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I yanked the garotte wire from my neck and hitched a deep, thankful breath Cherry aimed correctly. The bastard behind me fell limp almost instantly. I nearly bolted for the unconscious ocelot before freezing, realizing the calico who tried strangling him (before I burst in to find my apartment door in shambles) still tried squirming to grab his bat.

"No, you don't!" I stood back up and kicked the bat from his reach, grabbing his clothes and bringing the bruised cat to eye level. Seething, I simply asked, "Who sent you?"

When he didn't say anything, I roughly hauled him out of the weapons room. I did not even glance down at his two dead comrades, their blood staining the dirty carpeting like leaking balloons of red paint, while slamming the unprepared calico against the wall.

"Who the fuck sent you here?!" I growled, noticing the pins and stitches on his coat.

"Ahhh," he gritted his teeth in slight pain. "Fuck you, you psycho--"

"Answer the goddamn question!" Another growl erupted from my canines like hot volcanic acid. "Gang punks like you don't bother with home invasions. Not unless you got a target."

The calico tried sputtering weak answers. "I-I dunno what you're talking about--"

"You're members of 'The Furgotten', a south-central gang. You were sent here to kill that ocelot in there," I held him by the throat with one paw while rifling through his pants pockets. Then his bloodied jacket, until I finally found a phone. "What's the password?"

He spat blood in my face, giving a red-and-white cocky grin. "Go fuc--"

I slammed him once more into the wall, leaving a dent I didn't care about, then dragged his hapless body to the balcony doors. Bursting them open to the howling winds of a twilight sunset, the calico finally realized the gravity of his situation when I pushed him against the railing. He shouted in fright a few times before I clutched his jugular again with my clawed fingers, silencing him immediately.

"Give me a name or a password, and I'll let you walk away. Now!"

I leaned him further over the side of the railing, to the point he could easily fall off the ledge if he so much as tried jerking away from my grasp. Then, he'd become a stain on the sidewalk.

"Alright, alright! It's five-zero-five-zero-five-zero!" he cried out, gulping as I searched his phone. "We-We don't know who sent us! J-Johnny and Finn and I got a b-buncha money that suddenly appeared in our banks. T-Then we got a text, telling us we'd all get double for the faggot's head!"

Sure enough, I found a series of one-sided text messages of an unknown number. The sender told them they each received $7,000 in their accounts, and it would double if all three of them broke into a specific penthouse in west Lakertown, kill the occupant inside--a 'homosexual ocelot who needs to die'. The calico had tried replying back to the number, unknowing if this was real or a prank of some kind, until an address appeared in the next final text message. Plus, a photograph, of Cherry, shirtless and staring out on the penthouse balcony.

"L-Listen, we didn't know who we were fucking with! Alright? Now pull me up!" he sputtered in desperation, trembling dangerously closer over the railing. He even had the gall to tear up, his eyes filled with the kind of fear one saw in battlefields or on their death bed. "P-Pull me up! Please, I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! We didn't know! I didn't know! I swear!"

I didn't feel shame or sorrow when I let him go.

Walking away into the penthouse, I could hear the calico's high-pitched scream as it carried down those several floors right to his concrete demise. No emotion except for anger and concern crossed my mind. Whether I snapped his neck on the balcony or did this didn't matter to me. Not now anyway, since the authorities were likely minutes away now.

Cherry and I needed to leave Lakertown.

After checking up on the unconscious ocelot (had some strangulation marks beneath his neckfur, and some bruising on his right eye and fingers, but he still properly breathed, much to my inner relief) I rushed into the bedroom closet. In the far corner behind a curtain of clothes, I snatched two packed duffle bags--one I'd kept hidden for years in an event such as this, and the other a recent addition. Each held seven pairs of clothes in both our sizes, a bathroom bag of utensils, a burner phone, its charger, a tiny first aid kit full of disinfectant and bandages, some granola bars, and a flashlight with extra batteries.

