FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Morty was a black cat anthro, and his short fur fluffed as he was jolted awake.

He looked around, blinking groggily until he registered the blaring of the terminal and then pawed across the floor until his fingers found the old thing, thumbing the answer key. On the other end, a muddle of voices greeted him. Someone shouting orders, a far-off siren wailing under it all.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Val said finally.

“Oh no, not at all. It’s only 3:15 a.m. Why’d I be asleep?” Morty sat up, searching blindly for his boots.

“Shut up. You like this kind of crap.”

“I’m not into scat, Val. That’s your thing.”

Val groaned. “Can you stop calling my husband a piece of shit?”

“Is he paying me back for the book he spilled coffee on?”

Silence for a few seconds.

“Take that as a no,” he said, settling back on the folded blanket on the floor he was using instead of his bed. In the glow of a desk lamp, Morty took in the chaos of his room. The bed was still buried in open volumes flagged with paper tabs, and next to those there were boxes full to bursting with old cases he was perusing.

“Fucking hell — who leaves a two-hundred-year-old book just lying there?” Val exhaled. “Anyway. Back to the topic. We’re investigating a possible devouring crime. Or… we think.”

Morty froze. “You think?”

“A couple of hours ago. Neighbors heard yelling. An old lady checked and found an arm — bite marks where it was severed, just below the shoulder.”

“That’s off. Preds don’t leave pieces behind. Even when they… decide to eat by parts, nothing remains but blood. Unless they want to make a statement. Is it the proper arm, or just bones?"

“We know the basics. I wouldn’t call if it was just bones.” Paper rustled on Val’s end. “Can you get here? Eastern borough, corner of Louise and Walnut.”

Morty gave a low whistle. “Fine. I’ll ping a shuttle. Probably an hour to get there. But why isn’t the local precinct handling it? Not our jurisdiction.”

“They’re tied up with a drug scene — traditional bloodbath, just… bigger.” Morty sensed some hesitation there. Was she hiding something? “And don’t waste money on a shuttle. Two of our guys are already rolling past you. They’ll pick you up.”

“You called them before me, didn’t you?” A car horn honked outside his window as if on cue.

“Are you seriously going to pretend you wouldn’t come?” Val asked.

Morty snorted. Fair. “Point taken,” he said. “See you soon.”

He pulled on his boots, ran a hand through dark, too-long hair, and put on a shirt and his coat. He had a swimmer’s build on his 5-foot-10 frame, and even though he had a very tired expression, his gaze grew sharp as a scalpel, double-checking if all his field gear was in the inner pockets, then he opened the door and stepped outside, waving to the patrol car.

=================================

Two enforcers were sitting on the front seats of the waiting cruiser. The hood had the big logo of a shield with DAIR’s full name, Division for Aggressive Incident Response, in vibrant red letters.

Morty didn’t know the driver, a smaller agent, not a pred, muscular, but a regular-sized anthro wolf. And Ruld, a very capable rhino, pushing 8 foot 10, no doubt whether he had the V-gene or not. The rhino waved at him from the window.

“Agent Mortimer, glad to work with you again,” he said with a bright grin, stepping outside and opening the door for him. He was massive, yet not the biggest officer they had. His powerlifter's body strained the uniform.

The wolf rolled his eyes at his partner, trying to suppress a knowing smirk, then he started the engine.

Both agents were using field armor. Ruld’s wasn’t parade shiny; it was field-used, edges dulled, webbing neat. Kept both clean and ready. Their uniforms bore the subdued sigils of the Enforcer Corps: charcoal-on-teal, nothing to catch the eye until you’re close.

“Nice to see you, Ruld,” he said, giving a light tap to the rhino's side as he boarded the backseat.

Those cruisers always felt so nice for him, plenty of space. The back seat could hold people much bigger than him. After all, a good chunk of the enforcers were preds themselves. The legal kind. The ones that bought livestock on the markets or... that did the “Licensed Consumption" executions. Behind him, the rear bay had anchor points sunk into the floor, a split bench that could fold flat, and a recessed rack carrying polymer cuffs, wide-seat harnesses, and a strong metal grid barrier to separate it from the cabin.

He nodded at the wolf in the driver’s seat. “Not sure I met you…”, he hadn’t. He was a profiler. He did not forget names.

“Muldoon! Muldoon Murdock. Got transferred from Murialta”

“Ah, out of the city? You guys have beaches there, why the fuck did you decide to move into our mess?”

“Wife is from here and was just working there on her master's. She wanted to move back near her family, so I put in for a transfer here. At least Endon hands out better vouchers than the ones I got from our local DAIR.”

Ruld and Mortimer fistbumped at the comment. Then the cat put on his safety belt and the car sped off.

“Before I forget… I printed these at the station for you,” said Ruld, with a rustle of papers on the front and a metallic thunk as his helmet fell between his feet. Then shoving a few folders in Morty’s lap. “

Morty thanked him, going through the pages and looking at the pics of the arm in different angles and close up. A big stamp tattoo of a club, showing a blooming rose and the word PAID. The folder said it was from a nightclub called Vermilion. He propped his old terminal on a thigh — the hinge unfolded with a practiced shhk — and flipped the side keys out from their recesses. No touchscreens here: thumb-rockers for scrolling, a narrow enter bar, and a knurled wheel that zoomed photos in measured steps. The screen glow painted his hands in pale squares. He pulled out a cord and locked it to the data feed from the cruiser, then he input the address where the body part was found and the club. Staring at the distance between the two places on the map.

Outside, the city was washed in sodium vapor and the smear of wet asphalt. Muldoon drove them quietly; tires hissed. Radio traffic murmured in clipped bursts — unit numbers, cross streets, a dispatcher’s steady metronome.

Ruld angled his seat a touch, not enough to loom — just enough to keep Morty in his peripheral. The rhino’s profile was all blunt patience, jaw working on nothing. His gauntlets were off; thick fingers rested near the heater vent.

“Seat warm enough back there?” he asked, casual, eyes forward.

“I’m good,” Morty said, already scrolling. He bought up the case file; grain popped into clarity: a hallway washed in emergency lights, the chalk-line glare of a camera flash, shoe prints ghosted in water, and then the arm — severed point ragged, crescent indentations along deltoid and biceps where teeth met flesh. He toggled to witness statements, the text narrow and utilitarian. The wheel under his thumb ticked. Click. Click. Click.

“Two minutes,” the driver announced.

Morty’s eyes moved — notes, timestamps, a map pane showing the Eastern Borough’s grid. He flipped the terminal as his thumbs glided across the keys. Zooming into the corner of Louise and Walnut, he scanned past stacked row houses, a service alley that dead-ends into a fenced utility yard, and a camera marked as INOP/MAINT. He marked it with a quick flag. The hinge of the terminal allowed him to fold the screen partway like a book when the car banks left; the display held its angle, letters steady.

The marks and splatter showed a big fight and way too much blood for a single person.

Still only one arm.

They rolled into slower streets. The neighborhood was awake in patches — bodega light, a laundry’s hum, one window with a TV’s flicker. Ahead, blue strobes washed brick and glass with nervous color.

Ruld opened his door and stepped out first — mass carefully placed, boots finding the dry spots without splashing. He circled to the rear, opened Morty’s side, and offered a hand — invitation without insistence. Up close, the rhino’s scent was clean fabric and a hint of eucalyptus oil.

“Watch the curb lip,” he murmured. Then he stepped back, giving room.

Morty closed the terminal to a palm-sized slab, slid it into his jacket, and took to the curb in one stride. The air is colder, metallic, the kind of cold that finds any breach in your clothes and fur and bites your skin.

Plastic tape with phosphorescent light cordoning of the crime scene. And people were trying to grab a peek. Voices on the far side of the line drop as they clock the enforcers arriving. Ruld’s presence did what it always did: part of the night seemed to decide it would behave.

“On you,” the driver said, locking the car with a soft tok. Ruld fell in on Morty’s half-step, not crowding, an easy shadow in armor as they moved toward the spill of light. There were three other cruisers. One had the local tag, but that was just the forensics unit. The other two were from the same precinct he came from. Probably Val’s ride and someone else’s. Muldoon walked there and started chatting with the drivers of those units.

There was a tent in the middle of the sidewalk, protecting the arm from the curious eyes of the tiny gathering of locals. Two women were inside, a human technician and a zebra with a DAIR’s coat. The Technician was packing some crates while the zebra barked orders through a terminal.

The human had a yellow slicker. Red hair appeared around the edges of her cap with a wrestling team brand. “I told you, we got everything,” she said to the zebra pacing around. Under the heavy coat, Val was wearing an above-knee dress and heels, her mane was a short mohawk on top, and as it went down her neck she had left it grow and braided it.

“So you call me and now want to dismiss the circus as I get here? Rude.” Morty commented

The zebra turned to him and gave a tired smile. “Not my call. We got our info, or what we could so far. We are moving it to the local precinct, where they are going to run some tests to try to narrow down who might be the victim. Bianca, this is Mortimer, and that one is Ruld. Ruld, Morty — this is Bianca. She’s the pain in my ass.”

“Careful, Val. I thought Ruppert already had tenure in that position.”

Bianca snorted, “I’ll settle for deputy.”

“Focus.” Said Val, rubbing her temple

Morty raised his hands in surrender and winked at the technician, crouching down next to her.

“I won’t make you open the crates to show it to me. I can have a look at the station. What can you tell me that I couldn't see in the picture?”

Bianca was staring at Ruld's big silhouette, and Morty had to repeat himself. She hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Well, you can see the amount of blood here, right? I can’t make a proper test to find out the races of the anthros involved, or the race of the specific person to which the arm belonged. We think some sort of canid, based on fur and joints. But, hey, I saw some big cats”.

Morty stared at her for a long, pregnant second, watching her squirm.

“What?” she finally asked

He raised his hand with the index finger pointing up. Slowly, he flexed it, making the claw pop out and then back in. She slapped her forehead.

“Fuck me! Right, right. Felines have retractable claws. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell that to my overseer. First week.”

“Well, you’ll catch it next time. Anything about the blood?”

“Huh? Ah, yes! Firstly, we thought there should have been two fatal victims. probably the owner of the arm and someone else. Maybe a hard vore case.”

“The problem is that it takes too much time. If you have one of these psychos lurking around, it takes almost an hour to finish a meal, and the report said that a witness heard the yell and came to check fast.

“I was getting there. Can you see a tiny nick at the humerus of the arm, and then a big chomp? So it was cut off and then bitten. Also, we can at least match the blood, and there is a very small amount in the pool that belongs to the victim. The rest belongs to at least 3 other people.

Morty's eyes bulged as he looked around.

It had rained after the photos he saw were taken, but the massive pool of blood around the chalk drawing of the arm was still there. Four people, the arm owner and other three…

“Val, are we dealing with a pack of preds? Or is there a really massive one in the region that I wasn’t aware of?”

The zebra sighed and got closer, looking tired. “We don’t know if this is a rogue pack. But… ever heard about this guy called Varro?”

Morty and the technician winced. An audible click could be heard as Ruld unlocked his gun holster. As if he expected the infamous predator to appear.

“Big moose. That Varro?”

“Yes, he’s in town. That’s what’s keeping the other people in the borough busy. If that wasn’t the case, I’d think about him. But he is north of here, on a territory fight.”

Ruld took a step forward. “Are you mad? Why didn’t you fucking lead with that? That guy’s a fucking monster. You need to put a warning for the civilians to hide. And we need more ammo.” He started to check his gear in a foul mood.

“This could be him,” Morty said, looking around.

“No. Most of the agents are near the old industrial district. It was meant to be a minor operation, but apparently the moose was in town and things escalated. The borough then had to send most of its operatives.”

Morty stared at her. His pupils contracting to vertical slits with his intent.

“Val… he kills everyone… Who you got there?”

“Agent Mortimer…” She was serious. “We have most of our men there, doing their part. Now, we also have this case to investigate. We came here to do our part. So, please.”

Morty nodded.

“Ok, if people are in combat with that guy and this is not his work… It means that either we got someone else on that scale, or a pack acting together. Fuck!”

“Yes, at least we have their resources to work with, so I’m heading out ahead with Bianca to try to get this guy identified and maybe the other victims if their DNA is in the system.”

“I can go with them, in case they’ve got more questions”, Bianca said, eyes glued to Ruld. She had gotten more interested when the rhino started going over his equipment.

The rhino noticed, rubbing the back of his head and looking away at the crowd outside; his cheeks turning a deep grey as he blushed.

“Focus”, Val snapped.

=================================

As the tech packed the samples and arm to head out, Morty lingered back a step, pulling his terminal from his jacket. He thumbed in a short message.

[Check in. You two still alive?] — and stared at it longer than needed before hitting send. The cursor blinked against the dark glass. The screen dimmed, waiting for a response. Nothing came back. They are on a case; no one replies instantly. I don’t reply instantly. He tried to rationalize his fears.

His tail lashed once, betraying what his face didn’t. He slipped the terminal away, jaw tight. Friends or not, you never wanted silence when Varro was loose.

“You sure about staying?” Val asked as she was about to climb on the cruiser that brought her here.

“Yeah, yeah. The woman who heard the initial commotion and phoned DAIR is still there, so I’ll ask some pointed questions." Then he gestured to the big crowd. "Might be nothing, but worth trying to see if someone else has anything to say. I will be useless at the precinct for now.”

The zebra nodded. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“You look shaken.”

“I have good friends in this borough. And they are probably there, fighting this creep.” Morty replied, glancing at his terminal, as if willing it to get a reply.

“I see..”

“Don’t need to worry about me. Léo’s the biggest fucker this region has on the corps. He can handle it. I think,” he said.

They exchanged a few more words, and Morty was left with Ruld and Muldoon.

They started taking statements. Or Morty started interviewing and the other two were organizing it; making sure people didn’t overcrowd or talk above each other. When the last person had been heard, Morty and Ruld took a stroll around the streets. A few blocks in all directions. They saw some cameras and took notes to request the footage the next day. Then they went back to the location, deserted now, safe for Muldoon leaning against the cruiser and having a cigarette.

They boarded the vehicle and started to make a slow trip from there to the Vermilion nightclub, where the stamp came from. Trying to spot any possible surveillance. Morty kept tagging on his Terminal as he noticed a few more.

“Anything useful so far?” Muldoon asked, sounding bored.

“Some of the locals kept dropping the same name. This pred that they are suuuuuure is the responsible.”

“What do you think?”

“Maybe. But not alone. Made a quick search on files, he’s clean. Or as clean as you can be when you messed up badly in your teen years. Though it sounded more prejudiced than anything else. I will pay the guy a visit when daylight breaks. If I don't get any leads.”

The nightclub was already closed. But they had all the info of the owner, and Val said she would get a judge's order to go into his house, get the info, and examine the place. At this time, the guy wasn’t picking up his terminal. And Morty couldn’t blame him. He was experimenting with tiredness that makes your body feel light and heavy at the same time, and the world a bit too bright, even at nighttime.

“I didn’t ask, were you guys starting your shift or ending when this call came?”

“Just starting,” Ruld seemed sad

“No overtime,” grumbled Muldoon.

Morty yawned and stretched on the back seat, marking all the cameras and the angles around the club. “Tell you what. You drive around a few blocks so we are sure we know the lay of the land better, and then I buy us some breakfast”, he finally said.

Rhino and wolf celebrated.

=================================

The diner near the precinct had the decency to smell like bacon and muffins when they got in and Ruld stroked his ample midsection with one hand. Neon buzzed in the window: OPEN 24. The O had been dead for a few years, so it read PEN 24. Nowadays, people only call it Pen’s.

