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The Champion

By Cris Fireheart / Ken Anderson

Chapter 12 – Burned and Blitzed

Author's note: This story contains scenes of extreme violence, profanity, drug and alcohol use, sale, and abuse, and some sexual situations. Reader discretion is DEFINITELY advised. That being said, if none of that bothers you, then enjoy!

As ever, any comments, watches, faves, or votes are well appreciated!

And now, things started to take yet another turn, with the introduction of one of Jake's oldest friends, and the truth behind Victor, James' mysterious butler. As the group returns to the estate following their rescue of Rory, A night of tough questions and answers awaits them. What has Bobby been up to for the past decade? Who exactly is Victor? At the end, a fight must be won, and a message must be sent, which could very well cause them to lose one of their number. But, like any good tactician, James himself has already begun to enact a plan... And it all starts with a little bit of truth. It's time to meet the lieutenants...

Edit: somehow, I forgot I'd rewritten the beginning. The timeline didn't make sense! ::facepaw::

--C

It was nearly 1 A.M. by the time the group finally arrived back on the manicured grounds of the Clayton Estate. They'd taken the rest of the day after their ordeal to drive aimlessly throughout the city, on high alert for any possible tails or hints of being followed.

Rory had taken the time to doze off in the passenger seat, as they'd been forced to sit in late-night bumper-to-bumper traffic on the inner-loop freeway for nearly an hour. Marco and Henry were passing a cigarette between one another, neither of them having found the mental fortitude required to produce the words that were needed to describe their current situation. Jake, however, was fully alert, his triangular ears perked up and his eyes darting to and fro, scanning every inch of the long, paved road which led up to the mansion's circular driveway, hoping to catch a glimpse of that familiar coat of shiny black fur. His attention was quickly diverted as James cleared his throat from the driver's seat, before nodding his head silently towards the direction of the heavy stone columns which stood in a row in front of the main entrance. Jake could already feel the corners of his muzzle twisting upwards into a smile as he caught sight of a tall, well-built figure, dressed casually in blue jeans and a black hoodie, which had been pulled tightly over his head to obscure his face.

“Is that him?" Jake almost whispered.

“That's him, son," James confirmed with a nod. “He and I ran into each other a little over a year ago; we sat down and he told me his story. At the end of it all, I offered to hire him on as my head of my personal security, and as my go-to surveillance expert... But I should probably let HIM be the one to tell you anything more. Now, go and see your foster brother. I'm pretty sure you two have got a LOT of catching up to do. I'll take the rest of us in through the basement garage, and we'll meet you both inside."

Jake needed no further encouragement, as he quickly gave Marco a peck on the side of his muzzle, before reaching out for his door handle.

“It's my BROTHER... It's been over a decade since we last saw each other, and he's apparently been watching over us for a YEAR? I NEED to go and hear him out. You should take Henry and Rory inside and get them situated in the den. There should be plenty of booze and smokes to get Rory loose enough to start talking... I'll be in there soon, alright?"

Marco let out a slight huff of laughter as he grinned and nodded his head. “Take all the time you need; we'll be waiting for you guys when you're done. I'll be sure to save some drinks for you both."

“Thank you," Jake whispered, giving the wolf a genuine smile as he opened his door and stepped out into the humid evening air, before shutting it carefully behind him. Making his way slowly towards the hooded feline, who hadn't moved from his position leaning against one of the stone pillars, Jake allowed his trademark sneer to cross his muzzle as he nodded his head in the panther's direction.

“'Sup, cat?" he offered with a toothy grin, “It's been a LONG time!"

“Yeah..." came a deep, bass-filled growl of a voice. Reaching a large black paw towards his hood, the feline pulled it away, revealing the shining black fur and green eyes that Jake still remembered from his earliest years. “Sorry it took so long for us to meet up again..."

“...That's it?!" The coyote exclaimed, “I haven't seen you in twelve years, I just find out that you've apparently been watching over us for about a year, and all I get is 'Sorry I took so long'?"

