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Mission No. 55

Cerinia
Wastelands

"The Menace"

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In a vast desert sea, a lone, hooded figure struggled up the side of a dune. They halted before reaching the peak, just high enough so their head could poke over the crest.

The figure removed their hood and lowered their face mask, revealing the narrow, panting muzzle of a blue-furred vixen. She breathed easier without the mask, though she was grateful it kept out the dust in the air. With the hood down, she aired her sweat-covered face and shook out her cobalt hair; it spilled over her shoulders and into her lowered hood like a fountain.

'Do you see anything, Krystal?' another set of thoughts drifted her way.

The vixen narrowed her eyes and peered into the distance. A desert of midnight blue waves stretched out before her in every direction. The sand was a much darker shade than the pale desert she and Fox had trekked over, but this was farther north.

She never liked the desert. It was too wide: too open. She couldn't help but imagine the Venomians' black spiders crawling over the dunes, or the Cornerians' ships descending in swarms from the sky like vultures. Being out here always gave her an uneasy feeling, and she missed the comfort and safety of the mountain guarded, cloud covered valley.

Suddenly something large moved, and fear gripped her heart. There was a black flicker on the edge of her vision; in the corner of her eye she caught a spindly feeler grasping over the peak of a dune. She started and turned towards it, but it was only a trick of the desert; the heat over the sands caused the air and the mountains in the distance to waver.

'…Well?' the voice prodded, rather tersely.

Krystal shook her head to clear her mind. She focused on the more pressing area right in front of her; the landscape looked torn to bits by a localized storm.

'The… the disturbance is just ahead of us; there are only two more dunes to climb. I see no sign of movement—yet.'

Two more vixens scaled the hill behind her. The Cerinians wore dark indigo cloaks like her own, matching the shade of the sand perfectly. In contrast, the interiors were bright white, fashioned so they could easily turn the cloaks inside-out when they came to the paler southern desert. The taller figure was Sister Āni: the same Kaitaki Krystal had knocked out while trying to defend Fox, and one of her strictest instructors. The shorter, more petite vixen was Sister Korā: another warrior in training.

"Good," Āni stated at Krystal's side. "At this pace we should be back to the village before sundown—so long as there are no unforeseen obstacles… and everyone does their part. Krystal, you need practice listening for thought waves. Sense for any nearby," she ordered.

Krystal nodded. "Yes ma'am…"

Still regaining her breath from the long journey across the desert, she knelt atop of the dune and closed her eyes. Emptying her mind of all noise like Mother Namah and the others trained her, she listened for the thought waves of nearby creatures. The longer she left her mind open, the more tiny voices she heard: insects—even in the barren desert—all of which manifested low-complexity brainwaves communicating the most basic of desires.

Krystal expanded her reach to the scarred region of the desert in front of their scouting party, but there was only silence there; not even the murmuring of the usual thousand bugs.

Leaving her trance-like state, she informed them, "No one's around for several miles."

"Then whoever did this is long gone," Āni surmised. "We shall investigate."

The three Cerinians climbed the remaining dunes till they reached the wide basin in the desert. Large, crystalline stalagmites lay toppled on their sides. Others had turned to little more than piles of sparkling dust where they'd shattered.

"What do you think did this?" Krystal said while looking at the destruction.

"Does the desert often look like this?" Korā asked Āni.

"No: I've not seen similar formations on any of my scouting missions. A person did this, or several. The signs point to a battle between those strongly-gifted with the Curse. Rogues fought here, and powerful ones at that."

"Could they be searching for us?" Korā said with a slight tremor in her voice.

Āni looked at the young warrior, her face neutral. "It's possible—but we must know for certain and search for clues in the rubble. I'll take the center. You may take the right edge. Krystal, take the left."

"Y-Yes ma'am!"

Krystal and Korā trailed Āni down into the battlefield, stumbling after her in their exhaustion. They split up to scour the piles of shards, toppled spires, and scarred sand, looking for any sign of who might have caused it—but they didn't find any tracks leading away from the battlefield, nor any other clues—besides a few scorch marks on the sand and crystallized glass.

After fifteen minutes, they met back up at an odd bolus of twisted metal on the far side of the battlefield. It stuck out like a sore thumb; the shining silver coating didn't match the rest of the sand around it.

"How strange," Korā remarked, circling clockwise around it.

