Sly Cooper and the Amnesiac Tag-Along - Chapter 6 - Battered


"We could stay outside the van and let Murray race alone," Bentley suggested hopefully, desperate for any excuse to not be trapped inside the van like a sardine in a tin can.

"Think it through, man," Dougie said weakly, anxiously fumbling for a cigarette. "If we need to make an escape, we've got our getaway vehicle shooting around on a racing track without us inside it." She retrieved one and lit it in the hopes that it would ease her nerves. It didn't. She twirled the cigarette in her paw, trying to transfer her nervous energy into tiny hand movements. Bentley's unease grew the second he realised how rattled Dougie was getting, watching her get more and more fidgety as each second passed. He ached to comfort her, but had absolutely no idea how to go about it.

Unenthustiastically, Bentley nodded in agreement. "You're right. If Carmelita catches up, we have no chance of escaping her."

"It means we end up in a jail cell, and our chance to get Sly's book back is shot."

"And we can't afford for that to happen."

"Exactly. Besides... it's been kinda fun getting to know you," Dougie mumbled as she exhaled smoke, her heart fluttering. Maybe now's the time? she thought. I mean, anything could happen, don't want to die with regrets.

Bentley's heart skipped three beats as his mouth dried up. "Uh... really?" was all he could summon, immediately cursing how stupid he sounded.

"Yeah, really," Dougie said more confidently before taking another drag, closely examining Bentley as he bashfully pushed his glasses up his nose as she exhaled. "I've never met anyone as brilliant with tech as you." Awkwardly, she pushed a curl of hair out of her face, noticing the heat radiating from her cheek. Please don't be blushing, she silently pleaded with herself. Play it cool just this one time. She watched as Bentley's face slowly shifted from green to crimson and caught an amused smile playing across her lips. He muttered something about how there are probably people more technically competent than him in the world. "Perhaps," she replied, noticing her confidence grow with each compliment she gave, "but right now, I can count the number of people I know on one hand. Therefore, you are the most brilliant." She finished this off with a confident, flirty smirk and secretly enjoyed watching him have a visible meltdown, getting more and more flustered as he tried to string together something coherent.

"Not to interrupt your moment guys," a voice chirped up over their earpieces, "but what's going on down there?"

Dougie lost it.

"SLY, FOR THE LOVE OF F-"


It took ten minutes for Dougie to calm down and an extra fifteen before she would even speak to Sly. Brooding in the van, she listened to Bentley as he quickly recapped the situation to Sly, who in return gave an update of his own. He had made it to the main entrance of the casino, deducing that the giant fire hydrant at the top would be the place to find a bulldog. Unsuprisingly to the rabbit, this usual hub of bustling activity was completely deserted.

"Muggshot has run everyone out of town," Sly stated, tussling with his hair as he watched over the racetrack. Dobermans checking over engines, others with machine guns slung over their shoulders, smoking cigars.

"Word will get out," Dougie grumbled as she exited the van, "and the police will come to investigate soon enough."

"She speaks!" Sly shot playfully.

"Not talking to you," she muttered back.

"She's right, Sly," Bentley affirmed, getting back on track. "You'd better get moving into the casino, we'll get this race wrapped up."

"I'll start writing my will now," Dougie muttered sarcastically, still irritated by Sly's interruption. Not his interruption, she thought, his eavesdropping. He had no business listening to what could have been a perfect moment between the pair, a moment to get the ball slowly rolling in the right direction. After all, Dougie had a simple plan for the next few months, in no particular order: help the Cooper Gang take on the Fiendish Five, figure out who she was, where she came from, and eventually make an advance on Bentley.

