So I mimicked a game that meant nothing to me now…and then it looked as if what I was doing had a purpose

but it did not.

"FOX!"

In any other job setting, the sound of the head honcho yelling an employee's name at full volume would be enough to make everyone jump straight out of their skin. At Interpol HQ in Paris, France, the most that people did was glance up momentarily from their computers. Working under James Barkley, Head of Criminal Investigation, made such things more of an occupational hazard than anything else. It was as common an occurrence as the daily lunch break.

Even more so with the particular name being yelled across the entire floor.

Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox leapt out of her chair and flew out of her office. She practically sprinted to her superior's open door, where the badger was standing with his arms folded and a downright thunderous expression on his face. He met her eyes very briefly before stomping inside his office, and she followed like a wounded animal.

"Y-Yes, sir? What is it?"

Barkley didn't respond. He sat down heavily behind his desk, then pointed one stiff, angry finger at the chair opposite it. The fox immediately did as instructed, folding her hands nervously together in her lap as her boss glared at her. Finally, he spoke.

"What is the meaning of this?"

He slid an open file across his desk, making it all too easy for her to see the name in bold at the very top.

Firestone of India, Bombay

Carmelita inhaled slowly through her nose, knowing exactly which case this was and why it was staring treacherously up at her.

"Sir, I can explain -"

"Oh, by all means, explain," the badger cut her off. He crossed his arms back over his chest so tightly she could see veins popping under his fur. "Explain how you had five out of six criminals attempting that heist apprehended, only to lose all of them when you blindly charged after the sixth without fully securing the rest!"

She had to fight the powerful urge to sink in her chair. "Sir, I - the last perp couldn't be allowed to get away. She had the Firestone! If my team had shown up at the scene on time like they were supposed to -"

"Do not push your part of the blame elsewhere, Fox. This entire fiasco was just as much your fault as it was theirs. All you had to do was wait an extra ten minutes for your back up to arrive and secure those thieves before running after the last one!"

"But sir, ten minutes would have been too long! She would have escaped by the time I left!"

"She escaped anyway!" He roared, slamming a fist down onto the file and making her jump in her chair. "You had an entire group of criminals in your grasp and you let all of them get away because you wanted to play hero!"

The inspector shut her jaw with an audible click. There was nothing she could say that would calm her boss down, and even if there was, she couldn't find it in herself to come up with the excuses. She had dropped the ball on a case she was supposed to be leading and came out with not even one arrest to show for it. He had every right to be furious.

"I…I'm sorry, sir," she eventually mumbled, head bowed and face burning with shame. "It won't happen again."

"That's what you always say, Fox," Barkley replied with a frustrated shake of his head. "How many times has it happened where you have a perfectly reasonable chance to cut your losses and take what you've already got on a case, but instead you blow it all up because you can't just let that last perp go?"

Her chest swelled in offense. "I can't just watch and do nothing while a criminal gets away scot-free!"

"That's not the point! The point is that you're so narrow-minded that you get tunnel vision. You're so caught up in the small details that you lose the bigger picture." He gestured to the Firestone of India file. "I can think of four other cases in the last two months that are like this, Fox. It's becoming more of a pattern for you to lose more criminals than you catch them. Do you realize what kind of reputation that creates? For you, for me? For Interpol?"

Carmelita stared at the photos in front of her. The giant red gemstone glittered mockingly back.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Fox?"

"...Yes, sir, I do."

"Good." The badger looked her up and down with a gruff, critical eye. "I'm not doing this because I want to, you know. You're one of the best detectives we have when it comes to finding who we need to find. But if you keep losing them once we find them…well, there's a few others who don't think you were ready for this promotion to Inspector yet."

It wasn't quite a threat, but it still hung heavily in the air. She swallowed and clenched her hands into fists.

"I won't let your trust in me be all for naught. I'll show I have what it takes to wear this title proudly."

Barkley nodded, then closed the case file and pointed towards the door. "You're dismissed."

Carmelita didn't realize she was holding her breath until she was back out in the hallway. She exhaled slowly, trying to release all the stress that had created a tight ball in her chest. Her coworkers moved around her with sympathetic glances. As much as they were used to their boss' temper, no one liked being on the receiving end of it.