Morty slid into a booth with his back to the wall, green eyes reflecting the jukebox’s dead chrome. Ruld eased onto the bench next to him — careful with the metal brace under the table — while Muldoon took the seat in front of them, sitting sideways, one knee out.

A waitress with a pencil behind her ear materialized with three mugs. “You look like the kind that won’t say no,” she said, pouring coffee without waiting for an answer.

“Bless you, Mags,” Muldoon murmured after stealing a look at her name tag, already clawing for sugar packets.

Morty set his terminal on the vinyl. There was a port for customers, so he just connected in, the map pane opening to a grayscale grid — Louise, Walnut, the run toward Vermilion. Every camera he’d tagged glowed like moth eyes.

“Order?” Mags asked, pen poised.

“Hashbrows. Been some years, but I remember they were great,” Morty said.

“Pancake stack,” Ruld said. Morty deadpanned and nudged his stomach with an elbow, “Two, stacks.”

Muldoon didn’t look up. “Bacon. Whatever amount makes my doctor sad.”

Mags flicked a smile. “Got a precinct discount for terrible choices.”

When she was gone, they took on the hush of people who had burned the top layer off their hearing with sirens. Outside, a cruiser rolled by slowly, and more cars were starting to fill the street; inside, the smell of bacon got stronger as the grill worked.

With practiced gestures, Mortimer used one hand to tag all the points of interest and sent them to Val so she could procure subpoenas in case the owner of the camera wasn’t forthcoming with those files. He sipped his coffee, staring bleary-eyed at the screen, double-checking if he missed anything. He was exhausted; he’d gone to bed not even 2 hours before he got that call. Today was meant to be an off day.

“Why don’t you change that thing? It looks like an older model. Ancient even. So bulky.” Asked Muldoon. As if to make his point, he splayed his terminal on the table. A bit thinner and shinier. It unfolded wider to allow bigger keys.

Morty shrugged. “It was a pain in the ass to add Kevlar and reinforcement to this one already. So it will take some time before I want to drop that kind of money on another one. Plus, this one works.”

They ate when the plates landed. Ruld emptied half the syrup bottle and proceeded to wolf down the first pile as if he’d been a starving prisoner. He blushed and offered a bite before diving right back at it. Mags drifted back to the top off mugs. “You boys want me to keep the refills coming or you want your hearts to make it to morning?”

“Keep it coming,” Muldoon said.

When she left, Morty tapped the terminal wheel, backing up to the photos of the crime scene. Trying to force himself to find something new. “We’ll walk it at dawn. I want eyes on the shop fronts before they roll up their shutters. I don’t trust night to tell me the same story twice.”

Muldoon crushed a napkin in his fist, then smoothed it back out like a man trying to unfurl a map. “You mentioned locals were buzzing with the name of a jackal. Do you really think it is worth the visit?”

“Probably. I'd rather check his profile at the local station first, so I get an idea of where I’m getting myself into.”

“Mr. Kassur Ferros,” Muldoon says, as if chewing the syllables of the name. “You want backup for that hello?”

“I’ll answer that after I read his file.”

The wolf nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “When I was talking to the other drivers. They said the rest of this region’s enforcers were involved with Varro’s trouble. There! They seemed twitchy, and you two just blanched. That's a tell I should know?”

“Varro’s a storm. Actually, I’m surprised you never heard of him. Has been causing a lot of trouble in the city-states. Keeps moving around.”

“He is Alpha-sized.” Ruld murmured, and for the first time, he looked small.

“Whenever he pops up lots of people end up dead. More on the drug cartel end zone of the demographics. But you know… alpha body means alpha eating habits,” Morty said with a haunted expression. “I tried researching a little, but it was never assigned to me specifically. And never made much sense. Hope the guys find and take him down,” he closed the terminal halfway.

Muldon could see Morty’s other paw grabbing the corner of the table, claws out, digging into the vinyl and down on the wood. Fur on his neck was bristling a bit.

“They are going to be ok. I met those two. I would honestly worry how much Varro is going to get his ass kicked if they find him,” Ruld said, patting the cat’s shoulder.

Morty relaxed. But his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He hated that Ruld and the new guy could see it.

He wasn’t scared of Varro — not exactly. He was scared of what silence meant.

Years ago, when he’d been green and too bold for his own good, he’d gone chasing a case he had no business touching. Léo had been the one who pulled him out of the alley alive, roaring at him angry and worried. Juno patched him up and kept him conscious until the lion rode them to a hospital. Later, Léo didn’t rest until Morty learned how to throw punches, duck and run when needed. Juno taught him when to do one and the other. They hadn’t just saved his life — they’d taught him how to survive this job, bridging the gap from academia to the streets.

That kind of debt doesn’t go away.

As they were finishing, Mags reappeared with a small to-go bag.

“For the road,” she said, setting it on the table. “Rolls. I don’t like watching cats and dogs starve, and both of you need to grow big and strong like this one here”. She gestured to Ruld.

“You'd better leave that lady a good tip,” Muldoon mentioned after she left. He sniffed the bag, and there were a few tumps as his tail wagged against the upholstery of the booth.

“Done,” Morty said, tucking bills under the salt.

They stood. Outside, the air had gone from wet to merely damp, the city in that brief hour where even Endon pretends to be tired.

“Walk the block to the station, then crash,” Morty said.

Muldoon yawned so wide his jaw clicked. “Sure. I will pick up the car and park there. Hope they have a gym so I can squeeze in some training until it’s time for the interviews.”

“Make sure to shower after. I don’t want to spend a day in the cruiser with the smell of swamp ass and balls.”

“Why’d we…” he saw that Ruld was blushing so hard his hide almost changed colour. “..., don’t worry.”

=================================

“Did you get a reply?” Ruld asked as they watched the cruiser speed ahead.

“Juno sent the word ‘busy’.” Morty’s frown grew a bit softer. “Understatement of the year.”

“Tell me about it. We came with standard gear. I will see if I can pack some of the bigger toys from the precinct in the car. You know. Just in case.” He winked

“A big man with big toys. I do love how that sounds,” Morty said with a huskier voice, making a grabbing gesture with his hand.

Ruld stumbled. Mouth half open, lost for words. His eyes grew big as dinner plates. He felt like a beast at a crossroads, wondering if he smelled a feast or a trap. “I…” a brief silence followed as he looked down as if trying to pick his next words from the ground.

“Mortimer…”

“Ruld?”

He let out a big laugh and slammed a closed fist against his chest. It sounded like a drum. “Don’t worry, this big guy here will protect you, and this Varro threat will fall under the Central Borough authority,” he started laughing, raising his face, until he was almost looking straight up.

Morty sighed and flashed a tired smile. “Central for the win.”

“Central for the win!” Ruld basically roared, putting more strength into his steps, forcing Morty to almost jog to keep pace.

Steam from the occasional manhole ghosted Ruld’s shins. Endon was in its gray hour. Delivery vans idling, bus brakes made their distinctive hissing noise. They passed a shuttered pawn shop and a pharmacy window already humming to life. Ahead, the precinct loomed in the pale morning haze, a blocky complex of reinforced concrete and tinted glass tucked between aging apartment buildings and a half-renovated warehouse. From the outside, it looked like a boxy afterthought of a building, but it had presence

“Y’know,” Ruld started, looking up at the building’s facade as they neared, “I thought the precinct would be… grimmer.”

Morty grunted. “You’ll change your mind once you hit the holding level.”

The cat had his badge out and ready before the last crosswalk. Because Ruld was on his combat/riot gear, the badge was locked on his chest plate; Morty had been here before, so he was familiar with the layout. Still, the ground floor hit differently from their home base. Where theirs was wide and low, this lobby was tall enough to swallow voices. A well-worn reception area split between two paths: Regular Crimes to the left, and Aggressive Crimes impact to the Right. Impact glass separated a few receptionists from the people they were speaking to. Further ahead there was a heavy gate, reinforced with vertical bolts, guarded access to the elevators that kept the public and non-public areas of the precinct separated latter.

Close to the Regular Crimes Lobby set a food kiosk and rows of chairs, all filled. The situation was bad. Three TV screens were set on different channels. No sound, just subtitles. And then a big glowing missing-persons board. ‘Better check those ones too’, Morty thought. On the opposite side, two fully plated enforcers were nodding while interviewing a haunted-looking man.

“They keep Regular and Agressive/Pred crimes on the same floor here?” Ruld asked, sounding more like himself and less forced.

“Yes. Even though those enforcers and you are here to help these citizens, you can see the folks on the waiting chairs squirming as they look at you and those enforcers.” He saw the disappointed expression on the rhino’s face, then added. “I know the good you do. At the end of the day, that’s what matters.”

They marched to the elevators. The lion guarding those raised an eyebrow, and Morty flashed his badge.

“Central borough?” he asked. Morty nodded, and then he chuckled. “That agent Vallerie who came here earlier is a piece of work.”

The three shared a smirk while waiting for one of the elevators to arrive. They make it all the way to the third floor. Cafeteria steam, gym iron, and sweat smell greeted them as soon as the door opened. It was a large corridor. The signs on the wall pointed right to the agents' cafeteria and right to sleeping space, lockers, and the gym.

Ruld took one step to the right. Morty grabbed his gear harness and pulled him to the left. There was a curve, and they could now hear the sounds of people working out and muffled conversation. Muldoon was on a bench in the corridor, playing on his terminal. The wolf had changed into workout clothing. Tank top, shorts. And even though he wasn’t a pred, he was jacked. It wasn’t all plate bulk before.

“Their gym is amazing.”

“And we lost the new guy.” Morty joked.

“Nah. Again, the wife wants to stay near her parents. So I’ll remain on Central. But they have good equipment here. Well… not so many showers.”

“Back home, the gym and lockers are on the first floor, and showers too, so if you come from a mission covered in gore, you can shower there before going into the building properly. Here, there was a space near the parking lot on sublevel 1 for that. Didn’t you see it?”

The wolf shrugged. And then got up and bumped his fist on Ruld’s shoulder.

“Go change. There is spare workout clothing in the lockers. Let's spar a little”

Morty stared at the wolf. Muldoon was a big non-predator guy, 6 foot 3. Ruld towered bover oth of them. And yet Muldoon was confident, eager even. Ruld too.

“If you guys are going to throw punches at each other, don’t use stimulants. The crash later is really bad.”

“He is a tough bastard,” laughed Ruld.

“Damn right I am. Going to judo-toss your ass on the floor again. Wanna watch?” he asked Morty.

“I’d. But I’m almost crashing myself. You guys have fun. If something comes up, I’ll be in the dorms.”

With that said, he left both doing banter and marched to the dorms. This is what he didn’t like about the Eastern Precinct. Back home, they had several smaller rooms with a bunk bed each. More so, teams could grab a nap together. Here, it was a single room with rows of bunk beds. He found one empty, cursing mentally the elephant snoring at the other end of the room.

Morty hung his coat on the nook next to the bunk. pulling out his terminal and connecting it to a data socket near the bed. a few quick messages telling Val they arrived, and where she could find him and the guys. Then he grabbed his badge, unfolded the key, and locked it into the terminal. It flashed a little while doing a handshake with the precinct's inner network. He found the contacts for the personnel and made a connection with the archivist. He asked for a copy of what they had on their missing persons and a copy of the file on Kassur Ferros, the guy people wouldn’t shut up about. Then he yawned and climbed under the blankets.

He got up about one hour later to a loud ping on his terminal.

[Going down to grab some snacks. We got a hold on the Vermilion's owner and staff. Heading there in 30].

[Any leads on the cameras?] He asked.

While waiting for a reply he saw another message for the archivist. Saying she got the files ready and asking where to drop them. He sent a message that he would pick them up shortly at the archive.

[Some warrants are in motion. Few asked to see forms, and the pharmacy’s owner is friendly. Most of the people said you just need to swing by and that is it].

He smiled and got up. Another ping.

[Bianca’s upstairs — rapid DNA spinning, said she got something].

[On my way].

The elephant was still snoring in the corner. Lucky.

The black cat got up and snuck out. Gym is almost empty, most people still in action. Ruld and Muldoon were hyping each other. Ruld was doing a squat. White training shirt was almost transparent with sweat.

“Guys, have to go to 4th floor to see what's up with Bianca.”

“Need help?” Muldoon asked, dropping the dumbbells back to the rack. He had a towel around his neck and used to clear off some sweat.

“Nah. Just get ready. We are heading off to Vermilion and then getting last night's footage from the cameras we tagged yesterday.”

=================================

Morty took the stairs to Four, ears ticking to the lab compressors’ steady hum. The door was propped with a rubber wedge; Vallerie had changed to a full DAIR get up she probably stole from one of the gym clothing lockers. Bianca had put on a proper lab coat and had her hair in a messy bun.

“Good timing,” Bianca said, tapping a monitor. “Rapid panels are in. So, yeah. arm is male, adolescent-to-young adult — markers put him roughly 16–20.”

Val slid a print toward him. “Under the claws there were some skin cells. Perhaps from the predator.”

Bianca grabbed his hand and pulled him to the side of the lab. To the big morgue doors.

The cold exhaled, making a thick white fog as soon as the doors were opened. Stainless doors lined the wall in a grid, each with a recessed handle and a grease-pencil notation that would wipe away with one careless sleeve. Bianca pressed a latch; it popped with a damp little sigh. Metal moaned on rollers as she drew the tray out, the rails clicking softly in their stops.

Inside: white sheet, labeled corner, evidence tags already clipped. Frost-sheen clung to the steel lip and bloomed under the room’s light. Bianca’s movements were practiced and unhurried —glove check, mask snug, pen tucked behind her ear. She folded the sheet back just enough. The arm lay there in a clear forensic sleeve, zip line blue, a barcoded tag hanging from the wrist cuff. Even through plastic, the fur had that silent look that could work on a stuffed toy, not on a person anymore, something that would never be warm again. The PAID stamp with the big Vermilion’s rose glimmered under the overheads.

She angled a task lamp in, light pooling clean and flat.

“Here,” Bianca murmured, more to the record than to you. She pointed — dragging Morty’s eyes from the bit of humerus sticking out with the bite mark showing. The descending air flow made him only able to smell the lab chemicals and cleaning agents. Morty’s green eyes reflected the lamp as he leaned in, and Bianca set the tray brake with her thumb — a small, respectful habit — before she touched anything at all.

“Can you see how the little and ring fingers have the claws perfectly manicured and polished? When we move to the middle, index and thumb, they are broken at the tip. So we decided to dig and bingo, we got out horse DNA.

Morty nodded once, filing away the information for later. “And you're sure he isn’t one of the pool contributors?”

“Still four,” Bianca said. “I double checked”

“Which makes this horse a fifth person at the scene,” Morty said.

“The arm owner’s blood is the minority fraction on that pool. The rest is a mess. By the way, guard-hair cross-section and undercoat density fit canis — large-breed husky/wolf-dog lane. XY, can’t pinpoint out the Z one yet, but he was a large canid. When you go to the club, check the cameras.” She scratched her head and slammed the tray back inside, closing the door to keep the arm preserved.

“And this?” He lifted the papers Val handed him.

“Huh?” Ah, sure!” She points to a second chart, color bars overlapping. “The other blood in the pool splits three ways. One profile does read as feline, we see it is a female, the Z chromossome needs more time, but I can tell her was from the small feline family.” She moved her finger to another part on the paper, “second one reads ungulate — hoofed, maybe some sort of bovine without cleaner DNA, male, but, no, not the same as the cells under the claws, bovine, that much I’m sure — and the third is human, Znull, male too. All three are too mixed to get a range of ages yet. Could be bystanders, could be assailants. If I can isolate thicker edge swabs I might resolve two of them by noon.”

