A/N: thank you guys for your input on Karla. It's good to get feedback from the readers to ensure they're reading what they want to be reading. I see someone responded to the research I usually GOOGLE for chapters, like just how far of a commute by truck, distance and time-wise, to get to Prague and what it would be called on the Republic road signs. Yadda. Also, I'd like to thank all of you ridiculously hot female readers. It's inspiring to know that the ladies who read my stories have porcelain faces that would make Barbie turn green with envy. I wrote this chapter's beginning to "The Moonlight Sonata." Wolfgang Mozart rocks like that. Dark, slow and somber. The second part, starting with Carmelita got Bon Jovi and the fight scenes got Daft Punk. Did any one notice that I had Bentley driving a clutch and yet he's a paraplegic? Oops. Plothole. No neurotherapy involved, lol. Let's just say his legs are beyond the capacity to carry him but his feet and ankles have some slight measure of mobility still …… Pro!

Chapter 10: Civil War Politics

When the structure weakens and the center cannot hold, the bottom drops out, leaving a gaping hole. No matter how much work you put into climbing out of the hole and no matter how close you are to the top, if you relax for even a moment, you stand the chance to tumble back to the bottom. All your hard work starts from the beginning and the hole, the most uncaring object of all, swallows you up once more.

This was an endless cycle of repetitive, overly perpetuated loops that became the first logical, conscious thought of Clockwerk, rebuilt. The eyes began to glow, shifting slightly from left to right with the softest of whirring noises. The lenses retracted until the skunk's visage came into focus.

"You realize that you cannot exist without me to rebuild you," Steven said softly. "I've not finished your body yet. I've rebuilt you from owl to machine, a very long time ago and with modern technology creating assembly line parts, I've designed a better you, this time. You remember Sire? Blink once for 'no', blink twice for 'yes'."

The orange-hued optical manifold closed one slow time, after a pause, it closed a second time, slowly, then re-opened. Steven gave a slight smile. "He's still in charge. I'm glad to see the hard drive transfer of data preserved your past memories. I've updated your brain, because now we live in a world where I can build something to co-process your thoughts, instead of simply preserving your brain inside of a metal body. Do you comprehend thus far?"

The mechanical eyes, sitting upon the workstation table blinked twice again. Steven nodded slowly. "Sire… Hath he not ordered thee to do that which thou didst not wish, quite often?" The skunk spoke the way he once spoke, when originally building Clockwerk, so many centuries ago. His modern day speaking may have evolved but he carried his past with him, keeping it close to his heart.

"When Sire makes such use of said abilities, he may not hold power over thee or thine, however, he holdth power over legions; striking him down becomes impossible," Steven mused softly, adding, "Furthermore, vexing such a man as he? At the cost of our enemies, befriending such a man was in mine interest. Know, thou, that thy days as a pawn… they are numbered, my prince."

Clockwerk, in pieces, listened intently. Steven's promise of bringing him to the other end of the metaphorical Chessboard of life was a truly sweet pledge. Steven continued, "Then the two of us, we are in an accordance, yes my dear boy?" He remembered Clockwerk as a young man; an Owl with ambition. The past never died until the day it became forgotten. "Thine heart shall beat true again. Not only with hate, but with empathetic understanding of thy enemies. Know their reasons for their every move. Know them and thou may crush thy foes. Smite them or be cleft in twain yet once more. Thy survival is upon thy brow. Remember this well, for thy days as Lazarus may be at a conclusion. War may take mine life in the near future."

Steven lifted the eyes into his paws, drawing them close to his chest for a moment before carrying them from the bench to a wheel cart. The magnetically shielded processing component was eased onto the cart behind the eyes. The self-recycling power cell, state of the art and completely different than the self-winding clockwork components that ran his body for nearly a millennium, was eased into a section of the cart behind the eyes and braincase.