Less than a minute later, I casually grabbed a cup of water and splashed it over Cherry's face. "Ahhh, what the--"

"We need to go, now!" I handed him his bag. "The police will be here soon."

"B-But my phone! M-My--"

I snarled. "Leave it!"

The ocelot tried saying something else, but I wouldn't let him prolong this any longer.

I pulled him up and out into the hallway. He protested a couple of times, yelping as I squeezed a little too hard onto his paw, before silently following me down the emergency flight of stairs. Without even looking back at my former, I used my free paw to quickly pull the fire alarm in case the residents in here hadn't heard all those gunshots and shouting.

Firefighters and other first responders were too overwhelmed by the fleeing residents and the pulverized corpse splattered along the sidewalk to notice us; a dark-furred wolf and a bruised ocelot carrying duffle bags and running in a hurry. Then again, the evening sky had become pitch black enough that the fly-infested streetlights and neon signs already lit up the emptying streets, and I could barely navigate us down the dense, dirty alleyways of closing businesses, trying to get us to our destination as quickly as possible without becoming immediately noticed.

Cherry remained unnaturally silent as he closely followed behind me. Gripping my duffle bag slung over my back, while the ocelot simply carried it with two paws, I pushed away any conflicting, uncertain thoughts as we made it to our destination. Police sirens and general mayhem appeared to echo through the littered alleys I led us through, each ambient noise emitted near or faraway putting me on edge. I wholly expected that hired assassins or Interpol officers would snatch us at any random second.

Though, nobody did. Not when we ultimately exited into a less-dense neighborhood several blocks down the road, and not when I saw the familiar, flickering sign resting atop a small billboard: 'Economy Store-It Self-Storage Facility'.

Only a few empty parked cars littered the sides of the streets encircling the storage unit facility, but I still cautiously glanced between it and whatever caught my trained eyes. A lone gas station lay across the right side of the street, its only occupant a bored college dropout reading a book or his phone inside the main building. One of the cars in a nearby parking space had been accumulating some tickets lately, while another belonged to some canine texting on his phone. I stared directly at him as Cherry and I walked down a cracking, unoccupied crosswalk, expecting him to be an undercover agent tipped off by the Benefactor.

However, he did nothing. The dog simply resumed texting on his phone, his face brightened like a phantom face in the darkness of his vehicle, just another hapless fool completely ignorant of these two broken souls walking nearby.

The Economy Store-It's layout consisted of three rust-colored buildings placed in a row, the spaces in-between them wide enough for vehicles to pass through and haul what lay inside the rental units. These storage units, though only the size of tiny studio apartments, often held treasure troves of memories and outdated items too valuable to throw away; vintage furniture, portraits of extended family members, the precious mementos of a hoarder, the action figure collections of man-children, maybe even a well-hidden meth lab. Not that wondering or curiosity mattered.

Once we were between the first and second row, I stopped us by one of the doors.

"This is it."

Sighing to myself and glancing over to find Cherry still stoically waiting, I pulled a handheld detonator from my duffle bag's far-end pocket, opened the protective cover, and flicked the switch.

Suddenly, a thunderous explosion resonated in the distance.

"Wha-What the fuck was that?" Cherry finally spoke up, voice a little shaken.

I didn't bother looking in the direction it came from. Where we came from.

"A bomb."

"A bomb?" He asked again in shock. "Did you just really say a bomb?"

A straightforward grunt escaped my throat. "I did. Now our tracks are hidden."

To be more specific, an explosive device attached to the propane tank inside the kitchen island within the penthouse. When the button was pressed within a sizable distance from the apartment complex, everything--the weaponry, the ammunition, money, clothing, furniture and electronic devices--would be incinerated. Before any police or firefighters could ever reach the top floor, passerby certainly found themselves witness to the sight of my former home in a blazing inferno. The fire ensured nobody would know the truth of who really owned it.