“Yes, maybe our Horse met them on the Vermilion, but as you said, it could have been something random, and these people were really unlucky as they left the club.”

“You do like to do your movie sessions, so you can go over their cameras,” Val said, holding a yawn. “Anyway, the owner and staff are awake and very motivated by the word ‘warrant.’ I’ll get myself some food. You swing past Records for the packets you asked for. Ruld and Muldoon meet us at the garage.”

“I can walk you down the archives,” Bianca said hurriedly.

Morty was about to say that it wasn’t needed. But he traced her posture, nervous smile. She wanted to chat, away from Val.

“Sure. Lead away.”

Shedding off her lab coat, she marched out of the room. Morty followed just behind.

They started to walk down the stairs. Bianca was chewing on her lower lip. Eyes darting right and left. Trying desperately to find words.

“You know, there aren’t that many stairs. Sure, we can slow down a bit, but you still need to spit out what you want to ask me”

She would have bristled if she was a cat. “That obvious?”

“Topic no. But that you want to talk about something, yes.”

Bianca shifted her weight a bit.

“Hey—uh—what’s Ruld’s deal?” A beat, then she filled the air before Morty could answer. “I mean schedule-wise. He seems… steady. And very tall.” She smiled, quick and embarrassed. “Listen, I’ve been elbows-deep in blood all week; and he looked so calm and ready at the field, like a mountain witha badge. Is he… seeing anyone? Or going to be offended if I invite him out?”

Morty tilted his head. His pupils large, scanning her, and Bianca felt like she was being weighed.

"He’s a nice guy. But he is gay.”

“Oh that’s bad…”

“I beg you pardon?” Morty's eyes didn’t feel like a scalpel analyzing a specimen. They felt like a dagger poking and starting to scratch.

She stammered and moved his hands.

“No! Nonononono, NO! I was interested. Just sad that it’s a lost match for me. Thanks for the save — spares me the world’s most awkward coffee bribe.” A beat. Morty nodded. “What about the wolf — Muldoon? Is he married to those biceps or just proud of them?”

Morty huffed, “Too hard to find someone to warm your bed outside of the precinct that you got to try to get your meat from inside of it?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. I work so much that sometimes it feels good to make sure that there are no cobwebs growing. You know, take the girl for a good tumble.”

“Can’t blame you for that. Muldoon is straight. But he is married. And does not strike me as someone that would jump fence just to graze on neighboring pastures.”

“Loyalty is important. How about you?”

“Really, inviting me out? As a third option, how flattering.”

“I was just making more conversation now. But hey, fun is fun.”

“Right… I am gay too.”

The technician nodded and then smiled conspiratorially. “You and Ruld ever…”

Morty sighed and deflated. “No. He is interested and showing all the signs. He invited me to a date once and keeps trying to make a move.... For a while. But whenever I reciprocate, he chickens out. Just let it be. I think he is afraid to actually try."

Bianca remained quiet as they climbed down the stairs. “Then don’t chase him. Let him keep his courage in the small things. When he doesn’t chicken out, make it easy to stay. Not obvious, just… leave the door cracked.”

“You do realize you met the guy yesterday, right? I’ve known him for about two years and he has been doing this weird dance for the last 6 months.”

Bianca raised a palm in surrender, smile crooked. “Fair — habit of giving advice no one asked for. Occupational hazard of spending all day telling bones what they meant to do.” They had gotten down to the second floor and she tapped a door with a sign saying ARCHIVE. “You read people; I read splatter. I’ll stay in my lane.”

“Thanks. It is a weird situation. I will admit. But I agree with your feeling that it’s nice to have a… how did you put it? It would be good to have a good tumble now and again.”

“What is stopping you?”

“I can’t force him to…”

“What is stopping you to look elsewhere?” She cut him. “You two are not dating. Or even hooking up. And for fuck sake, there’s people that I know that are probably being killed tonight. So live your life while you still can!”

Morty stared at her and saw a spark of defiance and some anger on her gaze. She flashed an impish grim.

“I think I like you.”

“Good. Now, I will ring someone to keep my samples running and will tag along you guys in case you need any forensics on the field.” She turned and darted up the stairs.

Morty was a black cat anthro, and his short fur fluffed as he was jolted awake.

He looked around, blinking groggily until he registered the blaring of the terminal and then pawed across the floor until his fingers found the old thing, thumbing the answer key. On the other end, a muddle of voices greeted him. Someone shouting orders, a far-off siren wailing under it all.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Val said finally.

“Oh no, not at all. It’s only 3:15 a.m. Why’d I be asleep?” Morty sat up, searching blindly for his boots.

“Shut up. You like this kind of crap.”

“I’m not into scat, Val. That’s your thing.”

Val groaned. “Can you stop calling my husband a piece of shit?”

“Is he paying me back for the book he spilled coffee on?”

Silence for a few seconds.

“Take that as a no,” he said, settling back on the folded blanket on the floor he was using instead of his bed. In the glow of a desk lamp, Morty took in the chaos of his room. The bed was still buried in open volumes flagged with paper tabs, and next to those there were boxes full to bursting with old cases he was perusing.

“Fucking hell — who leaves a two-hundred-year-old book just lying there?” Val exhaled. “Anyway. Back to the topic. We’re investigating a possible devouring crime. Or… we think.”

Morty froze. “You think?”

“A couple of hours ago. Neighbors heard yelling. An old lady checked and found an arm — bite marks where it was severed, just below the shoulder.”

“That’s off. Preds don’t leave pieces behind. Even when they… decide to eat by parts, nothing remains but blood. Unless they want to make a statement. Is it the proper arm, or just bones?"

“We know the basics. I wouldn’t call if it was just bones.” Paper rustled on Val’s end. “Can you get here? Eastern borough, corner of Louise and Walnut.”

Morty gave a low whistle. “Fine. I’ll ping a shuttle. Probably an hour to get there. But why isn’t the local precinct handling it? Not our jurisdiction.”

“They’re tied up with a drug scene — traditional bloodbath, just… bigger.” Morty sensed some hesitation there. Was she hiding something? “And don’t waste money on a shuttle. Two of our guys are already rolling past you. They’ll pick you up.”

“You called them before me, didn’t you?” A car horn honked outside his window as if on cue.

“Are you seriously going to pretend you wouldn’t come?” Val asked.

Morty snorted. Fair. “Point taken,” he said. “See you soon.”

He pulled on his boots, ran a hand through dark, too-long hair, and put on a shirt and his coat. He had a swimmer’s build on his 5-foot-10 frame, and even though he had a very tired expression, his gaze grew sharp as a scalpel, double-checking if all his field gear was in the inner pockets, then he opened the door and stepped outside, waving to the patrol car.

=================================

Two enforcers were sitting on the front seats of the waiting cruiser. The hood had the big logo of a shield with DAIR’s full name, Division for Aggressive Incident Response, in vibrant red letters.

Morty didn’t know the driver, a smaller agent, not a pred, muscular, but a regular-sized anthro wolf. And Ruld, a very capable rhino, pushing 8 foot 10, no doubt whether he had the V-gene or not. The rhino waved at him from the window.

“Agent Mortimer, glad to work with you again,” he said with a bright grin, stepping outside and opening the door for him. He was massive, yet not the biggest officer they had. His powerlifter's body strained the uniform.

The wolf rolled his eyes at his partner, trying to suppress a knowing smirk, then he started the engine.

Both agents were using field armor. Ruld’s wasn’t parade shiny; it was field-used, edges dulled, webbing neat. Kept both clean and ready. Their uniforms bore the subdued sigils of the Enforcer Corps: charcoal-on-teal, nothing to catch the eye until you’re close.

“Nice to see you, Ruld,” he said, giving a light tap to the rhino's side as he boarded the backseat.

Those cruisers always felt so nice for him, plenty of space. The back seat could hold people much bigger than him. After all, a good chunk of the enforcers were preds themselves. The legal kind. The ones that bought livestock on the markets or... that did the “Licensed Consumption" executions. Behind him, the rear bay had anchor points sunk into the floor, a split bench that could fold flat, and a recessed rack carrying polymer cuffs, wide-seat harnesses, and a strong metal grid barrier to separate it from the cabin.

He nodded at the wolf in the driver’s seat. “Not sure I met you…”, he hadn’t. He was a profiler. He did not forget names.

“Muldoon! Muldoon Murdock. Got transferred from Murialta”

“Ah, out of the city? You guys have beaches there, why the fuck did you decide to move into our mess?”

“Wife is from here and was just working there on her master's. She wanted to move back near her family, so I put in for a transfer here. At least Endon hands out better vouchers than the ones I got from our local DAIR.”

Ruld and Mortimer fistbumped at the comment. Then the cat put on his safety belt and the car sped off.

“Before I forget… I printed these at the station for you,” said Ruld, with a rustle of papers on the front and a metallic thunk as his helmet fell between his feet. Then shoving a few folders in Morty’s lap. “

Morty thanked him, going through the pages and looking at the pics of the arm in different angles and close up. A big stamp tattoo of a club, showing a blooming rose and the word PAID. The folder said it was from a nightclub called Vermilion. He propped his old terminal on a thigh — the hinge unfolded with a practiced shhk — and flipped the side keys out from their recesses. No touchscreens here: thumb-rockers for scrolling, a narrow enter bar, and a knurled wheel that zoomed photos in measured steps. The screen glow painted his hands in pale squares. He pulled out a cord and locked it to the data feed from the cruiser, then he input the address where the body part was found and the club. Staring at the distance between the two places on the map.

Outside, the city was washed in sodium vapor and the smear of wet asphalt. Muldoon drove them quietly; tires hissed. Radio traffic murmured in clipped bursts — unit numbers, cross streets, a dispatcher’s steady metronome.

Ruld angled his seat a touch, not enough to loom — just enough to keep Morty in his peripheral. The rhino’s profile was all blunt patience, jaw working on nothing. His gauntlets were off; thick fingers rested near the heater vent.

“Seat warm enough back there?” he asked, casual, eyes forward.

“I’m good,” Morty said, already scrolling. He bought up the case file; grain popped into clarity: a hallway washed in emergency lights, the chalk-line glare of a camera flash, shoe prints ghosted in water, and then the arm — severed point ragged, crescent indentations along deltoid and biceps where teeth met flesh. He toggled to witness statements, the text narrow and utilitarian. The wheel under his thumb ticked. Click. Click. Click.

“Two minutes,” the driver announced.

Morty’s eyes moved — notes, timestamps, a map pane showing the Eastern Borough’s grid. He flipped the terminal as his thumbs glided across the keys. Zooming into the corner of Louise and Walnut, he scanned past stacked row houses, a service alley that dead-ends into a fenced utility yard, and a camera marked as INOP/MAINT. He marked it with a quick flag. The hinge of the terminal allowed him to fold the screen partway like a book when the car banks left; the display held its angle, letters steady.

The marks and splatter showed a big fight and way too much blood for a single person.

Still only one arm.

They rolled into slower streets. The neighborhood was awake in patches — bodega light, a laundry’s hum, one window with a TV’s flicker. Ahead, blue strobes washed brick and glass with nervous color.

Ruld opened his door and stepped out first — mass carefully placed, boots finding the dry spots without splashing. He circled to the rear, opened Morty’s side, and offered a hand — invitation without insistence. Up close, the rhino’s scent was clean fabric and a hint of eucalyptus oil.

“Watch the curb lip,” he murmured. Then he stepped back, giving room.

Morty closed the terminal to a palm-sized slab, slid it into his jacket, and took to the curb in one stride. The air is colder, metallic, the kind of cold that finds any breach in your clothes and fur and bites your skin.

Plastic tape with phosphorescent light cordoning of the crime scene. And people were trying to grab a peek. Voices on the far side of the line drop as they clock the enforcers arriving. Ruld’s presence did what it always did: part of the night seemed to decide it would behave.

“On you,” the driver said, locking the car with a soft tok. Ruld fell in on Morty’s half-step, not crowding, an easy shadow in armor as they moved toward the spill of light. There were three other cruisers. One had the local tag, but that was just the forensics unit. The other two were from the same precinct he came from. Probably Val’s ride and someone else’s. Muldoon walked there and started chatting with the drivers of those units.

There was a tent in the middle of the sidewalk, protecting the arm from the curious eyes of the tiny gathering of locals. Two women were inside, a human technician and a zebra with a DAIR’s coat. The Technician was packing some crates while the zebra barked orders through a terminal.

The human had a yellow slicker. Red hair appeared around the edges of her cap with a wrestling team brand. “I told you, we got everything,” she said to the zebra pacing around. Under the heavy coat, Val was wearing an above-knee dress and heels, her mane was a short mohawk on top, and as it went down her neck she had left it grow and braided it.

“So you call me and now want to dismiss the circus as I get here? Rude.” Morty commented

The zebra turned to him and gave a tired smile. “Not my call. We got our info, or what we could so far. We are moving it to the local precinct, where they are going to run some tests to try to narrow down who might be the victim. Bianca, this is Mortimer, and that one is Ruld. Ruld, Morty — this is Bianca. She’s the pain in my ass.”

“Careful, Val. I thought Ruppert already had tenure in that position.”

Bianca snorted, “I’ll settle for deputy.”

“Focus.” Said Val, rubbing her temple

Morty raised his hands in surrender and winked at the technician, crouching down next to her.

“I won’t make you open the crates to show it to me. I can have a look at the station. What can you tell me that I couldn't see in the picture?”

Bianca was staring at Ruld's big silhouette, and Morty had to repeat himself. She hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Well, you can see the amount of blood here, right? I can’t make a proper test to find out the races of the anthros involved, or the race of the specific person to which the arm belonged. We think some sort of canid, based on fur and joints. But, hey, I saw some big cats”.

Morty stared at her for a long, pregnant second, watching her squirm.

“What?” she finally asked

He raised his hand with the index finger pointing up. Slowly, he flexed it, making the claw pop out and then back in. She slapped her forehead.

“Fuck me! Right, right. Felines have retractable claws. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell that to my overseer. First week.”

“Well, you’ll catch it next time. Anything about the blood?”

“Huh? Ah, yes! Firstly, we thought there should have been two fatal victims. probably the owner of the arm and someone else. Maybe a hard vore case.”

“The problem is that it takes too much time. If you have one of these psychos lurking around, it takes almost an hour to finish a meal, and the report said that a witness heard the yell and came to check fast.

“I was getting there. Can you see a tiny nick at the humerus of the arm, and then a big chomp? So it was cut off and then bitten. Also, we can at least match the blood, and there is a very small amount in the pool that belongs to the victim. The rest belongs to at least 3 other people.

Morty's eyes bulged as he looked around.

It had rained after the photos he saw were taken, but the massive pool of blood around the chalk drawing of the arm was still there. Four people, the arm owner and other three…

“Val, are we dealing with a pack of preds? Or is there a really massive one in the region that I wasn’t aware of?”

The zebra sighed and got closer, looking tired. “We don’t know if this is a rogue pack. But… ever heard about this guy called Varro?”

Morty and the technician winced. An audible click could be heard as Ruld unlocked his gun holster. As if he expected the infamous predator to appear.

“Big moose. That Varro?”

“Yes, he’s in town. That’s what’s keeping the other people in the borough busy. If that wasn’t the case, I’d think about him. But he is north of here, on a territory fight.”