Brushing her bangs out of her face, the inspector began heading back to her office, and nearly ran right into someone carrying a huge stack of paperwork as she turned the corner. She caught the perilous stack before it could topple, then peered around it to see who she had just rescued.

A tiny purple otter looked up at her with an anxious smile.

"Hi, Inspector Fox!"

"Oh. Hi, Winthorp."

Winthorp was…nice, she supposed. Technically an Interpol detective, but not one who worked in the field. His job consisted of record-keeping and following paper trails, and the closest he got to criminals was during bookings. Not someone who she could really relate to on any level.

He also had a massive, obvious crush on her, which was a pain, but at least he was respectful about it - more than she could say about a few other coworkers.

"Sorry about almost knocking you over," she said, swerving around him and his paperwork tower with the intention of ending the interaction right there. The red door of her office was in sight, and she wanted very badly to hole herself up in there for the next hour at least.

"That's okay!" He chirped, moving in tandem with her to maintain eye contact. "You seemed to be in an awfully big hurry - is it because of whatever the Chief wanted you for?"

The first retort on Carmelita's tongue was admittedly not a very professional one. She bit it down and managed a thin, awkward smile instead, inching away towards the other end of the hall.

"Sort of. I'm just, uh, on the lookout for a new case."

Wrong thing to say. His eyes lit up and he waddled after her despite how much she very obviously wanted to be left alone.

"Oh! I bet I could help with that!" Winthorp held up his stack of papers as high as he could, which wasn't very high. "I've got a whole list of stuff that hasn't been assigned yet. Would you like to take a look?"

The only reason the fox hesitated was the earnestness with which he asked. What would have been easily ignorable any other day was now something she couldn't quite say no to after the harrowing experience with Barkley, when all her mental steeliness had been blown apart.

Again.

"...Sure."

"Great!" He beamed, following her the rest of the way into her office. "Anything specific you're looking for? There's a lot of different kinds of cases here."

Carmelita watched him place everything on her desk. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "I'll take anything at this point."

Winthorp nodded and began flipping through files. "Okay. How about this - rumors of art forgery here in Paris?"

"Not big enough."

"Alright, then…illegal spice smuggling rings in India?"

"There's no way Barkley will let me back on a case in India anytime soon," she said, more than a little bitter because that did seem like something right up her alley. "Give me something else."

"Unusual rates of pollution in Venice, Italy?"

"That sounds more like a city ordinance issue than a police issue."

"Okay, uh…" The otter looked up at her. "Do you want some coffee? You look a little tired."

"No, I'm fine. Keep going."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Ten minutes later, they'd gone through the entire pile with not a single one grabbing Carmelita's attention. She had started pacing somewhere around the four-minute mark and hadn't stopped.

"Well, that's all I got from this list," he said, somehow managing to sound both discouraged and chipper at the exact same time. "Would you like me to go grab another stack?"

"No. It's just going to be more of the same. Nng…" The inspector rubbed her temples. Her headache was still going just as strong as when they'd started. "There's got to be something I can use. I need a case, a big one, and I have to do it perfectly or else my promotion might not be worth anything."

It was probably unwise to vent about this subject to Winthorp of all people, but he was also the most likely to keep it a secret out of respect for her. Respect or reverence. Whatever kept his mouth shut.

"Oh no, they can't demote you!" The otter said in shock. "You're one of the most valued officers on our force! Valedictorian at the police academy! Youngest graduate and youngest ever Detective Inspector! You're the living embodiment of law enforcement and all that it stands for!"

"Thanks," she replied, annoyed more than anything at the pedestal he was putting her on. Her tone flew right over his head, as always. "But none of those things are going to matter if I can't catch a break, and soon."

"Hm…" Winthorp put his hand to his chin as if in deep thought. Then his face lit up in epiphany. "What about the Contessa? I've heard she's willing to help out Interpol officers from time to time."

"Ugh, pass. The last time I asked her for help, she made me do a whole day of 'motivational speeches' to the criminals in her rehabilitation program in return. I'm not owing that woman any favors unless I'm really desperate."

He nodded his head emphatically like he had any clue what that was like. He'd never had to take any risks or make split decisions to save his life. He'd never have his job on the line like she did. The train of thought irritated Carmelita more than she cared to admit.