Robert's ears lowered slightly as he lowered his head and traced his gaze along the concrete at his feet. He'd obviously offended the coyote; not something he'd intended to do during their first meeting in over a decade. Which is why his eyes suddenly went wide and his breath came out in a surprised gasp as he suddenly felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him.

“ I fuckin' missed you, man... I always wondered what happened to you after I got locked up, when we were kids. By the time I got out, I tried to look for you, but I found out that you and your foster family had moved..."

The panther silently nodded his head into Jake's shoulder, letting out a sigh as the coyote released his grip. Flashing smiles, the pair took the time to look one another over, Robert nodding his head slightly as he noticed the bandages poking out from under Jake's shirt.

“We moved out to Virginia right after junior year," he began, as he produced a pack of Marlboro Lights from the center pocket of his hoodie, offering one to Jake, before taking one for himself. Sparking up his cigarette, he passed the lighter on as he continued with his explanation. “I did alright for awhile... Graduated with a 'B' average, and ended up going to University out there, studying history, of all things. I actually majored in Military History, and graduated cum laude. That was around the same time your dad was killed, and you, Lenny and Marco all took off to join the Marines... Talk about a coincidence..." He paused to take another hit from his cigarette and retrieve his lighter from Jake, who was holding it out towards him.

“... Apparently, someone, somewhere, found out about my past; my history with you, not to mention Marco and your dads... They recruited me literally two days after my college graduation; while you were at boot camp before making your way out to Kenya, I was headed directly to Quantico. Once I graduated from my class there, I was sent out to three different states, doing undercover work, mostly. Almost two years ago, I got outed and burned on an op. It turned out that there was a mole in my unit, and they'd hated me enough to pass on my file to the group that I was investigating. I was placed on involuntary leave for a period of up to five years, unpaid. Of course, the Feds offered me witness protection, but I knew better than to accept that load of bullshit. I've seen WitPro get cracked before. I knew I'd be safer back home, with people I could actually TRUST to look after me. Then, about thirteen months ago, I had a chance meeting with your dad. We sat down, and he offered me protection, and a position as the head of his personal security. I've been working for the Family ever since..."

“WHO recruited you?" Jake finally asked, his ears slightly splayed as he worried for the answer.

Heaving a sigh, the panther slipped a paw into the back pocket of his jeans, and came out holding a thick, leather wallet. He held it out towards Jake, who took it cautiously into his own paws, before flipping it open.

“Just so you know--" Robert cut in as the coyote's eyes widened at the sight, “I'm NOT here in any official capacity. I'm not being tracked, and my superiors actually have NO IDEA where I am; I ditched everything they gave me; I even tore that wallet apart myself and swept everything I owned to make sure there wasn't an RFID tracker hidden somewhere. As far as they're concerned, I've gone completely off-grid."

Jake continued to study the wallet in his paws, which held a solid, metal badge sewn into one side of it, and an ID card on the opposite end. It contained all of Robert 'Bobby' Marshall's personal information, with the exception of his current address and actual birth date. But what caught his eyes the most were the three large letters, sitting right behind the panther's photo. FBI.

“You're a FED?!"

“Yeah... And you're a gangster. It's like I said; someone got a hold of my sealed adoption files; they found out about my connection to Harbor City and my 'association' with you and the rest of your family... They must've thought that experience would help me out, where they were gonna be sending me. The feds recruited me, trained me, and sent me straight into undercover work the second I passed through. By the time you guys were all busy getting ambushed in Africa, I was being put undercover with a feline-supremacist 'survivalist' group. It took me nearly a year to finally get what I needed to put most of them away..."

“...Am I even supposed to be hearing any of this?"

“Legally? No. But between the two of us, I figure we've got over a decade of catching up to do, and I didn't want to start over by lying to you. I was actually watching from outside the mansion when James gave you and Marco the rings, the other day. Congratulations, by the way..." the panther flashed Jake a toothy grin.

Huffing slightly, Jake handed over the wallet, before crossing both of his arms over his chest. After a moment of relative silence, he took the final hit from his cigarette, before snatching the butt from his lips, and flicking it into a large, birdbath-sized stone ashtray which was placed directly next to the front entrance..

“Yeah, we're definitely gonna need a drink and some weed for this... You still smoke, right?"

