Hey, guys. Usually I wait until I've gotten a few reviews before posting another chapter, but I had some extra writing time open up, so here we go. Where were we? Oh, yeah. Everyone rushing headlong to disaster. Shall we?

"From this moment forth, the world as you know it shall cease to exist! WELCOME TO MY NIGHTMARE!"

Ivan Ooze, Power Rangers: The Movie (1995)

Through an empty hall, the five lucid members of Vixen stole along with anxious speed, torn between the need to hurry and the desire to avoid any fatal run-ins. Early on in the trip, Xavier's scruples had gotten the better of his tactics and he'd taken over the very front from Vicky. It had been a small battle of wills, despite the need to keep their voices down. Very clearly, Vicky's anger over whatever tie this whole mess had to her father was working on her nerves, leaving her almost anxious for a fight. He almost let her stay on point, but in retrospect he was glad he hadn't. Better to let her carry that tension into a necessary fight than let it carry her into one they could avoid.

'I just hope my caution doesn't make Isabelle a widow,' he thought guiltily, recalling all too well what his father had once said about 'no real winners in warfare.' A fresh wave of guilt hit him as he added, 'Or make our son an orphan.'

Heaven help them all; where was Jerry anyway? Was he even still alive?

Jerry's fate and several others had been written half an hour before when his allergy to Night Howlers, struck though it was by an unaccustomed route, forced him to make a hasty retreat to the males' room. While Willy stood by as Jerry tossed his cookies and everything else he had eaten that night, the two lions who had aided their exodus took the opportunity to resume their argument just outside.

"Listen," Leodore pleaded, trying to keep his voice level. Most of his political career, he had thrived on drawing attention. Even so, living in politics meant living in the shadow of the press, and no one could live long at it without knowing the value of evading notice on occasion. "Can we just try to make one good experience while we have the chance?"

His son folded his arms. "By more smoke and mirrors?" he argued, lacking both the know-how and the desire to be unnoticed.

The ex-mayor clapped a paw to his forehead. "Son, am I pretending to not be myself? Yes; yes I am. But I'm not pretending to want to be with you. That's the truth. I've made a mess of things-"

"Excuse me. Coming through. Ohhh, I never thought I'd have too much sugar," groaned a portly feline, pushing past them.

Both lions gazed at their interloper as he disappeared into the bathroom, then returned their attention to each other.

"You were understating, Dad. Big time."

It was all Leodore could do not to collapse, mentally speaking. "Yes. Massive understatement. I hurt… I hurt my family. You, your mother; but please, let me try to do something right. I may not have another chance."

Before Lionheart Junior could decide how to respond, a ghastly noise filled the air. "Agh!" Scott groaned sharply, clapping his paws over his ears and ducking. "Worst feedback ever."

His father agreed, then turned to apologize to a zebra he had jostled. "Sorry, sir. I didn't see you there."

"Sorry this!" snapped the zebra, taking a swing with his hoof.

Leodore Lionheart was not accustomed to fisticuffs, and the blow caught him square on the eye. "Ow!" he yowled, clapping a paw to the injury. "What in the world-?!"

Before he could protest further, the equine was on him hammer and tongs, uttering yells that sounded less like words and more like inarticulate rage.

"Hey! Hooves off my pop!" Scott yelled, grabbing the zebra and almost at once getting caught up in the rumble. Even caught off guard, it only took the two lions a moment to heave the zebra away from them. By no particular design, they flung him out of the nook leading to the bathroom and into the outskirts of the main concert hall.

As the zebra stumbled over – and immediately began fighting with – a pangolin, the Lionhearts realized this was hardly an isolated case.

Alex stared in shock as what had been a party – if maybe a rather rough one – turned into an angry mob in mere moments. "What the he-?!"

"Scott!" Leodore cut him off, latching a paw on his shoulder.

"Hey, I was gonna say HEH-eck!"

For once, the former mayor had more practical concerns on his mind than civil niceties. Yanking his son back, he darted into what looked like the only safe place around: the males' room. They tumbled into the door, tripping over a polar bear cub and bowling smack into his father as the two tried to exit.

"Morris!" shouted the polar bear, crouching over his tumbled offspring. As the cub began to bawl, the adult bear turned an angry gaze on the larger of his two targets. "You hurt my son," he growled simply.

Leodore swallowed hard. "Uh, yes. Very sorry, sir, but we're in a bit of a-"

"We were hiding from a mass outbreak of Night Howlers," Scott cut him off.