"Know, thou, that Sire contacted Reaper?" Steven continued the conversation with Clockwerk's internal components, while loading them from the wheel cart to a makeshift elevator that lifted him up to the empty head casing. There would be welding and bolting to be done, so that he could last through the test of time, incase the builder didn't survive the upcoming war. "I have foreseen a mighty clash; thou canst not be allowed to parish; mine life's work, greatest achievement. Karla Chintzy plays both sides for the middle. I fear she holds an ulterior motive beyond mine knowledge, Clockwerk. Know that I hardly remember thy name as a Mortal Owl, I do apologize."

The elevator lifted the man upwards, carrying his gear with him. He moved up into the head, hooking the welding tool upon his belt, starting with the eyes. It was the first component. The brain and battery were attached to a cable that would go in, next. And now, time was of the essence, for everyone.

Carmelita drew her fist back, ready to strike Karla across the face if it came to that. "I've lost my job and quite possibly my career over your actions. My service and tenure, my office? I'm a good Inspector; I've solved murders that have been under investigation for years before they were handed to me!" She exclaimed. "That job is my life," She growled softly. "And if you take him from me, I'll have lost the two things I hold most dear to me, by the Maker, you'd better stay away from that man," She warned the half-breed Felox.

Karla set her jaw firmly, lowering her eyes for a moment before glancing away. "I'm not interested in Sly out of Obsession. I respect your passionate fixation; just don't let it consume you so much that it turns into mania."

"And I don't trust you, Karla," Carmelita said plainly. "I think you're in league with this Sire Guy. You can't say no to him; you can't not serve him. You're his puppet, whether you serve willingly or not."

"You were a puppet of your government. You've been freed," Karla snapped, narrowing her eyes at the vixen. The two were about to go toe-to-toe in another moment, quickly allowing their emotions to escalate. "Tell me why you obsess for a man you're supposed to capture? Physical attraction? If you can't put looks beyond your job, you're nothing more than a lusty skank, consumed by one of the seven deadly sins."

"You don't understand our past," Carmelita mused, her fist still quivering; she was ready to unleash it, any moment. "I'll strike you down in a moment, Half-breed. We shared a great deal together, as Constable Cooper. He helped me steal the guns from my enemies and we would do busts together that earned me critical praise from the Chief." Carmelita sighed softly then told the other woman, "That may be over now, but Sly and I attended the police ball together, we were incredible agents, together."

"I care not about your history," Karla grumbled softly. "He has something I need. The sooner I get it, the sooner I'll be out of your hair. You've lost everything; don't lose your male, too."

Carmelita narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "Back down, woman. I may have lost everything but I'm not dead." She scowled, half-storming out of the room for a moment, pacing through the doorway and back.

Karla debated for several minutes to throw something else into Carmelita's face. Where she'd decided, in the past, not to do it, she decided now that it had to be done. "If you think your nightmares about Clockwerk are over because you're here, safe with Sly, then you are wrong. Mark my words: Steven is creating a Clockwerk to give the hardened soul nightmare-scarring for life." She then vanished, leaving not a trace of her form behind.

Carmelita paused in mid step, glancing back to where Karla stood, previously. She snarled softly, causing a curl to come to her upper lip, which peeled back to show a gleaming hint of fang. "Bitch," She muttered under her breath, trying not to attract attention from the other room, where Sly and Murray were doing a physical warm-up together.

The truck rolled to a stop. Bentley and Penelope watched as the Wolfdog soldiers moved to surround the half-ton pickup truck. "This could be bad," Bentley muttered, reaching back and opening the window to the back of the truck's cab. Light frost had already covered the bags and gear. While it had never undergone a frozen field test, Bentley knew it was his only option. Penelope helped him, knowing that he was struggling as it was, using his legs on the clutch and driver peddles; climbing through the back window would be three times the chore.

Bentley pulled himself up to the window using his hands. Penelope placed her paws at the bottom of his shell to heave him forward, through the square window that took him to the truck bed, where the snow-covered bags laid, waiting. He gripped the gear, dragging his belly across the light coating of frost that had collected in the truck's bedding.