“Yeah, of course. Most of the groups I had to infiltrate were usually heavily involved in drugs, and that's one way to get in the door, so I still smoke weed. I also somehow managed to get legal scripts for everything else I'd have to be taking in order to 'fit in.' Adderall, Xanax, Oxy, Desoxyn... I'm pretty sure I've been loaded up and 'dried out' more than most of the people in the bureau..."

“And they STILL kept letting you go undercover?"

“It's not like they had much of a choice... Even at my WORST, spun out of my mind, I still managed to turn in more credible intelligence and gather better evidence than most of my peers. They just sort of let it happen, or put up with it, I guess... To be honest, I was pretty much completely strung out by the time I got burned; that one was on me. In the end, it all just made it easier for one of my own teammates to betray me. I'm mostly clean these days, though, since I've been working for your dad. Weed and booze only, for the most part, with a couple of Xanax if I might need them during the day from time to time. Your dad insisted on it; he said that if I wanted HIS protection and confidence, I had to keep my mind sharp. I've been keeping to his order since the day I took this job. But I'm not the only one watching over him. You know Victor?"

“Barely; I know he's been working for my dad since me and the guys were overseas. Dad said he had a security clearance, like you do?"

“NOT LIKE ME," Robert uttered in a low growl, before catching himself and straightening up his posture. “He's not working for the U.S. government; he never was. His connections run way deeper than that; old money, it's darker... He doesn't have a security clearance; he has a pedigree. Have you ever heard of the 'Silver Family'?"

Jake's ears perked slightly at the name. “I think so... I'm pretty sure I read some articles about them online, back in the day. Something about a notorious 'naturalist' cult from the U.K. that was heavy into drugs and murder? They were a family of foxes, known for having their kits undergo that illegal-ass operation where they had their claws grafted with surgical steel implants, right? They were pretty much killed off in the early nineties?"

“1994. There was a massive raid on their family estate just outside of London. Of the twenty-seven members of that family, the Silvers, twenty-six were killed during a joint operation involving both the U.S. and British authorities. It was a fuckin' massacre, on both sides. More than two dozen FBI agents were killed during that op, clawed completely to shreds, but not before they managed to accomplish their mission. Every male, female, and child in that place was targeted and eliminated, then they lit the whole place up like a damn Christmas tree. Nobody was spared. But, according to my sources back at club Fed, one of them wasn't actually at home that day..."

“...If you're going to be discussing my family's history, Bobby, perhaps you should actually let me speak on my own behalf." came a familiar voice from the shadows. Whirling around, the panther struggled to pinpoint the location of the sound, before a black-gloved paw silently reached out from the behind the pillar he'd been leaning against and gently tapped him on his left shoulder, nearly causing him to jump out of his fur.

“Aghhh! Fuck! Grrr... I keep tellin' you not to CALL ME THAT, 'Two-moons!'"

“Then don't try to TELL MY STORY, kitten. I'll do it myself. Now come in, both of you. Rick and Lenny both arrived before we did; everybody's waiting in the den. Rory already gave up the goods on the Pride; right now, they're all expecting to hear from us. Personally, I can't wait to see how they react to you being a federal agent."

“Probably better than they'd react to hearing about the cult you were born in, assassin!"

“We WERE'NT a bloody cult..." Victor muttered under his breath as he nodded slightly towards the large oak doors behind them.

Jake suddenly found himself feeling even more confused than before as he watched his old best friend turn to follow Victor towards the front entrance. Shaking off his own questions, he jogged to catch up to them both, expecting to get his answers once they'd all had a chance to sit down. He definitely needed a drink for this one...

Twenty Minutes Later...

“...And that's basically how I ended up working for Mr. Clayton," Robert finished his tale, as he reached out a paw to grasp at the glass of whiskey that Victor had poured for him before he'd begun. “I'm pretty much a rogue agent at this point; the bureau wants everything about me to be swept under the rug, and the guys I got burned with have already put the word out across the country; they want me dead."

