FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

You've got a tattered line of string

And you tie it 'round everything

That you want to call your own

But it never seems to hold

(The Postal Service)

---

The squirrel's silly smile seemed completely out of place in the drab penitentiary office, the irony only heightened by the messy stacks of files with names and mug shots clipped to the front strewn all over his desk.

"I'm glad you could come back and see us, Mr. Smith, sir," the gaoler gushed.

"Well, duty calls and all that," I replied, unable to stop my brow from arching incredulously. This is a fucking jail , not a spa or some shit like that. I wasn't exactly rushing back here.

"How can I help you?" Jameson asked, bustling over to the tired, old coffee maker in the corner of his office.

"My partner and I would like to take a look at Todd's cell again, if that's all right with you," I replied, accepting the mug of coffee offered to me by the gaoler.

I winked slyly at Guillam, sitting stiffly in the plastic bucket seat next to me, who had been summarily ignored the entire time. No coffee for him. I took a sip and just about spat it back into the mug. Liquid soil.

"Oh, definitely! Of course!" Jameson practically tripped over himself in his effort to meet my request.

"Excellent," I replied, forcing myself to swallow the coffee as my eyes watered.

I passed the mug to Guillam as the squirrel fished through a drawer full of keys in search of the one to Todd's cell. The cross fox took an eager gulp. His face turned every shade of purple as he struggled to keep the disgusting drink down.

"Don't like our barista's award-winning brew, Peter?" I hissed out of the corner of my mouth.

"Fuck you," the cross fox replied, placing the mug none-too-gently back onto the edge of the gaoler's desk.

"Here we go!" Jameson announced, holding up a key with a barcode hanging from a short chain.

Guillam and I followed the squirrel through the wending halls of the North Pacifica Penitentiary, passing through gates and checkpoints on our way to the Maximum Security Sector. I couldn't help but chuckle at the deep irony in the situation. Perhaps the Pen shouldn't have been so brazen in praising the wing's state-of-the-art security measures. Todd had proven the whole thing just as unsinkable as the Titanic.

"We haven't booked anyone into the cell Todd... once occupied," Jameson said as we passed through yet another security desk.

"Good," I replied flatly, rolling my eyes at Guillam behind the gaoler's back.

I'd instructed Jameson to do as much, but the damned squirrel was just so eager to please that I went ahead and let him think he'd taken some form of initiative in the matter.

"In the original state still, just like you wanted,"

"Of course,"

As we rounded one final corner, we came to a short hall with a single barred door at the far end. Jameson hurriedly unlocked the door, pushing it open with a metallic clang. He gestured grandiosely at the plain, dull space, that silly grin plastered all over his face.

"And here we are!" he trumpeted.

"Great. Say, why don't you get back to your... mug shot stacking or whatever? You looked busy, and I hate to get in your way," I suggested.

The squirrel shifted nervously on the spot. "Well, that's not really something we're supposed to do with visitors. Allowing them alone and all,"

"Come on, Jameson," I replied. "We can show ourselves out after we're done poking around. It's no problem, really,"

Jameson didn't look like he would be budging on the issue, so I threw my arm over his shoulder, flashing him my most winning smile. A real gem of one, too, if I do say so myself.

"Hey man, I get you. Gotta follow the big man's orders. But between you and me, the big man wouldn't be nothing without hard-working blokes like us. We look out for each other, am I right? Trust me, nobody's gotta know you left us to our own devices. You feel me?"

Jameson heaved one final reluctant sigh, but nodded. "I... I feel you. But check out when you're leaving, okay?"

"Of course," I grinned, patting him on the back as I gave him a gentle push in the right direction.

"You'll really give your boss my résumé, right?" the squirrel asked over his shoulder as he tottered back down the hallway.

"Would I break a promise?" I smiled.

"Of course you would," Guillam muttered at me.

"Shut up," I replied. "You know me too well,"

"I'm your godsdamned partner, Warren," the cross fox replied. "I probably know you better than that ocelot girlfriend of yours. You _are_still dating her, right? Jane or whatever?"