Suddenly a gunshot was heard, ripping through the front windshield and lancing out through the back. The glass cracked and a few tiny shards fluttered down, around his body, repelled by his shell. Due to the laminated film inside the windshield, neither the front nor back window completely crumbled.

Penelope dropped down beneath the dashboard. Another gunshot slammed into the front of the truck, causing the airbag to deploy on the driver side, which sounded like a drummer cracking a rim-shot on his snare, as loud as he possibly could. The bag deployed at its usual 210 miles per hour, filling the truck with a layer of thin dust.

The white-furred mouse coughed softly over the powdery dust, covering her mouth with a paw. Bentley glanced back over his shoulder but he knew he had to keep going. He snatched the drawstrings of one bag, working the knot open. It loosened enough to reach his paw into the bag but not to get it all the way open. Finally, growing frustrated, he reached into the bag and groped about until he found a control panel attached to the object within.

Finally, his fingertips grazed the button then the turtle quickly drew his arms and head into his shell. His legs no longer retracted the same way, but they were out of the way. The bag began to tear and a set of metallic legs began to erupt from the bag. Another gunshot ripped through the truck, slamming into the object, which caused the round to deflect out into the open air.

Another ricochet 'tinged' off of the metallic legs that lifted to their proper size. He pulled himself towards it, pressing a toggle switch on the ankle. It half collapsed and he pulled himself into the cradle at the top of it. Snatching the toggle switch from the ankle and pulling it into his shell, on the end of a wire, Bentley started the lifting process.

His body, shell and all, was lifted up and the legs became an addition to his lower body, acting as if it were a replacement. Another gunshot ripped into the cold night air, piercing out against the dullness of a frost enshrouded world. Bentley leaned forward, placing his tiny hand against the top of the truck roof, then the metallic legs kicked over, as if hurdling the rest of the truck and landing on the snow-covered ground, directly in front of the truck's headlights. His shadow was cast out, standing long and tall, reaching all the way to the attackers causing the blockade.

The gun firing stopped for a moment as the 6 men gave pause to size up this new threat. Bathed in the shadow of Bentley, standing inside of his metal leg contraption, most of them were actually awed into silence. The tortoise made his approach, taking the silence as his chance for attack.

One of the Wolfdog's opened fire again. Bentley's left leg, before he even thought to move, came out from underneath of him, literally kicking the bullet from its intended course. The redirected lead round slammed into the snow, causing a burst of powder to splash about the impact zone.

Two more shots were fired and Bentley's body was jostled, feeling the legs do a sudden double kick, knocking both bullets from the air, one of them having been returned in the direction it came. To Bentley's surprise, the bullet took a gun from the paw of one of the gunners. It obviously impressed the attackers because they took a recess from their offensive, once more.

One of the Wolfdogs, the one who had his paw nearly taken off, knelt down in the snow, putting his paw into the ice. Another one knelt besides him, to help. It was obvious that they were an efficient team of Mercenaries, trained in a military style of operation procedure.

Bentley continued forward, fueled by his new legs. He now stood 7 inches taller than her normally stood, running towards his enemies at full speed. The legs extended, vaulting him forward into a loose somersault. He now towered 3 feet above the Wolfdogs, with overly lengthy legs. One of the offenders lifted their gun but Bentley kicked it clean out of the man's hand.

He lifted his other leg, at the knee, which retracted at the ankle, becoming shorter in length. It then extended once more, so that he was able to literally step on another attacker's gun, stomping it out of the man's paw, and into the snow. Followed by that maneuver, the Turtle reflexively used his brain signals, sent through his spine, into his leg, to cause the Metal Leg to rush upwards. It knocked a third Wolfdog back, from a swift kick to the chin.

Bentley shifted his shoulders, instinctually using the legs to pivot. They did the rest, swinging one leg out, which caught two other attackers in their heads with a powerful roundhouse. It knocked two more men to the ground, leaving only the man who was initially injured with a bullet in his paw. Bentley leaned forward, grabbing that man by his head-fur, bringing up a metal knee into his muzzle.