“...So you're a Fed?" Came Ricky's half-muttered response, mirroring Jake's reaction, as the young man raised his own whiskey glass to his lips before draining it dry. Setting the empty glass down on the table between them, he let out a sigh, before giving a slight shrug of his shoulders and placing his taped-up arms comfortably behind his head. “Okay... That's actually c_ool._ I can see how that'd definitely be of use to us. And no, before you ask, that doesn't mean I trust you. You may be a friend of the Family, but I don't know you. I trust James and Jake, and THEY trust you."

“Agreed," Came Rory's deep, bass-filled voice from across the table, drawing nods from Lenny and Henry as well. Marco, seated next to Jake and James, ran a paw across his chin as he struggled to come to terms with what he'd just heard. The unshorn gray wolf looked even more frazzled than usual, if it was even possible.

“So... you've been watching us this entire time?" he asked, turning his gaze towards the panther.

“That's correct, Mr. Binetti."

“Even when Jake got shot at Benny's Diner?!"

The panther's ears drooped slightly as he lowered his gaze to the carpet and slowly shook his head. “No... I wasn't on watch that day. I was on the North side, trying to gather information on the Pride. Victor wasn't there, either. We all really thought that it would just be a routine deal; nobody counted on Jonny Scars showing up, or deciding that he'd suddenly grown a pair of balls..."

“No plan ever survives contact with the enemy," Jake quoted, as he nodded towards the wolf in reassurance.

Marco growled low in his throat, before heaving a sigh and offering a nod of his head. “Alright. I'll believe you, for now. If you HAD been there that day, then you and I would be having a much more serious conversation..."

“...I wouldn't blame you..." Robert muttered in response, lowering his head into his paws. “I wanted to go right after that motherfucker the second I found out what happened. But James said it wasn't my job to get revenge for Jake; it was yours... He said you'd understand..."

Marco looked slightly taken aback by the panther's response. Turning his head to face the coyote, he silently reached out to grasp Jake's paw in his own. “He wasn't wrong..." he admitted, smiling slightly as Jake gave his paw a squeeze. “The kill was meant to be mine."

“No; it was meant to be Ours," Lenny corrected him from his seat next to the fire. “We both had our own reasons for going to work on that night. But still, we came out ahead in the end."

“We did. And we reconnected," Marco reached out to take a hold of his glass, and raised it towards the lion with a nod of respect. Lenny raised his own drink and did the same. Together, they downed their whiskeys, before gently setting the glasses down upon the table between them. Having remained silent throughout the entire conversation, James let out a slight chuckle and took a sip from his own drink as he nodded his head in tacit approval.

“But what about Victor?" Came a sudden question from Henry, who'd been sitting up and listening intently to the panther's story. “Doesn't he have something to tell us all, as well?"

Every pair of eyes in the den immediately turned to face the uniformed gray fox, who let out a slight huff as he bent forward at the waist to reach for the whiskey bottle in the center of the table. Raising the bottle to his muzzle, he began to pour the potent liquor straight down his open maw, managing to down an impressive third of the bottle before clearing his throat loudly, and setting it back in its place. Motioning towards James, he raised a paw towards the space between him and Jake on the couch. The man gave a single nod of his head, scooting over slightly so that Victor could take a seat next to him. Lowering himself between James and Jake, he straightened up almost regally as he held up his black-gloved paws.

“While Agent Marshall has been fully honest, and his story most entertaining, in my case, it might be better if I start off by simply showing you who I am, before explaining. I'm sure at least some of you might recognize these..."

The older fox began to gently pull off his leather gloves, claw by claw, slowly, as if he were attempting to preserve them. Once he'd loosened his thumb from the second glove, he gently slid them off onto the table before raising up both paws, offering those gathered a glimpse of the large, faded circular tattoos which adorned the backs of his paws: a waxing half-moon on his left, and a waning half-moon on his right; his polished, steel-coated claws sparkling like stars as they shined in the flickering light of the fire. Almost immediately, Rory rose to his feet, followed quickly by Marco.

“You're a fuckin' SILVER! That old cult of killers and thieves!" The older lion exclaimed, his mane nearly standing on end as he took an almost defensive stance. “I thought they were all killed in the 90's!"