Ruld took a step forward. “Are you mad? Why didn’t you fucking lead with that? That guy’s a fucking monster. You need to put a warning for the civilians to hide. And we need more ammo.” He started to check his gear in a foul mood.

“This could be him,” Morty said, looking around.

“No. Most of the agents are near the old industrial district. It was meant to be a minor operation, but apparently the moose was in town and things escalated. The borough then had to send most of its operatives.”

Morty stared at her. His pupils contracting to vertical slits with his intent.

“Val… he kills everyone… Who you got there?”

“Agent Mortimer…” She was serious. “We have most of our men there, doing their part. Now, we also have this case to investigate. We came here to do our part. So, please.”

Morty nodded.

“Ok, if people are in combat with that guy and this is not his work… It means that either we got someone else on that scale, or a pack acting together. Fuck!”

“Yes, at least we have their resources to work with, so I’m heading out ahead with Bianca to try to get this guy identified and maybe the other victims if their DNA is in the system.”

“I can go with them, in case they’ve got more questions”, Bianca said, eyes glued to Ruld. She had gotten more interested when the rhino started going over his equipment.

The rhino noticed, rubbing the back of his head and looking away at the crowd outside; his cheeks turning a deep grey as he blushed.

“Focus”, Val snapped.

=================================

As the tech packed the samples and arm to head out, Morty lingered back a step, pulling his terminal from his jacket. He thumbed in a short message.

[Check in. You two still alive?] — and stared at it longer than needed before hitting send. The cursor blinked against the dark glass. The screen dimmed, waiting for a response. Nothing came back. They are on a case; no one replies instantly. I don’t reply instantly. He tried to rationalize his fears.

His tail lashed once, betraying what his face didn’t. He slipped the terminal away, jaw tight. Friends or not, you never wanted silence when Varro was loose.

“You sure about staying?” Val asked as she was about to climb on the cruiser that brought her here.

“Yeah, yeah. The woman who heard the initial commotion and phoned DAIR is still there, so I’ll ask some pointed questions." Then he gestured to the big crowd. "Might be nothing, but worth trying to see if someone else has anything to say. I will be useless at the precinct for now.”

The zebra nodded. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“You look shaken.”

“I have good friends in this borough. And they are probably there, fighting this creep.” Morty replied, glancing at his terminal, as if willing it to get a reply.

“I see..”

“Don’t need to worry about me. Léo’s the biggest fucker this region has on the corps. He can handle it. I think,” he said.

They exchanged a few more words, and Morty was left with Ruld and Muldoon.

They started taking statements. Or Morty started interviewing and the other two were organizing it; making sure people didn’t overcrowd or talk above each other. When the last person had been heard, Morty and Ruld took a stroll around the streets. A few blocks in all directions. They saw some cameras and took notes to request the footage the next day. Then they went back to the location, deserted now, safe for Muldoon leaning against the cruiser and having a cigarette.

They boarded the vehicle and started to make a slow trip from there to the Vermilion nightclub, where the stamp came from. Trying to spot any possible surveillance. Morty kept tagging on his Terminal as he noticed a few more.

“Anything useful so far?” Muldoon asked, sounding bored.

“Some of the locals kept dropping the same name. This pred that they are suuuuuure is the responsible.”

“What do you think?”

“Maybe. But not alone. Made a quick search on files, he’s clean. Or as clean as you can be when you messed up badly in your teen years. Though it sounded more prejudiced than anything else. I will pay the guy a visit when daylight breaks. If I don't get any leads.”

The nightclub was already closed. But they had all the info of the owner, and Val said she would get a judge's order to go into his house, get the info, and examine the place. At this time, the guy wasn’t picking up his terminal. And Morty couldn’t blame him. He was experimenting with tiredness that makes your body feel light and heavy at the same time, and the world a bit too bright, even at nighttime.

“I didn’t ask, were you guys starting your shift or ending when this call came?”

“Just starting,” Ruld seemed sad

“No overtime,” grumbled Muldoon.

Morty yawned and stretched on the back seat, marking all the cameras and the angles around the club. “Tell you what. You drive around a few blocks so we are sure we know the lay of the land better, and then I buy us some breakfast”, he finally said.

Rhino and wolf celebrated.

=================================

The diner near the precinct had the decency to smell like bacon and muffins when they got in and Ruld stroked his ample midsection with one hand. Neon buzzed in the window: OPEN 24. The O had been dead for a few years, so it read PEN 24. Nowadays, people only call it Pen’s.

Morty slid into a booth with his back to the wall, green eyes reflecting the jukebox’s dead chrome. Ruld eased onto the bench next to him — careful with the metal brace under the table — while Muldoon took the seat in front of them, sitting sideways, one knee out.

A waitress with a pencil behind her ear materialized with three mugs. “You look like the kind that won’t say no,” she said, pouring coffee without waiting for an answer.

“Bless you, Mags,” Muldoon murmured after stealing a look at her name tag, already clawing for sugar packets.

Morty set his terminal on the vinyl. There was a port for customers, so he just connected in, the map pane opening to a grayscale grid — Louise, Walnut, the run toward Vermilion. Every camera he’d tagged glowed like moth eyes.

“Order?” Mags asked, pen poised.

“Hashbrows. Been some years, but I remember they were great,” Morty said.

“Pancake stack,” Ruld said. Morty deadpanned and nudged his stomach with an elbow, “Two, stacks.”

Muldoon didn’t look up. “Bacon. Whatever amount makes my doctor sad.”

Mags flicked a smile. “Got a precinct discount for terrible choices.”

When she was gone, they took on the hush of people who had burned the top layer off their hearing with sirens. Outside, a cruiser rolled by slowly, and more cars were starting to fill the street; inside, the smell of bacon got stronger as the grill worked.

With practiced gestures, Mortimer used one hand to tag all the points of interest and sent them to Val so she could procure subpoenas in case the owner of the camera wasn’t forthcoming with those files. He sipped his coffee, staring bleary-eyed at the screen, double-checking if he missed anything. He was exhausted; he’d gone to bed not even 2 hours before he got that call. Today was meant to be an off day.

“Why don’t you change that thing? It looks like an older model. Ancient even. So bulky.” Asked Muldoon. As if to make his point, he splayed his terminal on the table. A bit thinner and shinier. It unfolded wider to allow bigger keys.

Morty shrugged. “It was a pain in the ass to add Kevlar and reinforcement to this one already. So it will take some time before I want to drop that kind of money on another one. Plus, this one works.”

They ate when the plates landed. Ruld emptied half the syrup bottle and proceeded to wolf down the first pile as if he’d been a starving prisoner. He blushed and offered a bite before diving right back at it. Mags drifted back to the top off mugs. “You boys want me to keep the refills coming or you want your hearts to make it to morning?”

“Keep it coming,” Muldoon said.

When she left, Morty tapped the terminal wheel, backing up to the photos of the crime scene. Trying to force himself to find something new. “We’ll walk it at dawn. I want eyes on the shop fronts before they roll up their shutters. I don’t trust night to tell me the same story twice.”

Muldoon crushed a napkin in his fist, then smoothed it back out like a man trying to unfurl a map. “You mentioned locals were buzzing with the name of a jackal. Do you really think it is worth the visit?”

“Probably. I'd rather check his profile at the local station first, so I get an idea of where I’m getting myself into.”

“Mr. Kassur Ferros,” Muldoon says, as if chewing the syllables of the name. “You want backup for that hello?”

“I’ll answer that after I read his file.”

The wolf nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “When I was talking to the other drivers. They said the rest of this region’s enforcers were involved with Varro’s trouble. There! They seemed twitchy, and you two just blanched. That's a tell I should know?”

“Varro’s a storm. Actually, I’m surprised you never heard of him. Has been causing a lot of trouble in the city-states. Keeps moving around.”

“He is Alpha-sized.” Ruld murmured, and for the first time, he looked small.

“Whenever he pops up lots of people end up dead. More on the drug cartel end zone of the demographics. But you know… alpha body means alpha eating habits,” Morty said with a haunted expression. “I tried researching a little, but it was never assigned to me specifically. And never made much sense. Hope the guys find and take him down,” he closed the terminal halfway.

Muldon could see Morty’s other paw grabbing the corner of the table, claws out, digging into the vinyl and down on the wood. Fur on his neck was bristling a bit.

“They are going to be ok. I met those two. I would honestly worry how much Varro is going to get his ass kicked if they find him,” Ruld said, patting the cat’s shoulder.

Morty relaxed. But his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He hated that Ruld and the new guy could see it.

He wasn’t scared of Varro — not exactly. He was scared of what silence meant.

Years ago, when he’d been green and too bold for his own good, he’d gone chasing a case he had no business touching. Léo had been the one who pulled him out of the alley alive, roaring at him angry and worried. Juno patched him up and kept him conscious until the lion rode them to a hospital. Later, Léo didn’t rest until Morty learned how to throw punches, duck and run when needed. Juno taught him when to do one and the other. They hadn’t just saved his life — they’d taught him how to survive this job, bridging the gap from academia to the streets.

That kind of debt doesn’t go away.

As they were finishing, Mags reappeared with a small to-go bag.

“For the road,” she said, setting it on the table. “Rolls. I don’t like watching cats and dogs starve, and both of you need to grow big and strong like this one here”. She gestured to Ruld.

“You'd better leave that lady a good tip,” Muldoon mentioned after she left. He sniffed the bag, and there were a few tumps as his tail wagged against the upholstery of the booth.

“Done,” Morty said, tucking bills under the salt.

They stood. Outside, the air had gone from wet to merely damp, the city in that brief hour where even Endon pretends to be tired.

“Walk the block to the station, then crash,” Morty said.

Muldoon yawned so wide his jaw clicked. “Sure. I will pick up the car and park there. Hope they have a gym so I can squeeze in some training until it’s time for the interviews.”

“Make sure to shower after. I don’t want to spend a day in the cruiser with the smell of swamp ass and balls.”

“Why’d we…” he saw that Ruld was blushing so hard his hide almost changed colour. “..., don’t worry.”

=================================

“Did you get a reply?” Ruld asked as they watched the cruiser speed ahead.

“Juno sent the word ‘busy’.” Morty’s frown grew a bit softer. “Understatement of the year.”

“Tell me about it. We came with standard gear. I will see if I can pack some of the bigger toys from the precinct in the car. You know. Just in case.” He winked

“A big man with big toys. I do love how that sounds,” Morty said with a huskier voice, making a grabbing gesture with his hand.

Ruld stumbled. Mouth half open, lost for words. His eyes grew big as dinner plates. He felt like a beast at a crossroads, wondering if he smelled a feast or a trap. “I…” a brief silence followed as he looked down as if trying to pick his next words from the ground.

“Mortimer…”

“Ruld?”

He let out a big laugh and slammed a closed fist against his chest. It sounded like a drum. “Don’t worry, this big guy here will protect you, and this Varro threat will fall under the Central Borough authority,” he started laughing, raising his face, until he was almost looking straight up.

Morty sighed and flashed a tired smile. “Central for the win.”

“Central for the win!” Ruld basically roared, putting more strength into his steps, forcing Morty to almost jog to keep pace.

Steam from the occasional manhole ghosted Ruld’s shins. Endon was in its gray hour. Delivery vans idling, bus brakes made their distinctive hissing noise. They passed a shuttered pawn shop and a pharmacy window already humming to life. Ahead, the precinct loomed in the pale morning haze, a blocky complex of reinforced concrete and tinted glass tucked between aging apartment buildings and a half-renovated warehouse. From the outside, it looked like a boxy afterthought of a building, but it had presence

“Y’know,” Ruld started, looking up at the building’s facade as they neared, “I thought the precinct would be… grimmer.”

Morty grunted. “You’ll change your mind once you hit the holding level.”

The cat had his badge out and ready before the last crosswalk. Because Ruld was on his combat/riot gear, the badge was locked on his chest plate; Morty had been here before, so he was familiar with the layout. Still, the ground floor hit differently from their home base. Where theirs was wide and low, this lobby was tall enough to swallow voices. A well-worn reception area split between two paths: Regular Crimes to the left, and Aggressive Crimes impact to the Right. Impact glass separated a few receptionists from the people they were speaking to. Further ahead there was a heavy gate, reinforced with vertical bolts, guarded access to the elevators that kept the public and non-public areas of the precinct separated latter.

Close to the Regular Crimes Lobby set a food kiosk and rows of chairs, all filled. The situation was bad. Three TV screens were set on different channels. No sound, just subtitles. And then a big glowing missing-persons board. ‘Better check those ones too’, Morty thought. On the opposite side, two fully plated enforcers were nodding while interviewing a haunted-looking man.

“They keep Regular and Agressive/Pred crimes on the same floor here?” Ruld asked, sounding more like himself and less forced.

“Yes. Even though those enforcers and you are here to help these citizens, you can see the folks on the waiting chairs squirming as they look at you and those enforcers.” He saw the disappointed expression on the rhino’s face, then added. “I know the good you do. At the end of the day, that’s what matters.”

They marched to the elevators. The lion guarding those raised an eyebrow, and Morty flashed his badge.

“Central borough?” he asked. Morty nodded, and then he chuckled. “That agent Vallerie who came here earlier is a piece of work.”

The three shared a smirk while waiting for one of the elevators to arrive. They make it all the way to the third floor. Cafeteria steam, gym iron, and sweat smell greeted them as soon as the door opened. It was a large corridor. The signs on the wall pointed right to the agents' cafeteria and right to sleeping space, lockers, and the gym.

Ruld took one step to the right. Morty grabbed his gear harness and pulled him to the left. There was a curve, and they could now hear the sounds of people working out and muffled conversation. Muldoon was on a bench in the corridor, playing on his terminal. The wolf had changed into workout clothing. Tank top, shorts. And even though he wasn’t a pred, he was jacked. It wasn’t all plate bulk before.

“Their gym is amazing.”

“And we lost the new guy.” Morty joked.

“Nah. Again, the wife wants to stay near her parents. So I’ll remain on Central. But they have good equipment here. Well… not so many showers.”

“Back home, the gym and lockers are on the first floor, and showers too, so if you come from a mission covered in gore, you can shower there before going into the building properly. Here, there was a space near the parking lot on sublevel 1 for that. Didn’t you see it?”

The wolf shrugged. And then got up and bumped his fist on Ruld’s shoulder.

“Go change. There is spare workout clothing in the lockers. Let's spar a little”

Morty stared at the wolf. Muldoon was a big non-predator guy, 6 foot 3. Ruld towered bover oth of them. And yet Muldoon was confident, eager even. Ruld too.

“If you guys are going to throw punches at each other, don’t use stimulants. The crash later is really bad.”

“He is a tough bastard,” laughed Ruld.

“Damn right I am. Going to judo-toss your ass on the floor again. Wanna watch?” he asked Morty.

“I’d. But I’m almost crashing myself. You guys have fun. If something comes up, I’ll be in the dorms.”

With that said, he left both doing banter and marched to the dorms. This is what he didn’t like about the Eastern Precinct. Back home, they had several smaller rooms with a bunk bed each. More so, teams could grab a nap together. Here, it was a single room with rows of bunk beds. He found one empty, cursing mentally the elephant snoring at the other end of the room.

Morty hung his coat on the nook next to the bunk. pulling out his terminal and connecting it to a data socket near the bed. a few quick messages telling Val they arrived, and where she could find him and the guys. Then he grabbed his badge, unfolded the key, and locked it into the terminal. It flashed a little while doing a handshake with the precinct's inner network. He found the contacts for the personnel and made a connection with the archivist. He asked for a copy of what they had on their missing persons and a copy of the file on Kassur Ferros, the guy people wouldn’t shut up about. Then he yawned and climbed under the blankets.