Krystal grimaced, thinking it was the carcass of some bird-like creature or giant insect eviscerated by Cursed Cerinians and left to rot in the desert. She expected there to be carnage and gore, but… there was none. Only an exterior shell remained; the insides mostly hollow. The stench of metal and burning rubber tickled her nose, but nothing that resembled blood. The creature looked… familiar.

"I've seen similar things in the desert," Āni said, sensing Krystal's distress. "They're machine-like beings some of the Cursed create with their minds; they can hardly be counted as living. The rogues probably fought them."

"No," Krystal breathed, finally placing the creature. "Cerinians didn't make these. They come from Lylat. Soldiers pilot them from the inside. Fox flew me in one of these to get here."

"Off-worlders? Here?!" Korā exclaimed.

"Very few Lylatians have ever strayed so close to the valley," Āni murmured, glancing at Krystal. "It is… concerning that these showed up not a month after Krystal and the Lylatian…"

The vixen's ears flattened, and she looked down to hide a glower at the Cerinian, resenting her implication—not to mention her constant riding that day.

"Then this was a battle between the Cursed and off-worlders?" Korā asked.

The Kaitaki nodded. "If Fox is any indication, the Lylatians may not have powers, but they make up for it with their machines. If these ships are here, it means they've come back to Cerinia for something."

Krystal felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew exactly why they had returned—or rather, who they had returned for.

"Whatever the case," Āni finished, "we must hurry back and report our findings to the Matron. Come—and keep up this time, Krystal!"

The three Cerinians turned their backs on the battlefield and set off across the desert, with Krystal preparing herself for the long journey back—but as she lingered behind and struggled to keep pace, she could've sworn she saw the impression of a large, clawed footprint scraped across the sand.

It was sunset by the time they returned to the village, Lilith dipping behind the mountains and far-off stormy clouds. Krystal especially felt tired after her long trek through the desert, during which time Āni had not let up on her once, so she was all the more grateful to see the familiar purple trees and ornate dwellings of Altaira Valley.

The elder warrior led the way through the village towards the Hall of the Matrons. The dirt roads were wet with mud, and the eaves of the buildings were covered in a sheen of water, for it had rained non-stop in the valley until this afternoon. Everywhere there were puddles in the road that children played in, while older Cerinians seized the opportunity to hang their robes and linens out to dry.

While they trudged up the thoroughfare, Krystal's thoughts returned to the mangled ship they'd found. The dark omen refused to leave her mind, haunting her ever since the moment they'd stumbled upon it. She was just getting used to life in the village; it felt like she'd left all the horrors in her past back in Lylat—but the ship was a reminder that she wasn't really safe. No matter where she went, there would always be people hunting her. And if the Cornerians could reach her even all the way out here, what else could follow? Had she really left all her monsters behind?

When they came to a crossroad on the main street, Krystal was too caught up in her thoughts to hear a pair of distant voices calling, and Korā had to tap her shoulder to get her attention.

"Krystal? Krystal?"

The vixen finally jumped, wrenched from her worries. "Oh! I'm sorry. What is it?"

Korā pointed down the intersecting road. "Looks like someone wants your attention…"

Krystal turned to look down the side street, which happened to lead back to her dwelling. Running up to meet her were two of her housemates: Māra and Hana. They waved and repeatedly called her name.

Krystal looked back to Sister Āni. "I'm sorry, those are my friends! May I be excused for the night? I did complete my mission for the day."

The Kaitaki pursed her lips, and Krystal worried she'd refuse. "It is nearly nighttime, and you did push yourself today… Alright, I'll allow it. We'll inform Namah of the Lylatians—but if she has more questions for you, we may have to summon you again later tonight."

She folded her hands and bowed. "Thank you Sister Āni—and thank you for training me today," she forced herself to say.

Krystal parted ways with the two Cerinians and turned down the side road. The thought of finally returning home put a spring in her step. She didn't have to skip far before her two housemates met her from the opposite direction, coming to a stop beneath the village bell tower. The building was one of the first constructed, but now the constant rain had rotted the boards, requiring them to be replaced. Hastily-constructed scaffolding surrounded it, and a rudimentary pulley system perched on its side to lift new building materials into place.

"Krystal!" Māra welcomed her, "how'd your scouting mission go?"

The vixen bit her tongue, choosing her answer carefully. "It was a long, exhausting journey, but… an uneventful one."

"I don't envy you!" Māra said. "That Sister Āni's a regular slave driver!"