Maybe, she thought as she propped herself up on a nearby rock. She admitted he wasn't your typical guy to fall for, especially his tendency to worry excessively. Some would say geeky, Dougie would say extraordinary. She figured most girls in her position would be drooling over Sly (which she was also admit, was a looker), but there was something about Bentley that she was drawn to, something she couldn't put her finger on. She briefly recalled darting images of school boyfriends: sporty, good-looking heartbreakers. The immaturity of youth meant that they prioritised themselves, discarded Dougie like disposing of an eighteen year-old newspaper. Irrelevant, unimportant, unnecessary. And she remembered the first devastating breakup, crying herself to sleep, then spending the next day in bed, unmoving, numb. Her ears rang with the same words again and again: "I'm sorry Mona, this isn't working."

Mona. It has to be...

A waving hand in front of her face snapped her out of the train of thought.

"Dougie? You still there?" Bentley pondered, raising an eyebrow as the rabbit came back to reality. He had wandered across mere seconds after she vacated the van.

Her eyes locked onto his, the turtle's face coming into focus. "Wh- what?"

"You zoned out there for a bit."

"Mona," she whispered, feeling the smallest wave of relief wash over her. "My name's Mona. I think."

"Mona?" Bentley echoed back, surprised by the contrast such a soft name had with such an abbrasive appearance. It wouldn't surprise him to find out she was in some punk band or something. "Is that all you remember? Mona?"

She nodded, gently toying with her lip ring with her tongue, head cocked to one side, arms folded. A look Bentley found almost irresistable. Except that irritating little voice came nagging in the back of his head: she's too good for you. Despite the obvious flirting, Bentley figured she would eventually get fed up with him. Everyone did. Or even more likely, the gang would wrap up the Fiendish Five business, and Dougie having no obligation to stick around, would be hitting the road before Bentley could even finish saying the word "goodbye". A sinking feeling, but he believed it to be the most realistic outcome. Defeated, he exhaled and hopped up onto the rock beside her before returning to the discussion at hand.

"So where would a nickname like Dougie originate from?" Bentley quizzed, feeling strangely giddy at being the only other person to know this woman's name. Mona was replaying in his head again and again. It seemed like a perfect fit to him.

"You got me," Dougie shrugged, brushing a lock of curly hair from her face. "Might be because of something I did, or part of a name, because I looked like someone, the possibilities are endless."

"You make a good point."

"Don't I always?" she shot back with a halfhearted smirk. She peered across to the team van, watching as Murray finished his final checks and hopped inside. "I think that's our cue, Bentley," she muttered unenthusiastically, nudging the turtle sat beside her.

"Wonderful," he replied dryly.

"Cheer up, what's the worst that could happen?" Dougie said with a laugh, but noticed Bentley was gearing up to reel out everything that could go wrong. "On second thought, I really, really don't want to know."

"But you did ask."

"And now I'm un-asking."

"That's not how it works."

"It is now, my rules."

"Who said they were your ru-"

Without any kind of warning, Dougie made her move. Leaning forward and tilting her head, she felt her lips connect against Bentley's, frozen in place, unsure how to process what was happening and how to react. She felt him gradually relax into the kiss before pulling away, secretly enjoying the smitten look on his face.

"Mona..."

"I had to find a way to shut you up."

Resigned, Bentley shook his head. He had no words.


Deciding he had rested up long enough, Sly replaced his cap, twirled his cane in his hand, and pressed on. Nimbly leaping from lamp-top to car, and somersaulting across the concrete, he spied the neon-lit entrance of the Boneyard Casino: the only obvious access point into the heart of Muggshot's base. Sly scampered across to venture inside, only to encounter a dead end. Or so he thought, scanning across the smudged glass doors to spot a lever, unguarded, begging to be used.

Hooking his cane across its handle, Sly yanked the level down. The doors slid back with a near-silent click, opening up the raccoon's new-found playground. He didn't even try to fight the smirk emerging across his lips. The always-welcome thrill of being where he wasn't supposed to be never got old for Sly; it was electric, amplified by the still silence resonating throughout the empty casino. Not a single patron was about, but gun-toting gangsters milling about, cigar smoke lazily drifting into the air.

This'll be fun.