"Jessica," I corrected. "And no. We broke up a few weeks ago,"

"Pity," he said as he followed me into the cell. "She was cute,"

"But so high maintenance," I grunted, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. The bedsprings squeaked under me.

"All the same, that's a new record for you, right? She lasted, what, three dates? Four?" Guillam pointed out, the eternal optimist.

"Four, yeah. Didn't know that was a record, though. Thanks for keeping track," I rolled my eyes.

"All right, you going to explain to me why you sent Eager Beaver away?" my partner asked. "We aren't planning on breaking someone out of here, are we?" he added conspiratorially.

"Not this time," I replied shortly. "Did you want to listen to any more of 'Eager Beaver' prattling on about how he'd be the bestest Secret Agent or whatever of all time? Of course not. I did us a favor and got him out of our fur,"

Guillam raised his brows in agreement. He wasn't going to argue me that. Correct as usual.

"I still don't get why we're back here again," the cross fox said huffily. "There isn't anything here,"

"We have to have missed something," I insisted. "Todd didn't just vanish into thin air,"

"Well, he basically did if that idiot meerkat you interrogated was telling the truth!" Guillam spluttered, throwing his arms into the air. "Alternate dimensions and all that bullshit. I still can't believe that,"

"Nor can I," I shook my head. "But when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or whatever,"

"Thanks for the words of wisdom, Sherlock. So where do you suggest we look, and what should we even look for?"

"Everywhere and anything," I replied ambiguously, shrugging my shoulders.

The cross fox grumbled, but started examining the far wall of the cell for loose bricks or anything else that could be out of place.

Rolling off the bed, I snatched up the pillow, stripping off the threadbare pillowcase and examining it. No dice. I pulled the scraggly sheet and equally well-worn fitted sheet off the bed. The plastic-covered mattress underneath was thoroughly unremarkable in every possible way.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips. Why was there nothing? There had to be something! Todd was crafty and calculating, but he wasn't infallible. He had to have left some sort of clue, some breadcrumb.

"You check the inside?" Guillam asked balefully, pointing at the zipper on the side of the mattress cover.

Blushing violently at my oversight, I undid the zipper and felt through the mattress' stuffing. I winced: it was slightly damp from some moisture of unknown origin, and the whole thing smelled vaguely of mildew.

"Not exactly the Savoy," I grimaced.

"I guess I'll cancel the reservations I made for us here, then," Guillam retorted.

"Damn. You really know how to romance a fellow," I snorted, up to my elbow in the stuffing.

A frown flickered across my face as my hand closed around something that was decidedly not the same material as the rest of the mattress.

"What do you reckon this is, Peter?" I asked, turning over the strip of cloth wound with various wires and chips. "Did Todd make a friend here in Max Security? Maybe he wanted to commemorate the occasion with some jewelry?"

"Hardly," Guillam snorted, leaning closer to study the object. He held out a hand to stop me as I went to drape the mystery bracelet across my wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he cautioned.

"What could it possibly do to me?" I snorted.

Nevertheless, I stuffed the bracelet into my pocket. Didn't want to engage in any high-risk activities like putting on some stupid jewelry. That's why they pay me the big bucks.

"Just saving you from yourself," Guillam shrugged as we made our way towards the front entrance of the prison and the overeager gaoler. "Let's go have someone take a gander at it,"

"We are an effective team," I grinned.

*****

"I thought I was going to die. It was touch and go a few times there," I breathed, clinging onto Reynard.

"Oh, come on. It's just an airplane ride," the arctic fox chortled.

"To you, maybe. But that shit is too much for me to fucking handle," I groaned.

"Well, we're back on solid ground now. Crisis averted," Reynard asserted gruffly. "Let's go get our luggage and get the fuck out of this damned airport,"

I wasn't about to disagree on that point, so I hurried after my husband towards the baggage claim area and out of the airport. Reynard hailed a cab on the curb outside the airport, giving the driver an address.

"Where are we staying, anyway?"