Hana clenched her fists. "Ohhh you're so lucky to be able to leave the valley whenever you want! The warriors have all the fun…"

"Hana, be glad you aren't asked to leave the valley yourself!" Māra admonished. "It's dangerous out there, and there's always the chance we may be discovered by rogues."

"The wilderness isn't very pretty, anyway," Krystal assured her. "Just miles of blue and white sand as far as you can see—and maybe some mountains, but we have plenty of those here."

"And your outfit!" Hana exclaimed, petting the folds of her cloak. "It makes you look so mysterious! You must seem frightening with that mask and cowl on."

She smiled sheepishly. "Oh? I didn't think I could ever look frightening to anyone—"

The sharp sound of wood snapping pierced the air. "Look out!" a shrill voice screamed from overhead.

Startled, the girls looked up. The rotting bell tower had come loose, the scaffolding buckling under its weight. The tower tipped over and fell straight for them, looming over the Cerinians till it swallowed them in its shadow.

Hana and Māra screamed and hunkered together, while Krystal fell backwards and landed on her tail in the road. She threw up her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting to be crushed by the tower and pierced by its needle-like splinters—

A deafening clang sounded mere feet above them, along with the groaning of boards pushed to their limit—but for some reason it hadn't struck them yet. Somehow the force of the weight never bore down on her shoulders, but Krystal could feel its pressure all the same—as if it had come to weigh on her mind instead.

Opening her eyes again, the vixen gasped. She found the tower suspended in the air, frozen mid-fall like gravity itself had ceased to function. Then she noticed her own outstretched hands, shaking and straining as if they alone kept the tower from crushing them.

"K-Krystal?" Hana's high-pitched voice reached her.

She spared a glance sideways to find Māra and Hana cowering on the ground, staring back at her with fear in their eyes—as if they were afraid of her.

At first she wasn't aware of it, but a fever was boiling in her mind. She had her teeth gritted from the mental strain and the pain it caused, forming a nasty scowl.

Looking back up at the tower and the dangling copper bell, she realized she was in complete control of the situation. With some mental effort, she willed the fallen structure to float away. Using invisible hands of unparalleled strength, she lifted the bell tower and flung it straight out of the village, tossing it towards the unoccupied forest. What remained of the weathered boards crunched under the strain, and the bell rang out as it came free, bouncing and rolling to a stop against a tree.

But Krystal wasn't done yet with the tower that had nearly taken her and her friends' lives. Growling, she ripped wooden sliver after sliver free and flung them into the woods, not stopping her concentration until the structure's carcass was no longer recognizable as a bell tower.

With the mental weight of the building gone, Krystal's anger burned itself out. She fell back onto the ground, breathing heavily. Māra and Hana crawled over to her side while nearby Cerinians rushed over to see what'd happened. At first the voices of her friends and the crowd that circled 'round her barely pierced the ringing in her ears, for she still heard the clang of the bell from when it had first pealed above her head.

"Krystal, what was… what was that?!" Māra gasped.

"That was amazing!" Hana cheered. "You really are a Kaitaki!"

"Did you lift that building all by yourself?" another voice joined in.

"That's terrible! You all were almost killed!"

"I knew that damn tower was on its last legs."

"This one's Curse is quite strong—!"

All of the conflicting voices grew into a deafening crescendo till she couldn't separate their words or thoughts from one another. What made it worse, the ringing in her ears seemed to return in full force till she could hear nothing else besides that damned bell…

Feeling like her head would explode, Krystal jammed her paws over her ears and sprang to her feet. She ignored the surprised cries of the women and children and rudely shouldered her way through the crowd. Even when her housemates called behind her, Krystal paid them no heed.

She ran down the street till eventually she found solitude behind a house she didn't recognize. She crouched in its backyard and lay her forehead against the cool stone that made up its rear foundation.

She couldn't believe she'd done that. It wasn't like she had any choice, but that was the usual circumstance which brought forth explosions of her power. When there was no option left, and she was pushed to the edge, it came onto her the strongest.

Māra and Hana seemed grateful; in fact they praised her for the act. But they didn't know the full extent of her powers, or in what other ways she had used them in the past…

As she crouched in the shadow of the house, unbidden memories sprang up in the darkness of Venomian cells, biting words, and sharp jolts of pain. She remembered the looks on the Watchers' faces: some were amazed, others were inspired with greed, and still others were terrified of what they'd created.