He got up about one hour later to a loud ping on his terminal.

[Going down to grab some snacks. We got a hold on the Vermilion's owner and staff. Heading there in 30].

[Any leads on the cameras?] He asked.

While waiting for a reply, he saw another message for the archivist. Saying she got the files ready and asking where to drop them. He sent a message that he would pick them up shortly at the archive.

[Some warrants are in motion. Few asked to see forms, and the pharmacy’s owner is friendly. Most of the people said you just need to swing by and that is it].

He smiled and got up. Another ping.

[Bianca’s upstairs — rapid DNA spinning, said she got something].

[On my way].

The elephant was still snoring in the corner. Lucky.

The black cat got up and snuck out. Gym is almost empty, most people still in action. Ruld and Muldoon were hyping each other. Ruld was doing a squat. White training shirt was almost transparent with sweat.

“Guys, have to go to 4th floor to see what's up with Bianca.”

“Need help?” Muldoon asked, dropping the dumbbells back to the rack. He had a towel around his neck and used to clear off some sweat.

“Nah. Just get ready. We are heading off to Vermilion and then getting last night's footage from the cameras we tagged yesterday.”

=================================

Morty took the stairs to Four, ears ticking to the lab compressors’ steady hum. The door was propped with a rubber wedge; Vallerie had changed to a full DAIR get up she probably stole from one of the gym clothing lockers. Bianca had put on a proper lab coat and had her hair in a messy bun.

“Good timing,” Bianca said, tapping a monitor. “Rapid panels are in. So, yeah. arm is male, adolescent-to-young adult — markers put him roughly 16–20.”

Val slid a print toward him. “Under the claws there were some skin cells. Perhaps from the predator.”

Bianca grabbed his hand and pulled him to the side of the lab. To the big morgue doors.

The cold exhaled, making a thick white fog as soon as the doors were opened. Stainless doors lined the wall in a grid, each with a recessed handle and a grease-pencil notation that would wipe away with one careless sleeve. Bianca pressed a latch; it popped with a damp little sigh. Metal moaned on rollers as she drew the tray out, the rails clicking softly in their stops.

Inside: white sheet, labeled corner, evidence tags already clipped. Frost-sheen clung to the steel lip and bloomed under the room’s light. Bianca’s movements were practiced and unhurried —glove check, mask snug, pen tucked behind her ear. She folded the sheet back just enough. The arm lay there in a clear forensic sleeve, zip line blue, a barcoded tag hanging from the wrist cuff. Even through plastic, the fur had that silent look that could work on a stuffed toy, not on a person anymore, something that would never be warm again. The PAID stamp with the big Vermilion’s rose glimmered under the overheads.

She angled a task lamp in, light pooling clean and flat.

“Here,” Bianca murmured, more to the record than to you. She pointed — dragging Morty’s eyes from the bit of humerus sticking out with the bite mark showing. The descending air flow made him only able to smell the lab chemicals and cleaning agents. Morty’s green eyes reflected the lamp as he leaned in, and Bianca set the tray brake with her thumb — a small, respectful habit — before she touched anything at all.

“Can you see how the little and ring fingers have the claws perfectly manicured and polished? When we move to the middle, index and thumb, they are broken at the tip. So we decided to dig and bingo, we got out horse DNA.

Morty nodded once, filing away the information for later. “And you're sure he isn’t one of the pool contributors?”

“Still four,” Bianca said. “I double checked”

“Which makes this horse a fifth person at the scene,” Morty said.

“The arm owner’s blood is the minority fraction on that pool. The rest is a mess. By the way, guard-hair cross-section and undercoat density fit canis — large-breed husky/wolf-dog lane. XY, can’t pinpoint out the Z one yet, but he was a large canid. When you go to the club, check the cameras.” She scratched her head and slammed the tray back inside, closing the door to keep the arm preserved.

“And this?” He lifted the papers Val handed him.

“Huh?” Ah, sure!” She points to a second chart, color bars overlapping. “The other blood in the pool splits three ways. One profile does read as feline, we see it is a female, the Z chromossome needs more time, but I can tell her was from the small feline family.” She moved her finger to another part on the paper, “second one reads ungulate — hoofed, maybe some sort of bovine without cleaner DNA, male, but, no, not the same as the cells under the claws, bovine, that much I’m sure — and the third is human, Znull, male too. All three are too mixed to get a range of ages yet. Could be bystanders, could be assailants. If I can isolate thicker edge swabs I might resolve two of them by noon.”

“Yes, maybe our Horse met them on the Vermilion, but as you said, it could have been something random, and these people were really unlucky as they left the club.”

“You do like to do your movie sessions, so you can go over their cameras,” Val said, holding a yawn. “Anyway, the owner and staff are awake and very motivated by the word ‘warrant.’ I’ll get myself some food. You swing past Records for the packets you asked for. Ruld and Muldoon meet us at the garage.”

“I can walk you down the archives,” Bianca said hurriedly.

Morty was about to say that it wasn’t needed. But he traced her posture, nervous smile. She wanted to chat, away from Val.

“Sure. Lead away.”

Shedding off her lab coat, she marched out of the room. Morty followed just behind.

They started to walk down the stairs. Bianca was chewing on her lower lip. Eyes darting right and left. Trying desperately to find words.

“You know, there aren’t that many stairs. Sure, we can slow down a bit, but you still need to spit out what you want to ask me”

She would have bristled if she was a cat. “That obvious?”

“Topic no. But that you want to talk about something, yes.”

Bianca shifted her weight a bit.

“Hey—uh—what’s Ruld’s deal?” A beat, then she filled the air before Morty could answer. “I mean schedule-wise. He seems… steady. And very tall.” She smiled, quick and embarrassed. “Listen, I’ve been elbows-deep in blood all week; and he looked so calm and ready at the field, like a mountain witha badge. Is he… seeing anyone? Or going to be offended if I invite him out?”

Morty tilted his head. His pupils were large, scanning her, and Bianca felt like she was being weighed.

"He’s a nice guy. But he is gay.”

“Oh that’s bad…”

“I beg you pardon?” Morty's eyes didn’t feel like a scalpel analyzing a specimen. They felt like a dagger poking and starting to scratch.

She stammered and moved his hands.

“No! Nonononono, NO! I was interested. Just sad that it’s a lost match for me. Thanks for the save — spares me the world’s most awkward coffee bribe.” A beat. Morty nodded. “What about the wolf — Muldoon? Is he married to those biceps or just proud of them?”

Morty huffed, “Too hard to find someone to warm your bed outside of the precinct that you got to try to get your meat from inside of it?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. I work so much that sometimes it feels good to make sure that there are no cobwebs growing. You know, take the girl for a good tumble.”

“Can’t blame you for that. Muldoon is straight. But he is married. And does not strike me as someone who would jump the fence just to graze on neighboring pastures.”

“Loyalty is important. How about you?”

“Really, inviting me out? As a third option, how flattering.”

“I was just making more conversation now. But hey, fun is fun.”

“Right… I am gay too.”

The technician nodded and then smiled conspiratorially. “You and Ruld ever…”

Morty sighed and deflated. “No. He is interested and showing all the signs. He invited me to a date once and keeps trying to make a move.... For a while. But whenever I reciprocate, he chickens out. Just let it be. I think he is afraid to actually try."

Bianca remained quiet as they climbed down the stairs. “Then don’t chase him. Let him keep his courage in the small things. When he doesn’t chicken out, make it easy to stay. Not obvious, just… leave the door cracked.”

“You do realize you met the guy yesterday, right? I’ve known him for about two years and he has been doing this weird dance for the last 6 months.”

Bianca raised a palm in surrender, smile crooked. “Fair — habit of giving advice no one asked for. Occupational hazard of spending all day telling bones what they meant to do.” They had gotten down to the second floor and she tapped a door with a sign saying ARCHIVE. “You read people; I read splatter. I’ll stay in my lane.”

“Thanks. It is a weird situation. I will admit. But I agree with your feeling that it’s nice to have a… how did you put it? It would be good to have a good tumble now and again.”

“What is stopping you?”

“I can’t force him to…”

“What is stopping you from looking elsewhere?” She cut him. “You two are not dating. Or even hooking up. And for fuck sake, there are people that I know that are probably being killed tonight. So live your life while you still can!”

Morty stared at her and saw a spark of defiance and some anger in her gaze. She flashed an impish grin.

“I think I like you.”

“Good. Now, I will ring someone to keep my samples running and will tag along you guys in case you need any forensics on the field.” She turned and darted up the stairs.

The gym's overheads buzzed soft against the early morning quiet. Foam mats lay squared under rows of hanging bags and resistance rigs. One wall mirrored; the other lined with lockers and an ancient stereo patched into someone's terminal. Low-volume synth-hop pulsed through a scuffed speaker. Two female officers were running on treadmills and just gave Ruld and Muldoon a nod when they got in.

The mats in the gym were soft with wear, squared off in faded blue and gray. Ruld paced the edge of the mat, barefoot, armored only in gym shorts and a tank top that strained against his bulk. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. Across from him, Muldoon was bouncing on the balls of his feet, leaner, looser, a predator’s grin on a non-pred’s face. Both of them were already sweating, tank top dark at the collar, mouth grinning like he knew something.

“Come on, big guy. You said you wanted to burn off stress.” They had done a quick workout to warm up and had been trading blows for a while now.

Ruld snorted. “You’re barely bigger than my leg.”

“Yeah,” Muldoon said, raising his arms into guard, “but I’m faster, and you’re distracted.”

The rhino huffed and then charged low, a feint — Muldoon ducked, pivoted, tried to catch him on the flank, but Ruld hooked an arm and spun him into the mat with a crash that made one of the lockers rattle. Muldoon let out a bark of laughter, legs kicking up behind him.

“Okay,” the wolf wheezed, “maybe a bit more focused than I thought.”

Ruld offered him a hand, but Muldoon stayed on the floor a second longer, eyeing the big enforcer’s face.

“You didn’t flinch taking down that guy covered in blood and holding a gun — but Morty talks, and you twitch. You gotta get that head right.”

Ruld froze. Then crouched, stretched his left leg, and grabbed his foot, elongating his back, like it gave him something to do.

“You’re still doing that thing,” the wolf teased.

“What thing?”

Muldoon raised an eyebrow. “The thing where you play bodyguard with your crush and then panic when it might go somewhere.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“Uh-huh. You were practically dancing in your seat when we went to pick him up at his house earlier, and then dropped your helmet trying to give the folders you printed to impress.”

Ruld sighed, pulling his towel from the bench and scrubbing his face. “He knows, Muldoon.”

“Of course he knows. Everyone with half a nose can smell it on you.” Muldoon grinned. “I knew back when you were talking about this profiler that was soooo amazing…” the wolf made his best impression of Ruld, with his low and deep voice. “What I don’t get is why you’re still playing keep-away after six months. I’ve known you for like a month, and I’d be tired of this bulshit.”

Ruld put his hands on his waist and stared at him, furrowing his brows

“You sure you want to keep going?” The rhino asked.

Muldoon smirked. “I’ve been wanting to slap some sense into you since you started ogling Morty. Are you going to flake from this fight too?”

The rhino snorted and stepped into a stance. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, definitely… probably when you slam me so hard I feel it in my back. But hey, good training for when facing the evil predators."

They clashed — Ruld went for a shoulder drive, and Muldoon twisted sideways, slipping under the brute force and sending a strike to the side of Ruld’s thigh. It landed, but the rhino barely reacted, swinging a wide arm that Muldoon ducked again.

“You’re getting predictable,” Muldoon said, grunting as he rolled away and came up low. “Stop fighting like you're trying to bulldoze a damn building.”

“Can’t help the body I was built with,” Ruld shot back, sweeping a leg. Muldoon hopped it, grabbed the outstretched arm mid-swing, and turned into it, using Ruld’s own weight to off-balance him. Not a throw — not yet — but a stumble.

Ruld growled.

“See?” Muldoon said, half-laughing. “Big. Strong. Too much hesitation.”

They reset. This time, Ruld slowed. He waited. Let Muldoon come to him.

“So,” Muldoon said between steps. “You going to tell me why you keep bouncing off Morty like he's radioactive? Someone hurt you before him? Did he do something bad?”

Ruld blinked. That flinch again.

Muldoon grinned. “Thought so.”

He charged, fast. Not strength — angle. Ruld blocked the first move, but Muldoon twisted around his center of mass and pivoted, leg hooked behind Ruld’s knee. The rhino stumbled and hit the mat with a thunderous thud.

Flat on his back, Ruld stared at the ceiling.

Muldoon stood over him, panting, grinning, hand outstretched. “And that’s the throw.”

Ruld took it, and Muldoon pulled him to his feet — slow, strained, but he did it. The big man wasn’t light.

They stood there for a moment, sweaty and winded. Ruld was blinking, stunned not by the fall, but by how easy Muldoon made it look.

“That was a clean win,” Ruld admitted.

“You’re strong enough to throw me through a wall,” Muldoon said, grabbing his towel. “But you second-guess yourself. You hold back.”

“I don’t want to hurt someone.”

“Bullshit,” Muldoon said, not unkindly. “You don’t want to lose control. There’s a difference.”

Ruld froze mid-wipe, the towel halfway to his neck.

Muldoon tilted his head. “That's what you’re afraid of, with Morty?”

Ruld didn’t answer.

Muldoon and Ruld had walked off the mat together, and after a quick moment to catch their breath, they moved closer to the mirrored wall and started practicing squats with dumbbells for extra weight. Muldoon started cheering the rhino on when the gym doors squeaked open. Morty slipped in, jacket shrugged half-on, terminal under one arm, eyes still soft from sleep.

“Guys,” he said, voice low and rough, “gotta head up to the 4th floor. Bianca flagged something.”

“Need help?” Muldoon asked, tossing his dumbbells back onto the rack. He had a towel looped around his neck and used it now to wipe his arms.

“Nah. Just get ready. We are heading off to Vermilion and then getting last night's footage from the cameras we tagged yesterday.”

Ruld paused mid-sip from his water bottle. “You sleep at all?”

“Little,” Morty said. His eyes drifted over Ruld and then back to Muldoon, who was already nodding. “Shower and dress up. I will pay for lunch if you guys grab me some coffee or black tea from the cafeteria,” Morty added, half yawning.

Muldoon grinned. “Sure thing, mate.”

Morty cracked the ghost of a smile, then turned and slipped out the door.

The moment hung for a beat.

“You flinched,” Muldoon said.

“Did not.”

“Brother, you visibly recalibrated your posture when he looked at you.”

Ruld groaned. “Shower. Now. Before I crush you.”

“You should be crushing Morty. I think he wouldn’t mind. But ok, shower time. Try not to cry under the water like some tragic romance lead.”

“I’ll try,” Ruld muttered, following him.

=================================

The steam was thick and felt like a warm embrace, a nice contrast to the cold tile. Two adjacent stalls ran hot, water hissing. Ruld stood under one, arms braced against the wall, head down, letting the water pound his back. Muldoon leaned against the divider, half rinsed, flicking water from his ears.

“So,” he said, “you ever gonna tell him?”

Ruld didn’t look up. “Tried.”

“You tried?”

“Twice,” Ruld admitted. “Once, I asked him to go for dinner. He said yes. I panicked and pretended I was joking.”

Muldoon chuckled. “That’s one. Bad one. I’d have dumped ya.”

