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From my seat I had dragged up next to her side, Selina lays unconscious on the operating table before me. I had tucked her wing in yesterday when I calmed down enough for Elrick to let me in and I reorganized her limbs in a more dignified position. I even gave her a much fluffier pillow from my bed than the one Elrick had under her head. I gave her my comforter off of my bed as well and covered her with it up to her shoulders. This is all I know I can do.

She almost looks like she's sleeping. If it wasn't for that damn tube in her neck.

I held a hand out over her snout and waited to feel even the slightest bit of breath to retreat through her natural airway. Even just a little bit would make me feel somewhat better if it meant the swelling in her trachea was going down. But I didn't feel anything. As much as I hope and pray inside, it doesn't change. This had been at least the seventeen time I've checked in the past three hours.

I sighed heavily with sorrow and dropped my hand on the edge of the table. I wiggled my way under the comforter, felt for her wrist, and began to check her pulse. Her heart is still beating, thank the Lord, but it's weak. No different than when I checked ten minutes ago.

"Why did I let this happen to you?," I asked Selina's lifeless form, releasing her wrist to hold her hand.

Instead of an answer, all I heard was the sound of Selina's lungs taking in air from the trach tube inserted into her windpipe. When she breathed out, it didn't come from her mouth or nostrils like I continue to hope it will, it wheezed out from the nozzle of the plastic tube sticking out of her throat. And each time I heard the wheezing, it was a punch in my face reminding me of how she ended up this way.

This is horrifying. And what's worse is that I could have prevented this. I should have searched for the poison myself instead of making her do it. She'd still be awake if I had. I knew what I was looking for and if I had stopped to look around before questioning Maria, I would have known where to look. How I didn't assume the vase of flowers concealed the ricin is a fucking mystery to me. White powder. White petals. How much more freakin' obvious could it have been? And I missed it. More importantly, Selina missed it, too.

And this is what happens. A teammate goes down and the guilt falls on the leader.

But she's not just my teammate. First she was my dealer. Feels like that was forever ago even though it's been barely over a month since we first met. In a month, she's gone from my dealer to my fuck buddy to my wingman to my only other best friend besides Jacob. And now she's one of my best friends, who also happens to be my coworker, lying on a table with cushioning except for the pillow under her head at the brink of death because of a job I brought her along on that had nothing to do with our actual job description. Speaking of which, we haven't even officially started yet. The only reason we were there is because of my need to be involved.

This is all my fault.

"Knock it off," Jacob says, walking into the room through the still opened door.

He stopped at my side and crossed his arms as I looked up into his eyes, mine hot with anger yet cold with tears. "You wanna say that again?," I cautioned him, releasing Selina's hand and resting it on my lap. "A little more respectfully before I bust your fangs in?"

"No, not really," he replies, shaking his head. "I want you to stop blaming yourself. I know that look on your face, you do it every time something bad happens."

"It's called guilt, you fucking jackass," I snapped at him, averting my gaze back to Selina. "You don't get to criticise me, Jake, not until this is over."

"And by 'over', you mean -

"You know what I mean!," I snapped again, swinging my eyes back around to meet his.

"Alright, calm down, killer," Jacob defended himself with his hands between us.

My bottom eyelid twitched as he said that while staring me in the same eye. "I'm going to ignore that you just called me 'killer' and assume it was sarcasm," I told him in irritation. "What do you want, Jake? I hope you didn't come in here just to piss me off."

"I came in here to drag you out," Jacob says. "You've been in that chair since you walked through the front door yesterday. Eat something for Christ's sake."

"I'm not hungry," I lied, looking away.

Unfortunately, that was a horribly disguised lie. I might have gotten away with it if my stomach hadn't rumbled viciously at the thought of food.

"Your body says different," Jacob calls my bluff. "C'mon, Nate, you know Selina would bitch you out for spending all your time in here. At least take a bath."

"Since when do you care about personal hygiene?," I question him, cocking my head to the side.

"Since I had to help cut open her throat to keep her alive," Jacob answers, nodding at Selina. "Will you stop deflecting me? I'm only doing this 'cause I care."

I stared blankly at him for a moment.

"Now, how often do I admit my feelings?," he asked, questioning me with his hands.

"I get the point," I said with frustration in my voice. "Give me a minute first."

"It's all yours, buddy," Jacob says then pats my shoulder. "For what it's worth, Nate, I do care what happens to her, too."

"You just happen to be the absolute worst at displaying compassion," I finished for him. "I know you do, Jacob."

I looked up at him once more to watch him nod with a lazy smile then walk out of the patient room, closing the door behind him. When I looked back at Selina, I couldn't do anything but stare at the expression on her face. Ironically, there's a very slight, hardly noticeable grin on her there. Through all of the terror that has happened, she still manages to smile. Seeing it spread a small smile on my face in hopes that it was a sign of her health returning.

Atta girl. Laugh in Death's face.

I stood from my chair, screeching the legs across the floor and pushed it back to its place next to the bed and countertop. Then I leaned over Selina and softly kissed her forehead.

"Keep fighting, Goose," I spoke softly in her ear. "You've always had a positive attitude to boost everyone's spirit, you've earned the title."

I smiled down at her for a few moments more before following Jacob's steps into the living area. As I closed the door of the patient room behind me, doubling back to glance at my dying friend one last time through the window, I found Jacob sitting at the table in the center of the room, scribbling on a piece of paper. I looked around to find Elrick amongst the books and papers scattered everywhere in sight but he doesn't seem to be home.

I walked over to the table and sat down across from Jacob and watched him scribble. It looks like he's taking a test. And his hand writing is still as atrocious as ever.

"What are you doing?," I asked him, resting my head in my palm.

"A quiz the Old Man made just for me," Jacob states with fake enthusiasm.

"For what?," I asked.

"Think about it," he told me, peering up at me from his paper and pen. "You and Selina aren't the only teachers I have, remember?"

"Oh yeah," I replied, having my memory jogged. "Guess with all the chaos going on, I forgot."

"Yeah, well, you're distracting me," Jacob points out. "No offense. Go eat or take a bath or whatever it is you were gonna do."

A bath does sound nice.

"Love you too, buddy," I sarcastically said to him as I stood from the table and walked off.

I dragged my feet across the room to the stairwell leading below. When I reached the den, I shuffled into my room, around my bed and sat on the edge as I ripped open a drawer of my dresser. Unfortunately, all I have that's clean are a bunch of tee-shirts seeing as I where this sweater twenty-four seven and a few clean boxers.

I pinched the cloth of my sweater between my fingers and didn't even have to bring it close to my nose before the stench of days on days of use flowed into my nostrils. When was this last washed? I wonder if Elrick washed it when he modified it for me.

Dear God, I'm just as unhygienic as Jacob. When did this happen?

I snatched a dark green tee with the Canniban crest above the heart from the drawer and a clean pair of boxers then went to my closet to retrieve my travel bags from the move. Thankfully, I left some old, raggy jeans, among other old clothing, inside thinking that I wouldn't need to use them. I found the old and worn cargo jeans in the bottom of the bag and added them with the rest of my outfit for the day. Then I turned around after shutting my closet door and walked across my room to the door straight across.

Behind it, I found the washroom I haven't used at all since I moved in to the lab with Jacob. There's no window to let in any natural light so I set my clean clothes down on the floor, grabbed the candle from my nightstand next to my bed, lit it with a match from my tin case and ventured back into the unused room.

My surroundings now revealed showed three large candles hanging on each wall except for the one with the doorway behind me. As I reached up to light one with the candle in my hand, I saw a small square table and towel hanging on a rack next to a large metal tub that basically looked like a giant cereal bowl. Already sitting on the table is a bar of still wrapped soap and a washcloth. Just above the tub, there is a cylinder hunk of wood hanging from the ceiling on a long chain and on the wall directly behind the tub appears to be... well, I actually don't know what it is. I assume it's where the water comes from but all I can make out is a tall rectangular hunk of oak wood with a seam all the way around the inside.

What the hell is this? There's no charcoal pit underneath the tub, how am I supposed to heat my water?

After sighing to the thought of a cold bath, I lit the other two hanging candles with mine, placed it and my cloths on the table next to the tub and yanked down on the handle hanging from the chain. Nothing happened.

"What the fuck, come on!," I yelled at the foreign equipment. I yanked again and still nothing happened. "God dammit..."

Instead of screwing around with this thing, I decided to empty my pockets onto the table, strip down and take a seat inside the tub anyway.

I'll figure it out later.

Even through the thick fur coating my skin, I could still feel the chill of the cold metal underneath me as I sat down but it quickly faded. It felt like I sat on something so I reached underneath me and pulled out a much smaller chain I found to be connected to a plug in the center of the tub. After adjusting and repositioning myself, I reached over to the table, grabbed my pack of cigarettes and took one out. I tossed the pack back and traded it out for the candle from my nightstand. I let the burning wax and wick engulf the end of my smoke until it began to glow in a bright red flare. Setting the candle back, I leaned my head back over the edge of the tub and stared at the handle hanging from the ceiling above as I inhaled and sent the cherry ablaze. The smoke flowed out with my breath in a long, slow exhale as I started to relax myself.

Okay, so this isn't what I was hoping for. I'd still like to get this filth off my body but I haven't exactly had the best luck in the last twenty-four hours.

Selina... she's all I can think about right now. Actually, that's not true. I also can't stop racing my thoughts of this case through my head. I want to find who did this. Not for justice but for her. A vendetta is the last thing Selina would want me to set out for and I know I promised the King I wouldn't but that promise is starting to look less and less like a possibility. I don't care what the consequences will be, whoever is responsible is going to eat my fist. And my boot. And the dirt. And the stone ground, the glass windows, whatever I can find to connect his face with in the most painful and agonizing ways imaginable. I guess I'm vengeful that way and no less stubborn. Just like Jacob.

I bet Jacob could figure out this handle and chain thing. He probably already knows. Fuckin' city people.

"Wait a minute," I mumble out loud as I stand up in the metal tub.

With my free hand, I reached back up to the handle and yanked down again. Instead of letting go, I held it down to the end of its length and waited. At first, there was nothing. But then I heard a very, very faint sound. The sound of rushing water. It grew louder and louder quickly and when it had reached the room, I'm not really sure what happened. Something smacked me hard on the top of my head, knocking my cigarette out of my hand and me practically unconscious. I instantly bent down and gripped my head with both hands, yelling with rage for a moment as my nerves acknowledged the pain. Then I tried to look up to see what hit me. Out of the rectangular oak on the wall is a long spout that apparently lowers with weight. I know this because in the second it took me to process what it was, I was foolish enough to stare into the spout just as the water came gushing out like a waterfall. First, it made contact with my face, proving to be preheated water much, much hotter than I anticipated, which knocked me head over heels in the tub and began to drown me as it filled to the rim.

I'm drowning in a few feet of boiling water. I really don't see how my luck can get any worse at this point.

"Hot!," I cried out in bubbles as I swam to the top. I burst through the surface, still yelling the same word, "Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot! Dammit!"

I sat on my knees in the flaming liquid, my arms raised over the surface dripping like a rain gutter, huffing and puffing as my body was forced to adapt to the sudden temperature change.

This is single handedly the most embarrassing moment of my life. Thank God no one just saw that.

Randomly, the pain in my head from the spout nearly knocking me unconscious returned in a much duller throbbing sensation. As I rubbed the new lump sprouting under my fur, I looked up to where the spout still hung down above me after flushing the water into my face. With anger, I punched upward and smashed the oak wood spout back into its place in the wall with a loud smack and clanking of some sort of locking mechanism.

By the time I adapted to the water and made myself comfortable in the tub, the throbbing in my head had faded. At first, I just sat there, soaking in the hot, steaming water. It felt amazing on my muscles and made it really easy for me to relax. Soon afterwards, I found my half smoked cigarette floating around on the surface of my bath in front of me. The small pieces of tobacco floating around it reminded me how dirty I was so I fished it out then reached for the soap and washcloth. I lathered on the soap then placed it back on the table and stood up as I began to wash my coat from top to bottom.

First my shoulders then my arms. My chest then armpits and after that, my waist then my back as far as I could reach. Then my junk. Thoroughly. My legs and paws came next to last just before I worked the soap into the the fur on my face, ears, and the rest of my head. I quickly dunked my head in the water and scrubbed the soap out before it got into my mouth, or worse, my eyes. After my head was clean and rinsed, I sat back down in the tub and began to casually scrub the rest of the soap off of the rest of my body, taking my time as I tried to enjoy the soothing sensation of the heated water that had already begun to cool off.

Soon after I had cleansed my coat of all the dirt and filth it collected, the water chilled over, forcing me to jump out and quickly dry myself off before I froze. I yanked the plug from the tub and watched the nearly blackened water drain while I violently dried every hair on my body. Before dressing myself, I took of few whiffs of my arm. Instead of the stench from my sweater, nothing but the sweet scent of lavender caught my nose.

"Much better," I said aloud as I reached for my clean boxers.

I slipped them on then my old jeans and the green tee. Then I replaced all my belongings from my dirty jeans to my pockets; my bowl, tin case, cigarettes and my wallet. Then I tied my empty coin bag to the belt loop with the instant epiphany that it's usually a bad idea to blow all your coin on weed with the intention to teach your brother how to shoot a crossbow.

That doesn't even make sense out of context.

I grabbed my boots, and my sweatshirt to make sure it got washed, then ventured back into my bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed again and slip them on. I tied the left first and as I was finishing the right, I heard something from upstairs. I stopped and waited.

"ELRICK!," I heard Jacob's voice scream, muffled by the floor between us. "ELRIIIIICK!"

I instantly jumped up and took off towards the stairs with the sweat shirt still in my hand. I sped up the steps and ran into the living area just as Elrick cut me off, running all his own towards the patient room from the lab.

Of course. He's always in the lab.

Horrified for what could be happening, I dropped the sweat shirt and followed his trail towards the door but he shut it in my face and locked it before I could get inside. I tried to peer through the window but my view was mostly blocked by Elrick hanging over Selina as Jacob held up her head. What parts of Selina I can see are shaking violently in every which way and direction. Each limb is shaking on its own coarse, including her head in Jacob's hands.

She's seizing.

"No," I mumbled then began to pound on the door, "NO! LET ME IN!" My words and pounding were ignored by both of them as they tended to Selina. I don't want them to stop helping her but I can't be trapped out here watching either. So I continued to pound and scream, "GOD DAMMIT, UNLOCK THIS FUCKING DOOR!"

I saw Elrick look at Jacob then motion towards me by pointing a thumb behind himself. As quickly as he could, Jacob laid Selina's head on the pillow and flew back through the door. Instead of letting me in, he closed it behind him, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the front door. He ripped it open and literally threw me out. After tumbling to the ground, leaning against the wall, I looked up at him with fear and tears and saw his remorse for what he was doing to me.

"I'm sorry, Nathan," he told me as he began to fidget with his coin bag. He took it off and tossed it to me. "Go buy a drink." Then he shut the door and locked it to keep me from getting in.

I didn't jump up and start screaming and pounding on the door this time. I didn't fill with rage at their actions. I just sat there, leaning against the wall with Jacob's money in my palm. I looked down at the bag and began to break down a little bit. I clenched the coin bag in my hand and leaned over myself as more sorrowful tears leaked out. I don't cry often. Very rarely. The last time I really broke down was when my father vanished. I lost him and now I'm about to lose her. And there's nothing I can do.

My nose started to get stuffed up so I wiped the tears away and leaned my head back to drain it down. It took a little while but eventually I could breathe again and had managed to calm myself a little bit. I'm still terrified of what's going on in there. Not being there when it happens is one thing. Not being allowed to be there is what really stings.

"Hey there, lad," the Irishman's voice greeted me from down the corridor. "How you holding up?"

"Selina's seizing again," I told him, not bothering to meet his gaze. "As we speak."

"What the bloody hell are you doing out here then?," Anthony questioned as he threw himself at the door, trying to open it.

He rattled the handle a few times before cursing at it in his Irish accent then looked back down at me. I dragged my eyes up to see his and just looked at him. "They locked me out again," I said.

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel," Anthony said.

I peered into his eyes and saw he had no other words.

"Any news on the case?," I asked, breaking the silence and trying to ignore my sorrow.

"Very little," Anthony informs. "I finished searching through the criminal records for a relation to the M.E. you found on that card."

"And?," I asked, my voice cracking from my earlier tears.

"What few results I found are being investigated as we speak," the tiger answered.

"What about the leads Cole and I got from the interrogations?," I ask.

"Cole looked into this Jason fellow like you asked of him," Anthony says, motioning down the hall. "I was just coming up to ask if you were feeling like getting back to it but I can see -

"No, don't you dare pity me, Anthony," I said sternly as I rose to my feet. "There's nothing else for me to do than this. I'm going to go out of my fucking mind if I can't distract myself from my thoughts."

"Alright," Anthony nodded. "I believe Cole is -

"Right here," my favorite birdman interrupts his commanding officer. I looked down the hall Anthony came from and saw Cole walking our way, waving a hand. "I came to pay my respects to Miss Selina. How is she?"

"Not the best time for this conversation, Lieutenant," Anthony says, shaking his head and glancing my way for a millisecond.

"I saw that," I pointed out.

"Am I supposed to pretend like you're not vulnerable?," the Admiral questions, giving me an irritated look. "If so, then suck it up, grow some balls and go follow your leads." He looked at Cole and pointed a finger at me, "Go with him."

"Yes, sir," Cole immediately replied.

"You can very well be as strong a fighter as you want to be, Nathaniel," Anthony says, waving to get my attention, "but you DO have a weakness like everyone else. You need to learn to accept the compassion you're offered when it's exploited. Especially if it comes from the ones who care." I looked at him with a blank stare and thought about how he just told me he cares.

Why didn't you just say it?

"Get to work," Anthony finishes then begins to walk off before disappearing around a corner.

"What's happened?," Cole asks, stepping up to my side.

"It doesn't look like Selina's getting any better," I answered as I began to follow Anthony's steps to the first floor. "He was right, it's not a good time to talk about it."

"Forgive me," Cole says, looking away. "I didn't mean to stick my beak where it's not welcome."

"Don't say that," I told him, stopping and holding a hand up to him. "It means a lot that you care enough to check up, really it does, and your concern is welcome but if I keep thinking about it, it's going to kill me."

"She really is your weakness, isn't she?," Cole asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Her and I aren't like that," I reply, continuing down the hall and cutting the corner. "And it's not just her. My weaknesses are the people who matter most."