All eyes turned to him in dead silence. "Say that again?" asked a coyote.

"Well, it's either that or a zombie apocalypse," Scott defended, shrugging. "Take your pick."

The polar bear turned to investigate, triggering an instantaneous response from Leodore.

"No, don't go out there!" he shouted, grabbing the back of the bear's jacket just as he poked his head out the door.

With a strength he hadn't known he possessed, the former mayor fairly flung Koslov – for Koslov it was – into the sinks, throwing his weight against the door to slam it shut.

"Papa!" cried Morris, seeing his father groan as he pulled his back off the fixtures.

Koslov rubbed his spine. Even in pain as he was, the main look in his eyes shook everyone watching.

The largest polar bear they had ever seen was terrified.

"Nobody open that door," he said coldly.

"Duh!" Scott replied.

The coyote glanced into the toilet stall where a kneeling wallaby still hacked and heaved over the bowl, then looked at the door.

"You! Big guy!" he ordered, pointing to Koslov. "Take the top of the door! Cheetah, get the bottom half."

Clawhauser held up his paws. "Uh, I'm not really strong, but-"

"It's your weight I care about. Put your back into it and sit."

Any further hesitation – or objection to being called out on his girth – was cut off as someone outside slammed into the door. No blows followed as whoever it was got pulled back into the brawl outside, but it made the threat all too obvious.

Half a dozen other mammals sharing the space – a sloth, two koalas, a panda, a sheep, and a horse – all stared. Several of them were covering their ears, even feeling the effects of the sound inside the bathroom. Scott tackled the sloth and one of the koalas to the floor.

"Don't let them go nuts!" he yelled.

As the panda began to grow unhinged too, the horse saw the sense in this and quickly pinned him down. With that crisis averted, the coyote put his focus back on the door.

"We need to widen that," he said sharply.

"Really bad time for renovating!" snapped Leodore.

The coyote smacked himself on the forehead. "Not the door! Us! We need to fit more of us in there blocking it!" He vaulted over Ben's sprawled legs to fit his paws into a spot not yet taken.

As everyone crowded in trying to push the door or push someone pushing the door, the coyote yanked on Leodore's arm and pointed to the stalls. "Get me some panels."

Leodore stared at him. "Do I look like a builder?" he asked, incredulous.

Koslov – more used to blunt force – shoved Leodore towards the stalls. "You have muscles. Use them, not mouth."

Unaccustomed though he was to taking orders, the politician made no argument. It took some doing – and a few shouted hints from the coyote – but all the time he had spent exercising to look good for the media finally proved useful. In a few minutes, he had managed to rip loose a door and two side panels making up the stalls. Under the coyote's instruction, they managed to get these between them and the door. To call it inelegant would be a massive understatement, but it gave the sheltered mammals enough space to all put weight or muscle into their sole barricade against total annihilation.

"Nice plan," Lionheart admitted. "How'd you come up with that?"

The coyote shrugged. "DIY videos. And I teach shop class."

With a shrug, the ex-mayor kept pushing. "Any port in a storm, I guess."

Now that Xavier was in front, he did his best to recall the path they had taken to get here. He'd often prided himself on his navigation skills, having trained exhaustively both in Junior Ranger Scouts and on more private hikes and campouts with his father. Unfortunately, those had all been outdoors and relied extensively on every cue from running water to the night sky. He had never trained to navigate buildings, and was only half-sure of the way they had come. Hope and dread surged together as the sound they had all been listening for – that ghastly off-note that triggered the modified toxin – started to echo through the passages. In less than a minute, Taelia had begun to struggle and writhe against her bonds, and Nicole was fighting to keep her quiet.

"Everybody hush," Xavier ordered unnecessarily. Creeping up on a corner ahead, he raised a paw to signal for everyone else to hold back. Then he raised that same paw to his ear and brought it as close to the corner as he dared. His blood ran cold as a faint growl reached his ears.

He turned to the rest of the group and waved them back.

"Why?" Vicky mouthed.

He shook his head sternly and signaled more earnestly for her to withdraw. She, naturally, wanted to see what was going on, but he hastily snatched her back.

"I'll look," he insisted. "You move."

When he was satisfied that she was on the retreat, he tentatively peered around the corner to see just what was holding back their progress. His blood ran cold at the sight.

Beating a hasty retreat to the others, he found his wife already ushering them into a room. Xavier spared one backward glance before ducking in himself and shutting the door.

"What was it?" asked Ellen breathlessly.