“The second time… we actually went out, had dinner, and told him I liked him.”

The wolf hit the rhino’s ass, hard. “And…” he demanded.

“I… didn’t let him answer, I said something that I like how good this work is, and complimented him on a case he cracked for us. He laughed, said ‘figures.’ And I just… dropped it.”

Muldoon whistled low. “Damn.”

“I don’t know how to explain it. He’s sharp. Always in control. Always watching. Like he sees everything before it happens.”

“And that scares you?”

“No,” Ruld said, voice low. “It makes me want to be better. But I keep feeling like… if I mess it up, I’ll lose the only person who really sees me.”

Muldoon let the silence stretch before he spoke again, leaning around the divider.

“You gays,” he said, half-smirking, “are more complicated than trying to get my wife to like me, back in college. You know how I did it? I asked. Then I showed up. Again and again. Got rejected twice, and almost gave up. Then she said yes.”

Ruld finally looked over.

Muldoon shrugged. “You’re not gonna break Morty. But if you keep pulling away, he’s gonna stop waiting for you to show up. Hell, he already looks tired.”

“I know.”

“Then stop doing this halfway crap. You’re brave as hell in the field. Be brave here too. For real,” he said. “That cat’s got more sharp edges than a scalpel. But he likes you. Everyone sees it. Hell, I think he waited for you to grow a spine.”

Ruld turned back to the water, nodding once.

“Central for the win?” Muldoon said, half-joking.

Ruld huffed a smile. “Central for the win.”

Muldoon tossed his towel into a hamper and looked back at Ruld as they reached the changing stalls.

Muldoon pushed open the door. “And maybe next time we spar, don’t hesitate. I can feel it in your arms, man — you hit like someone holding back everything. That’s not strength. That’s fear.”

The wolf got out of the stall and went to a corner, sitting on a bench under the full body hair blower for anthros with fur. Ruld grumbled and stepped out of the shower.

Juno, the hyena, skimmed incoming feeds on his wrist terminal. A flash from an old friend — Morty. He smirked and thumbed back one word: busy. Good enough to say he was still alive.

The air reeked of ozone and rot. Rain fell like needles, sharp and fast, making him feel cold and drenched. They had been at this for hours. The “simple” drug raid had gone pear-shaped fast.

Juno crouched low behind the rusted carcass of a freight hauler, breath locked in his chest. The firelight from a burning dumpster licked the side of his face, Big blood splatter on the ground, and fighting marks on the mud; homeless tents were torn, some occupants now just… gone.

Shots cracked in staccato bursts across the lot. He didn’t flinch. Not anymore. Two decades ago, maybe. When he was a 5'6" half-starved dropout getting dragged out of a collapsed tunnel by a lion that stood a full eight feet tall, all muscle, heat, and silent fury.

He remembered the strong hand pulling him out and shaking him, the huge maw yelling inches from his face to make sure he was alive. Back then, Leo had seemed a demigod to him, terrifying and amazing in equal parts. He had seen predators in the alleys he grew up in. The bad ones. The ones that lurked in the dark and snatched people when they were alone. The lion carrying himself with that effortless control Juno had mistaken for arrogance wasn’t one of those. He knew better now.

He slid to the next heap of cover and dropped in beside the lion. Leo was bigger than ever. Tail twitching in the grime. Muscles like steel cables under rain-slick fur. Face tight with intent, lip curled, carbine welded to his shoulder.

Leo was furious.

Because Varro was here.

And Varro wasn’t alone.

Juno checked the sync pulse on his HUD — three blips. Three seconds of surprise. That was all.

He swallowed and ran a thumb along the trigger tab of his underarm burst-gun. Loaded. Primed.

No jamming. Please, no jamming.

Leo’s voice came low, but hard enough to cut glass.

“Now.”

They moved.

Juno darted first, legs pumping, wind slicing across his short fur. Leo followed a second later, massive frame launching from a low crouch into a full sprint. Ahead of them, the warehouse lot was chaos. There were three drug-runners behind a van, a human, a dino, and a short-stack bull who already had a submachine gun pointed at their heads.

But Leo was a monster in motion.

He hit the bull mid-turn, cracking ribs with a single shoulder slam; the sound was wet plywood snapping. Pink mist flew from the bull's nostrils as he had his breath blown away. The guy’s weapon skittered into the gutter, and Leo used the momentum to spin and launch a fist into the human’s face. The man folded around it like a paper doll, blood arcing.

Juno didn’t stop. He rolled under the van, came up on the other side, and emptied his gun magazine into the legs of a speeder-type predator who was trying to flank them. The speeder was a long-limbed dino; he didn’t know the kind, and his whole body was fuming, too hot from the intense heat produced by the accelerated metabolism. He howled, hit the ground hard, and convulsed as the blood-burn turned inward.

Speeders burn through their stored calories and life-force to move at impossible speeds.

The air stank of ketone-acrid breath. Satan’s breath, as Ava from the base called it. The smell of protein breakdown, of bodies cannibalizing their own muscles to survive. He wondered if the pred knew what that scent was.

This hyper-metabolism overheats their blood and tissues. More than one died from pushing too far and stroking. Any predator had a baseline regeneration factor. Their bodies trying to stitch themselves back together even when they couldn’t. This guy was running on fumes, and the shots he just took with an overworked system made him destroy himself as his body tried to consume whatever energy to try to heal, messing up the temperature control.

Blood-burn death — muscle fibers seizing, blood cells boiling in the capillaries, nerves shorting out. It’s painful, damaging. Juno smiled.

“Left side!” Leo roared. “Don’t fucking stand still!”

A flash — antlers blotted the world.

And there was Varro.

Leo was ten feet tall nowadays. Slow growth across the years. The biggest enforcer in the borough. Varro was 4 feet taller. Juno felt his legs falter, so he bit his tongue for focus.

Each of Varro’s antlers was as wide as a doorway. Hide dark, soaked in rain, rippling like a nightmare with every twitch. The moose's eyes glowed with a predator's fire and something deeper — hunger. The kind that wasn’t just about food. The kind that never ends. He was wearing what looked like a gas mask on his snout, and other than that, a ballistic vest and gauntlets.

“Leo!” Juno shouted, voice rising.

The lion didn’t hesitate. Didn’t wait. He charged.

And Varro met him with a roar that shook the street.

Claws slashed. Leo ducked the first swing but was caught by the second — Varro’s gauntlet raking across his shoulder, tearing through armor plates like tin. He roared, pain blooming in his chest, but it didn’t stop him. He got in close and slammed a fist into Varro’s ribs, then another, then a headbutt that cracked teeth.

Varro laughed. And Léo felt dread bloom.

The massive moose grabbed Leo by the vest, like a kid picking up a toy, and hurled him backward. The lion hit the van so hard that it tipped over with a huge dent on its side.

Juno screamed. That would’ve killed a regular person.

The hyena fired again, but Varro had already moved, speed belying his size. Something hit Juno in the side, hard. He rolled, hitting trash bags and a wall, lungs folding in on themselves, chunks of mortar falling from where he cracked the wall with impact.

The speeder had a brother.

This one had a crazy expression on his face. Almost as if he was high on something, but Juno knew it was just a speeder pushing hard on all that their body could do. Blood leaking from his nose, face twitching from the burn high. His body was skeletal-thin, bones creaking under the strain of his speed boost, but his eyes were on fire.

“You think you can take us?!” he howled.

Juno barely dodged the next punch. It cracked the pavement where his head had been.

There was a flurry of punches. Most of them he couldn’t track with his eyes as the speeder dumped everything on the barrage attack. Juno raised his arms and could feel his bones breaking under the heavy assault.

ACT, ACT OR YOU ARE DEAD!

He kicked off a wall, using the force to spin and put distance between him and the dino, and emptied his sidearm at close range. The speeder’s body twitched, danced, then dropped in a mess of red and steam. The hyena’s right arm was limp. But he could feel the heat and the pull from his chest and body, life energy being rerouted as the injury was slowly healing.

Heart pounding, Juno sprinted back toward Leo.

The lion was up. Bleeding, but standing. One of his ears was no more, and that side of his mane was drenched in dark blood.

Varro turned, that massive head cocked.

“You’re fast for a little one,” he said, voice like gravel and thunder. “Not fast enough.”

Juno stepped between him and Leo.

“You’re not going to touch him again.”

Varro grinned, and that’s when the rest of his goons arrived — two more preds, more dinos, smaller than Leo but bigger than Juno, armed with blades. And a few humans with guns.

Juno’s heart pounded. They were outnumbered. Leo was hurt. And he was so tired.

But then Leo’s paw landed on his shoulder. Tight. Grounding.

“I’ve got your back,” he said.

Juno almost broke.

Because this was the lion who’d saved him from a building ten years ago. The lion who taught him how to punch, how to stand tall, how to live with teeth and not be afraid of them. The lion who’d kissed him under the blackout lights of a precinct during a raid.

Juno squared his stance.

“Let’s do it.”

Then a grenade hit against Varro’s chest and exploded.

Everything went white.

A flash of heat, then a chemical sting. Juno coughed hard, eyes burning as the gas flooded his lungs. Leo's weight shifted behind him. There was a grunt — pain or rage, hard to tell. Figures moved through the fog like ghosts. He heard their backup also arriving from the back.

He fired into the mist where Varro and his goons were meant to be. One of the blade-wielders shrieked as Juno’s rounds tore through him. Another lunged, slashing wildly. Juno caught the blade on his forearm — searing pain — but he countered with a brutal elbow to the throat that dropped the attacker to his knees. A burly human enforcer was next to him in a second and took the blade away from the enemy.

Juno heard a voice begging for his life and turned just in time. Through a break in the fog — just enough to see Varro tilt his head back and swallow. Hands vanished past his teeth. A writhing bulge slid down his throat to his stomach. There was a second of trashing, and the moose flexed his abdominals. Bone crackled wetly. His vest hung in ribbons; his chest flayed and burned started knitting itself. Muscles crawled under his hide. Regeneration like nothing Juno had ever seen.

Alpha.

Ice slid down Juno’s spine. He had a hard time trying not to soil himself.

Leo surged past him, bleeding and furious. Some of Varro’s guys were reconsidering their alliance now that the moose had consumed one of his own. Leo stepped up, took the gun from the hands of a scared goon. pointing the muzzle toward Varro and shooting. With the other hand, he picked up the gun’s previous owner and used the human as a makeshift club to hit the moose.

Varro raised an arm to protect his head from the gunshot, but didn't seem to care about the ones hitting the rest of his body. He moved like gravity bent around him. Bigger than before, or maybe just more real. He closed the gap with terrifying speed, grabbed Leo mid-step, and drove him into the ground.

Juno roared and charged.

Varro turned — too late.

Juno fired point-blank into genitals. The monster had nuts the size of a regular person’s head. The bulge in his pants made for a good target. The rounds dug deep, black blood spraying across the alley.

He roared in pain and rage. It wasn’t enough.

Varro backhanded him into the wall. Stars burst behind Juno’s eyes. His vision tilted.

“Should’ve stayed down, prey!” Varro snarled.

Juno coughed, blood bubbling in his throat.

But Leo… Leo was moving again.

With a sound like thunder, he launched himself into Varro’s chest. Fangs bared, claws out, a full-body slam that knocked the giant two steps back. Leo didn’t stop there — he tore into the moose with tooth and claw. Each strike a roar of defiance.

“You don’t touch what’s mine!” he bellowed.

And Varro chuckled. He closed his arms around Leo and started squeezing.

“Shut up, morsel! I will have you for dinner and make him watch. Then it is his turn.”

The sounds of sirens echoed down the block. DAIR backup. The moose hesitated. looked at Leo and frowned, then opened his jaws and took the Lion’s head in. Juno screamed and tried to stand. His leg bent in a weird angle, and he fell.

Guns blazed next to him. The other enforcers had taken care of the remaining goons and were firing against Varro. The predator had to spit the lion and try to run for cover. A cruiser barreled in from the docks entrance and hit him. Metal screamed as the vehicle shoved him through a storage wall in a shower of brick and glass.

There was only the piercing sounds of the cruiser’s sirens for a few seconds. Then the blasting of guns, and then only the sirens on their rhythmed wails.

Juno sagged. He managed to sit, but his body wasn’t going to bounce back from this one without help. Leo staggered into view, the worst Juno had ever seen him, and still moving. Foot teams swept the lot, guns up, disciplined.

“I thought I’d lose you,” Juno croaked, hauling himself into Leo’s arms.

“Yeah? If he didn’t swallow me, his breath alone might’ve done it,” Leo tried to joke, and Juno saw the fear behind it.

He held on tighter.

Enforcers fanned back. Looking everywhere as if trying to track the moose. Well, maybe they had one with a good scent ability. He didn’t know.

“Report?” Leo barked.

“He ran,” one called. “Smashed the cruiser’s glass and ate the drivers. He’s in the wind.”

Leo’s face hardened. He scooped Juno and slung him over his shoulder like old times. “We’re done here. Circle up. Call medical. Now.”

The archive was better and more organized than he remembered from last time. But he didn’t know the lady behind the counter, a very grandmotherly bear, or the two young human interns sorting papers and tending to the printers. He identified himself and requested the files.

“Sure, more papers in the middle of the crisis, and you are not even from here. Young people these days are making me do extra work.” She was complaining without even sparing him a glance, but her hands were fast as she got the stacks of continuous sheets, green-bar microperf paper still faintly warm from the drum printer. The edges had the neat sprocket holes that used to catch on feed rails; she tore them loose without looking, practiced thumb-flicks ripping each at the perforation.

“Here, Shugah. These be the current open missing people reports you asked.” She put them in a thick grey envelope and handed it to Morty. The stack was heavy in his hands. “And here is the one about the other guy.” It was a brown folder. It had a few dozen pages. Usually, that does not bode well. “It’s just a copy I made; you said you would be taking it out of the station, so the original stays here.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, off you go. You bothered me too much already, and I've got more stuff to do, you know.”

He chuckled and nodded, thanking her again, taking his cue to leave.

He padded down the stairwell, running his fingers on the rail, claws ticking faintly on the metal. Sublevel one smelled faintly of oil and ozone. The garage stretched wide, fluorescent strips buzzing overhead. Patrol cruisers dozed in their slots, armor plates catching the pale light.

The place had that muffled quiet of machines cooling after a run. It was fairly empty. Most people still away on mission.

There were benches near the stairwell, bolted steel with slats rubbed smooth by years of uniforms. He dropped onto one, the folders balanced across his knees. He opened his terminal quickly and saw no notifications from his other friends. Please be safe.

No reason to waste time borrowing worries from the future.

He grabbed Kassur’s file.

>> Kassur Ferros.

Jackal. The mugshot was young, thirty maybe. A scar at the corner of the mouth like someone had once tried to shut him up with a blade. The picture had that look Morty recognized: the kind of face that made neighbors clutch their collars and whisper predator, even when one was standing still.

Well, he was a predator. There was even a copy of the positive result for the test of the vore gene. And easy to spot in his frame. No jackal gets to be 7 foot 2 without being a predator.

Birth year stamped with an asterisk: approximate, reconstructed from fragments. No school records before twelve. The kind of life that left you guessing.

There was an older photo, maybe from his teens, and it wasn’t kind. The scar was there already. Eyes like someone halfway between sleep and murder. Morty knew the type; not posturing, not puffed up, just waiting to see if the world would try him again. Tired and defiant, like someone waiting to be judged.

The record wasn’t pretty.