Sly carefully spied the guards patrolling, weaving between the aisles of gambling machines. There was no pattern to their movement, unpredictable, and while the machines provided cover to anyone standing in the adjacent aisle, anyone standing at the end of the hallway would have a clear view of anyone approaching. And of course, there had to be another guard propped up on a poker table, examining his gun, listlessly smoking his cigar, then casting a glance down the hall before repeating the cycle. Sly exhaled from his nose sharply, wracking his brain for an optimal path.

His sight darted to a string of plants along the edge of the main hall, large leaves bobbing by a slight breeze, most likely air conditioning or an open vent disturbing them.

Wait.

Diving across the hallway, Sly made a quick move towards the edge and hoisted himself up to the plants. He scampered his way through to investigate the source of the moving leaves and cracked a smile when he found it. A ventilation shaft. Dropped down to one knee and placing his family cane on the ground beside him, he got to work, hastily unfastening the screws to the vent cover and gently easing it away when it became undone. Sly peered inside the dark shaft, a gentle breeze ruffling his fur. His bet was that he could easily find a way into the heart of the casino this way. He dropped to all fours and shuffled inside. Thankfully, the first half of the ventilation shaft was fairly linear, and only a single path looped... somewhere. Sly had no idea as he was yet to find another vent opening, a way to briefly get his bearings.

After crawling for what seemed like eternity, Sly saw a crack of light up ahead. Eager to press on, he scrambled closer, took a right, and was greeted by the welcoming glow of what the raccoon thought was a large ceiling light, broken up by the metallic slates of the vent cover. He rushed to the exit and grabbed the vent cover with a gloved hand. He gave it a good push, only to find it securely in place.

"Great," the thief groaned, backing up and taking the left path.


Dougie hopped into the van, flustered turtle in tow. She was pinching herself, struggling to comprehend she had made such a gutsy move. Bentley still had no words.

"Ready guys?" Murray piped up from the front.

"Physically? No," Dougie responded. "Emotionally? Absolutely not. And of course I've just remembered there are no seatbelts back here." She scanned the van, hoping for some kind of hand hold or something to secure herself. Nothing. She planted herself on one of the backseats and clutched onto the headrest of the driver's seat for dear life.

"Please," Bentley complained, "just get this over with." Dougie nodded in agreement. Murray pulled away and lined up with the other racers, engines revving filling the dead night air. Anxiety filled the van like a smoke grenade, the tension so thick a knife could cut through it. No one breathed. From across the van, Dougie heard Bentley gulp. She looked over to him and gave him a slow, reassuring nod.

It'll be okay.

He returned with an unenthused shrug. He wasn't convinced. A small bead of sweat began trickling down Bentley's head, which he didn't dare try to wipe away out of fear of letting go of the back of the passenger seat. In the blink of an eye, the set of lights above them turned green, and Murray floored it. Dougie clung on for the dear life as the van screeched away; Bentley shot to the back of the van like a bullet. With a loud cacophany, the turtle slammed against the back doors and slid down, barely able to process what had just happened.

"Hang on!" Dougie yelled. "I'm coming." Crouching to lower her centre of gravity, she scooted across the van to reach Bentley. Mere steps away, the van screamed over a bump, launching the rabbit into the air, smashing her head against the ceiling, and then back on the floor of the vehicle. "Son of a-"

"Dougie! Are you okay?!"

"No, Bentley," she snapped, lifting herself up, "that friggin' hurt."

"I was just aski-" Bentley started before Murray's sharp corner turn knocked the pair of them into the side of the van. Dougie caught the sharp scent of iron and felt a trickling down her lip. A quick brush of her nose and looking at the red staining on her paw confirmed her suspicions: nose bleed. Wonderful. Terrified, the pair shuffled into the back corner and decided to bunker down there the best they could. Lifting a leg, Dougie planted her foot against one of the van seats to try and brace herself as she pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. Bentley had less luck, as another sharp turn sent him rolling to the other side of the van, helplessly watching the rabbit extend her free hand to grab him.