"That's one hell of a target to pin on yourself," Cole says, walking in sync at my side.

"Tell me about it," I mumbled. "The hard part is concealing it."

"Would you like to catch a buzz, sir?," Cole asks, stopping as I took a few more steps ahead.

I stopped and looked back when I realized he wasn't walking next to me. "Can't we do that on the way?," I asked.

"Not exactly what I meant," Cole snickered then walked past me. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?," I ask as I trotted up to his side.

"You'll see," he told me. "Patience."

Cole dragged me throughout the interior of the castle in routes I didn't recognize. Which is no different than any other time someone leads me somewhere in this gigantic building. Unsurprisingly, most of everything looked about the same all the way through. We traveled down to the first floor somewhere deeper in the building and continued on to travel even more unfamiliar red carpeted trails.

"Cole, will you tell me where you're taking me?," I questioned him, become quite restless the more we pushed on. "Patience isn't my best virtue today."

"Calm down, would ya?," the eagle replied. He stopped, turned around to face me then pointed to his left. "We're here."

I looked to my right to discover a pair of doors made of metal and glass barricading the entrance into a room I couldn't see. The glass on the doors are stained making it nearly impossible to make out what's on the other side.

"Oh, I see," I said, nodding to myself. "This is your brother's greenhouse, isn't it?"

"In-law," Cole adds. "And yes. I thought something fresh might help keep your mind off Selina's condition."

"It's a nice gesture, Cole, really," I told him, "but I'd really rather just get back on this case right now."

"What excuse is that to pass up a free ticket into the most luxurious grow house in Canniban?," he asked, crossing his arms with a grin.

Well, when you put it that way.

"Fine," I grunted then reached for one of the doors. I swung it open, feeling an instant rush of a warm, humid atmosphere, and raised my free hand towards the opening. "After you, Birdman."

Cole chuckled and walked inside as I followed behind him. On the other side of those blinding doors was not what I was expecting. I was expecting a greenhouse the size of a stadium with every utensil, gizmo, fertilizer, hydroponic supplies, formula, insecticide, fungicide, nutrients, and whatever else I can't think of that's known to man for an appropriate grow stacked among shelves on the walls. I expected to see and endless number of rows of flowering plants stretching as far back as you could see in a rainbow of every color on the wheel and every shade and hue in between. I expected to see an army of men and women in lab coats holding clipboards scurrying around the floor as they tended to and recorded every plant's progress, marking down the exact amount of whatever this particular plant needs, working together to prep the best bud on the mainland.

What I found was much less appealing. Instead of all that glory I had hoped for, I found a somewhat spacious room with laminated tile flooring and plain white paint covering the walls. To our left, I can clearly see quite a few rows of plants still in their vegetative stages, each with a different significance about its feature to distinguish it from the rest. Taking the time to do the math, I counted them in rows of five by four, making twenty altogether. Above them, a source of natural sunlight shone through from nowhere in the ceiling, providing the plants one of their most important necessities. Straight ahead, another pair of doors like the ones behind us. There are a few shelves attached to the wall behind us as well as the one to our right with most of the supplies I mentioned. There are five tables that line up to the walls in that corner under the shelves that have been completely cleared and I easily caught the scent of sterilizer invisibly smoking off of them. In the corner ahead to my right, another single door just like the others is propped open with a doorstop.

"This way," Cole says, walking towards that very door. I followed behind him, dragging my feet slower as I stared at the plants across the room.

Even without buds, they're beautiful.

"Hey, Marcus," Cole greets a man in the next room. I finally walked in through the door and found a tall lizard in a lab coat like Elrick's I was expecting.

He's green, ironic to his occupation, in two different shades. The primary, a green nearly identical to my tee-shirt that covered the scaled area of his body. A lighter green, almost yellowish, coats the smooth skin for the secondary. The seem between the two shades sprout out of his lab coat on both sides of the front of his neck and curve into the corners of his mouth. The lighter green proves to be his soft underbelly that actually does compliment the darker shade nicely. Underneath his lab coat is a red and white checkered button up shirt and dark brown slacks above shiny black dress shoes.

Other than this bold looking man, this room looks like it mostly contains paperwork. There are file cabinets everywhere, shelves with more files that are much too thick to fit in the cabinets and more shelves with books and magazines for growers. The only table in the room stands in the center with a bunch of chairs scattered around it, left pushed out like each one had just had an occupant sitting there. There's a door propped open just like the last behind the green man and a window directly next to it exposing a small office. One particular file is opened with its contents spread across the table in front of the lizard, some of the papers from within still in his hand.

"Hey there, Cole," the lizard greeted him then looked passed him at me. "Who's this?"

"This is Nathaniel," Cole introduced me. "He's the man Anthony put in charge of the case I've been working on."

"Ah, so this is Nathaniel," the lizard acknowledged, setting his papers down on the table and walking towards me. He held his hand out, palm open. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," I replied with a strong handshake.

"Sir, this is my brother-in-law, Marcus," Cole says to me. "The head of the snake down here."

"You sound proud to say that," I pointed out to Cole then looked at Marcus, "You must have one hell of a green thumb."

"You won't meet anyone better," Marcus arrogantly smiles with a nod.

"I have a few tricks myself," I gloated with a grin. "You won't meet anyone who can roll better than I can."

"Is that right?," Marcus asked, glancing at Cole.

"Don't look at me," Cole said, holding up a hand, "I've never seen him roll before."

You'll have to give me a demonstration sometime then," Marcus said to me with a smile. "So what can I do for you guys?"

"You can bring out some more of that stuff from yesterday," Cole suggested with a grin. "You know, unless you don't feel like showing off."

"You know me, Cole," Marcus said, walking into the office room behind him.

He went through the door, kneeled down at the desk inside and ripped open a drawer. Seconds later, he came back through with an ounce bag filled to the zip lock, just like Pete does his, with bud that looks like it's straight out of a children's book. It wasn't just one color, or two, I counted five different colors unassorted in the bag. Blue, yellow, red, green, and purple, all mixed around like a rainbow camo shirt design.

Sounds like something the Phillip's twins would sell.

Each bud had a different tinted sparkle to it unique to its color. Many of them had inverted colored spots that made it look like a trippy hallucinogenic painting. It actually looks like the hairs on each piece were either carefully overlooked when they were trimmed or they somehow grew back because they're long as fuck. I almost feel like I'm getting high off of looking at it but that'd just be ridiculous.

"Say hello to my pride and joy," Marcus said proudly as he laid the ounce bag on the table. "I call her Super Juice."

"How in the hell?," I questioned, snatching the bag. I popped open the zip lock, grabbed a few buds and spread them out on the table to inspect each color. "This is all from one tree?"

"Well, not just one," Marcus says, raising a finger. "That's more like six or seven. But each color does grow on the same plant if that's what you were asking."

"That's exactly what I was asking," I assured him, kneeling down to spy on the buds at eye level. I took a few whiffs of each one to find not only their color and spotting was unique, but even the scents differ from piece to piece. "This is mind boggling, Marcus. How did you do it?"

"A magician never shares his secrets," Marcus replied with a cocky tone.

I still hate that word.

"It has to be some kind of mutation," I mumbled out loud, returning to examine the buds, "there's no other way."

"You're right," Marcus says. "It is a mutation. One that was not easy to accidentally obtain."

"Accidentally?," I repeated with a confused stare. "Come again?"

"I wasn't actually aiming for this mutation during my experiments," Marcus admitted. "But as luck would have it, this turned out much more potent, with a higher quality percentage and maximum yield than I had hoped my original target mutation would of had."

"What was the original?," I asked, rising back to my feet.

"A blend of a pure White Widow strain and an OG Kush mutation," Marcus replied. "It was supposed to be orange with white spots. I honestly haven't the slightest how it turned out like this."

"So you were trying to achieve one mutation by crossbreeding with another mutation," I explained to myself.

"Basically, yeah," Marcus says.

"Which was the female?," I asked him.

"The Kush," he answers. "Why?"

"You had the two plants isolated together away from the others, right?," I continued.

"Yes, of course," Marcus nodded.

"I think I know where you slipped up, Mark," I said with a smile. "Think about it, you have a lot of plants here, some I'm sure are mutations and crossbreeds themselves, I'm willing to bet you had pollen from one of your other males attached to your clothes."

"That's brilliant," Cole said, pointing a finger at me. "Even I hadn't thought about that."

"Interesting," Marcus says, looking down in thought as he scratched his cheek. "I'm usually so careful but it's possible."

"Tell me something," I told him, "this isn't the first oopsie child you've had, is it?"

Cole started snickering obnoxiously before Marcus had a chance to open his mouth but he got his words out, "Not exactly, no. We've had a few."

"Well?," I prompted him, waiting to see if he'd catch on.

Marcus stood there staring at me for a second and in the next, he rolled his eyes backwards and began to rub his face in embarrassment. "Oh my God, how did I not think of that?," he complained to himself. "What are the odds?"

"Not too slim if you're not careful," I answered. "So this means that your Super Juice here is a crossbreed of the Kush mutation and most likely another mutation or crossbreed in that room behind me."

"I think you're right, Nathaniel," Marcus said with a shameful smile. "Except for the part of the male being a mutation or crossbreed from that room."

"Why do you say that?," I asked.

"Well, those in there are mothers for our clones," Marcus informs. "Everything else is in the next room."

"How much more are we talking here?," I ask.

"I'll make you a deal, my new furry friend," Marcus says. "You show me yours and I'll show you mine."

Um... Oh, wait.

"You mean my magic tricks," I elaborated for him. "Can I use the Super Juice?"

"Sure, sure, knock yourself out," Marcus said, nodding and leaning over the table. "I just want to see what you can do."

"Me too," Cole adds, leaning in as well. "First with crushing that guard's hand and now this, I'm all eyes."

I shrugged and dug into my pocket for my tin case. Somehow, my bowl got caught in the handful and came out with it. I set them both on the table, flipped open the tin case, took the rolling papers from within and set it down on the table. As I began to break up the Super Juice bud to roll it, Marcus and Cole picked a few pieces of the Devil's Fruit I bought from Pete what feels like forever ago.

"What's this?," Cole asked as he and Marcus inspected their own pieces.

"It's called Devil's Fruit," I replied with a frown as I began to dribble the broken buds into the paper. "I got it from Selina's father. His friend created it but I don't remember if it's a mutation or crossbreed. All I know is the high is great and it tastes fucking amazing."

"I'm sorry," Marcus says, "who is Selina?"

"I told you this already, Mark," Cole says as he dropped his bud back into my tin case and nudged him. "Sensitive subject, remember?"

"Ah damn, I'm sorry," Marcus said with revelation on his face then looked at me, "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," I told him then stopped midway through my roll and looked at Cole. "Cole, I expect Anthony to patronize me about Selina but I don't think I have to order you not to. Clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Cole smiled. "For what it's worth, the Admiral annoys the hell out of me sometimes, too."

"You should see him when he gets his ass kicked," I stated, returning to finish my roll.

"This is a beautiful strain," Marcus says, dropping his piece back into my case. "I'd love to meet the man with that handy work."

"Selina's father, Pete, grows as well," I pointed out, taking a second to lick the glue of the paper. "His pride and joy is a cheesey looking bud he calls Mexican Mix."

"How is it?," Cole asks.

"Cheesey," I answered with a smile as I handed him the finished joint. "But in a very, very good way."

"Amazing," Cole said as he slipped the joint between his fingers. "Stick a filter on there and it'd look no different than an ordinary cigarette."

"Outstanding, Nathaniel," Marcus compliments. "You really are skilled."

"You don't know the half of it," I gloated again. "I get my skills from my father."

"He must be a skilled man as well," Marcus says.

"He definitely was," I nodded as Cole handed the joint back to me. "In more fields than just the one. My mother gave him the nickname 'Father Kush' back in the day and he passed it down to me when I started getting better than him."

"I see," Marcus says. "Not to barter with your patience but you've lost him, haven't you?"

"Yeah," I mumbled as I reached for the pack of matches in my tin case. "Ten years and some months ago."

"I feel your pain, my friend," Marcus says while I strike the match.

The flame engulfed the tip of the joint where a yellow piece of bud sticks out and lit it in a beautiful red cherry. "What happened to yours?," I asked as the smoke rolled off my tongue.

Wait, is my smoke yellow?

"He walked out on my mother and me when I was little," Marcus informs. "And yours?"

"Pretty much the same," I answered, passing the joint to Cole.

I watched Cole puff on the joint long and strong. "Enough of this, you two," Cole grunts through his beak, smoke rolling out through his nostrils, mostly.

It IS yellow!

"Come on, Mark, show him the greenhouse," Cole grunts again then blows out the yellow smoke in a long breath.

"I thought we were in the greenhouse," I said, watching the joint reach Marcus' scaley fingers.

"You didn't tell him before you brought him here?," Marcus asked Cole then took a long puff himself.

I watched Marcus puff, mostly watching the smoke gliding in the air, inspecting its color.

"He's having a bad day, it was gonna be a surprise," Cole excuses himself.

"Hold the fuck up, the smoke is changing colors!," I exclaimed, cutting off their conversation and jamming a finger at the joint in Marcus' fingers. "First it was yellow and now it's blue! Am I experiencing a new level of high or is this shit really happening?" I snatched the joint from Marcus and inspected the smoke rising overhead now in a dark blue tint.

"It's really happening," Cole assures me with a slight laugh.

"Something about it's chemical compound allows light to reflect off of the molecules in the smoke in the color of the bud that is burned," Marcus says. "Cool, right?"

"Hell yeah, it is," I chuckled. I took a long puff, held for a few moments and blew out the blue smoke. I laughed when I compared the color to the blue of my coat and noticed it was practically the same hue. Then I looked back at Cole as I handed Marcus the piece, "So what's all this about a bad day?"

"Ignore that comment," Cole tells me, waving a hand then looks at Marcus. "Are you going to show him or not?"

"Alright, alright, shut your beak already, Birdman," Marcus says, walking between us and into the next room. "Follow me, Nathaniel."

"He calls you that, too?," I asked Cole with a humorous grin as we followed Marcus into the next room.

"He started it," Cole says. "I found it pretty ironic when you began to say it."

That's awesome. What are the chances?

"Nate," Marcus says, standing in front of the double doors I have yet to see behind then stops for a second, "is it alright if I call you that?" I nodded. "Great," he says, clapping his hands. "Nate, and Cole even though you've been in here a hundred times but I'm introducing it to you anyway," Marcus turned around, ripped the doors wide open and walked through with honest pride as I shuffled in behind him, "welcome to the Canniban greenhouse."

I looked over Marcus' shoulder as I came up behind him and basked in a holy sight that made me want to break down in tears.

But this time, joyful tears would be nice.

What I saw was the exact imagery I had hoped for when I first walked in. No, it's so much more. Where the three of us stood, at the top of a large metal scaffolding that rose up high over the floor below, I saw what literally appeared to be an endless indoor garden. Tree after tree after glorious tree lined across and along wall to wall glows in a mostly green color from the light peering down from above but there is also a rainbow about it just like the Super Juice. There are none here from what I can see, but I don't think it's a stretch to say every strain in existence is right here in this giant ass room.

It's practically a jungle down there.

They are all lined in precise rows, some in hydroponic tubing, some in large bags of perlite, others in rockwool and the rest in shit like I've never seen. There were dozens of other scientists like Marcus scurrying about in the man made jungle, each with a clip board, each with a partner, each with their own set of plants to tend to, each in a different manner.

The platform we stand on not only has two separate stairwells leading to the beauty below but it also expands outward by six or seven feet and rides the wall all the way around for the second floor of this room. This floor has many, many doors with post boards everywhere, each with a different scattering of papers push pinned to them. Another couple dozen scientist walk these catwalks back and forth from door to door, carrying their clipboards and counting in their heads, even the ones passing by behind us as I leaned over the railing to investigate further.

I looked up to the light source for an instant before having my mind blown. "What the shit is that?," I asked in astonishment, staring at an enormous square shaped thing stretching the length and width of the entire ceiling, glowing in the brightest white imaginable.

"That's a mirror, sir," Cole tells me. "There's a system of them through the internals of the castle that bring the natural sunlight here."

So that's how they do it. Genius.

"I...," I mumbled, staring with my eyes popped out of my head, "I don't even..."

"Is he okay?," Marcus asked Cole at his right.

"Not sure, truth be told," Cole says. "I've only known him for a day."

"I'm at a loss," I finally blurted out, "this is... it's so fucking... I don't even...," I turned at Marcus and gripped his arms to force him to stare me in the eyes, "there are no words to describe this -

"Wonder?," Cole suggests, cutting me off and leaning over to spot me.

"Paradise?," Marcus suggested next.

"Orgasmic eye candy?," a feminine voice suggests from the background.

I turned to my right, still gripped to Marcus' arms, and found myself an older, short, slimmed, grinning white mouse in one of the lab coats. The white fur on her head extended down to just above her shoulders in a long, curly hairstyle dyed blonde. Her eyes are brown like mine and underneath the lab coat, she wears a canary yellow tee that squeeze tight around her waist and petite bust. She has on a black business skirt that hangs just passed her hamstrings, black stockings under that and a pair of short black heels.

Yes you are.

"I like yours better," I said, smiling back and releasing Marcus so he could finally take a hit off the joint. "I'm Nathaniel."

"Sherry," she introduced herself as she held out a hand. I shook her hand, not noticing I was staring at her chest although I think she did, then she looked at Marcus puffing the joint. "Is that your pet project, Mark?"

"Indeed, it is," Marcus replied as he handed it to Cole who took his puff quickly and passed back to me.

I inhaled deeply and watched Sherry watch me puff, her eyes either glued to the joint or me. I exhaled, held it out to her, and asked, "Wanna puff?"

"I'd love to," she smiled. "I prefer a shotgun, though."

"Definitely not a problem for me," I replied, "c'mere." I stuck the cherry end of the joint between my teeth, closed my lips around the paper and cupped my hands around it. Sherry leaned in, sticking the other end in her mouth and her snout in my cupped hands. I began to blow on the cherry in my mouth, forcing the smoke through the rest of the joint into her mouth as she inhaled. I kept going for as long as she could then pulled back and took the fire out of my teeth. I took another small puff and reached in front of Cole to hand it to Marcus and watched Sherry absorb the smoke like a champ. Moments passed. Then seconds. Then about a minute and a half. Finally, Sherry exhaled, blowing nothing but carbon dioxide and the odor of the Super Juice on her breath into my face.

"Well done," I said, smiling as I clapped. "That was one hell of a cloud you just killed."