"Actually, Winthorp, I changed my mind. Coffee sounds great right now. Do you mind…?"

"Oh! Not at all!" The otter headed for the hall. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

As soon as he was gone, Inspector Fox quickly strode to the door, closed it, and locked it with a quiet click. A small part of her felt bad for it, but the rest of her was drained and disheartened and didn't want an additional write-up for accidentally "creating a hostile work environment." Her patience was too thin to risk snapping at Winthorp for something he really didn't deserve.

With an exhausted sigh, the fox collapsed in her chair, staring vacantly at her desk and the lack of casefiles on it. One big break was all she needed. One case to prove herself to her superiors; to show everyone that Barkley's faith in her wasn't unfounded.

Carmelita closed her eyes and prayed to whatever was there that something would finally come her way.

For her sake.

An ocean and several time zones away, the Mesa City Police Precinct was having a busier than average evening. There had been a concerning uptick in crime over the last two weeks; robberies, break-ins and many, many calls about public disturbances. Only a few of these incidents had actually resulted in the perps being caught - all canines, coincidentally - and the fact that it still hadn't been enough to slow down the sudden surge of misdeeds had put most of the officers on edge.

Even worse, there were rumblings among their informant circles that a particularly dangerous presence had made itself known in the city's underbelly, but no one could or would give any clues as to who it was.

As a result, almost half of Mesa's force was out on patrol tonight, hoping to catch more unlawful acts before they could be completed, or at least find any hint of the so-called big bad that had so many of their criminal turncoats quaking in their shoes. It left the precinct itself running on what was essentially a skeleton crew, although one wouldn't be able to tell from how many people were running around in an attempt to keep up appearances.

A raccoon sat in the front lobby, a few seats away from every other civilian around him. He drummed his fingers on a red backpack sitting on his lap, waiting patiently like everyone else, and his leg bounced idly as he glanced at the wall clock every minute or so. The fingers went still when a pacing officer made eye contact with him and decided to approach.

"Can I help you?" They asked in a voice already rife with impatience.

The raccoon smiled up at them, easy-going and relaxed. His leg didn't stop bouncing. "I'm just waiting for someone. Once he's done in here then I'll be out of your hair."

His expression didn't change as the cop squinted at him. After a moment they pursed their lips and crossed their arms.

"Fine," they said grumpily, "but I want you out of here immediately after. We don't have time to deal with loiterers."

"On my honor, you won't see me again after tonight. Oh! Hang on just a sec!"

He stood up abruptly, suddenly and accidentally in the officer's space.

"Is there a restroom here open to the public? I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here and -"

"Over that way," they pointed down a separate hallway with a huff, taking a few steps back so that they weren't almost touching him.

"Thanks."

The raccoon sauntered off, mindful of the cop's eyes staring down the back of his head. As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him, he hurried to check every stall to make sure he was alone before locking himself in the one closest to the exit. One hand came up to a tiny earpiece barely visible in his ear. The other reached into his pocket to pull out the ring of keys he had just lifted off the impatient cop.

"Got the keys and in position," he whispered into the static of the earpiece. "Ready when you are."

There was no response, but the raccoon didn't expect one. He flipped his jacket hoodie over his head and pulled a black mask out of his backpack to place over his nose and mouth. Then he leaned back against the stall wall, closed his eyes, and began to wait. He'd have his answer soon enough.

Out in the lobby, the front doors swung open and in strode a large group of canines all armed to the teeth. The hustle and bustle of the station stopped entirely as cops, criminals, and civilians alike all caught sight of it. In particular, as they caught sight of the leader of that group.

"Greetings, troglodytes!"

Muggshot - infamous gangster, world-wanted criminal, and member of the Fiendish Five - sauntered into the room as if it was a perfectly normal thing for him to do so. Everyone in the precinct stared in slack-jawed shock as the bulldog walked right up to the counter and leaned against it like he wasn't in every police database from here to Timbuktu.

"A little birdy told me you've got some of my boys locked up back here," he said to the stunned uniformed receptionist, checking his nails for dirt and gunpowder in total nonchalance. "Now, I like ta give people the benefit of the doubt, but it seems to me there was some old-fashioned profilin' involved here. You mind lettin' them all out on account of they haven't done nothin' to warrant arrest?"