Murray, spying the upcoming hill, put his foot down even harder. His passengers noticed what was coming ahead, and both cursed. Dougie dropped her leg, knowing full well the landing would snap it clean off. She had accepted her next flight across the interior of the van. Blood still trickling down her face, she tried to raise herself up, but the sheer acceleration had her pinned in place. Bentley figured the safest bet would be to hide in his shell.

The van shot into the air and slammed onto the dirt track hard. Dougie flipped towards the front of the van and landed flat on her back, whereas Bentley slid under the seats. A series of sharp turns allowed Murray to overtake two racers, pushing him firmly into third place. Winded and struggling to catch her breath, Dougie pulled herself up, desperately clutching her nose. Blood was dribbling from her hand and down her shirt as she couldn't stem the flow.

"Murray! Ease up a little!" she shouted.

"No can do," he piped back. "There's still two laps left."

"I'm bleeding all over your van buddy! You've gotta tap out here!"

"I'm pretty sure those gangster dogs won't allow it! They don't look like the type to keep their word!"

"Fine, then I'm tapping out!" Dougie shot back, pulling herself to her feet before tumbling forward and falling flat. She turned her head to one side, finding an incredibly pale Bentley, wedged beneath the seats. "How did we get in this mess? I would get out of this van, walk to the nearest police station, and tell them to arrest me to get out of this."

Bentley quietly nodded in agreement as he reached out and placed a hand on Dougie's arm.


Sly had finally found his exit, straight onto the disgusting rooftops of Mesa City. Overflowing trash cans and various broken paraphenalia were scattered everywhere, the gentle breeze disturbing discarded scraps of newspaper and wrappers. A quick visual check showed the coast was clear.

Or so he thought.

"Well, well, well... look who just walked into my crosshairs: Sly Cooper!" taunted a voice with a Latina accent, causing Sly to freeze in place. Scolding himself for being so sloppy, he figured the only way out of this was to turn the charm on, distract, and then run like hell. He turned towards the police officer and grinned.

"About time you showed up, Ms. Fox," he started, "was getting worried about you. Thought you took a wrong turn somewhere back in Paris."

"The only one making wrong turns is you, Sly," she snapped back irritably, refuting his advances. It was as if the pair couldn't have a single encounter without him trying to flirt with her. The nerve of it rubbed her the wrong way. "I'd suggest you surrender before I paralyze you with my good friend, the shock pistol."

Sly placed his hands on his hips and flicked his ears. "Now, see, a girl whose best friend's a firearm's got issues. A little dinner, a little dancing, I think I can help you out."

"Mmm, sounds romantic," the inspector shot back sarcastically. "As long as you don't mind dining - in jail!"

"Nah, I hear the service is lousy."

"Once I catch you, you'll know for yourself!" Carmelita retorted before firing off a shock round, landing inches away from Sly's feet. The raccoon flinched and made a beeline across the rooftop, heaving himself across to the next one. He landed with a roll before springing to his feet. Narrowly missing Carmelita's second shot. Using the forward momentum, Sly sprang towards a pole, did a spire landing on it before launching off onto another. From here, he skipped to the next rooftop, each shock round whistling past him, causing his fur to rise up from the static.

Definitely getting my cardio in today, was a thought that crossed his mind. He looked ahead for the next rooftop and found it was too far to jump. Except for the clothesline that connected the roof he was on to the roof he wanted to get to. Without slowing down, Sly launched towards the line, clutching onto it for dear life as it snapped from one end. The line swung towards the target building, raining socks and shirts behind the raccoon. He smashed straight into the brick wall, feeling pain shoot across his shoulder. Ignoring the pain the best he could, Sly started climbing up the line, feeling another one of Inspector Fox's shots skim his foot. Move! his brain screamed at him, forcing him to speed up the line. He dragged himself onto the roof, rolling on his side before climbing to his feet. Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Sly sprinted toward the edge and sprang to the next roof top.