"I work in a pot farm, dear," she says with a confident smile.

"I can tell you know your stuff," I said.

A few moments of silence passed. I decided to make it obvious that I was attracted to her by eyeing her from head to toe over and over with a grin on my face.

When don't I anyway?

She raised an eyebrow at me as I stared and looked like she was going to giggle at me. But she didn't. She stood, her clipboard tucked under her right arm and her free hand stuck inside her coat pocket, practically staring into my soul.

"Uh, Sherry, would you like to show Nathaniel around?," Marcus suggested, breaking the silence.

"Why not?," Sherry replied. "I'm not doing anything special."

"Great then," Marcus says then turns to his brother-in-law. "Cole come with me, I need your help with something."

"Sure, no problem," Cole nodded to him then looked my way, "meet you up front."

"Have fun," I said as they began to walk the catwalk. I looked back at Sherry and smiled, "so, where to first?"

"What would you like to see first?," Sherry asked with a friendly smile.

"What would you suggest?," I ask in turn.

"Hm...," Sherry hummed, leaning on her hip then grinned with an evil thought. "I'm not sure, I'm afraid it'll be too much for you to process all at once. You were nearly in tears seeing the main floor."

I chuckled and nodded in defeat. "I'll try to contain myself," I told her.

"Alright," Sherry smiles. "Follow me."

Sherry walked past me to travel down the stairwell to the ground floor, striking my snout with her whip like tail as she went by. I flinched immensely in surprise and rubbed where she struck as I followed her down, catching her eye and evil grin as we stepped downward.

She's a feisty one.

I grinned to myself and continued on behind her. We placed the tile flooring below under our feet and walked side by side into the marijuana jungle.

"This is so beautiful, it's ridiculous," I said, laughing as I felt the leaves reach out far enough to graze my cloths. "And the smell... this is the closest to heaven I've ever been."

Well, actually, that's a lie. I almost died. Twice.

"I'm glad you like it," Sherry says, leading me through the labyrinth of weed. "Everyone here loves the job they do. We all take it very seriously."

"This wouldn't be Canniban if you didn't," I assured her. "This kingdom is what it is because of the work you all do."

"You haven't even seen the half of it," Sherry says, looking up with a proud grin.

"What?," I replied with yet another surprised look. "There's more?"

"There's two more floors right under our feet," Sherry says, pointing down. "Each with just as many plants but a different strain type."

"So what's this floor?," I asked, slipping my hands in my pocket.

"All of these plants are sativa strains," Sherry says. "The floor below us consists of indica strains and below that, ruderalis strains."

"That's a lot of pot," I mumbled to myself.

"You do know the difference, don't you?," Sherry asked.

"You bet your perky ass, I do," I proudly said with a smile on my face.

"I'll make that bet," Sherry says, raising an eyebrow with interest. "Go ahead, wow me."

"With pleasure," I replied. "Sativa strains are basically the weak link of the three. They're the tallest of the three but they don't produce nearly as many flowers as Indica. The difference between those two in general are clear as day if you know what to look for."

"Don't stop there," Sherry urged me as we walked out of the other side of the pot forest. "I'm not entirely impressed yet."

"Calm down, now, I was just getting started," I said, pointing a finger.

Sherry stopped at the wall where directly in front of us is another scaffolding with two sets of stairs leading much further below than the first set. There is a torch at every set of steps that lead down, so many that I can barely see the bottom. I think I counted thirteen torches all the way down. "Let's hear it then," she insists, leaning against the railing and hopping up to sit on the bar.

"Sativa strains have thin leaves and spacious branches while indica strains have thick, broad leaves that mostly overlap each other," I continued, hopping up on the railing next to her. "Sativa plants have a light green hue to them and indica have more of a darker green. Sativa is tall and thin, indica is short but bushy and rich with bud."

"You're forgetting ruderalis," Sherry says with a grin.

"The hell I am," I laughed. "Ruderalis isn't well known because of it's... let's say superior insignificance. The thing about it is it its place among the subspecies. They're the smallest strains with mismatched leaves. Because it'd cost more money to produce those things than you'd make from selling them, It's mostly used for crossing strains for a hybrid like Marcus tried with the Super Juice."

"He told you all of this, didn't he?," Sherry asked. "He likes to show off way too much."

"No," I said, smiling, "this is common knowledge for me."

"Honestly?," Sherry asks. I nodded. "Now I'm impressed. Not many people know many of the detailed differences."

"It's my livelihood to know this stuff," I said then smiled at her. "So I won the bet right? What do I win?"

"Well," Sherry says, jumping down from the railing and continuing on again down the stairs, "I'm pretty sure I bet you my perky ass."

"Still works for me," I said, following her again. "But you're doing the work."

Sherry laughed out loud to herself, not bothering to turn around to look at me as she lead me to the floor below. "Are you always so blunt, Nathaniel?," she asks, finally looking back with a grin.

"Indeed, I am," I nodded an unseen nod after she turned back around. "Don't worry, it'll grow on ya."

"Oh, I'm not worried about it growing," Sherry says, most likely grinning wider in front of me as we ventured down.

Damn, she's excitable. Reminds me of Cassidy.

"How old are you, Sherry?," I asked as we stepped down endlessly.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to ask a woman her age?," Sherry asks, looking back and raising an eyebrow.

I'm blunt, remember?," I pointed out with a grin. "I wanna guess about thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

"Please, don't try to flatter me," Sherry says, raising a hand between us, hiding her blush. "I'm forty-one."

"My, my, Sherry, you're one pretty lady for forty-one," I said, trying to flatter her just for the challenge. "What's you're secret?"

"Young guys like you keep me feeling young," Sherry replied. "That's why I enjoy them so much."

Yowza. She's barking up the right tree. Well... squeaking.

"Now who's the blunt one?," I rhetorically asked.

"Never said I wasn't," Sherry points out, walking down onto the flat surface of the bottom of the scaffolding.

I followed her through a small doorway at the bottom into another enormous room that really didn't look that much different from the first floor. A seemingly endless weed forest but in a much different variety in the center of the room under another giant mirror shining sunlight down from above, another metal scaffold with two sets of stairways on the opposite side that lead up to another catwalk that circles the room in front of another couple dozen doors and leads down to the third basement floor. And the people in lab coats everywhere, the whole nine yards.

The farm in the center is the only real significant difference. Being indica strains, they were shorter as expected but thick and with buds big enough to spot from a mile away.

If only they were actually that big.

It was all a much darker green than those above, if they were tall enough to stretch overhead, it could simulate a rainforest. It was mostly more quantity than color, which draws back on the physical appeal but it's no disadvantage when there's this fucking much on a single plant. The real color other than the green of the leaves are the purple, white and orange of the buds that aren't green and brighter colors like yellow and red on the hairs that poke out in plain sight.

"I don't know what I like better," I said, staring in astonishment yet again. "The rainbow above or the dank vault down here."

"I've been working here since I was nineteen and I still haven't been able to chose," Sherry says, walking on ahead towards the next pot forest.

"I can imagine why," I said, following at her side. "Maybe I should work here instead."

"What do you do?," Sherry asked.

I kill people. It's okay though, I haven't officially started the job even though I got one of my best friends poisoned and fighting for her life.

"I'd rather not talk about my work," I replied, looking away into the thick innards of the marijuana plants passing by. "I'd like to know more about how you tend to your plants."

"It's a very precise process," Sherry informs. "These mirrors above are controlled by a crank mechanism in a room up on the catwalk. Every twelve hours, we crank it open to give the plants the right amount of sunlight they need then we close them again for another twelve hours to simulate the night."

"Other than that," I insisted, "gimme some detail."

"Well, they need to be watered, trimmed, fertilized and supplied with the nutrients from our formulas," Sherry continues. "Which we make ourselves. Each plant is recorded as well, its height, width, quality, maximum yield and a bunch of other information that's stored in its own folder in the file room at its floor."

"That's a lot of paperwork," I said, brushing the leaves that went by with my hand.

"I'm glad I'm not the one who has to do it," Sherry says.

"So how do you navigate down here when those mirrors are shut?," I asked, looking up to be blinded by light.

That was stupid. Why did I do that?

"We lock up and head home when the twelve hour shift ends," Sherry answered. "Then our replacements come in at the next shift so we can get our sleep and have time for ourselves."

"I still don't get how you get to the crank room without stubbing your toe," I told her.

"Torches," Sherry says, "whoever's assigned to start the shift comes in with a torch from Marcus' office up front."

"Simple enough, I suppose," I said with a small nod. "It's like clockwork down here, huh?"

"That would make Marcus Father Time," Sherry says. "If anything fell even a minute off schedule, he'd lose his mind and start freaking out. Everything has to be perfect or the whole greenhouse would fall into chaos."

We walked out into the open of the other side of the room once more and continued down the next scaffolding without pause.

"You're going to want to watch your step down here," Sherry tells me as she stepped down the stairs next to me. "We keep our ruderalis plants in the dark another six hours longer than the rest to keep them from flowering so the mirror is shut right now."

"Sweet," I smiled at her. "We get the whole floor to ourselves."

"Well, aren't we excited," Sherry stated, smiling back at me.

You're about to find out why.

And one last time, we walked through another doorway at the bottom. Sherry grabbed a torch from the bottom of the stairwell before she came in. Being the gentleman I am, I took it from her and held it up to light the way for us.

I couldn't make out much in this low lighting. I assume it looks the same as the two floors above just without the third scaffolding leading down another flight. The plants shouldn't be that much more different than the indica plants. They should be smaller with thin leaves, and considering that they keep these midgets in their vegetative stage for crossbreeding, there shouldn't be any bud whatsoever.

So much for my fantasy of fucking in a field of bud.

"Are you sure we should walk through those things with this torch?," I asked Sherry as she walked by me. "I don't wanna send your life's work up in flames."

"Give it back, you big puss," Sherry laughs, snatching the torch from my hand. Then she used her free hand to latch onto my left ear and pull me forward. I stumbled forward when she let go and barely caught my footing. I looked back at her as she walked by me again with her evil grin, brushing my cheek with her hand then whipping my ass with that tail of steel of hers. "Get that bubble ass movin', you big puss. I don't got all day."

Why do I get the feeling this is going to be the most painful sexual experience of my life? More importantly, why do I like it?

I followed Sherry into the largest garden of the smallest pot plants ever, rubbing away the sting in my ass, as she carefully lead me through, holding to torch just in front of her as to be careful not to ignite the leaves of the vegetating plants. For the first time, we walked for a few minutes without a word. There was nothing to be heard except silence. I looked away and began to whistle the tune of an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was a child. I actually got through the entire song before I bumped into Sherry's back. No, wait, her front.

"I think we're in deep enough," she says then immediately latches onto my junk with her free hand.

"Jesus Christ," I prayed in surprise, "you don't waste any time, do ya?"

"Not a damn second," she says with her evil grin, "so this better be quick."

"Oh, I dunno about that," I mumbled with my own smirk. "Should we just get down to it then?"

"My thoughts exactly," Sherry says, forcibly pulling the button of my jeans out of its slit then ripping my zipper open and throwing it all to the ground.

"Hey, easy on the cloths," I bitched as she stretched her arms up my chest. "This is all I have that's clean."

Sherry sunk the little mice claws on her free hand into my shoulder blade, tearing through the fabric of my Canniban crest shirt and ripping the cloth completely off of my torso.

"So you rip my shirt to shreds," I stated as she kneeled down on her knees, setting the torch down on its bald wooden end. "Awesome."

"Don't make me shove something in your mouth instead," Sherry warns me as she pulls my boxers down to join my jeans wrapped at my ankles.

"Mkay," I said, sucking in my lips. "I'll be quiet."

"You better be," she warns again then surprisingly gently wraps her hands around my length.

At least she knows how to handle a guy.

It took no time at all for her to work me up. She had me going the second she grabbed me through my jeans. Her hands softly stroked up to the tip together, twisting in different directions each time she went back and forth. Sherry held her rhythm, watching herself stroke me with a spark of interest in her eyes. All I can do is look down and watch the fire burn in her pupils and quiver at her hands around my dick. Then she stopped, holding her hands at my base and popped the head in her mouth. Sherry bobbed her head from side to side, slobbering, lubricating, and dragging her tongue all the way around.

You wanna be rough? Let's see how you like this.

With a smirk on my face, I grasped a good handful of her hair on the back of her head and shoved her head forward as I jammed myself as deep down her throat as I could get it, heating up my inside and puffing out a harsh breath at the soft, warm and moist sensation. Which did not phase her whatsoever. She took it better than any girl I've been with, letting me control her head freely with blushed cheeks as she stared back up at me. I held her head there for a couple seconds, pulling out just an inch and shoving it back in repeatedly, clenching my fangs behind my lips. I watched her continue to stare back up at me with her glossy brown eyes, the pink blush on her face and listening to nothing but my own huffs and puffs and the slurping sound of her sucking as hard as she could. Which really pays off cause it's amazing.

I pulled out until just the tip was on the end of her tongue. She wrapped it around the bottom and puckered her lips around the top and sucked on it like a lollipop. I pushed back in, nice and slow, giving into the warm saliva slipping her tongue across my length and the tight squeeze of her throat around the head and the top of my shaft. I slipped it back out, feeling the skin pulling forward as she sucked long and hard like she didn't want it out.

Fine by me.

I latched onto the hair on the other side of her head, held her still and slammed every centimeter back in. I quickly pulled out, listening to her slobber much loud but never seeing her budge an inch except for her hand toying with herself under her skirt and the other pinching her nipple under that canary yellow tee-shirt. Continuously, I slammed my cock down her throat until her snout jammed into my pelvis, drooling with a smile as her mouth engulfed my length, then huffing out a harsh breath each time I slid it back out. Just like her, I never lost rhythm. She willingly took me in as deep as I wanted it and happily dragged her tongue across the bottom of my shaft as she sucked the skin forward, just waiting for that cream filling. I enjoyed every slurp, huff, every movement I made and even watching her vigorously rubbing her clit helps bring it up in me.

Eventually, she pulled her head off, pushing against my hold on her, gasping for air. "Gahhhh!," Sherry cried gibberish as she pulled away, trailing and dripping her saliva, and probably a lot of precum, down to the floor. And my cloths. Sherry took a few moments to catch her breath as I caught a wicked head buzz from the Super Juice that only amplified the tingle and the sensation growing in the center of my dick. After she could breath again, she quickly pushed me on the ground, forcing me to trip over my own clothing and hitting the hard tiled floor with a thump.

Um. Ow. Bitch almost knocked the wind from my lungs.

I attempted to lift myself up to look at her but she jumped onto my chest, pushing me back down to the floor and grinned her evil grin in my face.

"Asshole," she says to me, reaching down between us to stroke me some more. I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off with a finger to my snout, "Uh uh, no talking."

Nag, nag, nag.

"I love these scars," she mumbles to herself, sliding down my body and dragging her claws across the scarred tissue on my chest like every girl I sleep with does.

She never took me out of her hand for a moment. She slid all the way down to my waist and forced me back down her throat without taking a breath. I groaned roughly and dropped my head back as she continued to give me that tingle down there. Sherry twisted her hand back and forth against her head as she gobbled me down, making no effort whatsoever to not make a mess on her short snout or the fur on my pelvis. By the time she worked me up enough to clench my hands until my claws punctured skin, I peeked down for just a moment to see her face and my fur drenched, her hand trailing the mixture of spit and precum from her lips to the base of my shaft and her free hand down between her legs again.

Fuck this, it's fantastic but I want some pussy.

I threw my weight forward to lean up, grabbed the hair on the back of her head and yanked her off.

"You know how to make a guy happy," I said as she gasped for air again. This time, I pushed her on her back before she could make a move and leaned forward to hang over her. "Now it's my turn again and you're gonna deal with it."

She didn't say anything, probably because I wouldn't let her. Before she could even open her mouth, I stuck one of my claws, real claws, into the tip of her yellow shirt and sliced it all the way down to the waist. The cloth fell lose, hanging from her arms under her lab coat and exposing her bouncy tits just big enough to wrap around my cock.

That sounds like a fun thing to do.

With a smile on my face, I scooted up to make myself comfortable right between those plump little balloons. She brought her hands up and pushed them together, wrapping perfectly around my shaft and practically locking it in between them. Her saliva mixture still soaked around me spread in her cleavage, mixing in with the tiny little hairs of fur on her chest that I really didn't feel at all. It just felt like soft, wet skin to me and that's what makes it feel so damn good.

I thrust forward, sliding my shaft between her tits with the slippery mixture lubing both of our skins. Sherry pushed her perky toys together as tight as she could get them and held them together as I continued to fuck them, jamming her chin a couple times with my tip. She decided to lift her head to suck it in every time I pushed in between those pillowy jugs. Again and again, I pulled it back, slipping on the skin between her tits and pushed forward, flexing the muscles down there as I strained to get more. The better it felt, the more I couldn't stand to hold it. I want to let it all out. In her mouth, face, hair, cleavage, I don't care, I just want this rough bitch to make me cum.

And she damn well wants it, too. She released her hold on her tits, letting them loosely fall apart, grabbed me by the hips and pulled me forward more until my cock hung directly above her head. I almost stumbled over my hands as she did it but I immediately knew what she was going for. So I let her stick the tip in her mouth before I grabbed her hands, stretched them above her head and held them there. I didn't bother checking to see if she had adjusted to make herself comfortable, I just thrust down and slammed every inch back down her throat again. She actually gagged this time, or made a gagging like sound at least. She made that sound every time I pushed back down along with the others of her slobbering on my shaft and sucking in the skin when I pulled back.

I can't take much more.

I picked up my speed and waited for that glorious sensation to spread throughout my dick. It rose up from the center of the base as she sucked the skin forward when I pulled out. It trailed up my shaft a little bit every time her tongue, lips, and throat squeezed around me when I pushed back in. I began to gibber my usually gibberish as it spread throughout the rest of my length to the last layer of skin. I started to force it in and out as fast as I could as the feeling filled to every possible nerve down there.

"Oh, fuck," I cussed, stretching my words out to my thrusting. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," at that last F-bomb, the pent up feeling released and shot my cum from well in her mouth and spreading down her throat, "AAHHHH, FUUUUCK!!"

Oh my God, I absolutely love being sucked dry.

I quickly slowed down, getting just a few more pumps in, filling my core with that sweet relief as the orgasm gradually died down then rolled over onto my side to rest.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, kid," Sherry said, wiping her mouth after swallowing my cum down.

I'm gonna let that one slide.