…Just like the frightened looks on Māra's and Hana's faces when they saw her.

Krystal didn't feel like a hero or a Kaitaki. She felt like a freak. No, worse:

A Menace.

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It was afternoon in District 13 when a nondescript, white semi-truck pulled through the filthy streets of the North End. While the truck appeared unremarkable by itself, its escort hinted at the true value of its contents. Two Bureau policemen rode in front and behind the truck on white-and-black motorcycles. The uniform-clad officers glanced about the streets and alleys warily, their visors masking the unease in their eyes. The North End, along with many other neighborhoods in 13, were lawless ghettos not fond of the Bureau's oversight. Grimmer's Gang unofficially kept the peace, but recently others weren't so willing to submit.

The escort never would've taken the road through the North End if it wasn't the only route from the central spaceport to a wealthy neighborhood on the north-western peninsula. As they vigilantly watched the sullied streets, they only saw a few rattling cars and drunken bums who quickly stumbled out of their way. Though some pedestrians seemed to guess the contents of the truck, watching in silent envy.

If only they had noticed a few of those onlookers were Falco Lombardi and the Free Birds, they could have avoided what happened next.

Falco lay low in an adjacent alley beneath a fake wall of trash bags. He watched as the first police bike passed, then the eighteen-wheeler, then the rear escort.

"Alright Mouser," he whispered into his wrist unit. "Hit it."

"You got it, Boss!"

Not two seconds later, a loud explosion echoed through the streets and alleys, muffled by the time it reached Falco's ears—yet there was no ground-shaking tremor. The only sign of the explosion was a giant cloud of white smoke billowing above the tops of the buildings. Immediately a number of car alarms went off, and Falco heard the squeal of brakes from the over-sized truck. The small convoy had come to a stop.

Their mistake. "Let's ride!"

Falco shoved the wall of trash bags off, revealing the sleek, blue-and-red body of the Azure Sky. He kicked the stand up and twisted the throttle for the gas, eliciting a satisfying roar from the engine. He sped the Azure Sky down the length of the alley and swung out onto the street, leaning into the turn so low he nearly scraped the asphalt whizzing beneath him.

One-by-one, the other Free Birds swung out of adjoining alleys and fell in rank behind him. In no time they'd caught up to the truck and escort, which had stopped in the middle of the road before a pillar of smoke that climbed into the air: the result of Mouser's handiwork. The wind that day was from the north-west—the direction the truck was heading—and the cloud enveloped the vehicle and surrounding block.

The Free Birds' motorcycles knifed through the smoke as Falco led them in a tight circle around the truck. They made repeated, fast circuits around their prey, dissuading the drivers from trying to break out and keeping the police from being able to target just one of them.

At first the officers at either end were baffled, too caught up in their surprise to do anything. Then they drew their guns and tried to target the riders as they passed, but their motorcycles proved too quick; one instant they were there, the next they had vanished around the other side of the truck and into the smoke. But that didn't dissuade them from firing anyway, their flailing shots zinging off brick walls and striking the sides of parked cars. A few cries went up from pedestrians, who hunkered behind vehicles or ducked down alleyways.

Falco tsked to himself. Before his next pass he reached behind his back and pulled out a long piece of piping he'd sheathed through a shoulder strap. Then when he rounded the back of the truck, he pulled in close to the officer's motorcycle and swung. The pipe struck his gun-hand, and the weapon went clattering to the street. After his pass, Falco glanced back to see him draw what looked like a taser before Bowser rammed his monster-sized touring bike into his police cycle, knocking it over.

Falco repeated the tactic on the officer in front, swinging the long metal pipe at his gun-hand. But this officer ducked, and the brunt of the blow glanced off his arm. The guard grit his teeth and brought his weapon around to face Falco again, but Shani rammed her bike into his and jumped off, tackling him to the ground. By the time the officer recovered his wits, the Titanian wild dog had his helmet off and smacked the back of his head against the street. The last thing he saw was the image of her snarling face—then stars.

But a metallic screech signaled the brakes on the truck had released; the drivers had seen the officer in front of them get his head bashed against the street, and they didn't want to experience a similar fate.

It was Mouser's turn to act next. He stopped his small bike in front of the cab, then leapt from the handlebars onto the hood. He crouched right in front of the windshield and drew a comically-oversized machine gun, waving it at the two drivers. "Both a' youse, scram!"