“My Father used to tell me stories about them, too!" Marco added, his tail fluffing slightly as his eyes swept over the fox's razor-sharp claws. “When he tried to expand his business into the U.K. in the late 80's, they killed every single member of the Pack he'd sent out to make contact and mailed him back a paw-carved wooden box containing all of their BALLS! The note that was sent with them was written in blood, it said 'You've got some balls, wolf.' He kept it in his safe to remind himself that even he had a limit to his power. Even I know to fear that name!"

The old fox let out a sad chuckle, as he slowly lowered his paws onto his knees. “Aye, well, you can both rest easy, then. I'm the last of the line, as they say. The endling. 'Victor 'Two-Moons' Silver', at your service..." He gave a slight nod of his head as the corners of his muzzle raised up into a grin. It had been a long time since he'd had the opportunity to properly introduce himself using his full name.

“And to answer your unspoken questions, I'll just jump right in. Yes, all of my family were killed on the Ides of March, 1994. My Father, my brothers and sisters, my nieces and nephews... my mate, and our two daughters..." The fox paused to accept a lit cigarette from James, before inhaling deeply and continuing his story. “I was in Glasgow on that day, handling some business on behalf of our clan. When I finally got back on the road leading to our estate, I could already see the smoke rising in the distance... When I got closer, I saw the fire engulfing our ancestral home, and the cars surrounding the property. I knew I couldn't get in, so I turned around, and I hid myself in the woods nearby. I never slept that night; I just watched, and waited... The next morning, I watched from the cliffs overlooking the estate as their people waded in through the ashes and began to pull out the bodies. I counted them, each and every member of my family, as they were carried out to be identified, and zipped up into black bags. Twenty-six. All of them. Our entire clan... gone." He paused for another deep inhalation, before exhaling a loud sigh of smoke through his nostrils.

“We were never a fuckin' CULT... We were a Clan. A Family... For more than three hundred years, our people had always lived on the lands in and around that estate. We were actually considered nobles, once upon a time... Until a certain number of us began to gain a different kind of reputation. By the time my father became the Clan leader in the early 1970's, we'd already given up on any history or memory of nobility, or morality, even. We'd become so firmly entrenched in the worlds of drugs, thieving, and killing, that it had become what we were known for; well, that, and... these."

Victor raised his paws once again, showing off his steel-coated claws.

“The operation itself is extremely painful, and the 'tradition' in the family at the time was to undergo the procedure whilst forgoing any painkillers or anesthesia... I went through it, just as my brothers and sisters before me, and my father and his father before him. Do you know how I got the name, 'Two-moons'?"

A half-dozen heads shook slightly as they awaited his explanation.

“Because that's exactly how long it took me to fulfill my first contract, using these claws. I was sixteen years old. It took me two nights to spot my man and take him down. This was way before any commercial tracking technology was available; it was a new record for those in the clan at the time. So, I became 'Two-moons.' My father gave me that name, and he needled the tattoos onto my paws himself, in front of the entire clan... Gods, I was so proud when I first got them..." A nostalgic sigh passed the fox's lips as he shook his head slightly and reached out to ash his cigarette. “...As they say, hindsight is 20/20... I went underground for almost six years after the raid. I eventually left Britain in early 2001, shortly before the attacks in New York City. They weren't really doing background checks the way they are these days, so I didn't even need to get a fake passport. Not even a few months after I'd landed, everyone was suddenly so focused on the middle east, they didn't even bother to look right across the pond..."

“How'd you end up in Harbor City?" Ricky called over the table, as he reached for the bottle to pour himself another drink. Meeting the younger man's gaze, the old fox simply nodded his head in understanding, as he continued,

“At first, I stayed on the East Coast; I lived in New York for a few years, then I went down south to Atlanta... I worked numerous jobs doing security and protection, even filling a few contracts for anyone who was willing to put up their own money and reputation by hiring a damned Silver, _what with our 'cult' status... Believe it or not, in the beginning, there were _plenty of offers for someone with my particular... skill set. After a decade and a half of drifting around the East and the Midwest, I eventually ended up here in Harbor City. I used to do some work for a few different gangs; again, I may have a PRICE, but that price isn't CHEAP, yeah? But, eventually? Around '20, I was down and out. I'm old; I'll be the first to admit that. And when people see an old, gray fox standing in front of them, asking for work, they tend to care a bit less about things like skills, reputation, or connections... In the end, the work completely dried up. About four-and-a-half years ago, I was homeless and destitute, sleeping on the streets; usually in the alleyways in the Heights on bad nights, or underneath the bayous in Harbor Hills on good ones... Then, one day, I met a man..."