"How long has that been pent up inside?," Sherry asked, ripping off her torn tee and lab coat then rolling over me to straddle my throbbing dick between her legs.

"Since yesterday," I mumbled, flashing back to that last release I shot in Cassidy's fine toned ass. "Well, actually the night before."

"Well then, I guess I know where you keep your stress," Sherry said with a little giggle.

In my cock, apparently.

"Don't worry, I'm not done," I told her, reaching down between her legs to toy with her pussy lips through her leggings. Except, I felt nothing but pussy.

No underwear and crotchless leggings? Alright, that's what I'm talkin' about!

I instantly decided to pass on the foreplay and pinched both nipples between my fingers to pull her down to me.

Oooowwww!," Sherry shrieks all the way down.

I wrapped my arms around her waist tightly so she couldn't break free, waited for her to look me in the eye, and said with a smile, "You wanted to play rough."

She opened her mouth to say something, actually looking a little mad but that angered look instantly morphed into that sexy, eyes shut loosely, chin pushed forward, mouth open gasping for air pleasured look that women do when I jammed myself inside her tiny mouse cunt. And God damn, was it tight. The girl is barely three quarters of my size so it makes sense but holy fucking hell. Her lips wrapped firmly around the shaft from the tip to the base like it was stretching to get it around. It felt tight like a cock ring but flooded the skin of my dick in the warm, soaked pleasure I can never get enough of.

That sexy look glued to Sherry's face and fit well with the shrieks crying from her mouth every time I smacked her ass with my balls when I pushed inside. She almost seemed immobilized. She wrapped her arms around my neck, held on like she'd fall to her death if she let go and let the rest of her body go limp on top of me. I took complete advantage of it and keep fucking with the full intention of showing her whose boss. And I think she got the hint.

I really can't tell who's enjoying this more. Sherry's moaning in a high pitch every time I stuff my cock inside her, I'm biting my own teeth with a strong jaw and clenching tighter every time I forced it all the way in. I'm losing myself just listening to her shriek in short bursts into my chest. She's losing control of her body like I was fucking her will power out every time you heard a smack. I think we're both getting close, I know I am again. I don't want to finish it this way, I want something a little more fun.

I pulled out and slipped out from under Sherry's body. Still moaning in short breaths, she turned on her side and looked at me with her energy barely flowing back to her. "What are you doing?," she weakly asked, "I was almost there."

"You'll get there," I assured her, turning her back over onto her stomach and making her prop her ass in the air. "But you still have a bet to pay up on."

"Mmmmm, huuuurry uuuup," Sherry complains, her face buried in her arms in the floor, "I got to get back to work."

"I told you slow wasn't happening," I pointed out, chuckling to myself as I flipped her skirt up over her back.

Her sweet, round booty stuck out right in my face, exposing her crazy tight cunt through the crotchless leggings. I dug my claw into the leggings just below the hole her tail sticks out of and ripped down to expose the hole I really wanted.

"Well, what are you waiting for?," Sherry asks, looking back over her shoulder from the floor. Her tail slithered back and forth in the air in front of me then quickly whipped my face again. "Come on, kid, hurry up."

I'm not ignoring that one.

I grabbed the base of her tail and yanked her my way, skidding her knees and arms a few inches across the floor then lined myself up for the push in. "Listen to me very carefully, Sherry," I calmly said to her, bending over to speak into her ear while still splitting her cheeks with the head of my cock. "I, am not," I took a firm grip around her leg with my free hand while still clenching tight to her tail and shoved my still lubed rod burrowing deep into her sexy matured ass, "a kid!"

"AAHHWW GAAWWDD!," Sherry screamed into the tile flooring.

"Ohhhh yeesss...," I mumbled, barely able to keep my eyes open.

I burst straight into the same pace I had only moments ago, slipping, splashing, and spreading her pussy juice each time my dick stuffed inside. I can't tell if her pussy is tighter than her ass or not, I just know it feels fucking amazing.

"Ahh-fu-u-ck," Sherry curses as I slapped her ass into me. "Ri-i-ght-the-r-re..."

Sherry reached down between herself and the floor and jammed two fingers inside herself. Her cries turned to screams once more as she began to splash her juice everywhere while I slammed myself into a tiny, round asshole the size of a copper piece that I just couldn't get into deep enough. No matter how hard I pushed, pulled, and pushed again, I wanted more. I always want more. I began to unintentionally dig my claws into her leg as I felt myself melting inside again and stuffed her tail in my jaws. Why I felt so primal is beyond me but nonetheless, I bit down on her tail along with digging my claws into her leg and started to pump faster, as fast as I could possibly withstand.

"AW FUCK!," Sherry screamed, "YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!"

Selina... Jesus Christ, what am I doing?

As soon as I comprehended the title Selina gave me, I pulled out in a flash and stumbled backwards onto my back over my jeans and boxers still at my ankles. That fall did knock the wind out of me and I began to gasp for air as I slowly strained to my hands and knees.

"What are you doing?," Sherry asks, rolling over on her side again to spot me. "Are you okay?"

"I can't... I can't...," I spoke no other words feeling incapable of doing so as I couldn't return the air to my lungs just yet. Instead I stood, clothed my lower half, held up a hand to her with regret in my eyes and began to stumble backwards towards the stairwell. "I'm sorry." Getting just those words out sent me coughing and dry heaving all the way to the stairs. I actually managed to trip over my own tail once but quickly bolted back up the stairs and vanished from her sight.

What the hell is wrong with me? Selina's hanging by a thread of her life directly over the bed I sleep in at night and I'm wasting time with some mouse cougar or cougar mouse, whatever the fuck you'd call her, just to get my dick wet. I should be out on the street figuring out who the fucking hell start this shit so I can put my fucking boot up his fucking ass! And then my other fucking boot!

Holy Christ, Nathan, what the shit, man?!

As I stormed up the stairs, I continued to repeatedly box myself in the side of my head mumbling, "idiot," all the way up to the second floor of the greenhouse. I made it up and burst into a run towards the next scaffolding of stairs. I flew into the sea of Indica green, grazing the white of the scientists' lab coats as I zoomed by them. One crossed the middle of my path and I remorsefully shoved him aside without losing speed. I crossed the entire farm of the second floor in a couple dozen seconds, scaled the stairwell to the first floor in another minute and whizzed through half of the sativa strains another dozen seconds later. When I popped out on the other side, I looked up to the catwalk above to look for Cole or Marcus. I didn't see them so I kept running towards the last set of stairs, cruised up each step and turned into Marcus' office. In the main room, I saw the same plants and other random crap from before in the same arrangement but no other sign of life. So I stormed into the actual office itself. Thankfully, I found Marcus leaning back in his chair on the other side of that large window where all the filing cabinets are. Marcus has a book in his hand and an ashtray with a burning joint sitting on the table. Not the one I rolled, his was pregnant with a giant lump in the center. I jogged up to the window, ignoring the door directly next to me and pounded on the glass three times.

"Where's Cole?," I unnecessarily shouted to be sure he heard me.

"Where's your shirt?," Marcus asked in his usual toned voice. I looked down.

Oh yeah.

"I don't know, man," I lied with attitude, looking away in frustration. "It blew up. Where is Cole?"

"Right here, boss," Cole's voice answers from behind me. I turned around and watched him walk in the door with three bottles of water in his possession.

How does he keep walking in at the last possible second like that?

"What happened to your shirt?," Cole asks, pointing at me with one of the bottled waters in his hand.

"Can we forget about my fucking shirt, please?," I complained, clawing at the back of my head.

"Are you alright, sir?," Cole asked, walking by me to toss Marcus one of the bottles then handing me one. "Wanna drink?"

I snatched the bottle from him before he finished his sentence, screwed off the cap and guzzled every last fluid ounce down my throat in a few seconds. Taking a long inhale after swallowing the last bit, I screwed the cap back on, spotted a small trash bin across the room and tossed the bottle into the air.

"We gotta go," I told Cole, walking out and pulling him with me by the arm. As we walked through the doorway, I heard the sound of the bottled smacking into the plastic of the trash bag and then thunking on the metal at the bottom.

"Uh, okay," Cole says, replacing my grip with his own pace. "See you later, Mark!"

"Later, bro!," Marcus hollered from his office just before we walked through the front doors of the greenhouse.

Back into the corridors of the castle's interior, I stopped in the middle of the hall and began to pace back and forth.

Alright, so what first? What do we have? Ashley, Johnathan, Jason, and Amber. One of these four had something to do with Trevor's murder. Ashley and Johnathan have plenty of motive to go after Trevor, let alone the resources. Jason could have killed him in a hysterical rage from heartbreak but we don't know when, how, or why they broke it off so there's no telling if the dots connect to him yet. Amber hated her father, clearly. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with him unless it involved his money. So a preppy bimbo as old as Jake planned and executed a murder on her adopted father for his inheritance involving one of the most dangerous known poisons? Assuming that just sounds ridiculous but I can't rule it out. There's a connection somewhere that I haven't found yet.

"Sir?," Cole calls to me as I continue to pace.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," I replied then returned to my thoughts.

There's still that note that was in the vase of roses. "From ME to you", so what the hell does it mean? Anthony's alias initials theory gave us nothing so what else is there? If they're not initials, then who could have known him personally enough to sign the card that way? Maybe Trevor really didn't know who the card was referring to, the killer would know him, but not vice versa. So we have to look for suspects outside of the box, someone he wasn't really involved with. They would still have to have some kind of string tying them together or else there'd be no probably cause to suspect whoever were suspecting. If it did end up being someone like that, that might as well go in the dictionary to define the phrase, "senseless murder". It's still an idea, though. I don't really like the odds. The sooner we get to pay these four a visit, the better chance I'll have at putting something together.

So we better fucking move.

I turned to Cole and pointed my finger at him. "You spoke to Jason already, right?," I asked him, reading the clueless expression on his face.

"Yeah," Cole nodded, "I really didn't get anything useful but we can go back if you want to take a shot at him."

"Later," I replied, shaking my head. "Did you happen to get the addresses of Johnathan and Ashley?"

"Yeah, I wrote them on a piece of paper in my pocket," Cole nodded again, tapping his leg. "Jason's is on there, too, as well as Amber's, Maria's, and Sterling's just in case."

"Fantastic," I announced, pounding the air with a fist. "Who's closer, Ash or John?"

"Ashley," Cole says, "right down the street a ways. Won't take but five minutes to get there from the front doors."

"And after that?," I asked.

"John," Cole answers. "Then Jason and Amber."

"Alright, Cole, listen," I said, holding my hand up, "I want this case closed as soon as possible so I can tend to my dying friend the way I should have been. I want you to go after Ashley and Johnathan while I question the other two. Write down every last detail you can remember so I can go over it later then meet back at the castle's front doors. And I do mean every detail. Got it?"

"Yup," Cole nods.

"Great," I said, holding my hand out to him, "give me that paper."

Cole dug into his left pocket and pulled out a small rectangular piece of paper with each of their names and addresses listed in the order Cole informed. I carefully ripped it in half, splitting Ashley and Johnathan from the other four. Then I ripped Jason and Amber away from Maria and Sterling. I gave him the piece with the addresses I assigned him to, as well as the one with the unnecessary others, and jammed the piece with the ones I needed in my pocket.

"Hold on to those other ones, never know if we'll need 'em," I told him then turned around and walked off. "I'll see you later."

"Sir!," Cole hollers down the hall before I got too far.

I looked back, rolling my eyes and stared at him, "whaaaaaaatt?," I asked, anxious to get back to work.

"Do you want a shirt?," he asked, pointing at me. "I mean, not that those scars aren't badass but -

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I said, throwing my hand at him, "I'll grab one from the lab."

"Just wait, you stubborn mutt," Cole joked, walking towards me.

You're lucky I like you, Birdman.

Cole stripped off the tunic of his uniform, then his chainmail and finally the magma red colored tee with the spikey tribal print on the left side he was wearing underneath it all.

"Take it," he told me, holding it out. "I was starting to heat up with all these layers anyway."

"Are you telling me that birds sweat?," I asked, cocking my head in question. "No, forget it, don't answer. Just get to work."

"You got it, boss," Cole said then shook his hand with the red tee.

I grabbed it and nodded to thank him before slipping it on as I walked away.

First to Jason's place, see if I can't get anything out of him that Cole couldn't. Then Amber's, and if I'm lucky, I can charm her into spilling something worth knowing.

I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand with their names on it and read Jason's address. Unless I'm mistaken, I think...

Cherrytail Avenue? Where the fuck is that? Who the fuck named it that? I'm going to need a guide for this. I wish Selina was still at my side.

Having a thought pop up into my head, I rerouted my path to the front doors and started making for Anthony's office first, jogging all the way. Cole had lead me much further into the castle's innards than I thought. But as long as I keep my eyes up, I think I can backtrack my way.

If not, maybe the Queen will pop up out of nowhere again.

That's probably just wishful thinking. But it was wasted not fifteen minutes later when I found myself in familiar territory and just a couple corridors down from Anthony's office.

When I reached his office door, I almost took it upon myself to walk right in. I came an inch away from turning the door knob before remembering he was a little pissed off at me no more than an hour or so ago. And there's that whole incident with that hippopotamus from yesterday that I have yet to explain to him.

Probably best if I suck up to him for now.

I knocked on the door three times.

"Come in," Anthony's gloriously proud Irish voice calls from inside.

I turned the knob and walked in with a fake smile. "Hey Admiral," I said, shutting the door behind me and taking a seat across from his desk. Where he sits doing paperwork. Like always. "Whatcha up to?"

"I am working, Nathaniel," Anthony tells me with emphasis, his eyes glued to the words he scribbles. "A better question would be why aren't you?"

"That's why I'm here," I said, looking away in shame, "I need some help getting around the city."

"Where is Cole?," Anthony asked, looking up for only a moment to look around for him.

"We're splitting our leads," I answered, watching him sketch a picture of a jungle like landscaping.

Those aren't words.. He calls this working? Wow, actually, that's pretty good.

"Besides, you don't look all that busy to me," I said, leaning back in my seat and resting my feet on the corner of his desk. "You're a damn good artist, Anthony."

"Thank you," he replied then looked up at me. He pushed my feet off then raised an eyebrow like he didn't expect something like that of me. "Where do you need to go?"

"These two addresses," I said, reaching into my pocket and handing him the piece of paper. "And if it makes you feel any better, I can take you out for a drink later."

Anthony looked up at me again with the strangest expression and stared at me for a few moments. I exposed a small grin and shrugged my shoulders, waiting for an answer.

"What's wrong with you, son?," Anthony asks, setting his pen down and leaning on his desk.

I quickly gave in, feeling to need to vent and laid my head down on my arms on my side of his desk. With a long sigh, I continued to stare at the Irishman's beautiful doodle. "You know what's wrong with me, dammit," I mumbled, refusing to make eye contact.

"No, it's more than that," Anthony says, "that look on your face tells me you're ashamed of something. What did you do?"

"Wait, how do you know that?," I asked, leaning up to stare back at him with confusion. "The look on my face does what?"

"It's a handy skill for the military," Anthony says. "You learn to recognizing expressions and how to deduce what caused them and why. If you're good at it."

"Okay...," I mumbled, still giving him a confused stare.

"For example," Anthony says, pointing at me, "just a moment ago when you were leaning on my desk, you avoided eye contact. You were looking down but you're focus was gone, like you were staring into nothing. That tells me you're sad. But the way you hide your face in your arms like you were trying to build a wall between us shows that you were hiding something. Normally, you are too noble to not accept a mistake so if you messed up in a greater than average manner, it'd have a different effect on you than Selina's current state."

"And you know that last part how?," I asked.

"Because this is the first time since I met you that you've shown that face," he answers then points at me again. "And just there, when I mentioned her, your pupils flared and you put up a defense. You deflected the accusations. So it's about her then?"

"You have to teach me how to do that," I mumbled, falling back to rest on the edge of his desk. "Yes, God dammit, it's about Selina."

"Would you care to elaborate?," Anthony insisted.

"Not really," I mumbled, looking away again.

"That was a lie," Anthony calls my bluff. "Drop the act, Nathaniel, tell me what you did."

"If I fess up, will you come with me on my leads?," I asked him, sitting back up again and staring him in the eye. "I don't really want to be left alone anyway. And with Jake helping Elrick care for Selina, Cole off on the other side of town questioning some corporate bigwigs, you're the only other person I trust."

"Bloody hell, alright, I'll go," Anthony says, giving in to my begging. "But first you tell me what's got you so depressed. Other than the obvious."

I sighed, again, and laid back down on his desk, again. "I wanted in on this case so I could start making a difference here instead of causing the problems like I've done since day one," I explained. "With the smuggler boss sleeping in the dirt, all his followers scattered to harass some other kingdoms, and let alone this job the King gave me, I thought I had that chance. Then when I heard about Trevor, I guess I was so eager to get to work, I aimlessly jumped right into his case."

"I don't see what you're getting at," Anthony interrupts. "If you're trying to tell me you feel guilty for her being poisoned -

"Will you shut your orange chops, you told me to vent so I'm venting," I snapped, cutting him off.

Geez.

"Fine, fine," Anthony says, raising his hands, "carry on."

"Yes, I feel guilty for Selina's poisoning," I admitted as I continued. "Obviously. That should be a given for me, I always feel responsible. But since it happened, I've been using this case as a distraction from my concerns. Then when I actually saw her on the table earlier..."

I paused for a few moments, lost in my thoughts.

"Take your time," Anthony says. "Although we don't exactly have all day."

"I broke down, Anthony," I told him with glossy eyes. "I've never felt so powerless in my life. There was nothing I could do, or can do, and it's killing me, too. For the first time, I don't know what to do."

"But there's more to it than that, isn't there?," the Admiral asks, raising his finger for just a moment. "You're fighting to hold back the whole truth, I can see it. Look passed you're shame and let it out. I will not make any judgements, you're safe here."

"Don't treat me like a God damned witness," I snapped. "I'll get it out, I just..."

"Yes?," Anthony replied when I didn't finish.

I clenched my teeth and look away for a moment. Then I swallowed my pride and managed to work up some words. "The case couldn't keep me distracted after I watched her seize," I continued. "The guilt was too much. I think Cole saw all that weight I'm carrying and took me down to see his brother-in-law."

"Oh, for the love of...," Anthony instantly cursed after my last sentence, pinching the bridge of his snout ferociously. "I keep telling that damn bird to bake on his own time."

"Don't pin it on him, I welcomed it," I covered for Cole. "I needed it. And he knew that, apparently."