Raising their hands as high as possible, the occupants scooted to the door and dropped out, then fled off into the smoke.

Meanwhile at the rear of the truck, Shani dragged the unconscious officer to the sidewalk before "confiscating" his dropped gun, which she used to shoot the latch on the roll-up door. Falco shoved his pipe beneath it while Bowser worked a crowbar in, popping the door up enough to break it free from the mangled latch.

They were met with wall-to-wall cardboard boxes. Falco and Mouser jumped inside while Bruiser and Shani waited in the street with the other Free Birds. Falco sliced a box open with his pocket knife, then pulled aside the flaps to reveal it was full of oxygen masks.

They looked at each other. "It's da right one!" Mouser confirmed.

Falco moved on to another box with a different label, cutting it open to find replacement filtration tanks. A third box had filter screens for AC units. Others they checked had purifiers for tap water, carotenoids for countering the effects of pollution, and even the mycelial roots used to cleanse Zoness' waterways. They'd hit the jackpot, but the value of the truck's contents couldn't be measured with money—though its previous owners probably tried.

"Alright, let's unload all we can," Falco said.

He and Mouser began shoving the boxes to the back of the vehicle where Bowser used his brute crocodile strength to lower them down. They were at the job for several minutes before the smoke started to clear, and curious civilians circled round to watch. All were dressed in ragged clothing covered in grime and sewed-on patches. Most didn't have oxygen masks; they wore makeshift bandannas, cheap surgical masks, or just used their sleeves if they had nothing at all. Even those who did have rubber masks had run out of fresh filters long ago.

The crowd started in fright when Shani approached them carrying a box, but before they could scatter and run, she dropped it in the unsuspecting arms of an onlooker. "Here: take care of this. See that it's put to good use—or you'll answer to me!"

The group only looked at her with more confusion on their faces.

Shani set her hands on her hips. "Well don't just stand there gawking; help unload the truck! We can't do it by ourselves!"

Cautiously at first, one pedestrian after another approached the truck. They were a little frightened of Bowser, who looked anything but a civil servant as he towered over them with his snaggle teeth, but they soon learned they had nothing to fear.

"Th-thank you!" a cardinal said as the croc lowered a box into his arms. "I won't forget this!"

"Yeah, you guys are alright!" another spoke up.

Falco paused from unloading the truck to stare at the forming crowd in satisfaction. Smiles began to gleam on their dirty faces, and a new energy animated their movements; no longer did they appear like the hopeless zombies Grimmer had reduced them to. The spirit of goodwill proved contagious, as soon complete strangers were forming chains to pass out the rest of the boxes, thinking of their neighbors before themselves.

Before Falco could feel too good about himself, his radio crackled, emitting Kitt's urgent voice. "Heads up, Falco! A whole squad of police just left downtown; they're heading for the North End!"

"Got it, Kitt! We'll meet ya back at the shop."

Falco released the talk button and turned to the rest of the Free Birds and citizens present. "We got Bureau goons headed our way. Now would be a good time to scram if you don't wanna get involved!"

Most of the citizens looked around worriedly, then scattered—but not without nods of appreciation and murmurs of thanks.

Once they'd distributed the remaining boxes, Falco and Mouser jumped down from the truck. With the wail of sirens growing in the distance, the Free Birds mounted their bikes and sped off, leaving naught but a dissipating cloud of smoke, two unconscious police officers, and an empty semi-truck in their wake.

By the time the Bureau's forces arrived, there was no sign of the highway robbers—but from the rooftop of a nearby building, an iguana with onyx scales had watched the events unfold.

A dark scowl twisted his snout. Spitting, he turned and made for the fire escape.

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On the opposite side of the North End, Katt lounged in Grimmer's apartment building, frowning as she brushed the green 'G' tattoo on her thigh. The top floor beneath the penthouse was converted into a club for the highest members of the gang to carouse in. Arrays of soft, neon lights illuminated the dark room; they slowly rotated hues, changing the color of her pink fur. A thick cloud of smoke filled the den, but unlike the fumes on the streets, it possessed a sickly-sweet odor. Katt welcomed the numbing, euphoric effect it had; it made being here easier. Painless.

All around her couch were lower-seated sofas and throw-pillows over which members of the gang sprawled. Their attention was turned to their drinks, reefers, and women in their arms. Some of their eyes flicked up hopefully at a stripper's platform where a nude wolfess lurked, but she simply sat with her legs dangling over the edge, spaced-out as she smoked her own reef.