The man was knocked flat to the ground and Bentley responded by reaching up to push his glasses up over his beak-shaped nose, then sneezing. Such a hardcore display of action attacks, followed by such a nerdy sneeze and readjustment of his glasses had one of the remaining Wolfdog soldiers, balking in confusion. How did his friends just get whipped by a nerd?

Within another moment, all 6 of them were laid out, flat on the ground. He dashed back to the truck, leaving square footprints in the snow, in his wake. The remote control that he'd wire-fed into his shell had now been plugged into his skin, temporarily integrating itself with his body. He stepped into the truck, to Penelope's surprise, without help.

She peered up over the dashboard, now that the shooting had stopped, and blinked, seeing half a dozen men, laying flat in the snow. "You'd have taken the convention by storm in that; how did you deflect the bullets?" She asked, blinking at the way they retracted in size, to allow him to comfortably sit in the truck's driver seat.

The turtle blushed with a slight chuckle. "It's built with a high end, low-bottlenecking processor. It has the ability to second guess and react. I've not had a chance to test it very much and I'm really scared that someone will have the ability to confuse it and it'll put me on my butt, but so far so good!" Bentley explained in that nasal voice he was ever so famous for.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that!" Penelope exclaimed, reaching to help him push the remains of his post-deployed airbag beneath the steering wheel, so that he could climb into the truck. "I've brought one of my Remote Control gadgets for use if things get sticky but it's not every day that I have bullets flying at me. Let's hurry!"

"Driving a clutch should be a breeze with auto-intuitive mechanical legs," Bentley said, reaching for the shifter knob.

"Did you even break a sweat, fighting them off?" Penelope asked, still shocked at his incredible display of bionic-augmentation combat.

"N…not really, no. I was a little worried about being that close to a bunch of guns," Bentley told her, adding, "I'm not the kind of guy who runs into combat like that and it was a real thrill," he said with an awkward chuckle, reaching up to push the glasses back up his nose again.

Clockwerk was more digital, less analogue, now. His hulking frame was now undergoing heavy duty welding work, creating his upper body's firm frame, now. Steven was halfway inside the gut, working on ensuring that nothing would shift, ever. Clockwerk lifted his right arm, flickering his talons in front of his eyes.

An internal speaker system relayed conversation between himself and Steven. It's rare he held conversation to begin with. "Killing Sire helps us how?" Clockwerk asked, trying to ascertain his re-creator's motives, to see if he should pick and choose sides or veer away from this building interior war, all together.

"He's using you as a pawn and while I am his closest friend," Steven said, sighing softly, "I, too, am nothing more than a mere pawn. We must stand for ourselves. We cannot allow ourselves to be run about like soldiers. We're immortal; we should extend ourselves and our infinince (A/N: I made that word up, from infinite. Aren't I clever? j/k) into world changing abilities, like politics and shifting society to our whim like the ebb and flow of a tide."

"I don't quite see the world in shades of gray like you," Clockwerk mused softly. "It's not so much world conquest on my mind, as having my nitch in the black market, running things without bringing enough attention to myself to be brought down with a nuclear bomb."

"If you had aspirations of World Domination," Steven said, pausing to quickly concentrate on a spot-weld, then going on to say, "It would have happened hundreds of years ago, when you were the only technology of the time. Instead, your simple mind of the past had only one driving motivator: vengeance. Revenge amounts to the weak minded, my friend." The skunk placed his paws on the service hatch, pulling himself from within Clockwerk's upper body. "Remember, if they come into the room, close your eyes. Let them think you're not ready yet."

"Very well," Clockwerk muttered, closing off his interior speaker system. Just as the door opened at the other end of the lab, the mechanical Owl's eyes fluttered shut and Steven sat up on a board leading into the hatch, rubbing his paws into a cloth sham.

Sire walked into the room, coming through the rows of metallic shelves that held machine parts, coming to stand before the hulking upper half of Clockwerk, which had been assembled, now touching the ceiling and the ground, evenly. "Where's his bottom half?" Sire finally asked, after taking in the splendid glory of the massive upper half.