"So what did you do that is so bad?," Anthony asked.

"I fucked a mouse," I finally admitted, filling with disgust to my words. I threw myself back in my seat and then my hands forward to lay it all out on a slate for him. "My best friend is dying in the place I call home, because of me, no less, and I decide to handle that by stuffing myself balls deep into one of Marcus' employees. What kind of person does that?"

"I thought Jacob was you're best friend," Anthony stated.

Really.

"It's easier to call him my brother," I told him. "Can we stay on task, do you think?"

"Right, sorry," Anthony apologized, waving away the senseless remark. "So you used sex for the distraction that Trevor's case no longer could provide?"

"Basically," I replied, my eyes averted in fear of the look in his. "I should be out there following my leads so I can catch the mother fucking fuck that's responsible for this. Which is why I need you. So can we go please?"

"Not just yet," Anthony says, shaking his head. "Not until you understand something."

"Get it over with, Irishman," I told him.

"Look at me," he said. I turned to return his intimidating stare with a teary-eyed one and he pointed a finger directly at me. "You, did not, do ANYTHING wrong. As long as it was consensual sex, anyway."

"For your sake, I hope that was a horribly planned joke to cheer me up," I warned him.

"Never mind," the Admiral said, shaking his head again. "My point is this. You said you felt powerless over watching Selina seize, right?"

"I said I've never felt more powerless," I corrected him, waiting to hear his excuse for me.

"You have a hunger for it, Nathaniel," Anthony tells me. "You urge to be in control of any situation. You do this because you grew up in control."

"How the hell do you keep doing that?," I blurted out in shock. "There's no way you read my past on my face."

"Well, actually, there is," Anthony insisted, "it's what I was trained to do. But the only reason I do know is because I did, too. I grew up in a position of responsibility. That type of livelihood will have one hell of an impact on a young mind."

"And you relate to this how?," I asked.

"Before I came to Canniban, I was a prince," Anthony says, as calm as can be.

"WHAAAAAT?!," I yelled as I threw myself forward at the desk. "A prince?"

"Indeed," Anthony assures with a nod. "I was the heir to a Kingdom much like this."

"Then why are you sitting here doodling at your desk?," I ask him. "Why aren't you in Ireland prince-ing it up?"

"My parents were killed while I was still young," Anthony explained. "A war between us and a neighboring kingdom took them from me which left me the throne."

Whole lot of murder going around lately.

"Mkay, I get the relation," I said, staring at him with interest. "Still waiting to find out why you're here and not there."

"I was a child, Nathaniel," he points out. "A child left to run an entire kingdom."

"Wouldn't you have advisers and all that crap to help?," I asked. "That's what you pay 'em for."

"Of course I did," Anthony said. "But the final say was always mine."

"Alright, so what was the problem?," I continued to question his logic. "You're power hungry just like me so why did you leave?"

"Not too long after I became the new young king, we were attacked again," Anthony says. "They came after us a second time while we were vulnerable. They came for me to put an end to the thrones. And with a young, weak mind at the head only made us weaker. I panicked. Just like you, I didn't know what to do and I lost myself. I ran. Abandoned my people. Hopped on the closest privateer brig heading across waters which brought me here."

"You ran away from royalty," I mumble. "Why?"

"I thought myself incapable of maintaining the war like my parents had for so long," Anthony continues. "I felt I did not deserve the luxury I had kept."

"So how did you end up at the top of the military?," I questioned, leaning in on his desk with more interest by the second. "Also, why did you? You went from king to admiral, how is that making a change with your life? The fighting, the death, the luxury, it's all still here for you."

"When I arrived to Canniban, I had many different employers before I joined the King's military forces," Anthony says. "I tried to make a change. I traveled every corner of the kingdom through different professions. And with each one, I had obtained control over the years. I succeeded in climbing to the top at everything I did. Eventually, when I matured, I came to terms with my need to be in control. I accepted that it is who I am. It's my parents' proud royal blood flowing through my veins that makes me hungry for power."

"So what's different?," I asked. "Say you had known what you were doing back in Ireland. What's the difference between your hunger then to your hunger now?"

"I feed it now," he answers. "Before, I was too afraid to make a call, always scared I would screw up. I was afraid of the consequences but it was my fear that made me screw up. When I decided to embrace my hunger, I joined the military. As I progressed through the ranks, I took control of it. It's very easy to lose yourself in power as it is in fear. The military gave me solace for my inactions back in Ireland. I learned how to properly strategize for war in particular because I thought it would help me forgive myself if Canniban was ever attacked. The knowledge I obtained in the past few decades is what gave me my rank. And not only the knowledge of the military but the knowledge of my own being. It all made me the person I am now."

"And what kind of person would you call that?," I asked.

"The kind who will do whatever it takes to do the right thing," he says. "Just like you."

"Alright then, smartass," I said, crossing my arms, leaning back in my seat. "I still don't see how any of this is supposed to help me feel better."

"It's not," Anthony shakes his head. "The moral of the story is that you need to learn to control your hunger. You handled the smugglers because of your hunger, you took this case because of your hunger, you fucked that bloody mouse because of your bloody hunger. Are you seeing the pattern here?"

He's right... I haven't felt a rush like I had with Sherry since... I can't even remember. And I did take control. Completely.

"You still haven't explained how I didn't do anything wrong," I pointed out.

"Because you were feeding your hunger," Anthony tells me. "You just don't know how to control it, Nathaniel, that's why you feel so horrible. You felt so deprived when you were thrown out of Elrick's lab that you impulsively jumped straight into the first thing you thought would compensate. You need to embrace it and learn to decide when, what, and how much to feed it. Feed it to much and you'll lose control of yourself. Feed it too little and you'll lose control of everything that matters to you. Feed it the wrong thing, and it'll backfire in your face just like it's doing now."

"It sounds like you're saying I did the right thing by making a bad choice," I told him.

Anthony shrugged. "In a sense, I suppose," he says. "Attempting to feed your hunger was the right choice but using sex was obviously the mistake in this situation."

"What situation?," I asked.

"Isn't it obvious?," he asked.

Maybe to you.

"Answer honestly, Nathaniel," Anthony tells me, "have you had relations with Selina?"

"How does that make any damn difference?," I defended my privacy.

"That means yes," Anthony says, pointing at my face that he apparently reads like a book. "That's what it is."

"What?," I asked, "I'm still lost here."

"Something about the sex with that mouse sparked a memory of Selina," Anthony explained. "THAT'S why you feel so horrible. Whatever it is, it's either romantic or sexual. Which is it?"

"Why do you look so interested," I asked him.

"That was deflection again," Anthony said, pointing his finger at my face again. "Given your actions to conceal your sexual experiences, I'm going to go with that."

"Will you stop fucking reading me?," I complained, snapping my fingers in his face. "This is a therapy session not a God damn interrogation!"

"I'm sorry, son, it's become habit over the years," Anthony excused himself. "So what was it? A fetish? A safe word?"

This is getting really weird.

"A pet name," I admitted to get him off my back. "What's it matter?"

"Then your little mouse friend used this pet name which brought Selina back to your focus," Anthony continued to explain. "Guilt consumes you now because of that simple connection. Because of the, um, time you spent with Selina, you instantly felt remorseful for sleeping with another woman while she's incapacitated. The fact that you already felt guilty for her being in that state in the first place only magnifies the effect it's having on you."

"I could have told you that myself!," I pointed out with attitude.

"If you had told me, I wouldn't have had to read you to find out for myself," Anthony says.

And that's where I'm beat. Damn this overgrown tabby cat.

"So that whole deduction was for you?," I asked him.

"What else would it have been for?," he asked in response. "I already told you what you need to do."

"You were supposed to lighten the load on my back not give it a different perspective," I said.

"The only way you will make peace with this, Nathaniel, is if you learn to -

"Control my hunger, I get it," I interrupted him. "Dually noted. No, triplicated. Let's just move on, you've made your point."

"Alright then," Anthony says. "Well, I said I'd guide you so let's get going."

We stood up together and I walked out into the hall once more, leaving the door open for him to follow through. Anthony began to make for the castle's front doors as I stuck at his side, pondering my thoughts and our discussion.

"By the way, Nathaniel, I just remembered something," Anthony says, his gaze straight but his attention on me.

So much for pondering my thoughts.

"What?," I asked him.

"Would you care to explain why you told me you crushed a hippo's hand yesterday?," he asks, looking over to me with a raised eyebrow.

Ah, fuck. Completely forgot about that.

"Right...," I mumbled to myself as we walked, avoiding his looks. "Well, like you said I have a power hunger and I kinda maybe went a little overboard with the authority you gave me."

"I'm still waiting for an explanation," Anthony says, most likely still staring into my soul.

"Alright, fine," I gave in, looking back at him, "I went to the courtroom to handle the interrogations like you told me to and when I got there, Cole was already about to go inside so I approached him and said I'd be handling it and Cole called me 'sir' and one of the guards heard it and started calling me a kid and I got pissed and nearly broke his fuckin' hand."

Anthony looked at me strange and made me wonder if I should repeat my words slower. I rolled my eyes then opened my mouth to explain myself again but his hand in my face stopped me from spilling a word.

"Don't speak," he says, stopping us both in our tracks, "and listen carefully. You are very lucky this didn't get to me before you admitted it, or worse, the King himself. You haven't the slightest of the trouble you would be in."

"Is this you letting me off the hook?," I asked with a hopeful smile.

"Not a chance," Anthony says, shaking his head. "As soon as this case is over, I'm relinquishing your authority."

Can't say I didn't see that coming.

"I don't know what I was thinking giving it to you in the first place," Anthony complains to himself as he walks off again.

"My understanding was you found a little more respect for me," I said, jogging to catch up to his side. "At least, that's the impression I got."

"I respect your intelligence and your knowledge on the battlefield, which is why I gave it to you," Anthony says, sounding quite annoyed. "However, I loath your childish nature which should have been enough for me to realize it was a bad idea."

"It was one mistake, Anthony," I pleaded, poking his arm.

"Shite," he replied with an Irish curse, giving me the "are you kidding" look. "You barely had the authority a few hours, Nathaniel!"

"What do you want me to say?," I pressed Anthony, looking for the closest way out of this conversation. "'Cause I'm sure as hell not apologizing to him."

"And why not?," Anthony questioned, looking over to me again.

I looked away and shrugged. "Bastard had it comin'," I said.

I waited for Anthony to say something after that, I was expecting him to freak out seeing as I don't really consider it a big issue, but instead I heard nothing for a moment then a long, loud, heavy sigh from behind me. I stopped and turned around to see Anthony had also stopped to pound on his temple in frustration.

"What the hell are ya doing?," I asked him, hollering down the few yards of the corridor between us.

"I'm dying," Anthony said, still dealing with the Nate-induced headache. "I'm almost positive that you're killing me somehow."

"You wouldn't be my first victim," I mumbled to myself then spoke up. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

Anthony took his sweet time. Standing a short feet away from me, soothing his mind. I huffed then continued to walk without him. I got around the corner just ahead before he came jogging back up to my side as I did before and we continued on towards the large castle doors.

So, he's a prince, huh? Or was a prince. Then a king. Was a king. Whatever. I almost don't believe it but why would he lie? I knew he had pride and honor but I assumed that's just what the military gave him. I don't think he's the type to make up a story just to get a point across. If I know him like I think I do, he's all about logic and order so I guess it wouldn't be a stretch to say it was a fictional story. I can see him saying whatever he'd have to to maintain as much peace as possible.

As for his point itself, I guess it makes sense. A shitload of sense, actually. I am power hungry. I always put myself at the head of any situation I see fit and I'm always confident that I can get the job done right. Usually. But is that a bad thing? I've heard of power hungry people who ended up either in the dungeons or dead. The ones that feed their hunger too much, as I believe Anthony would put it.

In Anthony's case, he was afraid to feed his hunger. Even if he didn't know he had it then, making the wrong choice frightened him to the point where he fled with his tail between his legs. And look at him now. He's the guy standing at the side of the guy who calls every shot in this kingdom. The King probably relies on him to make most of his decisions for him, especially in time of war. And as power hungry as he believes he is, he holds a lot of it in his hands yet still maintains peace of mind. When I'm not around anyway. He doesn't push for more power, he obviously never starves for it like I have been recently, he never slips up, he's happy with his life and what he's made of it. Hands down, Anthony is the single most prideful person I've ever met. Stubborn and stuck up a lot of the time, but still a great man.

Maybe it's the Irish blood.

Then there's me. What is that exactly? I'm a hunter from the mountains with a unique skill set to land me a job as the leader of a secret military team whose father walked out on him when he was ten, who's grown up in a position of leadership and responsibilities that developed his hunger for control, who has no fucking idea how to control that hunger without letting it send him over or under the edge, whose fuck ups landed his best friend on her deathbed and took all of his brother's money, I'm that guy who thinks too highly of himself, and when push comes to shove, karma bites him in the ass for thinking that there could be no devastating consequences.

That sounds about right.

"Anthony," I called the Irishman's name as we ventured out into the room in front of the courtroom.

"What?," he asked, still sounding slightly irritated.

"How did you learn how to control your hunger?," I asked, stomping down the stairs of the balcony along side him.

"It's not something that can be taught, lad," the Admiral replies, never sparing a glance. "The only way to know how to control it is to know yourself better than anyone else."

"I thought I did until I left the mountains," I said as we crossed the room. "My entire world has been flipped. I used to shovel snow to keep myself occupied, now I solve murders and kill people."

"I didn't know what to think, either," Anthony tells me as we pushed through the doors into the front room of the castle. "I got to make my own calls for a lot of things my parents trusted me to handle and I was good at it. Just like I always have been."

"Then you were given more than you could handle," I said.

"Exactly," Anthony nodded, pausing behind the front doors and finally turning to face me. "My hunger got a whole lot of the wrong thing at once."

"So what's my problem then?," I asked him.

"You tell me," he replies. "What mistake with your hunger do you think you made today?"

"Well," I mumbled, looking down at the stone flooring. "My guilt over Selina deprived my hunger and I fed it with the one thing that always satisfies it."

"Keep going," he urged me.

"Except it was the wrong thing to feed it," I said. "At the time."

"Good," Anthony nods, "now why was that a bad thing to feed it then but not on any other occasion?"

"Because it pulled a trigger that sparked a memory of Selina," I answer. "A trigger that just happens to be the one she made."

"And?," Anthony asks.

"For the love of Christ, Anthony," I complained, pounding at my own headache now.

"Don't get frustrated," Anthony tells me, "you almost have it."

"And I guess...," I paused for a moment to think, "I guess that trigger added with the guilt... confused me?"

"Don't ask me," the tiger said, shaking his head at me.

God dammit.

"Why do you think it confused you?," he asks.

"Because... I didn't know why I was doing what I was doing," I told him. "And it made me hate myself."

"Do you see now?," Anthony asks.

"You really don't want me to answer that," I replied, frowning at my own misunderstanding.

"Bloody hell, Nathaniel, since when are you this bone headed?," Anthony questioned, pointing at me. "To control your hunger, you need to learn to recognize when and why it's surfacing then decide what would be best to feed it. Hence knowing yourself better than anyone. When you can feed without thinking about it, it'll become easier."

"Mkay..," I mumbled.

"For example," Anthony says. "You got hungry today because you had no control over Selina's well being. You fed it enough to satisfy it and then some but it was the wrong thing to feed because it related to her. What could you have done to satisfy your hunger without a downfall? Think!"

"I don't know," I complained, turning away from him with my hands on my waist. "I could have found the fucking murderer, I guess. Satisfy my hunger, do my job, and keep my cool all at the same time, no harm, no foul." I continued to think about the example for a few moments in silence until it finally hit me. "Oh, fuck, I'm stupid today," I bitched out loud, my back still facing Anthony and the doors. "I think I get it. I've never had to think about this before because I always kept the same routine back home for the last ten years. Now I'm here and everything that happens is completely spontaneous, I can't just calm the hunger with whatever floats my way. That's what your saying, right?" I waited for a response but I heard nothing. "Anthony?"

I turned around just to catch a glimpse of Anthony's orange and black stripped tail slither out into the open air through the castle doors.

"What the fuck?," I cussed to myself then hurried out of the doors cracked open into the bright shining sunlight outside. I jogged up to Anthony's side yet again as he cruised along the stone street leading to the city streets ahead. "What the hell, Anthony?," I complained, shoving his arm.

"You don't need me for this anymore," he says, grinning as he walked. "You finally get it. It took long enough, especially for you."

"So I'm right?," I asked. "All I have to do is breakdown the situation to make my choice."

"Pretty much," Anthony nodded. "I can't believe how long it took you to understand that."

"Bite me, Irishman," I told him, rolling my eyes. "You could have dumbed it down some. That was hell for me and you're making jokes?"

"Look at it this way," he says, looking over to me with that grin, "you got to know yourself a little better."

"Ah, piss off and lead the way," I said, throwing his humor aside.

He chuckled a few times to himself as we walked onto main street and stopped right in front of the millions of ants of people crowding the streets in a hurry for some ungodly reason.

"Alright, let's see," Anthony mumbles to himself, pulling out the piece of paper I gave him with the two addresses on it. "Which did you want to visit first?"

"Jason," I answered.

"That makes sense," he says, "Jason lives much closer to the castle."

"And Amber?," I asked, peering over his shoulder to spy at the paper I've already seen.

"According to this, she lives by the southwest corner of the richer district, maybe a fifteen minute walk from here," Anthony says, pointing outwards to our right then a little more to the left. "Jason lives just a bit closer in the center of the district, about a ten minute walk."

"Let's get going then," I told him, patting his back. "The faster we get through this, the better."

"My thoughts exactly," Anthony agreed as he turned right and began to travel the city street in front of the Castle. "I have work to do."

"You mean that fucking amazing doodle of yours?," I picked at him as I followed at his side.

Anthony rolled his eyes at me without a word and continued to lead me to Jason's home. We chit chatted on the way like we have known each other for years. Since he felt obligated to tell me his back story, he asked for mine and I gave him every detail. My childhood, my training, my father, my hunters, the wolves, Adam, everything. Honestly, I think he was surprised when he heard the whole story. He asked question after question, mostly retaining to my father and the things he taught me.

When he had heard all he needed, I took my turn to better understand my hunger. I asked him to provide different scenarios for me in which I'd need to decide what to do to satisfy it. His first example related too much to the experience I had just had with Sherry and was much too easy so when I aced it, I asked for something a little more difficult. Then he asked me what I'd do to ease myself if one of our missions the King gives us went completely south. He went into detail saying that we were well behind enemy lines, exposed and hunted, Jacob, being as arrogant as he is, was badly wounded and my only apparent option would be to surrender.