Katt lay across Grimmer's sofa in a similar condition, with only her matching tattoo and black leash that dangled from a collar around her neck. The brutish lizard sat beside her, but he was busy playing with a gecko on the other end of the couch, who giggled at his affection and raised shot glasses to his snout.

She knew Dimmer must have told him he saw her with Falco the other day, though Grimmer had yet to confront her. Every second that passed without him bringing it up only made her more anxious. It must've been on purpose; the gold slit eye she caught glancing back at her had to be studying her expression to see if it was working.

Trying to ignore him, she took a hit from her own reef and watched as the cloud she exhaled shifted hue in the neon lights. The calming effect that ensued relaxed her, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't the real deal. She wished Grimmer would just hand over her next stash and let her go already. Her eyes fell to the floor between their feet, where her prized box sat. Would he really mind or even notice if she just reached down now and—?

The elevator at the end of the room opened, letting a ray of bright, fluorescent light stream into the room. Katt squinted through it, while many of the other occupants blinked and groaned in discomfort. Scrimmer stepped into the flat, his tall shadow falling over a number of lounging gang members in his path. As the doors closed behind him, Katt could see a sneer forming on his face at their lethargic sight.

After intentionally stepping on a few of the pathetic souls, Scrimmer reached his brother and Katt at the back of the room. Unlike his sibling's green scales, Scrimmer's were black with a hint of midnight purple. He was also a bit shorter than his elder, but was otherwise his spitting image—spit being the keyword, as that was what Katt felt like doing whenever she saw him.

Grimmer inhaled a deep breath from a hookah and slowly breathed out the smoke, which slowly unfurled in the shifting rainbow light. His younger brother scowled and waved it away. "Scrimmer," he simply greeted, a calm look on his face, "I take it you got some news for me?"

"Yeah, I got some news," he snorted, "and all of it bad. I'm gonna need your full attention for once—if it ain't too much trouble to disturb your highness's bliss."

Normally Grimmer would've taken any subordinate's head off for smarm like that, but being brothers afforded Scrimmer a certain immunity. He lazily dropped the end of his pipe and sat up. He lightly patted the gecko's backside, and she took it as her signal to leave. Katt swallowed and stood up to do likewise, but Grimmer took hold of her leash, tugging it towards him a few times. Feeling uneasy, she gingerly sat on his lap.

"Alright Scrim. What is it?"

Scrimmer's unsettling eyes glanced at Katt with disdain. "Lombardi's at it again. He just hit another supply truck headed for the north-west neighborhood—and this time it was guarded."

Grimmer rubbed his chin with a claw, mind beginning to clear. "So the Free Birds really are at it again, huh…?"

Scrimmer crossed his arms. "I feel like I hafta remind you we have an understanding with the Bureau to protect any shipments on our turf. We'll get in trouble if we don't guard their shit—'specially if we want to see any of it comin' our way. If Lombardi pulls this stunt a third time, the Bureau will crack down on the North End. Considering the jack-shit this lot has done, it ain't gonna be our fun little playground much longer."

He sneered, and Katt knew he was right. A thick smog of lethargy and stagnation permeated the den, thicker than the pollution out on the street. All these souls had grown lazy and passive. It had been a week or two since any of their tails had even touched the seat of a bike. Instead they were all here, laying around like slime-eating amoebas, giving in to their vices—Grimmer included.

As they spoke, more and more of their underlings gathered around, listening in. A third iguana with ruddy-red scales and a bandage over his snout elbowed his way into the circle. "Scrim's right!" he shouted, "and we gotta repay Falco for what he did to me!"

"Dimmer—"

"And why does this pink bitch get a pass?!" He shoved a claw towards Katt, and she stiffened, narrowing her eyes at him. "She was with Lombardi when it happened. They're prolly fuckin' again behind your back!"

Katt extended her claws, but did her best to remain cool. Instead, she sucked in a hit through her reef and blew it in his face. "Mad that we beat you up, Dimmer? I knew you'd go crying home to big brother about it, but I enjoyed it when your crooked nose got bashed in, punk."

Dimmer clenched his fists, seething. "Why you cunt—!"

But Grimmer just laughed uproariously, the scales of his stomach and chest wracked by little waves. "She's right, Dim! You look like a real dumbfuck with that bandage on your hooter. You really let yourself get beat up by Falco and my tail!"

