his senses.

Traversing the claustrophobic passages, he calls out the kits' names. It doesn't take long for one of them to respond.

"We're over here!" Junior's voice echoes.

He takes a right and continues following his voice until he hits a dead end. The two are huddled in a cube-shaped structure with a convex window. Charles, ashamed, avoids looking Ralph in the eye. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Wolf. I couldn't control myself…"

"We'll talk about it later. Right now, we gotta get out of here."


Outside the Cheese E. Sneezer's, George anxiously waits. He checks his watch. Five minutes have passed. He doesn't hear sirens, either. He tugs at his bandana, ready to rush in, when the front window shatters. Through the opening left behind, he can spot Ralph holding onto one of the dining chairs. Ralph, you fucking madman.

With the kits on his back, he climbs out of the window, wincing in pain as he steps on some glass shards. Once they're out on the lot, he puts them down and whips out his car keys. "C'mon, we're leaving."

Junior protests, "But Ralph, what about–"

"It's better if they don't know we're here."

"Security might say otherwise," George is quick to point out.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there." He unlocks the car doors. "Right now, I'd like to avoid getting on Sylvie's side. His day's pretty bad as it is."


AUTHOR'S NOTE

Heyo, I'm back again! Man, I've been on a roll lately, haven't I? Which is funny cus of how often I've thought/griped about having writer's block and the recent chapters feeling a bit messy. Well, whether this is one of those "messy" chapters or not, I did my best with keeping things in order while spicing things up.

Charles got himself into some trouble, didn't he? :3c Anyways, during the early development phases of his character arc, I knew two things for sure: 1) he's going to have a "cursed spray", and 2) he's going to unleash it in front of Junior or one of the more notable characters. His initial ability was quite different from the final product-it was an acidic spray that melts through various types of matter, including flesh, but it doesn't affect him due to his preternatural properties. It wasn't until very recently that I decided to change it into something else, mainly because I came up with the idea of it having similar effects/properties to his father's spray pre-antidote. That said, what happens to him down the line is something that's changed quite often and even now is changing in my headspace. (Obviously I'm not going to spoil what it is, lol.)

Uploading in the middle of the night is a risky venture, so there's a not-insignificant possibility I might have to go back to make some alterations. Ah, I'm sure you're used to it by now. So until next time, I hope you enjoy the chaos!

8/20/2022 UPDATE: Slight additions/edits to a particular moment early in the first scene. I did these to clear up a minor oversight without interrupting the flow of the story.