That really sent me for a loop. There's no way in hell I'd ever surrender, my hunger wouldn't let me Anthony said, but if Jacob was wounded, I'd have to do something fast. I told him we'd hide for the time being. Until Jacob was bandaged and safely resting somewhere he wouldn't be found. Anthony accepted that but then told me that my hunger would only get worse the longer I waited to seize control of the situation so I decided that the rest of us, including Selina because she WILL be alive, would finish the mission and get back on friendly territory or at least somewhere safer than where we were. I told him that we wouldn't fail, no matter how compromised we were but that only opened my own eyes to the influence that my hunger has on me.

This whole hunger thing has given me a completely different perspective of my actions. Honestly, it scares me. After what just happened in the greenhouse, I can only imagine what kind of hell I could have gone through in the future if I still hadn't known about it. And now that I do know, I have to play it into everything I do just to be sure it doesn't happen again. Like Anthony has been for all these years.

It made me wonder more of his hunger. I thought of how he acted towards me when we first began to spend time together. He obviously didn't like it and he was mad at me a lot of the time. When I stopped to think about it, I'm willing to bet that it was his hunger dealing with the conflict between us that made him so angry. I challenged him at almost every opportunity when he is used to obedience from his men. That must be really difficult to deal with in his case but I lead a group of hunters who had hardly any respect for me in the first place so I don't think that'd be a big deal for me. I brought all of this up to Anthony just before we arrived to Jason's home and he confirmed it for me then told me that the hunger differs from person to person and that one situation can have an affect on one person and a different one on another.

I guess you really do learn something new everyday.

Jason's home is something else. A wide single story building painted in a wavey color scheme of purple and yellow with a white stripe separating the colors sits behind a large front yard with plastic flamingoes, flower gardens and a few cherry trees spread in an orderly fashion. A white picket fence surrounds the property looking as if it had just been painted yesterday.

It's like something out of one of those magazines.

"Well this is...," Anthony mumbles, "bright."

"Brilliant deduction, Admiral," I picked at him. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

I walked up to the gate of the fence and walked through. As Anthony came into the yard and closed the gate behind him, I approached the door of the designer home and knocked hard a few times. Anthony walked up next to me and we waited. Nothing. Anthony knocked next, just as hard but many more times.

"I'm coming!," a feminine voice calls from inside.

I looked at Anthony with a weird stare as he looked back at me the same.

"I thought he was homosexual?," Anthony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's what I was told," I said with a shrug. "From three different eye witnesses. Maybe he realized it wasn't him and switched back to women."

"Whatever makes you happy, I suppose," Anthony says, accepting the reality.

The doorknob giggled a few times, turned, then the door opened to reveal the bluejay we sought for.

"Jason Parker?," I asked, crossing my arms.

"Yes?," the same feminine voice replies from the bird's mouth.

Jason, this big, bulky mother fucker with veins from his muscles popping out through his feathers, dressed like a mean weightlifter, has the voice of a twelve year old girl. Trevor, you have a hilarious taste in men. Had.

"Jason, my name is Admiral O'Heir," Anthony introduced himself. "My partner here is Nathaniel. We'd like to ask you some questions."

"Regarding what exactly?," Jason's high pitched whine asks.

"We think you're a murderer," I told him with a wide smile then took a whiff of the air fuming from inside and pointed through the door behind him. "You cookin' brownies?"

"Hash fudge," Jason says. "I just pulled them out of the coal stove."

"Can I have one?," I asked.

"Really Nathaniel?," Anthony complains, giving me an agitated stare.

"What?," I replied, giving him the same look. "I'm having some rough days, I wanna fucking brownie!"

"Please, just come in and ask what you must," Jason says, moving aside to let us in. "I have nothing to hide."

"Thank you," I smiled again and walked inside. "Can I just help myself to the brownies?"

"It's fudge," Jason says, closing the door behind me. "Don't bother, I'll bring it in here, just have a seat anywhere."

"Fudge, brownies, fudge brownies, brownie fudges, same difference," I said then took a quick look about the room.

We're in what is obviously the living room but it's so... I don't even have a word for it. A zebra print carpet covers the floor of this large rectangular room and a panelling as white as the carpet covers the walls. On each end of the rectangle there is a door. Behind the one on the right must be the kitchen seeing as Jason had walked through it to get the fudge. Anthony and I sat down on an incredibly cushy white sofa at the far wall that we sank into like hot steel to ice. At each side of the sofa are two identical white living chairs and in front of us is a dark wood coffee table in an octagonal shape that hardly rises to my knees. A couple bookshelves sit on each side of the sofa and chairs, the floor to ceiling windows on each side of the front door lets in plenty of natural sunlight to read, a candle chandelier hangs in the center of the room for the night and a desk sits in the corner next to the door across from the kitchen piled with papers and documents much like Elrick's under furnished living area. There are fancy paintings covering the walls, most are small except for the enormous oil portrait of Jason hanging on the wall the sofa sits against.

"Anthony," I said with a grin.

"What?," he asked, turning his head to face me.

I pointed at the portrait behind us with my thumb. "He's checking you out," I said with a few snickers.

"That right there is exactly what I mean," Anthony angrily whispers, pointing a finger. "Grow up, Nathaniel, we're working your case, remember?"

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood," I defended myself. "Thought maybe some positive energy would help us both."

"Can you do it professionally?," he criticized.

Fuck, Anthony, it was just a joke.

"Alright boys, here ya go," Jason's girly voice says as he walks back into the living room. He carries a long rectangular baking pan filled with chunky brown goodness within a pair of mittens and set it down on the coffee table before us. "I'll be right back with some plates," he says then begins to walk off again.

"That won't be necessary," I told him, leaning forward and reaching for the fudge as I drooled.

Anthony put a hand on my chest and shoved me back in my seat then gave me his angered look. "Thank you, Jason," Anthony says abruptly as he stares at me then turned to the bluejay, "your hospitality is appreciated."

Jason smiled awkwardly then walked back into the kitchen.

"What is wrong with you, boy?," Anthony silently scolds me again.

"Don't call me that, Anthony," I calmly warned him. "I'm not a kid or a boy or anything of the kind. Understand?"

"You need to act your age if you want to be treated as such," Anthony says then stares into my eyes for a few moments longer.

I feel like Jacob for some reason.

"Here we are," Jason says, walking back into the room once more. He handed us both a small ceramic plate, a fork and a paper towel to match the set up. "Now you can help yourselves."

"Sweet," I declared, leaning forward and digging into the gooey chocolate treats with my fork.

"Take it easy, now," Jason warns me particularly, "last time I checked, chocolate was poisonous to canines."

I froze at the sound of the word "poison" then set my fork down on my plate with a frown and sat back in my seat.

"You just had to use that word," I mumbled to myself then laid my head back on the sofa.

"You can still have some," Jason insists, using my fork to pile a large melting piece of fudge onto the plate in front of me, "just don't kill yourself."

"Forgive my friend, Mr. Parker," Anthony says, carefully retrieving a piece for himself. "He has trouble separating his personal life from his professional one."

"I know how that goes, believe me," Jason says, nodding my way.

"So then you met Trevor at work, did you?," I asked, leaning forward to get down to business.

"I'm sorry," Jason says with a confused look in his eyes. "Trevor who?"

"Draufht," I seriously answered. "I assume you know who I'm talking about."

"Oh," Jason grunts. "THAT Trevor."

"How many Trevors have you been with?," I thought aloud.

Anthony smacked my chest, smearing chocolate goo all over Cole's red tribal shirt.

"Real nice, Admiral," I sarcastically applauded him. "This isn't even my shirt. You have a freakin' fork you know."

"Oh, that's no big deal, I can get that right out," Jason says, hopping up and reaching out to me. "Give it here."

"No, that's alright," I said, holding up my hand to build a wall between us. "We really need to ask you some questions, I'll worry about this later."

"Well, alright then," Jason says, carefully sitting back down in the white living chair. "So are you telling me that Trevor was killed?"

"That's exactly what we're saying," I assured him with a few nods then loaded my cheeks full of the marijuana laced fudge. "OH MY GOD, THAT'S SO FUCKING GOOD."

"Uh...," Anthony mumbles, staring at me as I chewed then turned to Jason. "Mr. Parker, Trevor was found dead in a bar alley early yesterday afternoon."

"Oh my," Jason says, raising his hand to his mouth like Selina does. "That man was always causing trouble."

"Yes, well, it would seem he pushed someone over the edge this time," Anthony says, digging his fork into his piece of fudge.

"It certainly would appear so," Jason agreed, nodding obnoxiously.

"Yeah, you shoulda seen the poor quacker," I said with my mouth so full of fudge, my words were hardly audible.

"How did it happen?," Jason asked.

I swallowed my mouthful of the delicious delicacy and forked another large bite. "He was poisoned," I answered before stuffing my face again. "God, Anthony, I can taste the fuckin' hash!"

"If the chocolate does kill him, I won't arrest you," Anthony assured Jason.

"Bite me, Irishman," I told him with my mouth still full. "You'd be lost without me."

"So, Trevor was poisoned," Jason restated. "I don't see what that has to do with me, I haven't seen Trevor in ten years."

"Nonetheless, it's our job to explore every lead," Anthony says then digs in for another bite.

I swallowed mine and opened my mouth next. "Where were you yesterday evening, Jason?," I asked, pointing my finger at him.

"Out jogging," Jason calmly answered. "With a few buddies of mine."

"Can they verify that for us?," I asked then reached in for one of my last few bites.

"Yes, certainly, I'll right down their names and addresses for you," Jason said as he jumped up.

"Later," Anthony told him as he motioned Jason to sit back down. "Right now, we need to know when you last spoke to Trevor."

"I already told you?," Jason says, cocking his head in question.

"Yeah, yeah," I tried to reply, my mouth stuck together with yummy glue. "Ten years, we know. We want to know how you two left off, was it on good terms, did you burn your bridge, details, come on, let's hear it."

"Assuming I understood all of that correctly," Jason mumbled as he looked at me then shifted to Anthony, "we were happy. Eventually, it got old and we separated."

"I have a good question," I blurted after swallowing my fudge. "Are you openly gay?"

"Nathaniel!," Anthony yelled, smacking me upside the back of head this time. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Calm down, Admiral Asshole, that wasn't the question I was going to ask!," I yelled back, rubbing the back of my head.

"Are you trying to tell me it's not obvious?," Jason asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said, then forked some more fudge. "If you two were so happy with your relationship, why did you flap those wings on your back over his fence every night? Why not use the front door?"

"It wasn't every night," Jason defends. "He hadn't explained it to his daughter yet, we didn't want her to find out before he had."

"The daughter that couldn't care less," I corrected his statement. "And she knew, by the way. Had a clear view of you from her bedroom window."

"She did?," Jason asks as his eyes pop out.

"Well, those weren't her exact words," I admitted, looking away for a moment then smiling right at him, "but oh yeah, she knew." I jammed my mouth full of more fudge then nudged Anthony's elbow, "You're up, crab ass."

"As much as I hate his method, he has a point, Mr. Parker," Anthony grunts through his teeth. "You're saying that Trevor neglected to tell his daughter about his relationship with you through to the end?"

"As ludicrous as it sounds," Jason added.

"And you put up with it?," I mumbled through my early dessert.

"At first," Jason nodded. "Then we began to fight about it."

"And after that?," Anthony asks, lifting another piece of his fudge to his mouth.

"Assuming it wasn't all a ten year stand of angry sex, that is," I stated, licking some chocolate I had on my pinky claw.

"I broke up with him," Jason admitted. "I finally realized he wasn't going to change and left him."

"If I had a copper for every time I read that in a romance novel," I mumbled through another bite.

"You read?," Anthony asks, peering over to me.

I shrugged and popped the last piece of fudge in my mouth. "I dabble here and there," I answered then pointed back to Jason.

Anthony shrugged in turn to the new information then looked back towards our host. "So the separation was your call then?," Anthony asked, pointing his fork at Jason.

"I believe that's what I just said, yes," Jason nods.

"How did Trevor handle the breakup?," Anthony asks.

"Like a man," Jason shrugged all his own. "Bitching, screaming, threatening, the usual things you'd expect from a hot headed jerk."

"Did Trevor want to stay with you?," I asked after swallowing my last mouthful of my fudge.

"He wanted to use me for sex," Jason answered, focusing on me. "He never bothered to consider what I wanted because I was giving him the only thing he wanted the entire time."

"How long did it take you to realize that?," I asked, leaning back and reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes. "Can I smoke in here?"

"I left him when it came to me," Jason says then nods when he sees my pack.

"How did you feel about it?," I asked then took a moment to light my cigarette. "Were you mad? Vengeful?"

"Of course I was," Jason replied with an agitated eye. "He broke my heart."

"And what about now?," Anthony asked. "Are you still mad?"

"I know what you're insinuating, Admiral," Jason tells Anthony, his focus on him now. "If anyone says they had their heartbroken and don't hold resentment for the person responsible, they're either stupid or lying."

"Or a stupid liar," I added then puffed on my cigarette. "Why so defensive Jason? What are you trying to tell us?"

"I did not kill Trevor Draufht," Jason speaks clearly into Anthony's eyes then stares into mine. "But I certainly don't wish someone hadn't."

"So he had it coming," Anthony says, pushing his empty plate aside and leaning back, "is that what you're saying?"

"If you must phrase it that way," Jason replied, his eyes fixed on each mouth that spoke.

"Let's try something else," I encouraged Anthony then looked back at Jason. "What can you tell us about Amber's relationship with Trevor?"

"Not a lot," Jason admits, "I only know the things he's told me in bed."

"That is the weirdest pillow talk I've ever heard of," I mumbled, waiting for Anthony to swat me again.

"What about her did he talk about the most?," Anthony asks, apparently ignoring my remarks now.

"Her rebellious nature, usually," Jason says. "Each night was a different story but it all lead to the same thing."

"Which is?," I prompted him.

"Something he had that she wanted," Jason told us.

"Money?," Anthony asks.

"Anything," Jason corrected. "If he had it, she wanted it and threw her ass when he wouldn't give it to her."

"Interesting," Anthony contemplated.

"You wouldn't happen to be saying that just to throw us off of your trail and onto hers, would it?," I asked with a cocky grin.

"Do what you must here," Jason insisted, "you won't find anything in my possession except for wasted time."

"That's alright, Mr. Parker," Anthony says, patting my back. "We've heard enough here. Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome," Jason smiled at Anthony then began to pick up the things spread on the coffee table. "Make sure the door closes on your way out and don't drop any of your ashes on my floor."

"It washes out, ya know," I told him as I stood, cupping my free hand under my cigarette.

"Come on, Nathaniel," Anthony calls to me from the door. "We've another suspect for you to torture."

"What about this goo you spread on Cole's shirt?," I asked, pointing at my chest. "I'm not walking around like this all day."

"Give it here," Jason says, his hands full with the dishes and baking pan of fudge. "Drape it over my shoulder, I'll wash it out. I'll write down the names and addresses of my friends for you as well."

Thanks," I said then pulled off Cole's shirt and tossed it on Jason's shoulder.

Jason glimpsed at my topless chest for a moment, took a step towards the kitchen door then stopped and double backed at my chest.

"Wow," Jason says with wide eyes. "Sexy scars."

" Uh...," I mumbled, afraid to lead him on. "Thank you."

Jason smiled then walked back into the kitchen.

Anthony approached my side, smiled at me with a cocky grin and stared until I finally spoke up.

"What the hell are you staring at?," I asked, feeling a little disturbed.

"Now who is he checking out?," Anthony asks with that same grin.

"Bi-

"I know," Anthony says, lifting a hand to keep me quiet. "I know. Bite you."

"Smartass," I said, puffing my cigarette them thumping the ashes in my pocket.

"So what do you think?," he asks, returning to his usual behavior.

"I think he wasn't much help," I said, looking back at the Admiral. "He didn't really tell us anything we didn't already know. Or wouldn't have figured."

"No, he didn't," Anthony agreed. "But I don't think this visit was a total loss of time."

"What makes you think that?," I asked.

"I'll tell you later," Anthony says. "Let's just get to Amber's, question her then we'll work on it."

"Mkay," I said with a shrug. "Whatever works, I guess."

The kitchen door flew open again and Jason walked through with my - Cole's shirt in his hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.

"Here ya go," Jason said, holding the shirt out to me. "I took a wet washcloth to it."

"Thanks again, Jason," I said, taking the red shirt then slipping my head and arms through the holes. "Thanks for the brownies, too."

"Fudge, Nathaniel," Anthony corrects me as he takes the paper from Jason. "Come on lad, we're not done yet."

"Have a jolly good day, Jason," I told him with a wide smile. "I have other people to torture."

"Have fun with that," he tells me. "Take care guys."

"You too, Mr. Parker," Anthony says with a nod then opens the front door and walks out into the open.

I walked through behind him and closed the classy door behind me. As soon as my boots touched the streets of the inner city, I thumped my cigarette, took a puff then turned to Anthony.

"Do you think he did it?," Anthony asks.

"No, I don't," I answered, shaking my head. "But something wasn't right. I just got that feeling."

"That gut instinct," Anthony says with a light laugh. "Come on, son, we'll put our heads together later, right now, let's go pay Amber a visit."

"With pleasure," I replied, following at his side as we walked off.

"Would you care to tell me what all the attitude was about?," Anthony asks, leading me through the streets.

"I'm a dick, Anthony," I told him firmly. "It's the Jake in me."

"So you terrorize strangers?," he questioned.

"Hey, I was just feeding the hunger," I defended myself. "A little bit at a time, whatever helps me get by."

"No, that's not it," Anthony says, grinning with arrogance, "I think you do it to substitute Jacob when he's not around."

"Bite me," I said, shoving him away.

Anthony laughed as he easily caught his balance and stepped right back up to my side. "Cheer up, lad," he tells me. "Things aren't all bad."

"Things are pretty bad, Admiral," I corrected him. "Selina's dying, I'm losing my mind, and I'm pretty sure we're not getting anything for this case."

"Don't be so sure," Anthony cautions me.

"What, do you know something I don't?," I asked, leaning my head into his view.

"Well, you can't be the best at everything," Anthony says, looking back. "You have your talents, Nathaniel, but now you're in my domain."

"Alright, smartass," I said, shoving him again. "You don't have to rub it in."

"Yes I do," he assured me. "If it bothers you, I have to do it."