The Heritage Place, as it turned out. As we entered the decadent lobby of the five-star establishment, Reynard must have anticipated some sort of finance-based meltdown on my part.

"We've got this covered, no worries," he murmured in my ear as I stared goggle-eyed at the large fountain in the center of the reception area. "I promise you, everything for this trip is completely within our means. It's all worked out. I don't want you to worry about any of that stuff. This is for you. I want you to have somewhere that'll let you take your mind off things,"

"Okay," I said, knowing I couldn't promise any of that.

Our room was every bit as over-the-top as the rest of the hotel. A positively enormous bed covered in satin pillows and silken sheets dominated the room. Bay windows with heavy curtains overlooked the historic Crabber's Wharf.

Reynard pushed me onto the bed, kissing me passionately and fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. I resisted feebly as he dove, pressing me into the soft silk sheets.

Breaking free of Reynard's embrace, I rolled away from him to the other side of the bed, kicking off my shoes. The arctic fox growled playfully and pounced at me, showering me once again with kisses.

Unable to cope any longer, I pushed my husband away, a soft sob escaping my mouth. Reynard was on me again almost instantaneously, draping an arm around my shoulders and holding me close.

"What's the matter, Rodge?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

I sniffled. "I'm sorry," I mumbled at length. "I should be happy. Because of everything you're doing and because we spent so much money on this. I shouldn't be--"

"--No!" Reynard urged gently. "Don't worry about any of that. None of that matters. Do you want to talk about something?"

I shifted, pressing up against Reynard's side. "I've just been really frazzled of late. I'm worried about a lot of stuff. Becca... Todd... It's just... I dunno.

"I've always been able to deal with everything that's been thrown at me for so long, but I feel like I just hit my critical mass or whatever. And that scares me. I don't like it. Not at all. And I don't know what to do. I feel like I can't... fix everything,"

Reynard hesitated, idly petting the fur covering my shoulder as he stared at the opposite wall.

"Maybe you don't need to," he said simply.

"Need to what?" I asked.

"Fix everything," Reynard clarified. "You do a lot of things for other people. And they really appreciate it, I promise you. Whether or not they tell you or seem like they do.

"So when things get hard, and I'm sure they do, know that people are there for you. _I'm_there for you. It's why I married you--I love you and care about you and your well-being. All right?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling foolish. "Okay," I said, barely audible. "Thanks. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to go and get all feels-y. I guess it just hit me that we're really married; it isn't fake or the same as normal life how it used to be or anything like that. And that's just a lot to take in at once,"

Reynard stroked my cheek, smiling. "Of course it is. I feel in way over my head sometimes too. It's a big step. It really is. But we're in thing this together. We can take the next step, and the steps that follow after, together.

I nodded into Reynard's chest. "Sorry. I feel like such a downer. It's so beautiful here. Everything's so perfect. This is really incredible, the view and the suite and this bed and these sheets and... You've... I'm just gonna shut up now. Don't mean to carry on like this,"

"Nothing to apologize for," he replied. A grin flickered across his face. "Now. I figured we could go see the sights tomorrow, but I didn't have anything planned for the remainder of today. Wanna stay in? Maybe order some room service?"

Smiling back at the arctic fox, I kissed him on the cheek. "Sounds good to me,"

*****

The room I had been transported into appeared to be part of a large complex of some sort. A maze of tiled corridors stretched in every direction, intersecting seemingly at random. Heavy wooden doors were spaced at regular intervals. Some had numbers painted on them, seemingly apartments or dormitory rooms, while others had metallic plaques beside them, indicating them to be an office of some sort or a meeting place.

"Are we there yet?" I whined obnoxiously, glancing over my shoulder at the two escorts flanking me.

My query garnered no response.