To his relief, his next jump was onto a balcony connected to Muggshot's casino. One final sprint, one final jump. He picked up his speed slightly. Do not stop. Do not stop.

A shock pistol round crackled inches in front of Sly's feet, causing him to lose his speed. The thief cursed, twisted, and made his literal leap of faith. He soared through the air, angling his cane to snag onto the balcony railing. The shock round had messed up his timing and caused him to jump way too soon. Sly gritted his teeth as the cane hooked onto the railing, sending shockwaves of pain through his shoulder. With some perspiration and a grunt, Sly pulled himself up and over. Too tired to stand, he crawled inside and collapsed on his back, taking a few seconds to catch his breath.

In the distance, he could hear the frustrated cop shout: "I'm going to hunt you down Cooper, you can't run forever!"

Wearily, Sly raised a hand to his earpiece.

"Bentley," he wheezed, "Carmelita's in the area."


"I read you Sly," Bentley responded, still wedged beneath the van seats. "You need to keep moving. Let us know when you've got Muggshot's section of the Thievius Raccoonus, and we can work on extraction."

"How are things on your end?" Sly asked. "Still holed up somewhere secure?"

"If by secure you mean racing around inside a van at breakneck speeds without any safety harnesses, then yes, we are somewhere very secure."

"Except we're anything but secure flying around inside this van. If I can't get my nose to stop bleeding, I will actually die of blood loss," Dougie gurgled as she slid towards the back of the van again.

"What?" Sly queried.

"Turns out Murray is a very competitive racer," Bentley answered.

"Yeah, but at what cost?" Dougie quipped. "Answer: my death."

"Okay, now you're being ridiculous."

"Bentley, look at me!" the rabbit shot back, removing her hand from her face to show him the mess. He turned grey. "Yeah, exactly."

After one final sharp turn, the van slowed down, then crawled to a stop. Dougie propped herself up against the van doors, taking short, shallow breaths. Both hands were coated in blood, and she didn't want to touch anything, nor could she help the wedged turtle out in her current state either. Before Dougie could decide where to even begin, she felt the doors slowly open behind her. The rabbit flopped out the van backwards, crashing into the dirt.

"Ow."

Murray gasped and gently scooped her up, leading her across to a nearby rock. The same rock she and Bentley were on earlier. Despite her pain, she felt a smile play across her bloodied lips. Maybe there was something to look forward to after all this.

The hippo sprinted back to the van to rescue the trapped turtle. Effortlessly, Murray pulled Bentley from beneath the seat, leaving only a few scuffs on his shell. Hastily, Bentley snapped the first aid kit off its holder in the van and ran back to his new... girlfriend? No point labelling it, he mentally scolded himself as he popped open the kit and broke out a thick roll of bandage, unravelled it, and tore off the amount needed. He wadded it up and held it against her nose, which she took over with a bloody paw. One of the other racers wandered by and noticed the absolute state she was in.

"What happened to you, kid?" he asked. Defeated, she glanced up at him.

"Didn't wear a seatbelt," was her muffled response.

"Well, that was stupid." The fiery look Dougie shot at the racer was more than enough to make him back off, mumbling his apology as he slunk away.

"You know," Bentley started, "you can be pretty scary sometimes."

"And don't you forget it."

"I'll see if I can find something to get you cleaned up once the bleeding stops."

"Thanks. And hey, are you doing okay after that?"

"Don't worry about me," he replied, sifting through the kit, "I'm fine."

"I'm always gonna worry about you."

"Likewise, Mona."


Hello, it's me again.

So, it's been well over five years since I've updated this story (four years since my TWD story) and for that I can only apologise. I got hit with pretty bad writer's block across all my stories around 2018/2019, which naturally didn't improve when the pandemic hit and we went into three separate lockdowns here in the UK (it really has been a loooooong time). Finally pushed through some other life stuff and now things are nice and settled, so hopefully there'll be more focus from me from this point onwards.

Thank you for your patience, thank you for dropping by!

~Subtle.