"Grizzly bear," he hissed. "I think we're safe if we can just figure out a way past it."

"Any ideas?" asked Vicky in her usual demeanor.

He shook his head. "None."

Everyone looked around, trying to find something of use. Unfortunately, they were in an art gallery; Poisson's private collection of original sculptures, paintings, woven work, and a few bronze urns. It would have been fine to look at if they'd had the time.

"What if one of us baited it away?" ventured Isabelle.

"Over my dead body," Xavier shot back, instantly regretting his choice of words.

"We could try to take it," Vicky suggested. "There's five of us and one of it."

Ellen coughed. "Uh, that's five us against one grizzly, and one of us has to hold Taelia. I'm thinking bad idea," she replied.

Xavier struggled to think. He'd seen something like this in a show once. Let's see. Kill zone.. check. Fire extinguishers... he looked around. Check. He glanced at the ladies' feet; none of them were wearing high heels. Got to improvise, he thought, surveying the room.

"Brace yourselves," he said. "I have an idea."

The grizzly – the same which had accosted Officer Hopps earlier – had been on the hunt for one of the racoons who had been serving the refreshments. Having not gone on his break yet, the waiter had managed to slip into a vent and hidden away far up the ductwork where even the bear's muscles could not get her. The bear, cheated of this target, had begun stalking the halls looking for some fresh target of his rage.

"FWEE-eeee-EET!"

Whirling at the sound, the bear saw through red-tinged eyes that a figure farther up the hall was waving for its attention.

"Hey, gruesome! This way!"

'Enemy! Maim! Kill! Destroy!' The brute lunged off after this fresh target. Xavier, not intent on giving his attacker an easy job, ran around the corner and ducked into the art gallery. The bear came around just as Vicky and Ellen slammed the doors behind Xavier.

They might as well have left them open. The doors splintered as the brute of an animal thrust its way in, sighting a single figure directly to the front. It lunged forward as Xavier tumbled himself out of the way. "Now!" he ordered.

From behind statues on either side, streams of choking white vapor struck the bear in the face, cutting off its air and obliterating its already weak vision.

"Round two!" cried Vicky, lunging from her own cover and brandishing a large bronze urn. With a bell-like tone, she struck the bear across the head with it, then jumped away as the bear swung to retaliate. On that signal, Isabelle sprang into the open with a similar weapon.

Ellen and Nicole emptied their fire extinguishers on the bear, then rushed in brandishing the heavy canisters as clubs. Xavier, seizing an urn. It was a ghastly struggle, for there never was a grizzly that went down easily even if it was blinded. Blow after blow rained down on its head like so many blacksmiths striking in turn at a piece of metal, but still the brute roared and clawed the air, always just missing its foes.

Then it didn't miss.

Xavier barely had time to see the blow coming. On reflex, he threw himself backward and only just avoided having his life snuffed out in an instant. The claws, however, landed a fearsome blow on his left shoulder and gained enough purchase to throw him not less than fifteen feet to a hard landing, smashing a statue in his way to fragments.

"Xavier!" screamed Isabelle, casting her vase aside and rushing to him.

It was a deadly mistake. The bear's ears were still working, and now it had a sound onto which to lock them. With a roar, it ran toward the helpless pair, heedless of other assaults.

During the grim battle, Ellen had lost hold of her extinguisher and caught up an urn instead. Now, frantic with desperation, she rushed the bear screaming at the top of her lungs. The bear turned, and was just opening its mouth to roar, when-

POOMP!

The ensuing roar sounded with a metallic echo, for Ellen's stroke had slammed the vessel clean over its head. It shook and pawed, but the polished surface gave no purchase adequate to get loose.

For an instant, everyone stared at the strange spectacle as the grizzly, thus hooded, flailed around with not even a memory of the pests which had assailed it. 'Trapped! Out! Fight! Break!' It thrashed around, every blind impact ringing the bronze around its head as if it were trapped inside the very bells of Notre Dog.

Ellen stared, seeming a little dumbfounded at her own accomplishment. "I can't believe that actually-"

The bear got lucky again. With a whirl of its head, it slammed – bronze and all – and smashed its head into Ellen like a hammer.

Vicky had seen what was coming and was already fairly airborne, a feral cry in her throat. The bear swung blindly to answer this challenge, but this time Vicky was a split second faster. With a clash as if a great cathedral bell had fallen from its tower, she brought the urn still in her paws down on the bear's like the hammer of an enraged warrior of old.