"I told ya, da bitch didn' lay a finger on me!"

"You idiot, that makes it worse! Lombardi beat ya single-handed! You shoulda graffitied the walls with his guts!"

Grimmer's laughs died down as he lost his high, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Urgh, I don't know which is worse: you, or that bird. You're both such headaches…" He lay with Katt across the sofa, resting his head on her chest. The feline bristled but couldn't move beneath him, so she reluctantly began stroking his head scales.

"Maybe I shoulda ran him off into the ocean as soon as he showed his ugly beak in the North End again. But I gotta admit, I was kinda hopin' he'd challenge me like this. Was getting' stale with no one to oppose us, both the Black Dragonfish and the Bureau on our good side n' all. And now I get to rub everything I've taken from that loser in his face…" He drew his tongue up the feline's chest, "…Right, Katt?"

She clenched her teeth, trying not to recoil at his touch. "Right…"

Scrimmer's black snout crinkled. "Well, you have your challenge. Lombardi's back, and he wants a rematch. He's forcing our hand by attacking Bureau-guarded transports. He's challenging the Dragonfish's hold on the black market with that new 'Corruption' shit he's selling. Allusion's out, they say; Corruption's in. Many of our customers have switched over to it, and I'm sure his robing-da-rich-to-give-to-da-poor shtick is makin' him some grateful allies."

Grimmer grunted. "Relax. No one's gonna undermine this here administration, nor shake my hold over the North End." He absently wound up Katt's leash around his fingers, drawing it tight. "I've got all the scum living here by the balls. And no, no one's gonna beat up my kid brother and get away with it, either—no matter how much he deserves it…" He grinned and clenched his fist, staring into the dark of the room like he could see his thoughts materialize in the twisting smoke. "It's about time we took this chicken to the chopping block…"

Katt swallowed, realizing the lizard brothers were going on the warpath. Gently, she caressed Grimmer's cheek and played with his head spines. "But Grimmer," she crooned, "there's no way he can beat you! Falco doesn't have the numbers. The Free Birds don't have even a fraction of what you have. If you sit tight, surely things will settle—AAHCK!"

Grimmer snapped the leash tight around her neck. Choking, Katt tugged at his claws, but he wouldn't relent. His powerful arm tugged her off the couch and forced her to kneel in front of him.

"You know, I been doin' a little thinkin' lately. Falco's gotta have a place to store and maintain all his bikes, don't he? A base to plan operations from and cook all that shit he's pushing. He wouldn't happen to have… set up shop at your place, kitten?"

The feline stared at him with wide, bulging eyes, unable to rasp out an answer.

"Heard he's got a brand new shiny bike from someone, too. Prolly thinks he's king of the world now that he's got the Free Bird's back, half the North End rooting for him, and his old tail purring for him again. But you're not his tail anymore, are you?" With his free hand, he stroked her cheek, even as she continued to choke. "You're mine. The North End is mine. 13 is mine—and he seems to have forgotten that. So, why don't you go remind him for me?"

Grimmer flung Katt onto the floor, and she coughed and gasped for air. The iguana stood over her, taking another hit from his hookah and shoving her promised box of Allusion beneath the couch with his ankle. Through watery eyes, Katt watched forlornly as it passed out of reach.

"Since you have such a… friendly relationship with Lombardi, you can be our liaison. Why don't you give him this message…" He bent over Katt, pulling her up by the hair to meet his face. When he spoke, sickly-smelling smoke escaped his maw like a dragon.

"I gave him a second chance, and he blew it. If he isn't gone from the District by tomorrow night, we'll chase him off the island ourselves, and his guts will be spread from your garage to the wharf where we toss him over. Oh, and you might mention this to him…"

Katt's eyes widened when Grimmer rolled up his sleeve, twisting his arm so she could see a freshly-inked tattoo on his scales: a long, winding black dragonfish that disappeared up into his sleeve: the mark of the Black Dragonfish.

"Now get!"

He slung Katt away, and she quickly scrambled to her feet. After gathering her clothes, she waded through the sea of howling gang members to the elevator, trying to block out their laughter and whistles. But before the doors closed behind her, she heard Grimmer's voice again, and her fur bristled.

"See ya later tonight, Katt…"

The doors shut, and she dug her claws into her arms as she shook.

She knew she'd be back, too.