One of the officers began slowly reaching for the gun at his holster. In response, three of Muggshot's dogs clicked off the safety of their own weapons with teeth bared in warning. The mobster watched it out of the corner of his eye, remaining completely relaxed.

"I - I'm sorry," stammered the officer behind the desk, "but I'm not at liberty to -"

"You hear that, fellas?" Muggshot cut him off with a loud bark of laughter. "This jerk is claimin' that liberty's involved. Do any 'a you see any liberty in a place like this?"

A chorus of raucous "no"s was his answer. The bulldog swiveled back around to tower over the receptionist who was trying very hard not to shake in his seat.

"Lemme spell it out nice and slow for ya since ya seem to have trouble understanding - you're gonna release all of my men in the clink, and in return, I won't fill you full 'a holes. Capiche?"

The officer stared up at him and the entire gang behind him. For a single, tense moment, it seemed like he would comply. But then he leapt to his feet, reaching for his gun.

That was the most he had the chance to do.

"Wrong answer!" Muggshot grabbed him by the head and smashed him face-first into the desk, cracking the wood with the force of the slam.

All hell broke loose in an instant. Cops started shouting and shooting, civilians screamed and ducked and hid, and the canine criminals fired right back in a frenzied bloodlust. The bulldog himself threw the unconscious cop straight into the closest one of his comrades, then tore the desk itself right out of its floor attachments to use as cover.

Amid the chaos and noise and flying bullets, no one noticed the raccoon slip silently out of the bathroom and through the back doors marked "police personnel only".

He flattened himself into a crouch between the wall and a set of chairs at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Three officers thundered past without noticing or caring that he was there, with guns drawn and orders being barked into their radios. As soon as they disappeared into the front lobby to join the firefight, the raccoon jumped up and started running in the opposite direction.

Around corners, through hallways, stopping only to avoid the sight of frantic cops rushing to help their comrades, he finally found his destination - a set of holding cells containing nearly a dozen agitated dogs. They all flocked to the front as he pulled the key ring out of his pocket and began unlocking doors.

"You didn't bring our guns?" Asked a burly doberman who flexed his hands in anticipation.

"You think I'd be here right now if I had tried walking into a cop den armed from head to toe?" He asked sarcastically as the first door came open.

The doberman's lips curled into a snarl and he took a swipe at the raccoon as he stepped into the outer room, who swerved easily out of the way and to the next cell.

"I don't need no damn gun to take out a bunch of pigs in uniform," growled another dog as he hefted a ball and chain in his hands. His eyes were manic with murderous excitement. "Which way?"

A second door opened; he made a beeline for the final one, sensing their impatience for violence and not wanting to catch the brunt of it.

"Down the hall, take the first left turn, then a right, then the second next right after that."

The final lock came open, bringing the number of freed thugs to eleven.

"Muggshot and his other men are blocking off the front doors, so you'll come out right behind the cops."

Every dog grinned at that, and the raccoon suddenly found himself swept up in the frenzy of the full pack as they all went running for the front lobby.

None of the officers looked back when the doors swung open behind them, assuming it was more of their own. It was the last mistake they'd ever make.

Eleven burly dogs bum-rushed the group, swinging furniture and balls-and-chains and their own fists. What had been a stalemate very quickly became a one-sided fight as the officers were overwhelmed from two different sides. It didn't take long for every blue uniform to fall, and a disturbing quiet fell over the room the moment the bullets stopped.

The civilians who had been caught in the middle of everything cowered under their chairs, absolutely terrified now that their defenders had all been laid to waste. Muggshot only seemed to realize they were there as he holstered his machine gun and scanned the room for any survivors in blue.

"Whaddya all gawking for?" He growled, pointing towards the exit. "Scram!"

They did not need to be told twice. His men all moved out of the way for the terror-stricken group to flee without incident. No one noticed or cared that the raccoon who had once been part of that group did not follow.

Instead, he meandered over to the bulldog, who celebrated the victory by flinging the upended counter clear across the room.

"Now that's what a city takeover looks like, boys!" Muggshot whooped. "As the new top dog of this joint, I give all of ya's permission to loot whatever ain't nailed down - and then some!"