The pair guiding me through the halls weren't really my captors, per se--I wasn't cuffed or anything like that--but their demeanor made it clear I was in some sort of trouble. On my right was a powerfully built creature who resembled a stallion with a jet-black coat. His eyes burned with a dark fire and smoke curled from his nostrils with each exhalation. Next to him was a minotaur, more stocky than the stallion, but just as dour of expression. They were dressed fairly casually in jeans and polo shirts, though they were definitely better dressed than I. Not that that was saying much, exactly. The collar wasn't exactly for a fashion statement.

As we walked farther and farther into the labyrinthine complex, the halls became wider and busier. Occasionally, one creature or another would stride by in the opposite direction, casting a furtive glance at me before hurrying onward. I just flashed the passers-by my most winning smile and kept on as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

One of the main hallways contained a series of what appeared to be photographs of employees at work, destroying various cities and civilizations of any number of dimensions with gusto and verve. Wondering how they even went about taking the photos, I recognized one of the subjects as part of my escort.

"Employee of the month?" I teased the stallion. "Someone's a star member of his work team,"

As I had come to expect, the flame-eyed stallion did not reply, much less give any indication he had even heard me speak.

Turning one final corner, we arrived at a short side-corridor terminating in a black door. The minotaur pushed in front of me, rapping twice on the door before pushing it open and ushering me through into the office beyond. I had to duck slightly in order to prevent myself from bashing my head on the doorframe.

The office's occupant, a griffon (or that's what I assumed she was, at least), groaned audibly almost the moment I walked into the room. Dressed in a severe pinstriped pantsuit, she sat in a high-backed leather armchair behind an elaborately carved oaken desk.

"I knew one of that lot would get back through eventually," she groused, half to herself and half to my escorts.

"What do you mean by that--my lot?" I asked coolly.

The griffon made a face of vague distaste as I sat down in a matching armchair on the other side of her desk. It was comfortable enough, but almost comically small for me. I made do, draping a leg over the arm and propping up my chin on my elbow, leaning casually.

"Name's Todd, by the way," I grinned, extending a hand. She hesitated before shaking, her hand like a child's in mine. "What did you mean by 'that lot'?" I prompted again.

The griffon, whose name turned out to be Arora, removed the librarian glasses from her beak and polished them intently before leveling her gaze at me again. She seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of my appearance and was attempting to re-assert herself.

"I told those imbecilic arithmeticians that they needed to develop... safeguards against Synchronicities leaking backwards and allowing denizens of your planet, or any of the others, for that matter, from finding their way here. I've been telling that since my first day in the office," she replied with a dismissive sniff. "You _are_much larger than most of the vermin like you, though," she conceded, almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah, I had a little bit of help," I shrugged, tapping my collar.

"Explain," Arora squinted through her spectacles.

"Oh, you've got a little dragon-bug running around inside your walls. Wasn't sure if you were aware of that," I replied, picking at my nails.

The griffon stiffened. "What do you mean?" she asked, an edge of urgency in her tone.

"I tried to exterminate the little bugger, but Ox-Head and Horse-Face here got me distracted," I said, jerking my head towards the back of the room. Arora seemed to want to press the matter further, but I was bored of discussing Tal. "Then again, I'm not exactly the first person to be large and in charge. Though I'm pretty sure I've got a height record of some sort at the moment,"

"Ah, yes. The Saaduuts Problem," Arora massaged her temples as if the issue were something that had been plaguing her for some time. "Yet another example of Arithmetic competency and efficiency,"

"Go on," I leaned in, genuinely intrigued. "I'd be more than happy to sit on a towel or something if you're concerned about the upholstery. I don't shed, I promise," I added apologetically, noticing her glance distastefully at the armchair I was sitting in once more.

"It's no matter," she sighed. "The city of Saaduuts has been a little bit of a thorn in our side for some time now. Whatever idiot established the initial Synchronicity fucked it up. It's leaky or something, I've yet to get anything a substantial explanation from anyone as to why it isn't working like it should. Typical arithmeticians, always retreating into their jargon when they've fucked up but are too proud to admit it.

"Anyway, the long and short of it is that sometimes some of your kind get... above their station. It's never lasted all that long and they've never gotten large enough to pose any real threat to us, so it's been largely ignored. Have to deal with the realities of budgetary limits, after all.

