In a street between North and Northeast sits a colorful establishment. Decorated with rainbows and pride flags, the Rockin' Rooster–humorously known to its owner and regulars as the Rockin' Cock–is the first and famous queer nightclub in the city. The interior is roomy, with a significant amount of floor space dedicated to stage and dance performances. Tonight the club is thriving, with Sapients of every gender and orientation drinking, dancing, and chatting the night away.
George takes a seat in his usual spot in front of the bar. "Gimme a scotch, Rocky," he says to the bartender.
Rocky, a transmasculine rooster dressed in a rainbow-colored vest and thick hipster glasses, happily complies, passing a shot to the hound. "How's your new job as guard dog going?"
"It ain't the most exciting, but it pays the bills. Sylvester invited me over for Christmas dinner." He shrugs. "I got nothin' better to do for the holidays, so I agreed."
"Sounds like you're enjoying yourself."
"The kid's alright. Doesn't get himself into much trouble. His new friend, on the other hand…"
Rocky considers asking for elaboration, but his attention is piqued by a new face entering the facility. "Welcome to the Rockin' Cock, mate! Don't be shy, we're all pals here. What'll you have?"
The stranger, donned in a hooded coat, approaches the counter. He removes his hood, revealing the crimson face of a slender, long-nosed canine with feathered ears and red eyes. "Just water, thanks," he says. "I'm also looking for someone named George. I was told I can find him here."
"Well, you're in luck! He's right over here."
He glances at George, then sits next to him. Rocky hands him a glass of water and leaves to tend to another customer.
It takes George a quick whiff to realize something smells fishy. "So who'd you steal that coat from?"
"Some random straggler on the street. He was almost dead anyway, so I put him out of his misery."
Glancing downward, the Basset hound notices the spiked ends of a beastly tail poking out from under the coat. He smells no blood, ruling out any chance of stabbing. Instead he smells a faint saltiness from the ocean, suggesting he came in from the docks recently. "You don't look like any dog I've seen 'round here. Where'd you come from?"
"Egypt." When he says it, his voice emits a mixture of emotions: nostalgia, loneliness, and apprehension. "I came here looking for an old friend. You happen to know about Lycopolis?"
"The foreign company working with ACME Corp? I've heard of it. If you're looking to meet with the boss, though, you're out of luck. Hardly anyone's seen the guy in person."
"Well, your little wolf friend seems to know him well. He even told me the hotel he's staying at."
Did he run into Ralph? What's that bastard doing there, anyway? George's eyes shift to the strange beast's tail and back to his face. "You say Wolfgang's an old friend of yours. How'd you know a guy like him?"
"It's a long story, but to make it short, we grew up in the same neighborhood. Wep–Wyatt and I were inseparable for a long time… until we were forced apart. Before we parted ways, I trusted him with something that's sacred to me. Now that I'm here, I would like it back."
"The hotel won't let you in with that getup."
"Who said I'll be using the front door?"
"That's not my point. You really like this guy, don'tcha? You're gonna want to look your best if you mean business. Wouldn't take much effort with your good looks." George does not consider feminine-looking dogs like them his type, but he cannot deny beauty when he sees it.
He inspects his reflection on the glass' surface. "Damn, I really need a makeover. But I don't have any money or items to trade."
"I can help with that." George calls over Rocky. "You said you're short-staffed for the holidays, right? This guy here's looking for a job. Think you can give him a spot?"
Rocky looks at the stranger. "Depends. What skills do you have?"
"I can throw a killer party," the red dog boasts. "And if anyone causes trouble, I can take them on."
He bursts out in squawking laughter. "Well, aren't you quite the funny man? Tell you what. Since you're new to these parts, I'll give you some on-the-job training. Once I get a better idea of your abilities, you can stay here permanently. How'd you like that?"
"Sounds perfect." Shaking the rooster's feathered hand, he says, "Seth al-Hadid at your service!"
"So that's how it is, isn't it?" Ralph sits across Wile at the dining table, a grim look on his face. "You think that by catching this roadrunner, you'll be able to expose ACME's nefarious schemes and take down its leader." He slams his palms against the surface. "Are you a damn idiot? What good will catching it do? You don't even have proof that it belongs to ACME."
"Think about it! If ACME was so desperate to have it back, it must be connected to something big. Like some kind of genetic experiment or–"
"Wiles, take off the tin foil hat and listen to me. Have you ever considered that maybe the bird isn't important at all?"