Tumbling from her lunge, Vicky turned with bared teeth as if to take the bear on empty-handed, her dented urn lying on the floor. But whether her blow had been harder or just put it over the edge, the bear was done. With its own covering dented on one side, it staggered, let out an echoing groan, and fell like a stone.

There was no time to celebrate their accomplishment, and with Xavier down Nicole took charge in an instant. "Isabelle, you get Ellen!" she shouted, already moving to help Xavier. "Vicky, get Taelia and get out!"

Vicky obeyed, grabbing the vase with Taelia in it from a corner well away from brawl. The band rushed out of the room, leaving the bear to its fate. With Nicole leading the way and aiding Ellen as best she could, they cloistered themselves in another room to tend their wounds.

"Get that shirt off Xavier," Nicole ordered as she examined Ellen. "Then wad it and put it over the wound."

The news was serious with Ellen: at least three ribs either cracked or broken, and serious pain in her head from smacking it on the wall. Xavier, when Nicole got to him, was in better shape thanks to the tough jacket his father had lent him. The claw marks were ragged, but not very deep, and although he was a bit dazed for some awful moments there were no signs of anything broken.

"Now what?" asked Isabelle.

Nicole bit her lip. "Medically, the sane thing to do would be to find a safe place to hunker down and wait for help."

Xavier, who had taken over pressing the cloth to his injury, was quick to object. "We came here for a reason," he said decisively. "We're getting to that sound room even if..." He didn't finish. He didn't have to.

Nicole just nodded. "I hate you for this," she said in a moment of phenomenally uncharacteristic harshness, "but you're right."

She spared a few minutes to cobble together a stretcher out of some wall hangings and broken-off parts of furniture. They placed Ellen on that, and Vicky and Isabelle were tasked with taking it up by the ends. Nicole tied Xavier's shirt to his wound, then hoisted him on a shoulder so that her own body was adding pressure to the compress. With her free hand, she picked up the vase which still echoed inside from Taelia's manic efforts to get loose. So situated, they limped onward towards the sound room. Though none said it, all of them were praying inside – even Vicky, who had probably never prayed in her life – that they wouldn't meet any more trouble. With half their number incapacitated and the other half fully occupied tending to them, the next encounter could only have one outcome: game over for everyone.

It was Xavier, bleeding though he was, who alleviated the tension. "Nice move with the urn, Ellen," he commended. "How'd you come up with that?"

Ellen shrugged, then winced as this shifted her injured ribs. "Those cartoons," she answered, "where the bear is always getting his head stuck in honey pots."

Xavier groaned. "Saved by a kids' show," he grimaced. "My paintball buddies will never let that go."

"Shush," ordered Nicole. "Save your energy until I can check your injuries. We need to get to that sound room, fast."

Olivia Poisson emerged from the tunnel, passing through a gate that opened on a wireless signal from her car. She could only hope Officer Hopps and any help she chose to bring would be close behind.

In front of her stood the facade for the shipping offices wing of an underground processing plant, situated directly below one of her floral farms up on the surface and next to an underground river her company used both for irrigation and cheap, easy product shipping. Carved out of a natural rock formation, the building took advantage of water and water-sculpted flows of the limestone to create a rippling light effect. At any other time she would have found the lighting soothing. Now she felt as if she were in a horror movie, pulling up to a madman's lair or a vampire's castle.

She steeled herself, doing her best to remember that this was her factory and she had backup on the way. Any fear or submission she might show would be an act to buy time and Lillian's release; nothing more.

If only I hadn't been such an arrogant fool, she thought to herself, following a series of hastily spray-painted arrows – arrows on her parking lot – pointing to a loading dock entrance. As if guessing her chagrin, the old goat had placed dozens crowded around the door itself, both on the ground and on the building wall. The trap couldn't have been more obvious if he'd painted a massive pair of steel jaws around it. She reached into the glove box, took out a spare phone used for company business, and punched in a quick call to 9-1-1 before leaving it on the seat. She had heard somewhere – goodness knew where – that even decommissioned phones could still be used to call emergency numbers as long as they were in working order. She just hoped that was true. A call with no one speaking might be ignored as a mistake, but it might also be enough to save her hide.

She found the door unlocked and strode in to find William Cudd himself, accompanied by half a dozen sheep, including Doug, whom she swore to herself she'd make suffer for all of this before she was done. Her eyes almost immediately centered on Barracus, however, one paw firmly entrapping a bound and gagged Lillian. Even through her fur, one could hardly miss the bruise Cudd had delivered in forcing her to speak over the phone.