I plucked another item from the bag, a small key that perfectly fit into the lock of my storage unit. Seconds later, the tarnished door slid up to reveal the contents: a pickup truck, packed and ready to leave everything behind.

"I'll need to pay for some gasoline," I meticulously reached into the packed truck's bed, pulling out an empty, dusty gas can. Then I snatched out the hidden truck key under the polished bumper and opened the passenger door for the silent ocelot. "Wait until I return. If you need me or think trouble is coming, honk the horn. Okay?"

Cherry simply nodded, barely looking me in the eye.

"O...Okay..."

My left ear folded slightly at the lack of spirit in his voice. Instead of asking how he felt, like I probably should've done earlier, I shook my dark muzzle and discreetly ran over to the corroding shell of an inner-city gas station.

No police cars or black vehicles appeared yet. Good.

The Benefactor likely copied all the information on my laptop and hard drives long before tonight. He undoubtedly wanted the punks to murder Cherry in my penthouse, then manipulate me into returning to the apartment, ready to fulfill his proposed contract right as the police were called to the landlord and neighbors' reports of gunfire upstairs. If he were lucky, then the Benefactor would implicate me and the punks in Cherry's murder. Ensuring his secret vendetta was complete. Whatever it was.

However, the Benefactor underestimated me.

I remained vigilant in spite of the attention the LPD and fire department were giving to my burning penthouse several blocks away. It was instinct to be aware of my surroundings, to cautiously fill up the gas can while looking for any sudden movements, warily pay the tired canine attendant listlessly standing behind the glass screen, then as I jogged back to the storage unit.

I suddenly paused at the all-too-familiar sound of someone crying. Coming from the inside of the unit.

It was Cherry, slumped against the hood, his claws digging into the black paint while tears crawled down his tan cheeks to the concrete ground. His wheezing and sniffling almost sounded repressed, threatening to break free into a cathartic emotional breakdown.

"C...Charlie?" I found my voice at last.

"Hm?" The ocelot snapped his head up, staring at me with wide, teary eyes. "M-Markus...It...It's nothing..."

Setting the gas aside, I stepped forward.

Suddenly, the shaking ocelot flinched back slightly, making me freeze.

I was too invested earlier to consider his trauma, now imminent in his trembling paws, the way his fingers shook closely against his sides, and how he couldn't exactly look me right in the eyes. Like...Almost like he expected to see his attacker in me.

Did he see the calico's body on the sidewalk? I wondered.

Then it finally struck me what most likely got him so emotional. It certainly had something to do with his attacker, but I couldn't forget the fact he used one of my handguns--the spare Beretta PX4 Storm--to kill two of the intruders, one of whom nearly choked me to death with a garotte wire. Had the punk known the proper way to wield it on a victim, he could've sliced my neck clean off with enough strength.

"You defended yourself," I told him, trying my best not to let him fall into depression more. "You defended me as well. You had every right."

"I know!" he whimpered, almost too loudly. "But...still..."

He killed not one, but two individuals for the first time in his life.

Welcome to the club, I macabrely thought.

The ocelot immediately started sobbing again, covering his face with his spotted paws and curling his tail tightly around his right leg. I almost expected Cherry to collapse onto the ground from his grief, but I managed to grab the lad and pull him into a short hug. Momentarily, I let him let his emotions out, then pulled him away to carefully assess his neck.

"Does it hurt?" I asked after a quick moment. "Do you have trouble breathing, or feel like it's constricted?"

"No...No...I'm okay..." he hiccupped, paws still trembling against mine as they felt his bruises. "Not that much...Can still breathe fine..."

"That's good," I patted the small feline's left shoulder, my eyes looking warily down the storage unit's corridor and back to him. "I need you to keep it together. Right now. We're leaving this city, and I need you level-headed in case we encounter trouble, got it?"

Cherry nodded following some contemplation, looking up to me and wiping his eyes clear. "Alright...I'll try..." he murmured tiredly. "I'll try, Markus."