"Some have even argued that the leak is beneficial. Every time one of those oversized pests decides he or she wants to cause some damage, we get a little bit of extra power in the energy reserves. Not nearly as much as an established connection, mind you, but nothing to sneeze at.

"But_clearly_ we should have done something about that leaky Synchronicity--you're walking, talking proof of that," she concluded with a hiss. "How did you get here, anyway?"

"Well, I'm no physicist, so I couldn't really tell you the details. But we call 'em wormholes, not Synchronicities or whatever," I said, leaning back in the chair.

"Wormholes?" Arora asked nervously.

"Relax. They're purely conjectural to our physicists. You won't be getting any 'vermin' knocking on your front door anytime soon,"

The griffon looked relieved. "But if your... physicists... don't understand Synchronicities, how did you manage to get here?"

I shrugged. "I have a guy. He isn't like most physicists. He isn't the lap-slave of some university or other institution hounding him to constantly publish, publish, publish. No. He's free to... make leaps that would be too risky for someone else trying to keep a position elsewhere.

"All I care about is I paid him and he delivered. Sent a nice little doodad to my cell that opened up some sorta portal and, well, here I am," I gestured.

"Cell?" Arora narrowed her eyes. "You were in prison?"

I grinned manically. "Don't you read the papers? Apparently folks don't take too kindly to a fellow who enlarges himself to gigantic proportions, causes incalculable damage to a major metropolis, and then claims ownership of said metropolis along with any surviving citizens,"

Another brow-raise. "And what brings you here?"

"Well, in case you didn't know, prison sucks," I snorted. "But really, I'm here to offer you my services,"

"Services?"

"Well, I'm not going to pretend to know how all of you folks tick, but if I can tell anything, you've been a little gun-shy about my... dimension or whatever," I shrugged, crossing my legs and leaning back in the chair with my arms folded across my chest. "It's for, what, energy-harvesting or whatever? Well, if I'm current on my news, there really haven't been any giant monsters attacking anything of late. Did Roger really scare your associate that much?"

Arora frowned primly. "One of our Reapers, Cogaran, provided reason enough for us to... exercise caution," she replied shortly. "We take the utmost precautions to ensure the safety of our employees,"

"Safety?" I snorted. "What, are you worried about one of 'em stubbing a toe on a bus or something? I wouldn't concern myself about that all that much if I were you. Except maybe that one," I jerked my head in the direction of the minotaur. "He doesn't seem all that bright,"

"We were more concerned with the... giants," the griffon conceded.

This time, I outright cackled, throwing my head back. "Those ridiculous things? Projections on the wall? That insect of a fox cooked up a crock of shit to scare off your draconic friend. Read about that in the paper. He was lauded as a local hero, I'll have you know.

"The only full-time oversized person they've got in Saaduuts is one rather unfortunate ferretess. But she's only about yea high," I commented, waving my hand at shin height. "And she's dreadfully boring in the Destructive Rampage department. Gets fussy every once in awhile, but otherwise she's a yawn-fest. Pity, really. She's so good at those outbursts. And she's got an exquisite body,"

Arora drummed her fingers on the desk. "We just can't afford to take any risks,"

I clucked my tongue, examining my nails with an air of boredom. "Pity, I guess. Without being able to take advantage of all of our bustling cities, you must be struggling to meet energy quotas,"

The griffon stiffened as if I'd poured salt in a wound.

"Yes," she replied shortly.

"Really a pity," I sighed theatrically, resting my cheek on my palm. Now was the time to bring home the bacon. I sat up as an idea suddenly "dawned" on me.

"You're concerned for your employees' safety, right?"

"Official policy," Arora said.

"Well. I'm not a member of your... organization, am I?" I asked, folding my arms behind my head. "Why don't I take one for the team? So to speak,"

The griffon's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Let me through one of those Synchronicities, or whatever you call them," I shrugged. "Let me have my fun,"

"That's preposterous!" the griffon scoffed dismissively. "We have quality standards here. You have no record here, no physical on file, no--"

"--Are you kidding me? I'm offering you free labor here!" I threw up my arms. "I am nothing but quality, I assure you,"

Arora remained skeptical.