The gangsters all howled in excited response, then wasted no time running out of the lobby and into the rest of the building. The raccoon watched them all leave impassively, half checked-out, until there was suddenly a giant hand coming down on top of his head.

"Not bad, runt," Muggshot said with a grin, patting him roughly but with just enough gentleness to keep from actually hurting him. "Keep this up and you might actually become part of the pack."

"My greatest goal in life," he muttered sarcastically, stiff under the touch.

The mobster growled and smacked him upside the head, knocking his hood down over his eyes. "Don't get smart with me or you're joinin' the pigs on the floor."

"Sorry." The raccoon avoided his gaze as he pulled it back so he could see again.

"That mouth is gonna get you into trouble one 'a these days, y'know. Yer lucky I've got the patience of a saint."

"I already said I was -"

The front doors slammed open.

Police officers swarmed inside, shooting without aiming as they tried one last desperate attempt to take back their station.

"You wanna play hardball, chumps?!" The bulldog roared, firing back just as indiscriminately and mowing down uniforms left and right. "Let's play!"

A bullet whizzed past the racoon's head, whistling by his ear way too close for comfort. Before he had the chance to duck, that same meaty hand grabbed him at the nape of the neck and practically slammed him to the ground.

"Keep yer head down! You tryin' to get shot or what?" Muggshot growled above him while he unloaded a stream of bullets into the cop who had dared shoot at his favorite runt.

The raccoon laid flat against the ground under the mobster, arms covering his head as gunfire deafened his senses. He kept his breathing as controlled as possible, ears ringing and face stinging, while Muggshot took down the entire surprise wave without any back–up.

It was over in minutes.

He was hauled back up to his feet by the back of his shirt just as the rest of the gang came rushing back into the lobby in alarm, having missed the fight by mere seconds.

"I took care of it," the bulldog said gruffly. He wiped away the blood on his forearm where he'd been nicked by a stray bullet - the only injury he had. "Cops on patrol must've finally come back, but none 'a them could aim for squat. I'd say that was the last line of Mesa City's defense. City belongs to us now, no question about it!"

As that declaration sank in among his dogs with excited murmuring, the raccoon carefully touched his nose, still throbbing painfully from his impact with the floor. His gloved hand came back red. Muggshot eyed him.

"Broken?"

"No."

"Then I better not hear any whining about it." He turned back to the rest of the mobsters, who were waiting for new orders with slobbering jaws. "Alright, boys, it's time to take things up a notch. We got a lotta ground to cover if we're gonna secure our new turf. I want you goin' door to door to 'persuade' the fine folk of Mesa that it's in their best interest to clear out till my operation's done bein' built."

His men all began to head out, brandishing the weapons they'd ransacked from the station or pulled straight off cop corpses. The raccoon started trailing after one of the groups only to be stopped by a powerful grip on his shirt collar.

"Ah, ah, ah." The bulldog leader glared suspiciously down at him. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

"Out with everyone else - or do your orders not apply to me all of a sudden?"

He flinched when Muggshot pulled him close enough that he could feel hot breath on his face. The few remaining dogs all stopped just inside the doors, sensing the shift in their boss and watching the interaction carefully.

"You're on thin ice today, pally. Don't forget yer place."

The raccoon's ears flattened against his head. He didn't dare meet the mobster's eyes. "I haven't."

"Good." He let go and motioned for him to follow. "Now come on, somethin' tells me this cop building is just full of locks beggin' to be busted open. What are the rest of you still doin' here? I said, get goin'!"

The last of his men went running outside, although one dog's gaze lingered on the raccoon just a beat too long to be comfortable. He pretended he didn't notice it and began following Muggshot deeper into the empty police precinct.

Then he stopped when he caught sight of the officer who had confronted him just half an hour before. They were slumped up against a wall, eyes wide and empty with their gun still gripped tightly in their hands. The raccoon looked at them for a long moment.

"Cooper!"

He shook his head and kept walking, and did not look back again.

A/N: I've thought a lot about what Muggshot's takeover of Mesa must've been like, and no matter what way you look at it, it couldn't have been pretty. Honestly, a LOT of stuff in the Sly series is awfully terrible if you really consider it - part of the reason I love it so much.

The stage is set. The pieces are in place. Carmelita may have gotten her wish, unwittingly as it is, but you know the old saying -

Be careful what you wish for.