"Good enough for me," I grunted, looking once more to the truck. "Let's go. Whoever sent them is likely looking for us."

***

The interstate highways leading directly out of Lakertown always remained infamous.

More infamous than either the ones circling in or through Las Estrellas, Manhattan City or even Liberty Hill. The only other metropolis that came close to Lakertown's horrid traffic was a tie between London and Mumbai, both of which I'd been unfortunate enough to experience first-hand. For Lakertown, it's highway system always reminded me of a concrete spider web ascending and descending the maze of compact streets, slicing and waving around the mirroring skyscrapers, and sometimes providing a majestic view of Lake Michigan depending on the weather. Not to mention the deadlock traffic that sometimes occurred if construction needed to be done, or one single hapless idiot spent too much time looking at their phones, resulting in a crash and hundreds of furs getting stuck in the process. What a waste of gas and time.

Luckily, tonight held none of that.

Anticipation for what I felt to be the inevitable to go wrong, or Murphy's Laws as others called it, seemed to always be one of my biggest perks. And one of my biggest flaws. Tense and ready for a fight, my paws gripped the steering wheel of the pickup while I drove down the semi-busy freeway towards the interstate going north.

Exhausted from the past few hours, Cherry slept the entire ride, curling himself into the seat cushion with only a seatbelt and a small quilt (which I scavenged from the backseats) as a blanket. He didn't mind the lack of a pillow though. He simply lay back when I drove off onto the expressway, and the ocelot melted into a peaceful slumber. His chest rose and fell through his oversized t-shirt that depicted Jacob Candle on the front, one I'd bought to cheer the ocelot up during his first week living with me.

The memory made me smile without even realizing it. I almost frowned immediately after until I realized Cherry continued snoring to my right.

I couldn't help but think about him mid-drive. How could he keep by my side, after all this? What was he dreaming about now? Another life where he didn't lose everything once again?

We soon crossed the interstate border into Wisconsin. No significant problems rose up, so I simply paid the toll booth, silently praying to every fake deity out there in the cosmos that my tinted glasses (kept in the glove compartment; it helped to be prepared) didn't catch sight of my eyes for facial recognition software.

Midnight came and went like seconds on a grandfather clock. The glowing cars and overworked truck drivers in haulers blurred together in the night, with my only stops being at a truck stop gas station south of Madison and a small fast food joint for some coffee to keep me awake on the road. A new station on the radio--kept to a low volume for Cherry, still sleeping in his seat--mentioned an explosion destroying the top floor of a Lakertown apartment complex, killing no residents. However, Lakertown PD did identify the three dead bodies of young furs affiliated with The Furgotten. One of whom was thrown off from the eighth-story penthouse from the top floor. What really had the authorities stumped though was how Gradee Cormic, the identified owner of the penthouse, didn't even exist according to records.

No news about a criminal wanted by Interpol.

Once I drove the pickup through Wausau into Northern Wisconsin, I slowly started to wonder more and more about the Benefactor. Especially as I felt the calico's phone moving around in my pants pocket.

He wasn't a simple script kiddie. This guy had forefront knowledge of the Deep Web and especially the Dark web if he could do all of that bullshit without me noticing. Online rumors and hoaxes existed of furs like the Benefactor who could perform miraculous stunts just by sitting at his expensive laptop in a lonely little café downtown. These kinds of furs mostly kept to themselves, some viewing themselves as the digital Robin Hoods; hacktivist groups such as the A$$holes or maybe re: Sonance.

Perhaps the Benefactor's some kind of vigilante? I wondered, only to instantly shoot it down. Very unlikely, even in this day and age.

No hacktivist group would go this far to assassinate just an ordinary hustler like Cherry, or even a wanted contract killer like myself. No, the Benefactor had to be an outsider carrying his own vendetta. His own reason to murder in cold blood.

Hopefully, as soon as I brought us to my cabin secluded up North, I could try to figure out what the fuck was going on.