"What is the possible risk for you?" I gesticulated. "I get my fun. You get free energy as a result of my... activities. If anyone could possibly have any complaints about my, ah, performance, they wouldn't connect the dots. So the good name of your venerable organization won't suffer.

"I'm a fox, in case you haven't noticed. Not a... kitsune, not any of that. A fox. A nice, normal species. At least in my dimension. They wouldn't trace me back to you,"

Arora offered no response, but her brows were knitted as she racked her mind, considering her options. I gave her my most winning grin. This absolutely had to turn out my way.

*****

"If I eat a single more piece of sourdough, I'm going to straight-up die," I declared, pushing back from the table with an air of finality.

"But there's still dessert," Reynard leaned across the table, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

"Dessert? At lunch?"

"We're on our honeymoon. I say we have dessert with every meal," Reynard enthused.

"You're so cute," I gushed. "But I'll be less appreciative of your cuteness if you make me rupture my gut," I added, patting my stomach.

The arctic fox shrugged, flagging down the waiter and taking the check.

"Got a busy day ahead of us still," Reynard said, getting up from his chair. "Want to take a ferry over to Alcatraz? Take a stroll down the Wharf? Visit the beach? I hear they have real sand here. None of that rocky shit like back in Saaduuts,"

"It's your turn to choose," I prodded gently.

"Aw, this is all for you. Your choice. Besides. I made all of the decisions leading up to this--hotel, flight, everything. Your turn to make the tough calls," Reynard evaded, a sly grin on his lips. My father had always warned me against marrying other vulpines. Too much craftiness. But I'd never been to intelligent in the love department. Things seemed to turn out all right, all things considered.

We ended up strolling down the boardwalk along the waterfront. Vendors sold street food from carts and street performers stood stock still in hopes of getting a tip from charitable passers-by. Being proper jaded Saaduutsites, Reynard and I breezed right by them, wholly ignoring the occasional call for change.

"People down here are too friendly," I commented disapprovingly, noting more than a few of them plunking coins and bills into tins.

"Maybe you could just do with a bit more Vitamin D," Reynard chided me gently. "Does a body good,"

"Happiness is for the weak," I declared.

Reynard grabbed my wrist playfully, jerking me to the side. He started hurrying down an alley between two tired old brownstone buildings.

"What's with the detour?" I asked.

"I just remembered we haven't seen the International District yet," the arctic fox replied with a smile. "So let's go!"

"Shouldn't we, I dunno, go the normal way? You know, on the sidewalks and stuff?" I suggested, glancing around.

"I read something in the guidebook about there being some really neat little historic shops and stuff down some of these back alleys. You really like that sort of shit, don't you? The non-touristy bits of a city,"

"Mmm," I replied noncommittally, glancing over at a pair of people huddled in a doorway and totally not participating in a drug deal.

Unbeknownst to me, Reynard had stopped stock still just a few paces front of me. I plowed into his back, jerking to attention as he grabbed my arm more tightly than before.

Ahead of us, at the end of the alleyway, was a shadowy figure wearing a bulky letterman jacket. His hands were stuffed into his pocket. I whirled around, still gripped by Reynard, to see that the alley was blocked off at the other end as well. The pair we'd passed in the doorway suddenly had taken an interest in us.

"What's going on?" I whispered in Reynard's ear.

"I--I don't know. Just stay behind me," Reynard hissed back.

The figures on both sides were advancing on us. I stiffened as the jacketed individual pulled a handgun from his pocket and pointed it shakily at Reynard.

"Hey--hey let's all just... be calm," Reynard said slowly and cautiously, holding his hands out.

"Wallet. Now," the figure snapped shortly, jerking the gun at us.