The fox gave James a slight grin, which the man returned, nodding his head in affirmation as he silently encouraged Victor to continue, holding out his glass of whiskey as an offering. Grasping it in his paw, the old fox knocked back what was left, before setting the glass on the table in front of them. Stubbing out his cigarette in the nearly-overflowing ashtray near the center of the table, he took in a deep breath, his ears bending slightly as he began to speak.

“I was passed-out drunk and high in the alley behind Benny's Diner in the Heights. I don't even remember where I got money for the pills or that bottle of whiskey, or what I had to do to get it. My mind was completely broken by that point; I was gone. I was dressed in torn, old rags that used to be clothes, I hadn't bathed in more than two months. I'd actually pissed myself where I lay, curled up next to the dumpster outside of Benny's. The next thing I know, there's this skinny human, kitted up in a ten-thousand dollar suit, standing over me, lookin' right at my claws, curled around the bottle."

“Let me guess; you just went off with him?" Jake offered with a flick of his ears.

“HELL no." Victor chuckled, shaking his head. “ I had him down on the blacktop in two seconds flat, with the broken bottleneck right at his throat." This revelation caused many in the group to tense up. Marco and Jake's hackles visibly rose, before James held out a hand, and shook his head.

“Go ahead and finish it, Vic."

“He was right underneath me, and I had the bottleneck against his jugular vein. But he wasn't scared of me; in fact, if anything, he looked absolutely fascinated. He took my free paw into his hand and peered over my claws. They'd been untreated for years at that point; they were coated in grime and rust. A few had even gotten infected from lack of cleaning. He looked me right in my eyes, and he said..."

“...I don't know WHO you are, but I know WHAT you are. And I don't know who it was that hurt you, but, if you're willing to hear me out, I can promise you that whoever, wherever, they are, they'll never hurt you again." James finished, reaching for the bottle at the center of the table himself, and refilling his glass. Victor gave a slight smile and nod in response.

“It took almost a full year of constant therapy under James, living here in this house. Ozzy and Cory had to bring me my food on most days, at first; I could barely get out of bed once the withdrawal hit me. It took a year of detox from drugs and alcohol; reliving my past and the horrors that came with it, for me to finally begin to move forward from what I'd been through. During that time, I seriously contemplated suicide; I thought about everything I'd ever done; the lives I'd changed, and the lives I'd ended... The lives I'd lost. I won't sit here and lie to you all; the experience nearly broke me all over again. But after a time..." The fox turned to face James with a warm smile.

“I learned about the true history of my clan, before my father and grandfathers corrupted it. I was slowly taught how to live again. Do you know how hard that is for someone like me? Do any of you know exactly how old I am?"

A chorus of heads shook once again.

“I turned 63 last December. I truly didn't think I had anything left to live for; not even for my own sake. But like I said, I met a man, barely less than half my age, and he taught me a valuable lesson that I'd never had the opportunity to learn. That s_ometimes, you just have to forgive yourself_."

The group went silent for a moment. Turning his head slightly, Jake finally took the opportunity to speak up. “So... How'd you end up as our butler?"

“That was actually MY choice, that one," Victor replied with a slight nod, “Once I'd gotten cleaned up and back on my paws, James flat-out refused to allow me to be his personal security; 'No way in hell, you're too valuable; I've got other people for that,' he said. So instead, I offered my services to him in any and all capacities; I told him that I would keep his home in order, personally hire and direct the rest of the staff, and no matter what, if he asked me to do something, or find someone for him, or he calls my name anywhere in this house, I will be there, and it will be done. It's the least I felt I could do for the man who took in an old, hollowed-out corpse of what used to be a fox, and polished him back into a shining example of just what the name 'Silver' used to represent_._.."