"Boxed in pieces. It won't take forever, I assure you," Steven said, sliding down the board and standing up. His large, fluffy tail rose up behind his back, curling at the tip, behind the back of his head. His bright, intelligent eyes bore into Sire's presence, looking the lion over for a moment. "You've cleaned up since being attacked, haven't you? Splendid. Would you like to help?" Steven already knew how Sire would answer before asking the question but it was all psychology at this point.

"Unfortunately, my friend," Sire said, looking down a bit. Steven snuck a grin, looking away to that Sire wouldn't see it. "I am unable at this point. I can't lower my guard by distractions. When lives are at stake, one must be on their toe-claws, you know?"

"Oh, quite so," Steven nodded in agreement. "Forgive me, I should have thought of that and not asked; I realize you're quite busy."

Sire smiled awkwardly. The skunk was supposed to be a genius, after all. "I'm sure you're just tired from being so busy, I know I'm working you pretty hard, Steven."

"Well I'd better get back to work," The skunk said with a smile, leaning to pat Sire's cheek softly. "See you soon, my British Friend."

"See you soon, my American Counterpart," Sire said, walking across the room, pausing to glance over his shoulder, first at Steven, then to Clockwerk's silent, hulking frame, still partially in pieces.

Once Sire left the room, Steven turned back to his re-creation and shook his head slowly. "That idiot is the tired one," the skunk said, narrowing his eyes. "He knows I have a hyper-kinetic metabolism and I don't require sleep unless I'm just that bored."

"Obviously, he's in error. Let's hope he's not playing us for fools in the same respect. I've thought about this; I'll back you. From what I understand, Sire still wants the stupid Diamond from Cooper. I just want Cooper dead, this diamond means nothing."

"Indeed," Steven replied, crawling back into Clockwerk's belly with the welding gun and a pair of goggles. "It will begin soon enough. You should now have full mobility of both of your arms. Use your talons and tear off the top of those crates. I want you to assemble your legs while I finish this conduit casing."

Carmelita sat down on a beat up sofa, drawing an old wool blanket up over herself. She was exhausted from lack of sleep as of lately; Sly suggested she rest but she was reluctant at first. Karla was on the first floor, using her ability of teleportation to rearrange various objects. Murray was relaxing in a way that only Murray could relax… he was dancing to a 'borrowed' Ipod, while Sly was pacing. The weather was getting worse and the Binoc-u-com was still out of range to communicate with Bentley.

"They should have been here by now," Carmelita overheard Sly say to himself, just outside the door to the room she was in. The lights were out and she shifted her weight, trying to get comfortable on the sofa, but the wool blanket was making it that much more difficult.

She kept her eyes shut, trying to will herself to sleep. Her brain was swirling with worry that things would go wrong or that she'd lost her job. Worst of all, she was afraid of having another nightmare if she did sleep. But eventually, her exhaustion made it possible.

Carmelita Montoya Fox stood on a dark field filled with ashes from one end to the other. Skeletons and rotting flesh were all that remained of the various bodies that were strewn about, all around her. She was alone. Or was she?

"Hello?" She called out; did she call out in her sleep or here, in this dream? She was face to face with Clockwerk and her heart stopped. She paused for a moment to gather her courage, then said, in an accusing voice, "You've done all of this haven't you?"

"This is the land of dead villains, Inspector," Clockwerk said in a voice that seemed unfamiliar. "We did this to ourselves. Do you see anyone you recognize among the dead?" His words made little sense to her but she glanced around, anyhow.

One of the bodies belonged to Donovan Loupe. She blinked her eyes then glanced back at Clockwerk, who looked quite stoic. The emotionless metal owl turned to look back at her, as if staring straight through her. She shook her head slowly, "Why have you tried to kill Sly every time I lay my head down?"

"I'll do it again and again," Clockwerk said with a sneer of promise. "That's what it means to be someone's Mortal Enemy, fool. However, look around and notice that this is a battlefield of villains against villains. Brothers of the dagger who betrayed only one another under the blade of their own knives. How you arrived here, I know not."