"Okay, okay," my husband replied, holding out the hand not gripping onto me. "I'm going to reach into my back pocket now and get it. Easy. Easy,"

Reynard's vice-like grip on my arm loosened as he reached down, producing the wallet.

"Give it here," the gunman ordered shortly.

"Okay," Reynard breathed.

I tensed as Reynard took a step or two forward. "I'm going to put this on the ground," he said, reaching out slowly. "Don't do anything--"

"Hurry up! We don't have all day!" the gunman barked, punctuating each order with an harried wave of his firearm.

"Easy," Reynard breathed. "Easy, easy, easy, easy. It's almost--"

The world went into slow motion. All I can remember is the ear-splitting crack of the gun going off. Reynard went limp, slumping to the ground.

The savage ran up, stooping to snatch up the wallet from a puddle before sprinting away down the alley after his comrade.

I became vaguely aware of a sticky warmth on my face. Reaching up, I touched my fingers to my cheek. They came away red with drops of blood.

Numb, I dropped to my knees and rolled Reynard over on his back. His eyes were glassy and out of focus; I couldn't tell whether he was breathing or not. Blood oozed from a small wound on the side of his temple.

"Oh holy fuck," I breathed, feeling myself start to hyperventilate. "Fuck fuck fuck,"

Pressing my hand to the wound in an effort to staunch the steady flow of blood, I fumbled in my pocket for my mobile. In a daze, I dialled 911. I needed an ambulance here, and I needed it five minutes ago.

*****

Guillam leaned his back against the file cabinet, arms folded across his chest. I paced back and forth in front of him, practically wearing a furrow in the shag carpet.

"How long is this going to take?" I hissed at him.

"Trust me. These guys know what they're doing. Just give 'em some time. They need some time. You can't make magic just happen out of nowhere," the cross fox replied, shaking his head at me.

"But... but isn't that the point of magic?" I pointed out. "Something out of nothing or whatever?"

"You know what I mean," Guillam groaned.

"Well, if you have some way of teleporting me out of this creepy skeezehole, I'd take that as well," I threw my arms up, gesturing around the dank basement room in which we were standing.

Dank didn't quite put it strongly enough. Lit only by a battered old desk lamp and a couple of bare bulbs, the room was probably about the size of my first apartment out of college. The entire space was a cluttered mess of filing cabinets stuffed beyond the limit, flickering computer monitors, and papers strewn about haphazardly. A large whiteboard on wheels covered in scrawled notes and doodles leaned against a desk stacked high with dusty books and binders.

"These are your 'guys'? I asked incredulously, flicking through a stack of loose-leaf papers with various nonsense scrawled haphazardly all over them.

Guillam scowled at my derisive smirk. "You don't have to be an obsessive-compulsive neat freak in order for shit to get done," he snapped. "You want to know what that bracelet does? These guys are our best bet,"

"We have a state-of-the-art analytical lab back at regional headquarters," I replied sharply. "I don't really have time for your idiotic 'guys'. Where the fuck did you even find these people? Some sort of fucking conspiracy theorist convention or something?"

Guillam bristled at my barbs. "These 'conspiracy theorists' are ten times better than anything our lab has to offer, I'll have you know. Not that you can appreciate any of the nuances of that stuff,"

I laughed derisively and prepared a retort to sling back at my partner, but the door at the other end of the basement opened and three people, each one greasier than the one before, entered.

"Do we need to get a room for you two?" a weasel wearing horn-rimmed spectacles sniffed.

"Seriously. We could hear you two going at it from the other room," affirmed a heavyset beaver in a well-worn classic rock shirt, scratching at his scraggly hair.

I blushed violently and Guillam suddenly developed a keen interest in the floor.

"Not that it distracted us too much from taking a gander at this thing," the beaver added, waving the bracelet through the air in front of our faces.

"So this is the Scully we've all been told about," the final member of the trio, a hyena with green streaks in his hair and fur, jerked his head in my direction.

Confused, I glanced over at Guillam, who was blushing even more violently than before.

"Peter?" I asked. "What is he talking about--he... he thinks I'm the Scully in this partnership?"