"Why?," I questioned him.

"Because I don't get that many opportunities to fuck with you," Anthony laughed.

"Whatever makes you happy," I said, "just remember who's the better fighter."

Anthony pressed on towards Amber's address. I followed at his side wondering all the way what it is that he knows.

I don't see how he got anything out of that. All I caught was a gay man who had his heart broken and didn't look happy that we brought it up. Given, he practically attacked us when we continued to accuse him of being the killer but that doesn't say a whole lot. At least not to me. I'd get defensive, too.

So what was it that sparked Anthony's interest? Maybe it wasn't something he heard, but something he read with those fucking military skills of his. What did he call it? Reading expressions? That doesn't sound like anything my father taught me. I understand profiling which must be one of those skills he has, it's really simple once you get the hang of it, but reading someone's expression? From what I could tell, Jason seemed completely at ease. All except for that one instant he ignited like a flame to oil.

Horrible simile, oil burns too slow.

Not to mention how cooperative he was. And those fucking fudges gave me a great buzz. Jason was far too hospital. Either he's a criminal genius brighter than the smuggler boss, which might actual be a challenge, or he really doesn't have any part in this. Just the guy that got caught in the middle.

It didn't take that long to get to Amber's place. Her home appears to be an apartment duplex. The building has four floors, a red brick exterior and several windows facing the street. There is a pair of double doors with tiny windows in the left corner of the building at the top of a foundation it sits on. Anthony and I walked up the small set of stairs to the front doors and walked inside.

It's basically just an empty hallway with a staircase on the left. At the end of the hall is a door with the number 101 on it. To the right of that door is another with 102 on it and closer towards us is 103 right next to it followed by 104 and 105.

"Cole didn't happen to write her apartment number on that piece of paper, did he?," I asked, staring up the staircase.

"No," Anthony replies, pulling the paper out from his pocket and double checking it. "No he didn't."

"Only one thing to do now," I said, walking down the hallway.

I went all the way down to 101 and knocked on the door a few times. Nothing. I looked back at Anthony who shrugged and motioned me to try another door. I turned towards 102 and knocked.

Footsteps were heard from the other side a few seconds later then the metal of the doorknob jingled and the door opened.

"Can I help you?," an elderly turtle man asks, leaning on his cane.

"I hope so," I replied, pointing back towards Anthony who walked up behind me. "My friend and I are with the military, we were wondering if you could tell us what apartment number Amber Draufht lives in."

"I certainly can, young man," the turtle says with a smile.

Young man. That's more like it.

"She lives in 113 on the third floor," the turtle tells me.

"Thank you very much, sir," I said with a smile.

The turtle smiled then closed the door as Anthony and I made for the stairway.

We stomped up the first set of stairs and as we began to travel the hall to the next set, our path was cut off by a group of guys chatting and smoking together right in our way.

"Excuse us," I called out to them, attempting to squeeze through.

When they saw Anthony at my side, in his glorified uniform and equipment strapped at his waist, they quickly cleared to let us pass without a word. As we walked between them, I caught the eye of a familiar cowardice face. Standing with the crowd, in the same skater uniform from the night before, is the weasel that accompanied the beefy bulldog that attacked me while I was still recovering. My eyes met his and as his popped out along with his jaw dropping in shock, I smirked with a feeling of contempt.

"Didn't see that comin', didja?," I rhetorically asked him as I walked by.

"Snitch," he calls me, attempting to appear tough in front of his friends.

"Hey!," Anthony hollers in his face. "Show some respect! You have no idea what that man can do to you!"

"Actually Admiral, he does," I said, turning back to see the weasel cowering under Anthony intimidating stature. "He watched me knock his friend unconscious. Never learned that idiot's name, big muscley bulldog, plain black T shirt, camo cargos, you know who I'm talking about, right?" The group of the men turned towards each other, possibly wondering if I meant who they think I meant.

Anthony pushed through them back up to me, laughing to himself then patting my chest as he walked by. "Come on lad, we have worked to do," he says. "Enough showing off."

"Right behind you," I replied, staring at the group staring at me. "Just wanna watch the fear in their eyes a little longer."

"Well, hurry up," Anthony said as he scaled the next set of stairs. "I'm not waiting on you."

"Say hi to that ditzy Chihuahua for me, will you?," I asked the weasel with false interest. "And if he approaches me like that again, I'll bury him."

A couple of them snickered at the thought while the weasel and a few of the others stared at me with nothing to say.

"Who is that?," I asked, pointing down the hall. They all looked towards the first staircase for an instant, giving me plenty of time to silently dash up to their small cluttered group, then they looked back expecting me to still be down the other side of the hall. "Boo!," I yelled in each face at once. Most flinched except for the weasel who actually stumbled back on his feet until he hit the wall, the others jumped harshly, quickly putting distance between us. I began to laugh to myself as I walked away, turning my back to them to travel up the next set of stairs.

Mkay, I'll admit it. I can be a bully, too. That's Jacob rubbing off on me more everyday.

I stomped up these set of steps then jogged down to Anthony standing in front of 113 midway down the hall.

"She home?," I asked, approaching the door. "I didn't hear a knock."

"Turns out I lied," Anthony says, moving aside and motioning to the door. "I did wait for you."

"Why?," I asked, skeptical of his reasoning.

"Because I'm such a nice guy," Anthony picks at me with an assuring nod. "Have at it."

"I don't know about you sometimes, Anthony," I said, pounding on the door four times.

"I could say the same to you, my friend," Anthony replied. "It might be best that way."

Again, footsteps were heard from the other side of the door, the doorknob jiggled, the door opened and, shockingly, instead of Amber, the curvy blue cheetah I questioned yesterday, stood the same fucking bulldog I reminisced only moments ago.

"You have got to be freakin' kidding me," I complained, frowning yet laughing at the situation. "I was just talking about you."

"You little punk!," the bulldog screamed, immediately launching a smuggler boss sized fist my way.

Please.

With no strain, I caught the blow in my left palm, twisted his arm until his back faced me then kicked him forward to fall on his face inside the apartment.

"Holy shit..," a voice from the stairways cursed. I turned around and saw one of the unfamiliar faces from the group below us just before he ducked back down to tell of what just happened.

"Didn't you learn from the last time?," I asked from the doorway, leaning against the wood. "I was in really bad shape then and you still couldn't get in a hit."

"Easy, lad," Anthony cautioned me. "Remember your hunger. Don't go overboard."

"No reason to worry," I assured him, watching the bulldog storm to his feet in anger. "I'm pretty sure he's not stupid enough to do it again."

With that, the bulldog threw himself at me again in a fit of rage. I really didn't think he'd be stupid enough to do it again but he did. Instead of landing whatever strike he was attempting, maybe he was trying to body flop me, he caught my right fist in his gut with outmost strength. He stumbled back, fell to his knees and curled over the newfound agony in his stomach.

"Hm," I hummed as I watched him then turned back to Anthony. "I stand corrected. He is that stupid."

I caught the eyes of the group downstairs peering through the railing of the staircase behind Anthony, gasping and murmuring between themselves, each one now watching the conflict.

"Enjoying the show, boys?," I called out to them then turned back to the bulldog. "You know, I never did learn your name."

"Derrick," the bulldog groaned through his pain.

"Derrick," I repeated. "Don't ever come at me again."

"Piss off," he replies, looking up at me standing over him.

"Alright, I need to start being more careful with your privileges," Anthony complains to himself, pushing me away from the arrogant bastard kneeling on the floor. "Derrick, my name is Admiral O'Heir. Is this your apartment?"

"No," he strains, gradually regaining his stamina. "My girlfriend's."

"Girlfriend," I repeated his words again with the same laugh. "This is just getting more and more interesting. And where is Amber?"

"I'm here," Amber's friendly voice answers from a door on my left. "Nathaniel? What are you doing here?"

"We have some more questions for you," I said with a smile. "And your chew toy here threw himself at me so I was forced to incapacitate him. Twice."

"Are you kidding?," she questioned, apparently angered. "You broke into my apartment and assaulted my boyfriend!"

"Technically, I defended myself," I corrected her, completely unmoved.

"Enough Nathaniel," Anthony commanded. "You're letting it go to your head."

"I'm letting what go to my head?," I asked with an attitude.

"You know what, dammit," he repeated, clearly wanting to scream. He turned towards Derrick and helped him to his feet. "I apologize for my partner's behavior. If it's alright, we'd like to question you a little further."

"You can," Amber says then looks at me. "Not him. I want him out."

"And here I thought we had a moment together in the courtroom," I joked.

"Leave," Anthony tells me.

"Antho-

"Leave!," he yelled the same word, pointing a finger out into the hall. "Go home, tend to Selina, I'll come to you when I've gathered enough."

"Fine," I gave in, trailing back into the hall I came from. "Have fun, Admiral Asshole."

I didn't hear him reply as I walked away, I didn't expect one and I didn't want to hear one. I did, however, expect to see the same group of guys from the floor below still standing at the staircase. They watched me walk the hall towards them then all stepped to one side on the stairwell to let me by. The one at the bottom, a monkey who had dyed his fur green stopped me with a hand. I looked over to him with my dead eye waiting for me to move.

"Derrick's an asshole," he tells me. "He had it coming."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who gets it," I said then smiled a fake smile. The monkey dropped his hand and I continued on.

The first staircase passed under my feet again until I reached the floor below. When I touched the soft carpet underneath my boots, I walked back outside, closed the duplex doors behind me and began to navigate back through the city's innards towards the castle. Or at least what I could see of it.

Unfortunately, my solo route was quickly interrupted by some unwanted company. Before I had made it a few yards down the road, the green monkey and the weasel had followed me outside and hurried up to each of my sides, matching my pace.

"Nathaniel, is it?," the monkey asks as I paid him little attention.

"It is," I simply stated, refusing to look at either of them while I walked. "What do you want?"

"We just wanted to tell you how cool that was, man," the weasel says, revealing his hippie-ish tone of voice. "A lot of us talk about putting Derrick in his place but we never actually DID it."

"You'd be surprised what you could do if you put some effort into it," I replied, still keeping my gaze afar.

"He's practically three times your size, dude!," the monkey exclaimed. "You have to tell us how you did that!"

"No, actually, I don't," I said, shaking my head. "Even in death, my father would kill me if I did anyway."

"Okay," the weasel says, "then how about we smoke you up?"

"I'm good, I've got my own right...," I stopped in the middle of my sentence as I smacked my pockets to feel for my bowl and my tin case then paused in my steps when I realized they were missing, "fuck..."

I must have left them in the greenhouse. Marcus and Cole checked out the Devil's Fruit but I swear I grabbed them before I left. Dammit.

"On second thought," I said as I continued on, "I'll be a mooch."

"Sweet," the weasel says as he rummages ferociously through his pockets. "I think you'll like this stuff."

"Let's see it," I said, holding my hand out. The weasel dropped a small rolled up sandwich bag with some bud in it into my palm. I unraveled the bag, pulled out one piece of bud and examined it.

"Light teal primary color," I thought aloud as I spun the bud around between my fingers. "Long feathery white hairs, traces of dark blue leaflets, thin stained stems, expressive crystals, clearly no seeds and," I took a quick inhale of the scent that basks in the beauty, "that same distinctive smell. This is Blueberry Yum Yum."

"Damn," the monkey swore. "The guy knows his bud."

"It came with the livelihood," I said, replacing the bud and handing the bag back to the weasel. "That was horribly cleaned though. Whoever grew it should put more care into it."

"Weed is weed to me, man," the weasel said, packing the bud into a one hitter he pulled from his hoodie pocket. "I'm Damon. That's Tyler."

"Don't wait for me to introduce myself, you know who I am," I replied, cutting around the corner of an intersection.

"Yeah, yeah, we do," Damon said with a single chuckle. "So, Nate, what's all that biz with Derrick about?"

"That's confidential," I said. "And don't call me Nate, you know what my name is."

"Sorry bro," Damon says, handing me his one hitter and a matchbook.

I took both from him, bent one match backwards over its packaging without ripping it lose, snapped the tip against the strike strip between my fingers and engulfed the blueish bud in the flame with a long, burning inhale.

"So if you're not with the military, is that tiger like a family friend your helping or something?," Tyler asked as I handed the one hitter back to Damon.

"Not exactly," I answered, blowing out the harsh smoke. "Close enough."

"You guys working a case or something?," Damon asked then lit a match to smoke from his pipe.

"Or something," I repeated his last words while he passed the pipe around me to Tyler.

"Did someone die?," Tyler asked.

"What's with all the questions?," I responded, stopping in my tracks again. "I'm not your friend, guys, and I'm not stupid. What exactly do you think you're going to get out of me?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Tyler excuses the both of them. "It's just we know something up."

"Usually when the King's military leader shows up anywhere in the city, that's the impression people get," I said, leaning into the monkey's face. "What aren't you telling me? Why did you ask if there was a murder? What do you two know?"

"We don't know anything man, I swear," the weasel attempted a hideously disguised lie.

"Tell me," I said, moving into Damon's face. "Now."

"Alright, look," Damon says. "We don't really know a lot. Just that Amber's dad was killed."

"No, you know more than that," I said, pointing a finger. "You can't fool me. Spill it or the three of us are going to have a long visit with the King. Can't say I think he'd be to happy being bothered with the sun gone down."

How long ago did that happen?

"We think Derrick did it," Tyler jumped in.

"I'd like to think that too, all the more reason to throw him behind bars," I said, throwing my hand back towards the direction of the duplex. "Where's your proof?"

"We only have what we saw," Tyler says.

"Which is?," I asked, getting a little impatient.

"We saw him pay someone off," Damon says.

"So?," I replied, feeling my time being wasted. "That doesn't prove anything."

"No," Tyler agreed, "but it was weird."

"You better start making sense," I warned them. "Weird how?"

"He met up with this guy and gave him an orange envelope," Tyler said.

"But it was like they weren't trying to hide it," Damon adds. "Which is weird, right?"

"What's weird is I'm not holding a bottle of Bacardi in my hands right now," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my snout. "What do you mean they weren't trying to hide it?"

"They met in the park on the other side of the city," Tyler answers. "On a bench."

"A public rendezvous," I stated. "So what?"

"Well, it's just the way they acted," Damon says. "They just sat there talking without even bothering to look at each other."

"Yeah, then Derrick set that orange envelope down on the bench and left," Tyler filled in. "Then the mystery dude picked it up and left, too."

"I see where you're going with this, guys," I said, holding my hands up to stop them. "A public meet to blend in for the payment of an assassination seems a little too expensive for Derrick. But thanks for the intel."

I pushed between them and continue on down the road without them.

"Hey, where ya going?," Damon asked, hollering down the street.

"To get a drink," I hollered back. "Don't follow me."

Thankfully, they didn't. They left me to walk alone as I pleased. Which didn't really last too long. Not too soon after they disappeared from sight, or perhaps I disappeared from theirs, the side street I traveled brought me right back onto main street with all the kiosks, shops, food and flood of people roaming about.

My decided route brought me right into the city square. I looked to my left and saw the castle in all its beauty. The giant chandeliers from inside glow magnificently behind the stained glass windows. In front of me, covering the square is the glorious Canniban crest glowing across the stone ground from the castle above. I turned right, away from the castle where all my issue reside, and began to walk again.

I made way for The Extra Mile. The drinks were great and the bartender was really, really pretty. If a distraction is what I need, it'd be best if I choose something that gives me nothing to be concerned for.

Let's just hope I don't get carried away and drink myself to death.

I didn't have to walk much further. The bar stands right out in the open, whoever the owner or owners are, they really put a little of money and effort into making this place stand out since I last saw it. Not even forty-eight hours ago.

Now, instead of the plain grey exterior, the outside walls of The Extra Mile now illuminate the atmosphere with a diagonal striped pattern. From the left top corner of the building down to the center is a bright red color with pitch black strips that thin as they climb towards the red corner. From the bottom right up to the center is the same black color with red strips that thin downwards toward the black corner. Instead of the simple wood sign at the top of the building is now a new insignia of a dirt path leading into the distance. The name of the bar looks like it is supposed to be written in the dirt of the path in a smooth cursive font. Small torches now line the corners of the building from the roof to the ground, the old fashioned door had been replaced with red oak with a beautifully mastered etching carved into every inch that shows.

Look at that, even a wet paint sign hanging from the new door. They work fast.

I approached the new door and walked through into the newly furnished interior. As the door shut behind me, I examined the factory fresh leather booths that sit along the walls, same as the old ones did. The old bar stools up front were replaced with classic featured metal ones that have backs with a bubble like design and white cushions that look like they're made of feathers.

And as I hoped, the pretty dragoness bartender from before still claims her post in front of the wall of all the heavy liquor and beer. In her everyday outfit of the tight jeans and the low cut, laced white blouse hanging by a shoulder, she sits in her office chair at one end of the opposite side of the bar, doodling in a new activity book, completely ignoring the murmur of the crowd filling the booths. When the bells hanging over the door rang from me coming through, she looked up, smiled and waved when she recognized my face. I smiled and waved back then approached the bar and choose a stool in front of her.

"Welcome back," her kind voice greets. "Nathaniel, right?"

"Yeah," I answered with a nod. "I don't remember introducing myself."

"I'm sorry," she excused herself, giggling at her ignorance. "I overheard one of your friends call you 'Nate' the other night so I assumed."

"You got a good ear if you could hear anything in this crowd," I said.

"I do this everyday," she modestly waved off the compliment. "So what can I get you?"

"Whiskey and some cola," I replied, leaning on the bar with my own smile, "if you could be so kind."

"It'd be my pleasure," she smiled back then began to rummage around the inside of the bar. "My names Marisa."

"Marisa," I repeated. "I like it."

"Marisa was my mother's name," she tells me as she began to mix my drink. "My full name is Marisa Jane Hicks. I prefer to be called Maryjane. MJ works, too."

Maryjane. That's awesome. What better way to show your love of bud?

"It's nice to finally meet you, Maryjane," I said, holding my hand out to her.

"The feeling is mutual," she smiled, giving me her hand. I brought the back of her hand a little closer to me and gave it a gentle kiss like I usually do when I meet a fine lady. Her skin is exotic, soft to the touch, finer than silk and warm to the core. I think I might have enjoyed that simple introduction more than I ought to have, I dragged it on for a few seconds before I realized any longer may make it awkward. When I released her, she blushed and looked at me with little words then slid my drink over to me. "Such a charmer."

"So I've been told," I replied, tipping my full glass to her. "I don't think a kind woman like yourself should be treated with any less respect."