The coyote's defensive stance lowers. "It isn't…?"
"Maybe it was important at one point, but compared to everything else ACME's got up their sleeves, there's no longer a reason to pursue it." Softer, he says, "I'm sorry to say it, but you're chasing a red herring."
A silence lingers in the air. Slowly, the words start to register, and his hands tremble.
"So everything I've been doing all this time…" Wile storms off.
Ralph chases after him. "Wait, Wiles, I didn't mean–" The door slams shut in his face.
Officer Shepherd parks in front of the building, unlocking the passenger door for Pepé. "Deputy's sending a team to search La Moufette's belongings and property. If anything turns up, they'll let you know." He looks up at the moon peeking from behind the structure's peak. "Are you sure about this?"
Pepé bites his lip. "Is there any other choice? This is something only I can do."
"I see. Hurry back when you're done; we don't have all night."
He thanks the officer and exits the vehicle. Making way to the elevator, he frets over the inevitable fate of his son and what little power he has over the situation. Charles is going to be punished for something he didn't intend to do. Punished because of a power beyond his control.
Punished because I brought him into this cruel world.
He shakes the thought away. Deputy Sheepdog is a merciful man. He'll figure out a solution.
Stepping out of the lift, another thought strikes him. No. The root of all this is that power of his. And the only one who can cut to it is…
A hazy memory of his past self emerges from the depths of his psyche. His small hand wrote something on a page unfamiliar to him. A formula, one built upon that of Le Potion d'Amour, one which contained a key ingredient to reversing the curse he brought upon himself: ■■■■■ blood.
He takes the journal from his bag and opens it. Instinctively, he flips to a blood-stained section where, between Henri's final entries, a page was torn off. Unlike the others, the tear is minimal and meticulously done. Pepé, blinded by the despair in the written entries surrounding it, overlooked this detail on his first reading. Having noticed it now, he concludes that whoever tore this one out did not want it to be found. And if Henriette's word holds true, then the missing pages are…
Bugs steps out of the shower, drying himself off with the towel hanging nearby. With one blackened hand, he wipes the steam off the vanity mirror. As he dresses himself, he. Grabbing the gloves near the sink, he slips them on, his taloned fingertips rounding out inside the fabric's confines.
As he heads back to his office, Lola catches up to him. "Bugs, there's someone who wishes to see you. A striped skunk named Henri La Moufette."
His ears perk up. "My, my, what a surprising reunion. Send him in."
Inside the moonlit office, Pepé enters.
"Good evening, Dr. La Moufette. Come, take a seat."
His eyes glance at the chair lined with skunk fur, and a shudder creeps down his spine. "I'm fine with standing, thank you."
"It's been a while, hasn't it? You must want something from me, or else you wouldn't have come. Perhaps you're looking for these?" He displays the torn journal pages.
"Yes. My son is in danger, and I believe those notes may be the key to saving him." Hiding his hesitance, he adds, "Monsieur Bunny, I would like to join Project Acmetropolis."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Hello, readers! It really has been a while, hasn't it? Sorry for the long wait. The tl;dr version is that between work, games, and other IRL stuff, I got busy. More tragically, I had a pretty bad case of writer's block that I wasn't able to overcome until literally a couple of days ago. I'm uploading this chapter around midnight, so there's probably some mistakes in the writing or (especially) continuity.
While the rest of the chapter was hell to write, the opening scene was relatively easy. I've had the general concept in my head for a while, but wasn't sure if I should slip it into the main story or make it a side story. In the end, I chose the former, if only because I couldn't come up with anything else to break the 'block. Rocky isn't based on anyone specific, though I did have trans Youtuber Jackson Bird's voice in mind when conceptualizing him. I also pondered over the ways in which an anthropomorphic chicken could medically transition–a strange thing to ponder, I know. He's a minor character with no set design, so I don't mind if anyone decides to borrow him for their own personal projects (provided credit for the character idea is given). Really, any idea from this story can be borrowed or serve as inspiration, no matter how small.
It's late and I'm getting rather exhausted, so I'll cap it off here. I hope you enjoy this series' return and until next time, I'll see you later.
(An extra bit of trivia I forgot to add in my initial draft of these notes: I was listening to Mili's "Between Two Worlds" repeatedly while typing parts of this chapter, especially the scene with Ralph and Wile. I'm basically hooked on the song, so I expect there to be at least one reference to it somehow, somewhere. Obviously not a guarantee, but a forewarning in case it does happen, lol.)