"Are you the real Clockwerk, in my head?" She asked.

"I am that which you cannot comprehend: Part of your darker side, your fears and your inner hate. This is how you personify me, little woman." The hulking metallic bird folded his winged arms, tapping a sharp talon against his left bicep.

"Okay, so if you're not the real Clockwerk, you aren't killing the real Sly Cooper and this is all a dream and I can wake up and you'll be gone," She said.

Clockwerk knelt to her level, gazed right into her face, and then smirked. "I've misjudged your concept of intelligence, mortal woman."

"I'm an inspector, not a meter maid," She snapped, angrily. "I may be emotional at times, but it doesn't mean I'm incapable of using my brain, you faux pretense."

Clockwerk lifted one hand and shoved her back. She fell to the floor, her eyes widening in shock that he was able to attack her, in her own dream. That was a first, ever. She blinked at him but upon flitting her eye lashes, he had disappeared in an instant. She glanced around herself and realized she was now alone, after all.

Her gaze lowered and her heart nearly stopped. Sire's empty, accusing glare looked up at her but he was long-dead. The flesh and meat had rotted off of his body, leaving only the head, which she recognized easily.

"Hello?" She called, half expecting the head to begin speaking to her. It didn't. Despite this being her dream, she still didn't have control over it. She knew she couldn't let it control her.

"Carmelita?" A voice cried out. She recognized it. She couldn't place the voice, but she knew it was urgent. The vixen quickly got to her feet then dashed off to follow the voice, which called out once more. Whose voice was it and why was it so familiar? Why couldn't she recall it? She didn't have those answers… she just knew she had to hurry.

"Faites-l'amour moi, Carmelita!" Called the voice. It made her blush furiously. It repeated the phrase, asking her to make love in her native language of French.

"Where are you?" She called out. Was it Sly? If so, why couldn't she place his voice.

"Où êtes-vous? Svp, aidez-moi!" It called in reply to her inquiry, first repeating her question back to her, then crying for help. She stopped running in the middle of the field of dead bodies and looked around, trying to listen with her ears. "Venez, sommeil sur mon côté, Carmelita Fox."

She blinked at the request, trying not to blush again. "Sleep on your side?" She asked, repeating the statement back in the form of a question. "What do you mean, ON YOUR SIDE?"

"Je suis un romantique désespéré. Je t'aime. Carmelita, Je t'aime!" The voice cried, telling her that he was a hopeless romantic, then swearing his love to her, not once, but twice.

"You love me?" She shouted incomprehensively. "WHO are you!" She demanded to the empty field of dead bodies.

The reply came almost immediately, telling her, "L'amour ne vous trahit jamais. Je ne vous trahirai jamais." She paused, hearing the voice. She slowly sank to her knees, shaking softly. The French was spoken with an elegance and refined dialect, telling her that Love never betrays her and that He, whoever he was, would never betray her, implying to her that this person truly did love her.

"Sly? Is that you, Sly?" She finally asked to the field of dead bodies.

"Confiance dans moi. Je ne vous nuirai jamais. Donnez-moi votre coeur," The voice asked of her in a pleading voice. The words took her by surprise, causing her jaw to drop. Her lower lip quivered gently and her heart beat harder in her chest. He asked her to have trust and confidence in him. He promised to never harm her and finally, asked for her heart to be given to him, openly. She suddenly sat up in bed, wide awake. She simply blushed, looking around the dark room. Sly was nowhere to be found. She was alone. A few hours had passed, according to her wrist watch. Astoundingly, she felt VERY well rested.

A/N: Okay so I wrote a lot today, at work. I usually don't write two chapters of the same story, back to back, and because I'm about to start driving 550 miles to see my second son, tonight, I didn't actually RE READ this story… so if there are ANY inconsistencies with wording or I put the word "the" in two times in a row, or something stupid like that… MY BAD. Hehe.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy Holidays! See you guys after the weekend!

-Kit