"Then you're one of the good ones," she told me, leaning over the bar in front of me. "Every guy that comes in here, no matter their species, is usually a pig at heart."

"I can imagine," I said then gulped down a few mouthfuls of my whiskey. "You work in a place where that type of man is drawn to."

"And it's hell sometimes," she says, resting her head on her palm. "But ya gotta do what you can to get by."

"Don't I know it," I agreed, looking about the room. "But they're not all bad."

"You can tell, can you?," she asked, sounding as if she meant to challenge.

"Better than most can," I answering, gulping down a bit more. I pointed at a large ape man sitting in a corner booth by himself on the opposite side of the room. "That take guy for example. See the way he's slumped over his glass? Shoulders up, arms boxed in around him, head down and he's sitting in the most inner part of the booth."

"Yeah," she nodded, squinting one eye with curiosity, "what about it?"

"Well, if you've never met a hardened man before, look no further," I said, looking back at the ape. "His posture says it all. He's the type who will always do things his way. Doesn't like to be confronted, hates to be told what is right or wrong, it'd take a patient person to befriend someone who blocks out the world like he does."

"So what makes him different from the rest?," Maryjane asked, leaning in on the table further as she grew more interested.

"The difference is he's usually right," I answered, looking back at her. "I think he blocks out the world because he thinks when he trusts, he's usually disappointed. He's confident in the idea that his way is the best way. It's arrogant to think like that, yeah, and difficult to get along with someone like that, but if you ask me, I think his experiences in life give him the right. The bottom line is as hardened as he is, it shows he has some good in him."

"How do you know all of this?," she asked, staring into my eyes.

"It's a little trick my father taught me back in the day," I told her. "It's called profiling. You observe someone's behavior, habits, physical appearance, stuff like that to determine what type of person they are."

"Impressive," Maryjane says, smiling and peering back at the ape. "What else can you tell?"

"Well," I said, looking back at him myself. "Look at his cloths. The filthy stained white tee shirt, raggy jeans, worn steel toe boots. He's a labor worker. Which explains his hardened exterior. And that smell in air coming from him is mostly coal with some hints of sulfuric acid."

"And the smell means," she began for me, grinning that she is making me explain.

"It probably means he works in a mine," I answered then downed another couple gulps.

"That's amazing," Maryjane said, resting her head back in her palm.

"Ah, that's nothing," I said, waving off her compliment. "A friend of mine claims he can 'read expressions'. Something about the look on an individual's face can tell him what they're feeling and maybe even why. Freaks me out when he does it."

"Well, I think you got him beat so far," Maryjane said with her kind smile.

"I'm glad someone's rooting for me today," I smiled back. "Enough about me. What's your story, Ms. Hicks?"

"Depends on what you want to know," she replies. "Ask me something."

"Mkay," I said, drifting to thought for a moment. "Where are you originally from?"

"How do you know I wasn't born here?," she countered my question with a curious eye.

"The scripting carved into your horns," I replied, pointing over her head. From base to tip, each of her ivory horns that curve over her head have tiny lines cut into the bone forming all types of different symbols and figures I've never seen. "I didn't notice them last time but they aren't from anywhere in this kingdom."

"You're good at that profiling thing," Maryjane says, grinning at my observation. "But they're not carvings, they grew in that way. Technically, my family are Natives. Indians."

"Really?," I asked. "That's pretty cool. I got some Black Foot and Cherokee in me. What tribe are you from?"

"We're not your average Natives," she gloats a little bit. "We're called 'Glic'."

"What language is that?," I asked then gulped down the last of my drink.

"My father told me it's Irish," she explained. "But I don't think he really knows that much about our heritage."

"Any idea what it means?," I asked.

"Not a clue," she replied with a giggle then pointed at my cup. "Can I get you another?"

"That'd be great," I said with a nod as I passed her my cup.

She happily slid my cup towards herself and used the bottles still left on the bar to refill my glass. She poured in the whiskey and cola from opposite sides of the cup until it filled to the rim.

As soon as she slid my cup back to me, I gulped down a fifth of it then montioned at her. "What's your poison?," I asked.

"I don't drink all that much," she says, leaning back on the bar. "But when I do, I grab a bottle of scotch."

"Have a drink with me," I told her. "I'm not used to drinking on my own."

"I shouldn't," she said then shrugged. "I'm a horrible drunk."

"So don't get drunk," I said, tipping my glass to her. "I'll even pay for it."

"That doesn't make it any more tempting," Maryjane told me, giggling at my persistence. "I'm not going to make you spend your money on me."

"Who's making me?," I asked, raising my arms up around the room. "Maybe I just wanna buy you a drink."

Maryjane grinned, looked away then pushed herself off the bar. "Alright, smooth talker," she agreed, reaching under the bar and retrieving another glass. "Give me your cup."

I did as she asked and slid my cup back to her. I watched as she filled the new cup halfway with what was in mine then slid mine back over to me.

She raised her glass to me and waved it around in the air. "This way, I won't owe you."

"Fair enough," I laughed, "bottoms up."

I followed my own instruction and turned my glass. As the mixed drink poured down my throat, I watched Maryjane do the same at my pace, completely at ease without spilling a drop. Within a few seconds, we both finished our half glasses and slammed the bottoms down on the counter in unison.

"Oohh, that's good," Maryjane groans in a joyful manner. "Just the right amount of burn."

I chuckled at her oral orgasm then reached for the bottles myself. "One more," I said as I began to fill my glass the way she did. "But let's make this one last."

"I couldn't do many more of those, anyway," Maryjane tells me. "I'm a lightweight."

"Nothing wrong with that," I replied with a smile, pouring half of my glass into hers. "It shows your innocence."

"Is that how you profiled me?," she asks, taking her glass and returning to her place leaning against the bar.

"It's a piece of it," I admitted, "just a fraction of what I've gathered so far."

"Oh, really?," she questioned then tipped her glass back to take a gulp. "You work fast."

"What can I say without coming off conceited?," I asked myself. "I'm good at what I do."

"Enlighten me, then," Maryjane encouraged. "What do you see in me?"

"I see difference," I told her. "You're not like most women I see."

"You got my attention, you cheesey bastard," Maryjane laughed. "Do tell."

"I guess the best word would be inspirational," I said. I shrugged at my guess, tipped my cup to get a little more fucked up then pointed a thumb behind me towards nothing. "If I were to go outside and do my thing on the first woman our age I saw, I'd get something around the line of dumbfounded. They're all mostly focused on how they look, the way others see them, things that would mean nothing to me. But when I look at you, the way you lean back in your chair scribbling in that book, your care free attitude, the smile that's always on your face, I see a woman who's happy to be where she is."

"Not too shabby, pup," she smiled at me. "But why call it inspirational? Why not...," she paused for a second to think then pointed her finger at me, "needless?"

"Ah, that just comes off too negative of a term of you ask me," I said, waving away the suggestion. "You're too positive of a person."

"Okay, so why not call it optimistic?," she asked, tipping her glass towards me. "You can't say that's a bad one."

"No, I guess I can't," I admitted with a chuckle. "I like that one for you better, actually. I suppose I call it inspirational because you remind me of where I should be. Figuratively speaking."

"So, figuratively speaking, where should you be?," Maryjane asked then stared into my eyes as she sipped from her glass.

"Living a life with my brother," I said then followed her actions with my own glass. "Instead I'm drinking my sorrows away while my best friend is laying in her death bed."

"She's what?," Maryjane questioned with shock in her eyes. "How?"

"If I tell you something, can I trust you'll keep it to yourself?," I asked her, wondering if I should tell.

"Honey, part of my job is keeping secrets," she says with her kind smile. "I wouldn't be employed if I wasn't good at it."

I laughed and smiled back, feeling a little more at ease. "Good point," I said then gulped down half of what remained in my cup. "Selina, the purple wing wolf that was here with me the other night, she was poisoned. And I feel guilty about it."

"Why?," Maryjane asked. "You didn't do it. Did you?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "God, no. I could never hurt her."

"Then why feel guilty?," she asked.

"It's like this," I attempted to explain. "Trouble has a way of finding me recently. And I have a habit of walking towards it. Because of this, I've grown... familiar with the King's law enforcement."

"Are you telling me you're a fugitive?," Maryjane questions with a giggle.

"No, not exactly," I chuckled back as she sipped from her drink some more. "Let's just say I'm closer to his inner circle than most people."

"Alright," she nods. "So what happened that poisoned your friend? Selina you said?"

"That's right," I confirmed. "I've been leading a murder case that just popped out of nowhere yesterday. I guess the Admiral looks at it as some kind of test for what the King has planned for me. Basically, our victim was killed with a highly toxic poison called 'ricin' and Selina inhaled some of it."

"Oh dear," Maryjane gasped. "Will she be alright?"

"I don't know," I said with a shrug. "It's not looking that way. Just knowing the facts about this poison is terrifying. But no matter how well I know, I can't accept the fact that there's a good chance she's going to die."

"That's horrible," Maryjane says, placing her hand on mine. "I'm sorry, Nathan."

"As am I," I mumbled.

"Forgive me, but I'm still not clear on why you feel it's your fault," Maryjane said, releasing me to reach for her glass. "I can only imagine the grief you're going through. I'm sorry, I'm pushing, aren't I?."

I chuckled at that last sentence and looked up at her. "Maybe just a little but it's alright," I told her. "It's cute. It's in my nature to feel responsible. My friend who reads expressions, the Admiral, he thinks my remorse is a result of this hunger I have. He's been teaching me how to control it today but I've only gotten so far. I feel guilty because everything she's gotten involved with since we met has been my call. I didn't feel right bringing her into it, no matter how much ass she can kick, but I did it anyway. And this was the outcome of my ignorance."

"It sounds to me like you're being too hard on yourself," Maryjane says. "But I wouldn't be the first person to say that, would I?"

"Far from it, my dear," I answer then gulped down another half of what's left in my glass.

"Let me put it this way," she says, looking down at the bar then back up at me. "I understand how you feel responsible now. The way I look at it is you can either sit here with me and talk about it. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Or you can use that feeling as a motive."

"A motive for what exactly?," I asked her.

"To find your murderer," she shrugs. "To do everything in your power to make sure Selina lives. To do whatever you believe is right."

"You're the first person to give me that point of view," I said to her. "With everyone else it's been staying out of the way and doing my own job. To be honest, I feel a little betrayed."

"That doesn't mean they are betraying you," she tells me. "Maybe they're only acting like that because they're really afraid of what it would do to you if she does... pass. What did they tell you their reasonings were?"

"My brother and his uncle, for them it was fear that my emotions would get the better of me and make matters worse," I explained, whirling the drink in my cup around. "For the Admiral, I know he means well and he does care what happens to her but all he's been keeping me focused on is doing my job and controlling this hunger."

"Why do you think he's doing that?," Maryjane asks.

"Probably for whatever reason the others are doing what they're doing," I said. "And I understand that. But being left out, completely unable to help her, it's torture. I can handle pain but this is almost too much for me to bare."

"Then you need to give them a reason to let you help," she says, pointing her nearly empty glass at me. "If they want you left out because they're afraid your emotions will get in the way, you need to show them that they won't. Just like the Admiral is teaching you to control your hunger, you need to learn to do the same with your feelings."

I didn't respond, I just downed the last of my drink in a big swig of burning alcohol and cola now gone flat by the mixture.

"Tell me this," she says, pointing her glass at me again. "How did you react when she was first poisoned?"

"Angry, mostly," I replied. "At myself. And then at everyone else because they wouldn't let me stay."

"And after that?," she asks. "When she got worse?"

"Heart broken," I told her. "I broke down in ways I haven't since my father disappeared."

"We'll have to save that story for another night," Maryjane told herself, looking at me with curiosity. "So let's say you were to go back home and find out that she's only gotten worse, Lord forbid. What would be your first thought?"

I sat and thought for a moment."Probably how many ways I would express myself," I said, making a stupid joke of it. Nonetheless, she giggled at the horrible pun and showed her smile that enlightens me.

"Then when you get back tonight, try to not do that," she told me, making her own ridiculous joke which I couldn't help but laugh at with her. "Do you see where I'm going with all this?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. Somehow, I get the feeling that's what everyone's been trying to tell me but you're the first to be so gentle about it."

"Well, I guess we all have our own skill set," Maryjane said with her smile then downed the last of her drink. "You can roll perfect joints and tell who someone is by looking at them, I can change your point of view with words alone." Maryjane lifted the glass bottle of whiskey off the counter and held it out to me with a giggle, "with a little bit of help from this baby. Would you like another?"

"No, that's quite alright," I replied, waving the bottle away. "I've had enough. Anymore and I won't be able to defend myself, let alone walk home. These aren't good times for me to be fucked up."

"I know how that is," she tells me as she puts the bottles and glasses away. "I really hope she pulls out of this. You'll have my prayers tonight."

"Still not the first person to say that," I said, chuckling as I pointed at her. "But slightly more comforting than the rest."

"Slightly, huh?," she giggled. "I'll try to be more sincere about it next time."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I said with a smile. "You've been a big help tonight, Maryjane. Thank you."

"It's my job," she says, wrapping her arms around her waist. "But for what it's worth, I think I enjoyed being your shoulder to cry on."

"Don't tell anybody I did that," I joked, pointing my finger at her again. "I still have a reputation to uphold."

"Scout's honor," she says, jumping to attention like a knight and holding three fingers up in the air.

"Atta girl," I said with a grin on my face, laughing with her as she smacked my arm from across the bar.

"Hey, who's the mutt here, huh?," she teased, grinning right back.

"No comment," I said, looking away innocently. I looked back to see her standing against the bar, arms wrapped at her waist like she does, peering at me with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "I walked right into that one."

"Yeah, ya did," Maryjane agreed with a giggle.

"This has been great," I told her, wanting more to stay and have another drink with her. "But I think I should head home. See how Selina's doing."

"Alright," she acknowledged, wearing a crooked smile then reaching under the bar. "I'll write up your bill for you."

"And here I was hoping you'd forget all about it," I joked, digging into my - Jacob's coin bag.

As I pulled out a handful of coins, Maryjane scribbled on a piece of paper and a second later, she ripped it from it's pad and handed it to me.

"Yeesh," I groaned, picking out three gold pieces and two coppers. "Why does good booze always have to be so expensive?"

"I would have cut you a discount if I could," Maryjane tells me. "Unfortunately, I'm just the bartender."

"What about the whole a round on the house thing?," I asked, feeling a little stupid for having to.

"That only works out if you own the place," Maryjane shrugged. "If I got caught, they'd either fire me or kill me."

"Just goes to show how unfair life can be," I said in a joking manner. Even though I meant it.

"It does, doesn't it?," she agreed, looking at me with her kind smile. "Good luck, Nathan. I'm here every night if you need my shoulder again."

"Thank you, Maryjane," I said with a smile as I stood my tipsy self to my feet. "I'll see you later. Maybe next time I can learn a little more about you."

"Don't get a girl's hopes up," she says, smiling back. "I might actually have a little fun in here for a change." She lifted a hand as I turned towards the door and waved it girlishly against her chest. "Bye."

I raised my hand and waved back. "Bye," I mumbled, slowly walking away.

I traveled through the door and closed it behind me, with every step I felt like I should have turned around and went back inside. Instead of listening to the feeling, I turned up the main street, blending with the crowd as I made way for the castle.

I hope they haven't locked the main entrance yet. I don't wanna have to spend the night in another hotel.

My heading buzzing delightfully, I walked as close to the center of the street as I could without running into all the kiosks. I tripped a few times over my own boots from dragging my feet but I never fell to my face. I wasn't drunk enough for it.

I wonder what to expect when I get back. Worst case scenario, Selina's dead. I want to puke just thinking those thoughts but it doesn't make it any less possible. Best case scenario, she pulled through or is at least recovering. Chances are it's somewhere in between. She could be showing signs of recovery. Maybe whatever Elrick and Jacob have done to help her is working. Or, God forbid, she's only gotten worse.

Please, PLEASE, don't let this take her from us.

Rolling off the subject because the ideas I'm getting are starting to scare me, I wonder now how my night would have played out if I had stayed at the bar. There was something about that girl that I like. Maybe it's her sense of compassion. The compassion I lack most of the time. It felt good to vent to her in the small ways that I did. I got more out of it than I have from anyone other than Selina. I mean, Jacob's actions are a given, he's always a dick no matter the occasion, yet I still love him for some reason, and I guess I understand Elrick's reasons, too. He would know best, considering the situation and I trust his judgement above all. If there's anyone who's wiser than the rest, it's the elderly. Some of them anyway. And Anthony, well, he's not too far from Jacob in the personality zone. The arrogant asshole is still there but he pulls it off with a feeling of bravado. Not many people succeed with that combo so I got to give him credit.

But that woman, Marisa, Maryjane, that was the most comfortable I've been talking to someone about my issues in a long time. She was really helpful. If the others had made half the effort to put it the way she did, this day would have gone so much smoother. But I won't hold it against them. Especially now, Maryjane lifted my spirits in ways I never expect Jacob or Anthony to. But that's alright, too.

Who knows, maybe they'll surprise me one day.

Before I knew it, I was walking the halls of the second floor out of I don't know how many, making my way for home. I can easily see my front door down the corridor, as tipsy as I am. I'm intoxicated but not inebriated. I can still walk, talk, anything I need. So maybe there's something Elrick will let me do to help. I'm not tired yet and I need to feel useful to Selina. Marisa pointed out my faults that I couldn't catch on to and inspired me. I'll find a way to contribute.

I turned the doorknob of my home and walked through. The living area of the lab was empty of life except for me. I shut the front door behind me and looked around. Instead of seeing signs of life, I heard it. My disfigured right ear caught the sound of Elrick's voice. Coming from inside the patient room.

He sounds calm. He's not yelling. Maybe things are looking up.

I walked towards the door and reached for the knob just before it began to jiggle. I backed up to watch the door swing open. From the other side, Jacob came through, almost running into before he saw me, with Elrick following behind him.

I looked at each of their faces. They didn't greet me or even acknowledge that I was standing in front of them, they just stared right at me, emotionless.

"What?," I finally asked, feeling a bit awkward. "Did I do something I don't know about?"

"I'm sorry, son," Elrick says as he walks by, patting my shoulder before venturing into the actual lab across the living area.

"For what?," I asked. "Did YOU do something I don't know about?"

"Nate," Jacob says, grasping my attention. I looked at him and could practically feel the negatively flowing in the air. "I'm sorry, buddy. She's gone."