Underdog scooped up Polly and left the warehouse before the image of criminals overpowering Bombay like whitecaps on a monsoon could burn itself into his memory. He could do nothing to change Bombay's mind. He could do nothing to save them.

Outside, the air was still. The sky was red. Polly was heavy in Underdog's weary arms. Underdog's fingertips felt numb, tingling with need to save his friend. His breathing quickened, lungs expanding and contracting until he could feel every movement of his ribcage. He began to pant as the heat of anxiety and the noon-day sun blazed across his body. Despite that, every one of his paws felt cold and fizzy.

Underdog kept on flying, with no clue of how long, nor any destination in mind. He didn't have it in him to think of anything—much less a plan to defeat Simon. The ground below him swirled into a bloody blur. It looked the same as the floor of the warehouse did, coated with dust and blood both of Underdog's adversaries and himself. Now, Bombay's would join it. He felt the icy claws of his worst enemy sink themselves into every valve and ventricle of his heart. He couldn't breathe.

He'd already lost. Bombay would never make it out. He would die and Simon would take the city down with him.

Vaguely, Underdog felt the blunt point of Polly's claws drag across his cold, numb cheek. She stroked his face with one hand and his hair with another. She also pressed her head and chest up tighter against him. Underdog could hear Polly's soft voice dance within his eardrums. It sounded something like encouragement or comfort, he couldn't make out what the words were.

Regardless, Polly's actions proved helpful enough. Soon enough, with rhyme nor reason, Underdog sucked in a breath through his nose and flew the two gently downward. Blocks away from the wretched warehouse—from Bombay— Underdog let Polly down onto the sidewalk before landing himself. His legs and paws were still numb, and he only felt the ground beneath him as pressure.

The feeling of Polly's fingers interlaced with his own was stronger than it had been a few moments ago. He rolled her porcelain hands in his rough ones—beaten, bruised, bloody and bubbling. Underdog couldn't meet her gaze. He hoped that it was his punched-out eyes trying to ooze as he felt a wetness slide down his hot cheeks.

"Polly—" he gasped.

She was silent.

Underdog huffed and puffed as he tried to gain his bearings. Suddenly, he squeezed her hands and shot his eyes up at hers as a million strangled words that he never wanted to say forced themselves out of his mouth.

"You're everything to me," he whimpered first, "My world; my universe. I have so much love for you—but it's not a hero's love."

His voice got louder and louder. He dropped his gaze roughly as he ground his teeth, hot tears streaming down his muzzle. Underdog kept on rambling, thousands of words that he would never dare repeat. The cold numbness of fear that had gripped him only a few minutes before was now entirely replaced with the hot burn of shame. It flowed through his veins like hellfire.

"Heroes don't betray their allies—heroes don't abandon their FRIENDS in that hell we—"

"Shoeshine," Polly muttered softly. It was the first thing she had said throughout the entirety of Underdog's rant. He stopped dead in his tracks. One of Polly's gentle hands rose to Underdog's face, the other stroking his bloody knuckles with her thumb.

Underdog attempted to gulp back his emotions as he stared into her calming sapphire eyes. He could never understand how she was doing it—remaining so serene and supportive through everything they had been through.

"You were right," she muttered. Underdog felt his heart sink. Polly's agreement regarding his lack of heroic qualities only made him feel worse than he did.

However, she continued.

"Those crooks could and did turn on you," she said, "It doesn't make you less of a hero to get yourself out. They'll be fine, and Bombay will be fine—I promise."

Underdog blinked up at her as she wiped away the blood on his face. She took in a deep breath and continued to speak.

"The Underdog I know would never get so down in the dumps like this," she said with a smirk on her face and a twinkle in her eye. "He'd never give up in the home stretch of his mission. And he'd never say he wasn't a hero for doing what he had to. Think—think all of those thoughts that made you a hero in the first place."

He tried. He thought of his parents, of justice, of providence; of fighting for right and helping the underdogs of the world; of lies and doors; of the feeling that overwhelmed him when he landed that final, knockout punch into his enemy.

Underdog furrowed his brow as he felt his body rush with energy. It was a different type of adrenaline than what he felt when he was fighting for his life. This was something more akin to pride. It worked its way up his body like warm water, washing away the numbness in his extremities and the shame that was caked under his nails. He nodded up at Polly.

"Believe Bombay will be okay," she said, "For me." She held the hero's face and spoke with a rough desperation that Underdog hadn't ever heard from her before—not through their entire partnership, nor the week they'd spent in the prison.

Underdog nodded, cracking his knuckles. Polly returned it, letting out a small breath.

"Now," she said, "What do you need me to do?"

The moment she asked, Underdog felt all of his newfound confidence drain out of him. He looked up at her with damp eyes and whimpered in a voice most unheroic, "Be safe."

Polly scoffed, pulling her dear friend into a hug. Underdog had never cared for affection despite Polly's insistence—and even less so in public. But now, the city streets were silent, Polly's arms had never been more welcoming, and Underdog let himself sob into her shoulder.

For a long moment he stayed there, Polly rubbing his back. Finally, Underdog swallowed back the rusty mucus coating the back of his throat and let himself simply breathe. He took a step away from Polly and fixed her with a determined stare. She smiled.

"Go," she said, pulling him in for one last hug. "The city needs you. Be safe. Be strong."

Polly trailed off like she was holding back anything more. Underdog leaned back again and nodded. He, too, had several more things he wished to say to her—but he was too uncertain. Too battered. One day, under better circumstances.

He stepped away until Polly's thin hands fell out of his grasp. Pushing off on the concrete, Underdog hovered into the air. Feeling a heavy weight within his bones, he raised his arms into the air and flew away without a glance back at her.

Somewhere in the city limits, Underdog would meet Simon Barsinister for what he could only hope was their final battle. A million things crossed his mind as he flew, eyes only half open for any sign his evilest adversary may be lying in wait in some inky pool of blackness.

He thought of a feeling planted deep within him—a sense of justice his father had instilled in him as nothing more than a pup. He thought of the feelings that made him a hero in the first place. He thought of Bombay emerging from the prison no worse-off than they had gone in. He thought of the city returned to normalcy.

At the root of all his thoughts, of course, was hope. He could only pray that it would be enough.