Juvenile record (sealed, unsealed by DAIR cross-file): fights in alleys, two hospitalizations. busted jaw on one kid, broken ribs on another. Charges never escalated past assault because nobody wanted to testify. Lived on the streets and committed some small pickpocketing.

*Rumors: * “bone eater” episodes — pets gone missing, cracked carcasses found. No arrest. He saw it marked as accusations but not proven.

*Adulthood: * odd jobs, electrical, junk hauling, livestock runs, citations for unlicensed handling. Cleared.

*Last six years in Endon: * steady contractor, no violent charges. Neighbors still filed noise complaints and whispered he cut corners.

Morty flicked the page with a clawtip, green eyes narrowing. It smelled like a predator trying to outrun his own trail. The kind that didn’t always make it.

Then came the newer reports.

Pages of complaints from neighbors, each thinner than the last. Scribbled calls logged:

“Predator trying to invade my neighbor's house by the roof — check it out.”

“Suspicious man with wires near the building.”

“Predator invading house late at night”.

Every time, enforcers had rolled out. And every time, the notes were the same:

_“On site. Legitimate contract.”

“Cooperative. Completed repairs.”

“No suspicion of illegal consumption_.”

One even added, in tidy penmanship, “Polite. Even volunteered and helped to fix a minor problem on our own cruiser when the battery died.”

Morty caught himself blinking at that one.

He turned the last page and exhaled slowly.

The early years were smoke and teeth. But the last six? They read like someone doing the long, grinding work of getting better, and paying for it every day with suspicion he’d never escape.

Morty sat back, the file warm against his knees, the garage humming low around him. He doubted him for a heartbeat, then let the doubt bleed into something else. Curiosity. Maybe even a flicker of respect.

Kassur Ferros wasn’t clean. But he wasn’t rotting either.

Morty sat back against the cold bench slats, thumb tapping the margin. He’d seen files like this before. Men trying to outrun the first twenty years of their life with the next twenty; predators who fought every day to hold the line. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

The mugshot kept staring at him, eyes sharp, as if Kassur already knew what the file said, and wasn’t impressed by any of them.

He exhaled through his nose. Kassur was a noise case. The type who lived under the borough’s skin, the kind locals would whisper about because he looked the part. Morty had seen a dozen like him, and half the time, when you dug deeper, the guy was guilty of nothing worse than bad timing and worse judgment.

Half the time…

Still, names like his had a way of coming back around. I’ll clear him later. Otherwise, the stink will linger and get in the way.

He glanced at the elevators and then at his clock. He opened the missing cases envelope.

Too many faces, too many files, so he started to pay attention to key details. Names, ages. Carla Mendez — vanished at sixteen, two weeks ago, pool of blood, no body. Elias March — human, seventeen, last seen near East High. Never found, two weeks ago. Darren Koulis — lynx, fifteen, walked home from practice. Terminal pinged at a bus stop, then nothing, 1 month ago. Salvatore “Sal” Estra — elk, nineteen, college freshman. Left a party, nobody was ever found, 2 months ago. Emilia Thron — cat, 29, left work and was last seen getting into her car and driving home, 1 month ago.

Endon was a city that ate people in more ways than one. But something in the pit of his gut tugged: a rhythm. Names clustering in the same high school district.

Well, not many…. should I dig that way? Is anyone digging that way? The inspectors on these cases all have different names, so no singular focus… perhaps….

Don’t jump the gun, Mort. Patterns bite back if you force them.

Still, the itch stayed.

Bootsteps echoed down the ramp, sounding heavy and confident. Ruld’s rhythm, Muldoon’s lighter one a beat behind. Their laughter bounced off the concrete before they even came into view. Morty slid the files back into the packet.

Muldoon spotted him, and his eyes went wide, and then he smirked.

“Hey, Mortimer. I forgot to pick up my terminal. Be right back,” he said, then turned, gave Ruld a wink, and dashed back upstairs.

=================================

Ruld went slack-jawed for half a second, just long enough to realize Muldoon had vanished and the attention had landed squarely on him. He swallowed and straightened a little too fast.

He looked at Morty. Then at the files on the cat's lap.

“Got anything interesting?”

“More or less,” Morty said, scooting over to make space on the bench for the rhino’s wide bulk. Once Ruld settled beside him, Morty handed over the missing persons case. “It might just be sleep deprivation, but I think there’s something here. About a quarter of these people were students at the same high school.”

Ruld frowned as he skimmed the first page. “Are they investigating?”

“Maybe,” Morty said. “But not as one thing.”

“Oh?”

Morty leaned closer, voice dropping. His side brushed against Ruld’s, close enough that it made the rhino feel his heart doing acrobatics. Close enough that he was suddenly very aware of how easily he could lift an arm and pull the cat in.

“Look,” Morty continued, tapping the page. “Here, you can see the people in charge of the cases. The archivist printed from the computers. See how the date stamps of activity vary? It's like they are all being looked at as isolated cases.”

“Are you aware that, most of the time, cities suck and bad stuff happens to people without it being a major conspiracy, right?” Ruld asked with a tease.

Morty snorted. “Sure. But these people are part of the city. Sometimes you don’t see the pattern until you look at the city as a whole. That is how we know where to patrol more, invest more in security."

Ruld stared at him, brow lifting as Morty’s intensity hit harder than he expected. Which made Morty roll his eyes before continuing.

"Yes," he said. "It might be nothing, but it's worth investigating.”

There it was — that quiet determination. The thing that Ruld loved.

“We could do it,” Ruld said. “You and me. Find the predator responsible for that arm. Then show these slackers how to actually do their jobs.”

“And then we take Varro down,” Morty added, clearly joking.

“I’ll do that myself,” Ruld said solemnly, flexing one arm and striking a ridiculous bodybuilding pose. His biceps bulged; his pecs bounced.

They laughed.

Morty looked at him with a faint, fond smile.“My hero.”

They locked eyes. Ruld leaned in a fraction. Morty didn’t pull away. The corners of the cat's mouth curved, inviting without saying a word.

“Morty…” the rhino started.

Voices cut through the moment.

“No, Agent Muldoon. I am fucking sure that I got everything I need right here. You shut your damn mouth, I don’t need to recheck my gear.”

Bianca stormed down, looking angry and still snapping at the wolf behind her. She stopped short when she spotted Morty and Ruld sitting together.

“Technician Bianca. We are ready to go now.” Ruld said in almost a salute, getting out of the bench fast, before anyone could say anything else.

Idiot.

You had it. You actually had it. And you just stood there.

Behind him, Ruld heard the soft sound of Morty exhaling as he bent to gather the files Ruld had dropped. Bianca looked back at Muldoon, who was pinching the bridge of his snout like he regretted every life choice that led him here.

He didn't look at Morty. Too scared to see disappointment on his face. That would break him.

Ruld clenched his jaw and forced his feet forward, every step heavier than the last.

He told himself he’d fix it later. When there wasn’t an audience. When it wouldn’t look like backpedaling.

You always say that, his inner voice snarled.

He ignored it.

That was easier than admitting he’d just chickened out.

“Seriously, I am sorry!” Bianca said as Muldoon stepped out of the back office at Vermilion’s.

“I must say that part of me wanted to slap you. But I want someone who would not be squeamish in front of other people. As you said. People we know are out there in danger tonight. No time for nonsense.”

She paused and tried to read something on the cat's face, but found nothing. Morty had his big eyes glued to the several monitors, running the videos from last night.

=================================

They had arrived at Vermillion’s 30 minutes ago and spent the last 10 going through the footage. The ride there was one of the most awkward. Ruld was a statue looking forward and not saying a word the whole way. Muldoon was testing his luck with the occasional joke that crashed and burned instead of landing.

At night, the place probably burned like a beacon. Especially with the crimson neon rose above the awning, letters buzzing VERMILION in that gaudy, overconfident glow.

But now? The sign hummed tiredly in daylight, red washed to a sickly pink against soot-stained brick. Last night’s cigarette butts still carpeted the sidewalk, crushed under heels, and the faint sour smell of stale beer lingered even out here.

A tired-looking female pitbull was outside talking to a man in weird but expensive-looking clothing. She was big and bulky, a small predator. Her fur had the odd waxy gleam some would get when their protein would come mostly from insects instead of livestock.

At least that makes her ok in my books, Morty thought.

The man looked older, mid-50s, wiry build. Salt-and-pepper hair combed back but already fighting loose strands in the morning damp. Thin-framed glasses with red lenses were perched almost on the tip of his nose, almost falling off.

The duo looked mildly interested but then had surprised expressions as the cruiser parked.

“You guys from DAIR?” The pitbull asked, head turning from Ruld to Muldoon. “When we got the summons, I thought it was concerning a noise complaint. Or I dunno, taxes?”

She got a light nudge from the man’s foot.

“How can this Lírio be of assistance to the enforcers today?” He had a theatrical flair going on, but Morty could see that he was a little worried and confused.

The big enforcers were quiet, just nodding with their heads. So the cat stepped forward.

“Mr Lirio Vass. Right? The owner?”

“That is me. And this lady is Maribel. Our front door bouncer.”

“You guys can call me Mari,” she said to Ruld. She was short and solid, broad shoulders under a bomber jacket patched with club logos. Her hair was in tight braids wrapped back, neat as her posture.

“Well, my name is Mortimer Roitman, my buddies here are Enforcer Muldoon Murdock and Enforcer Ruld Kent. Something happened yesterday, and we hope that you guys can help us in our investigation.”

“We will do our best.”

“So what is this supersecret investigation you guys are doing?” Maribel actually sounded eager.

“Maybe inside?” Morty asked, masking a gesture toward the door of the nightclub

“Of course, officers. But please, don’t judge us on the state of disarray, the cleaning crew comes at noon.”

“That won’t be an issue,” Bianca said, bouncing ahead with her bags.

Inside, it was worse than the outside.

The glamour had been peeled back for the cleaning shift: overhead fluorescents flicked and made the whole space look like a gutted fish. The dance floor was sticky under their boots, still glittering faintly from confetti. Chairs balanced on tables like tired drunks leaning on one another. The air stank of bleach, trying and failing to murder the smell of sweat, booze, and smoke. Bianca made a joke about flashing a dark light in there.

The staff was no better.

They looked like a nest of vampires caught in the sun. Hoodies, sunglasses indoors, clutching paper cups of coffee like lifelines. Every eye said the same thing: too early, too sober, too much cop for this hour. There was a bat with a fishnet shirt, drooling as he slept against a wall. And a large horse handing out cups of steaming coffee. The smell was bad from 15 feet away.

The manager, a stripped hyena, rushed to greet them and exchanged a few quick words with Lírio. She was in last night’s eyeliner, smudged and looking like bruises under her eyes. There was a cigarette in her hand, and Morty couldn’t judge her; the floor was littered with tons of disposable cups tossed around. She wouldn’t make it look worse.

The Vermilion’s rose logo on the wall behind the bar gleamed faintly in the sterile light, out of place, like a corpse with lipstick.

Vermilion wasn’t just a club. In daylight, it was a carcass, and its staff were the scavengers waiting to get back to the dark.

“So what is this all about?” a tired-looking rabbit in a red evening dress asked. She was wearing a bowler hat with holes for her ears.”

Morty scanned the place.

These people were barely there. Most looked confused. One did look a bit guilty and was trying to make himself look small, an elk, but the cat could see the tip of the pipe poking out of his pocket.

“First of all. I wasn’t the one who made the subpoena to get you here for this interview today. And before you go wildly trying to guess the reason we are here, I will be blunt, because time is important. Yesterday, on the corner of Louise and Walnut, there was a call about an altercation. There was a casualty. And the victim had your logo and a paid stamp on his arm. So we are here trying to ID the guy.”

“Can’t you just look into his wallet or something?” The bat, now awake, yawned.

“We only have the arm.”

That got everyone's attention. The rabbit almost fell out of her chair.

“Is this related to that Varro guy? My sister lives near the docks by the river, and she said there was gun shooting all night.”

“No!” Morty said a bit louder than he intended, but he snatched that conversation by the neck and killed it mercilessly before it started. “This is a different thing, and we hope that you guys can help us. Bianca, if you may?”

The human technician was busy staring at a green glowing puddle on the floor, and then looked back at him, distracted.

“Oh, yeah!” She opened her bag and pulled out several copies of the same picture. They showed the arm, trying not to focus on the part where it had been severed. Those were high-quality and with colours, showing off the fur pattern.

When everyone got a copy, the cat continued.

“The call about it to the local DAIR was at 2:03 A.M. So our victim came here and left before that to have the time to walk to that corner.”

“Well, during the weeknights, we close at 3. The house wasn’t that full yesterday.”

“The victim was some sort of canid. He might have been accompanied by a female feline, a male bovine and a male human.”

“That sounds super vague,” Maribel said.

“Ah! Yes. But that is what I got by testing the rest of the blood pool at the scene. So we don’t have anything more specific.” Bianca said casually.

The staff looked wide-eyed at her.

“Well, blunt it is,” Morty said, “At the scene, there was blood from the victim and from the other 3 others. We couldn’t find any other evidence of these people besides the blood. For now, we have that, and some skin cells under the victim’s claws with equine DNA.

Everyone turned to the horse. He choked on his coffee.

“Fuck you all.”

“I always thought he would snap someday,” the rabbit said. But it was teasing.

The horse looked at her, frowning.

“There were other horses prancing around yesterday, Lulu. Stop teasing Egan,” said Maribel.

Egan, the horse, nodded at the pitbull bouncer. She gave him the thumbs up.

“Wasn’t there a bison and a horse fighting yesterday? I had to stop the music because of a fight.” The bat said. “I’m Vee, by the way. I work as the house DJ during the week, because that fucker there doesn’t want to pay my weekend rates.”

Lírios Vass looked offended but remained quiet at a gesture made by Ruld.

“So what can you tell me about this guy yesterday?”

Egan cleared his throat. “As Mr. Vee pointed out. There was an altercation. Not the only one, but we had to intervene in this case. And no, the bison was not fighting the horse. He was trying to separate. The horse was a mustang, an older guy, maybe fifties? I dunno… he was making a mess. Punching this young kid, barely legal.”

He froze and squinted at the pic Bianca had handed him.

“Hey, guys. The kid that the horse was punching. Do you think the fur matches?”

Maribel made a surprised face. “Oh fuck. I think it does. The kid was waiting with me in the front booth until you kicked the trouble makers through the back door.”

Could it be this easy? Morty thought.

“Tell me you have cameras,” he asked.

“Yes, officer,” said Lírio. “A few on the front. One from the back alley. and a few on the dance floor and bar.”

“Perfect. Egan, Right?”

“Egan Holt. Yes,” the horse replied. “I am the inside Bouncer. Maribel tries to filter the problematic cases outside, and I kick out the ones who get too drunk.

Egan had some large arms and legs, and a barrel stomach. Could pass as a predator if one doesn’t know a horse. But he was a Percheron. One of the biggest a regular anthro could be without being a pred.

“Ok, so you kicked him out. And he had a bison friend. That actually fits what we are looking for.” Morty stepped closer. He looked and sounded friendly. Encouraging.

“Do you remember anything else? Were they by themselves?”

“No, the bison guy kept complaining about being kicked out. Not to me. To the friend. Yelling that a coach should know how to behave. There was a couple with them. A lynx and a guy. They all appeared to be the same age group.”

“Oh, the lynx with the pearls?” The rabbit perked up.

She then turned to Morty and the enforcers as if she was about to gossip. “I work close to Maribel. I do the stamps, work coat room; this lynx lady was complaining to her husband that their friend was being an idiot and that they shouldn’t let him drink anymore. They came and got their coats, and they had the tokens for the other guys.”