Victor held out his claws once more, admiring the way the firelight seemed to flicker and glint over them. “Honor, Loyalty, and Truth... These were the original values of our Clan," he almost whispered, as he played with the light dancing from his claws. Noticing this, Jake nodded his head in appreciation. “I'm starting to understand you now... I also heard that the chemicals and ointments you have to use to keep those things clean are incredibly expensive, and caustic to boot. I thought that was one of the reasons why they made getting that operation illegal?"

“It was, indeed," Victor nodded in confirmation. “These days, 'steeled claws' are usually considered to be deadly weapons, legally on par with carrying an illegal firearm in most countries. That's why I wear the gloves. As for applying the proper ointments, you can't exactly do it yourself; it takes a steady hand and you're more likely to slice your own paws open than to clean the claws off..." Victor left his sentence unfinished as he nervously reached a paw behind his head to scratch at the back of his neck. “...He does it for me twice every week..." he muttered.

“What was that?" Lenny called from across the table.

“James polishes my claws for me twice a week, alright?! It's... well, for people like us, it's just--" The fox's trail of speech veered off quickly as he tried to find the words. He flinched slightly as he felt a chuckle coming from the man sitting next to him.

“Don't make it sound so weird, old fox," James laughed, “I told you I was going to help you, didn't I? That includes the care and maintenance on your ten deadliest assets. By the way, you know that the chemical mixture used to clean and treat steeled claws is illegal to possess or manufacture here in the states, right? I have to pay extra money to import that shit from a compounding pharmacy based in Mexico. But I don't mind... Even if it does burn about three layers of skin off my fingers every other time I help you use it."

“You... polish those things?" Jake questioned, staring at the sharpened points on each of Victor's claws. Sighing, James reached out a hand and grasped onto Victor's right paw, spreading it out so that the claws were splayed, tips pointing upwards as he ran his fingers along the older fox's palm.

“It's not that hard once you learn how it's supposed to be done," he commented, drawing his thumb across the index claw, before pulling it away and holding it out so the others could see it. There was a clean slash down his left thumb, deep enough to cut through nearly all of the layers of skin, but stopping just before it drew blood. “I've had a lot of practice, these last few years. I even taught myself how to sharpen them."

Nobody spoke; the group was all busy staring at James.

Before anybody could speak, however, there was the sound of sudden banging on the front door behind them.

“Who's that?" Jake called over one shoulder.

“No clue." His father responded.

“OPEN THE FUCKIN' DOOR!" a loud feline voice rang through their ears. “IKE'S BEEN SHOT!"

Rising up from his seat, James ran towards the main entrance, followed by Jake and Ricky, who'd heard the commotion. Pulling open the heavy oak doors, James nearly backed away as the battered forms of two white tigers quickly entered his field of view. Mike, holding up his brother with all his strength, dragged the wounded feline into the house. “Robert!" James shouted at the top of his lungs, “Get the medical supplies! We've got a wounded cat, here! Victor! Call Benny at the Diner, tell him I need the Surgeon here, right now!"

“I've got it!" came the shout behind him. “What the hell happened?!"

“THEY TOOK CONNOR!"

James' eyes went wide as he quickly turned his head towards Ricky. As he'd expected, the younger man stood paralyzed, his feet glued to the floor as his fists clenched tightly, his entire body shaking slightly as he trembled with an unspoken rage. James was quick to march up to him, placing his hands on the man's shoulders as he locked his eyes with his own.

“Breathe..."

Ricky let out a sudden, gasping breath, his face twitching slightly as he slowly raised his eyes to meet the older man's gaze.

“...I want blood..." was all that he could manage to say.

“...I want blood!"

--- END CHAPTER 12---

I'm sorry, everyone. This is where I gotta end it for now. Don't worry, there's plenty to be said; got plenty written up. I've just having a bit of a problem right now, but I'll get there; I always do... Just let me get my shit together, and I'll keep the momentum going. It's just a burnout; had em too many times. My birthday's coming up next week, though. I'll get that spark.

--C.