"Scully is the sane one," Guillam shrugged.

He had a point. I wasn't about to disagree with that.

"So, you going to tell us what you found?" I asked, gesturing at the bracelet.

The trio exchanged gleeful glances before hurrying across the room and clearing off a space on the desk for the bracelet.

"Where on earth did you find this thing?" the weasel asked, tapping the bracelet. "This is like nothing we've ever seen before. Raid a top-secret lab somewhere or something?"

"Actually, we found it in a--"

"--That's classified information. Sorry, mates," Guillam cut me off, mouthing they love this shit at me.

"That's all beside the point. Could you figure out whatever this thing is? What it does?" I pushed.

Another glance between the trio.

"Well, yes we did," the hyena said, nodding.

"And you will not believe what we found out about this little baby," the weasel nodded at the bracelet.

"A real doozy," agreed the beaver.

"Out with it already," I groaned.

"Well buckle in, because this shit is fucking nuts," the beaver poked his finger at the bracelet. "You two seem to have stumbled upon nothing short of a teleportation device,"

Guillam stared blankly at the trio, jaw slack. I opted for a more direct approach, throwing my head back and laughing.

"I'm calling bullshit," I replied shortly.

"Thought you'd say that," the weasel replied gleefully.

The weasel attached the bracelet to a clamp so that it was dangling over the surface of the desk. He pressed the button on the clasp. Nothing.

"Cool," I snorted.

Holding up a finger to silence me, the weasel produced a pencil with a dramatic flourish. Gripping it by the eraser end, he inserted it slowly through the bracelet. I couldn't help but gasp as the pencil vanished as it passed through the loop. Grinning manically, the weasel moved the pencil in and out of the loop, watching my reaction. The writing utensil went in one side but didn't come out the other.

"No fucking way," I breathed, exchanging stunned glances with Guillam.

"Fucking way," the beaver corrected.

"Tell me you have an explanation as to how this even works," Guillam shook his head numbly, running a hand through his hair.

The trio offered no response.

"Come on, guys," I said. "Peter here led me to believe you guys were the tops at what you do. Whatever that is, exactly,"

"We can tell you it transports whoever is wearing the bracelet to some sort of... somewhere. But we'd need to do some more tests to confirm how it does what it does, exactly. All we can do is tell you it works," the weasel adjusted his spectacles. "If we could hang onto it for a bit, we could do a more thorough analysis,"

"Absolutely not," I snatched the bracelet off the clamp, dashing his hopes in an instant. "We've got places to go, people to talk to... you get the deal,"

"Thanks for the help, guys," Guillam said.

With Guillam on my tail, I left the basement, blinking as the bright daylight blinded me. I pocketed the bracelet, pulling out the keys to the car and tossing them over to my partner. It was his turn to drive.

"I can safely say this is the most insane thing I've ever been involved with," Guillam shook his head in disbelief as he stuck the key in the ignition.

"Does everyone think that?" I asked as we pulled away from the skeevy building advertising SPACE TO LET CHEAP. "That we're like... taking this partnership extracurricular or something?"

"Huh? Wha?" Guillam looked puzzled.

"Back there with the Three Greasers of the Apocalypse," I replied, jerking my head at the building.

Guillam snorted, casting me a sidelong glance. "We'd make a really hot couple, you have to admit that much,"

I opened my mouth to respond, but couldn't think of an appropriately snippy retort fast enough. We sat in silence for a few minutes as Guillam drove.

"Teleportation," Guillam offered.

"Teleportation," I nodded in agreement.

"I suppose if we can count on Todd for one thing, it's to throw in a curve ball at the last damn second,"

"Dastardly bastard,"

My mobile rang, startling us both. I pulled it from my pocket, answering it.

"What is it, baby brother?" I asked, grinning. "Called to taunt me from that little corner of paradise Rey dragged you off to?"

Several minutes later, I hung up the mobile. Every trace of a smile was erased from my face and I was shaking slightly.

"I need you to drop me off at the airport, Peter," I breathed.