Egan nodded.

“Yeah, I said they were being escorted out, so they handed their tokens to a friend who went to pick their coats.”

“It fits… A horse, a bison, a lynx, and a human. You said you work in the coat room… Lulu?”

“Yes. Quite easy and a bit boring, so I try to fish for stuff to distract myself. The bison guy looked hot when they came in. Had this vibe that could pick you up and squish you.” For a moment, Morty thought she would also be ogling Ruld, but she had set her eyes on Muldoon, who seemed unfazed.

“Daddy issues,” Maribel muttered under her breath. Lulu giggled and didn’t deny it.

“Saw anything else interesting while fishing last night then?”

“About them? Mhmmm, I think the horse and bison work at a school or something? The bison was wearing an Aldeham’s sweater. And the horse had this big coat with Aldeham’s logo and name on the back.”

“That is the local college. Not that you would know,” Lírio said. He had moved to the bar area and was pouring himself a drink.

“College is still a school, boss. Just fancier and more expensive.”

Lírio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Aldeham is a public college.”

=================================

There had been more questions to get the time frame right, and then Morty asked to see the cameras. Ruld went to try to get a connection to this Aldeham college and see if they could get a list of staff members.

The back office reeked of disinfectant and stale anise spray. It had several monitors running the video from yesterday, cables spilling off its back like entrails. Naysa Calder, the hyena manager, crouched by the tower, fingers quick on the ports until everything came back to life.

“Alright,” the hyena said, tapping the trackpad with a claw. “Here’s the exit camera.”

She was pointing to a single monitor, but Vermilion used a single memory stick for everything, so the record would all play simultaneously. Morty wouldn’t want to try to shove that data on his terminal, or all of the 12 camera feeds would be squeezed on the small display at the same time. No best to use their array. Each monitor had a 12” screen and was laid side by side with the others. Good quality images, actually, but no colors or sound.

“We tried coloured ones, but those are shit when it is dark like the ones outside, or with lots of flashing lights like during the shows”. Plus, no point in having audio, or you would go crazy with the same music blasting from all these.” Naysa said.

“No problem. Can you go back? I want to see our guys.”

Naysa nodded, rolling back the track on her control, and the videos moved back in time. At 1:37, Morty saw them, emerging and walking backward. He waited until the video rewinded some more and then asked Naysa to let it play out.

The door sprang open. Egan stepped outside, and he was yelling by the way his mouth opened and closed, and the muscles in his neck tensed. A very angry-looking mustang horse came out. Taller than Egan, muscular, but not trimmed. A body like Ruld’s. A predator. He was also shouting and moving his arms in a frenzy. Then came out a bison wearing an Aldeham sweater. But bisons were problematic. They were all big. Couldn’t judge him by the video. Egan stood still as the other two argued.

Mustang kept pointing inside and actually tried to dart back in. Egan moved but wasn’t needed. The bison grabbed the mustang by the waist and held him in place. The mustang was yelling, but Morty could see his posture was something between anger and desperation. They stood like that for one minute, and he could see the bison holding strong while the other one seemed to deflate.

Naysa made it a bit faster, and Morty saw as the bison released him and started patting the other guy’s shoulder. Then a short lynx woman came out, holding a human man's arm. The man had a few coats on his other arm.

Egan said something to them, went in, and closed the door.

The lynx put her hands on her hips and started to say something. She looked cross. Morty could see the human’s conciliatory expression as he handed the clothing to the other guys, and Morty saw the Aldeham’s Symbol on the horse’s coat. The bison put on a heavy leather coat. The four of them exchanged a few words and walked out of the camera.

“Where did they walk to?”

“The alley leads to Dirk’s avenue. It is on the other side of the block. Most of the businesses are built so that the trash truck and delivery can come in and out without disturbing traffic. Speaking of the devil, there might be a beer delivery today…”

“Seems like an easy-to-use setup you guys use. You are being a good help. We can try to use it while you sort that one out.”

“Thanks,” she sounded honest.

“Do you guys have a printer linked to this? Or a connection to your network to get a few snapshots?”

“Oh, sure. Here. You see this dial? When it is live, you use it to select a camera, so you can move it around and zoom in or out. The cameras are not linked to a network, just the data rod. But if you set the dial, stop the feed, and hit this button here… you get a nice copy.”

A very loud machine hummed back to life, as if protesting being used. Bianca walked there and got a printout of the camera. It had the group of four people walking out, their faces clearly seen.

“Good. Really, really good.”

He grabbed it and went to try to find Ruld. The guy was using Lirio’s office. The owner was nowhere to be seen. The rhino had its terminal propped open and with a cable plugged into a socket on Lírio’s computer.

“Hey, big man. Got you a gift,” Morty said, stepping close.

“Please let it be donuts,” Ruld said mockingly as he reached for the paper the cat had offered him. “Oh, this is going to make things easier.”

“Hopefully. How is it going?”

“The college’s receptionist was being snarky and uptight, thinking it was someone trolling her, so… “ He pointed to the badge attached to the terminal. “Plugged my badge and let the auto announcement of the call scare her into action.”

“Use the tools at your disposal. Anyway, send them the picture. If those two work there, this might be how we find out their IDs.”

“Yes. Hey, I was thinking back to when we were at the garage.”

Morty stood still and smiled. “Good… So do you want to continue?”

“Yeah, I think this could help. You did say some of the people missing were happening near a high school. You think this could be it?”

Morty's mouth hung open. Ruld cocked his head, not understanding the expression, and then his eyes went wide. I mean, you were saying something that could lead to an interesting investigation. And this horse here looks like a predator.” He stammered, trying to look away.

“Yeah, yeah. He does. But I don’t think those are connected. The college and the school in question are on different sides of the borough. I can try to see if any of them live close to it when I have the address, but I have the feeling nothing is coming out of this.”

Those words carried extra weight. And it landed. He saw Ruld wince. The rhino’s eyes darted left to right. Searching for words.

“I will tell you if the college gets me an ID and address,” he muttered.

As he was stepping out, Muldoon walked in. The wolf saw Morty and gave him a hopeful smile.

Morty sighed and shook his head.

“Bianca and I went over all the transactions from yesterday. Most were cash; none of the ones we are looking for used a card or terminal to pay.”

“Got it. Good work anyway. Handed a picture to Ruld, you lemme know if the college can help. I will try to find the victim on the video feed and get a good angle for identification.”

The wolf nodded.

“Oh. The local precinct's big boss sent me a message. Did you get one too?”

“No. What is it? Did she find anything else?”

Muldoon shook his head.

“They lost some enforcers last night. And this Varro is still on the loose. They are scouring the northern part of the borough. So she asked Ruld and me to be on standby. For now, we are doing this with you, but she might pull the plug on us soon.”

Morty slumped for a second.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Might be them, might not be them.

Either way, you can’t change anything.

Just be fast here and not let another predator run free.

Focus, don’t panic.

You will find out.

Do your job!

“Ok. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be as fast as I can. If the college starts to take too long, pick the big guy, and you two ride there to put pressure in person.”

“Sure.”

As he made his way to the back office, he picked up his terminal.

He sent a message, [Update me when you can], to both Juno and Léo.

=================================

The black and white footage rolled.

There he was, a young adult husky, tall, thin, but with some muscles. Most of the volume was his fur. He came in talking to a couple of guys who looked to be all in the same range of just able to buy booze. They got in at 23:01, and Morty tracked their movement. Bought drinks. Danced on the floor. Husky made out with one of the guys while the other was talking to a group of girls. Later, one of them was dancing with him.

The other group had been there longer. The human and lynx had been the first to arrive, at 22:11, and got a table at the back, drinking beer and having snacks; they were clearly enjoying each other. The other two arrived separately at 23:20 and 23:32, with the horse being the last.

Both groups didn’t bump into each other for a while. But Morty watched closely as the friend who picked up the girl went to the dance floor, dancing next to the lynx and her husband without reaction.

There was a moment when the Husky date went to the bathroom and passed next to the table; the bison and horse were having a conversation, and again, neither had a reaction.

Then, the husky went to the bar area and ordered something. Morty saw the barman nod and start mixing a drink. At the other end of the bar, the horse arrived and raised his arm to order something. The horse looked around and saw the husky.

The horse’s head snapped sideways, eyes locking on him.

Morty murmured, “Recognition.”

The horse stiffened, said something the camera couldn’t catch.

The husky didn’t move. Just stared back, jaw tight, body still as a coiled spring. He raised his hands and shook his head in a no. The barman approached and handed the Husky his drinks.

Husky grabbed the glasses and started to walk away.

The horse tracked him with his head and went back to the table.

He talked to the other people with him. The lynx woman even got up to try to take a peek at the husky the horse was pointing at. The human and bison were saying something to the horse. Bison had a hand on the horse's shoulder, and the horse seemed to shake.

Hard to get more details. They were far from the camera.

Husky seemed agitated on the other side of the room, a different camera showing how his date was talking to him and looking worried.

Then it looked like a ripple.

Most heads turned to the place where the horse was. He stood up and shouted something, shoving his chait sideways. Egan appeared at the edge of the feed, moving fast.

Not fast enough to intercept the mustang.

Morty watched as the older horse darted across the club, shoving people away.

He managed to get to the table and land a punch on the husky. Moments later, the bison was there holding him. One breath later, Egan was also there. Pulling the other horse away from the husky.

“Those aren't strangers,” Morty said.

He rewinded and stopped a few times. Printing good angles for the husky and his friends.

Lírio had wandered back in and watched the footage with a drink in his hand.

“Not sure what to say. We sell the booze, sometimes people get frisky. Others get happy, and some get angry.” The club owner said. “That is the kid you guys found?”

“Everything points to it,” Morty let the video play.

The husky’s date bolted away, leaving him behind. His friend followed the canine to the front near to the entrance, where both waited close to Maribel

Morty’s tail thumped against his chair. “That was history. Ugly history.”

=================================

Now I’m a damned teen girl bestie in the middle of a bad romance, Muldoon thought unhappily, tapping his foot as he waited at the hall while Ruld was talking to the college admin.

He hoped this would move fast enough in case the precinct chief decided to pull the plug on them. That is what she had told him: “You guys are doing a good job, but with the crap hitting the fan last night, we might need you guys on the lookout for the moose.”

Muldoon didn’t like it at all. He felt bad, as if doing things halfway. He wasn’t one to see things not finished. And, for that matter, he wasn’t a coward. He knew Varro was a threat and should be dealt with. He just didn’t like to start one thing and then hop to a different one.

He sighed and opened his terminal.

[Hey, love. Work here is ok. But they are short on people. The shift might stretch a bit longer than I’d like.]

24 hour shifts were hard, but the 72 hours off that followed were great. And it’d sync with the weekend. So Clarice, his wife, wouldn't be working.

[Let’s camp this weekend. maybe hit the beach back in Murialta], he started to hum a little as he sent the second message.

Daydreaming was good. It helped to quench his growing impatience. He liked technical things and field work. But he was not doing anything now. No point in trying to get more info from staff; they were more than good at providing info.

He watched with a raised eyebrow as Bianca, the technician, passed by him and went to the bar area where she took a cup of coffee from the elk and struck up a conversation with the bat DJ. She was bored too. Maybe? In the messy morning, there was no point trying to swab the floors, or dusting for fingerprints.

The door next to him burst open.

“Hit,” Ruld said, a wide grin on his face. “The College Dean got scared by the badge, and he got me the names — we got a hit on all four.”

“That is good luck,” Muldon said, and then scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, maybe not for them.”

“Yes, but now we know where to go. The bison is Caleb Orsin, Athletics Dept., something called Kineology, whatever that is.”

“It is the study of stuff that influences movement and performance on anthros. You know, trying to find ways to improve general health and wellness outcomes.”

Ruld gave him a blank face. “How do you know that?”

“I wanted to be a personal trainer. Plus, as a non-pred I need to be able to work around the big fuckers like yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“You said you had more names,” Muldoon commented, moving to have a look.

“Yes!” He cleared his throat. “Our prime suspect, the mustang, is Silas Murrow Duarte, head of field programs — listed as ‘coach’ on rosters. The lynx is Dr. Rina Kovács, adjunct in social psych. All faculty. The human with them is flagged as Evan Kovács, spouse — campus IT contractor. Addresses and staff photos just landed.”

“Nice. Do you want me to tell that to your boyfriend, or will you?”

If glares could kill, Muldoon would have died.

They found Morty still in the back room, staring at the still frame of the husky being punched. He had printed a few more shots with the faces of the husky and his entourage and was about to scan and upload them to the precinct to see if people could dig some ID on them.

“Oh. Great. You even managed to make them spit out the address without us needing to get legal on their asses. Awesome, Ruld," said Morty.

“Admin will cough up keycard pings if we want to check on their offices.”

“Could be interesting, but that is low priority. No way the horse would have gone back to work after this whole mess. We need to hit his place. Perhaps he is still there, and we can toss him behind bars today.”

“Would he be that stupid?” asked Muldoon.

“People are not rational when angry,” Morty said, pointing to the monitors where the horse fist was making contact with the husky’s face.

Morty grabbed the sheet of paper with the names and address that Ruld handed him. Looking up the addresses and bringing them up on his mind. Trying to position them like markers on a map. "They were at a nightclub on a work day... Do we have any lead if the Kóvacs had any kids? Or if either of these, Silas and Cale,b were married, had families?"

“The Kovács are married, share a lease on Bishop Row, Unit 3C. No kids according to Aldeham logs. Duarte is listed as single; emergency contacts are a brother and a mother out in South Tramline. Caleb Orsin shows a separation notice from last year, address is Basalt Court condo — no spouse on file.”

“All three live southwest of here. Bishop Row is a 12-minute walk if you cut through Dirk’s, Orsin’s Basalt Court is a short drive, and Duarte’s is farther, ten by car with green lights.” He lifted his gaze.

“So, what is the word?” Muldoon asked.

“Do you guys mind disciplinary action?” asked Morty with a crooked grin.

“As long as I don’t get fired,” came the wolf’s reply

“We know that they were here. And we also know three of them bled in the place where the arm was cut. I really... really doubt that we will find anything at the school. Everything points to this Silas being our guy. I say we raid his home. Small chance of us getting him, or at least a clue of where he might be. But if you guys have a better suggestion, I am all ears."

Ruld nodded, already weighing entrances. “We can make Duarte’s place the primary. We’ve got enough for a search warrant — ID from Aldeham, assault on video, matching stamp, three co-witnesses, and the blood mix at the scene. Val files the affidavit; we hold a soft perimeter and go in clean when she greenlights. Goal: clothing with transfer, cutting tools, comms, and any med supplies he’d use after a fight.”

Muldoon thumbs his terminal. “I’ll spin up utilities and plates for Duarte, put those out there in case any of the guys from the city spot him in case he ran wheels. I’ll also throw a quiet BOLO to uniforms — no lights, just eyes. If he’s home, we do knock-and-talk until the paper lands; if not, we sweep the routes he’d use to dump clothes.”

Ruld glances back at the paused punch on the monitor. “We stay light but ready. If Duarte’s inside and hot, we don’t want a hallway brawl.”

"Ok, that answer. I’d suggest we just knock down the door. But let's do it by the book. We wait for the green light to knock down his door. Now, where's Bianca?”

Morty pressed a key, and the cameras flipped from recorded footage to live. They spotted her at the entrance booth, making out with Vee, the bat DJ.

Ruld’s brows climbed; Muldoon coughed into his fist. Morty scoffed, looking amused