"You're fired," she told the hyena coldly.

Cudd chuckled. "Ah, Miss Poisson. So charmingly uncomplicated, as always."

Olivia fought to control her tone. "Cudd, whatever business you have with me, I'll thank you to let Lillian out of it this minute."

"Oh, not this minute," Cudd replied smugly, tapping his hooves together with an almost inaudible clack, clack, clack. Then he brought out a little paintball-style gun, which he pressed against the younger skunk's neck. "You see, you have something I want very much. If you refuse it, I give you my word I will dart Miss Gray and withdraw the rest of my staff, leaving just you two. I wouldn't stake much on your surviving it, but whatever happens to you, she will live out her days knowing it was her claws and teeth that did it. Oh, and did I mention with the new formula she'll remember every last detail? I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

Olivia was almost speechless with horror and impotent rage. She didn't dare question if Cudd would do it. After all he'd unleashed back at the mansion on total strangers, there could be no doubt how far he would go to get revenge on her.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly. "Money? Groveling? Congratulations on your height of domestic terrorism?"

The serow merely chuckled. "Oh, don't be so patronizing, my dear lady. I've only begun my climb on – as you say – domestic terrorism, and I'll soon have more money than you could ever offer. As for groveling, I'll be more than happy to beg for your life and Miss Gray's in due time, but first there's some research I want. A little project of yours you once called Catphrodite's Girdle."

Olivia searched through her mind for the phrase, and when she dug it up a strange chill ran through her. Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed. Now, however, her heart fairly stopped at the thought of Cudd's response when she told him the truth.

"It… no longer exists," she said quietly. Catphrodite's Girdle – named for a mythic belt which would make any female who wore it utterly irresistible to males – was as powerful as its name suggested. By combining the right concentration of midnicampum extract with certain artificial pheromones, she had personally created a formula so strong as to border on mind control. She had been for tweaking it; trying to make it safe and ethical. Her father, still the head of the company back then, had been too appalled at the potential. He ordered all samples destroyed and every last trace of the research, physical and digital, obliterated. Even when he entrusted her with the company, he made her give him her solemn promise that she would never attempt to recreate it. Now she knew why.

Cudd set the weapon aside and walked up to her, leaning to her eye level and staring her directly in the eyes. He was so close she could feel his breath.

"Look into my eyes," he ordered, "and say that again."

It was all she could do to look him in the eyes without clawing them out. "I destroyed it," she promised. "Every last trace of it. And you will never recreate it. Even the base components were mostly proprietary technology."

He held her gaze for another moment, searching for any sign of a bluff.

Then he started to laugh, throwing back his head as his whole body shook with mirth. "Oh, you fool!" he roared. "You really believed it, didn't you? I see it now. You never even imagined it all this time."

Confusion washed over Olivia's mind, trying to understand the goat's words.

Then, alas, the truth hit her like a swinging brick, and she cast a hateful gaze upon her betrayer.

Not much to say about this chapter, but for anyone wondering this story is coming up on its closure, partly due to a fair amount of material being prepared ahead of time (yay ADHD) and partly due to some recently opened up writing time. The next chapter is, in fact, already just about done as of this release, so I shouldn't be too much longer in posting it, especially if people are quick to leave comments.

Also, due to said writing time and a need for income, I'm leaning towards opening up a . I am not unemployed, but I do have some expenses looming on the horizon which will need whatever extra money I can put towards them. Per the advice of my friend Skulblaka Shur'tugal, I'll refrain from making any promises until I verify that I can manage a consistent output and make good on whatever rewards I may promise. For now, I'm going to say I'd probably give sponsors early access, but I have other possibilities on the table (unreleased concepts, fan requests, etcetera) if the push goes well enough. Might even have some rewards relating to my books, once those get off the ground. And sorry-not-sorry, but anything NSFW is categorically off the table.

And on one final note to reward those of you still reading my ramblings, my fiancé and I have gotten our ducks enough in a row that, if all goes smoothly from here, she and I may be married six months or so from now. We've waited a long time for this, and if anyone wants to follow me on X or Facebook (if I can get my auxiliary account on the latter up and running again), I look forward to sharing this milestone event with all my friends old and new.

Until next time, may the Lord bless you and keep you. Enjoy, and as always, don't forget the three Fs: Favorite, Follow, and Feedback!

Easter Eggs:

Lady and the Tramp 2

Winnie the Pooh

Surviving Disaster