FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

(( Read the first segment here!))

///// Chapter One: The Covenant

The bar became steadily more crowded as the evening shifts changed. Night guards took the place of the dock workers, many of whom poured into the Silver Ladle. Payday was nigh, and Madame Sybil could always tell.

Brimming with activity, the dozen booths were filled with men, each in varied stages of undress and inebriation. Some slapped the asses of the lower end whores, others were content to grumble into their alcohol. Cards and dice were haphazardly thrown to and fro, sailors, steelworkers, dock hands alike engaged in a series of gambling that Madame Sybil didn't even attempt to understand.

Even if the rules of the game escaped her, she couldn't help but feel a pang of contempt for the cheaters she observed; one needn't know the rules of a game to spot the sleight of hand that twisted a card, or a die into place. They were subtle enough to slide cards here and there--into a sleeve, or a pocket, or the reverse--to produce cards that ought not be in their hand. Her contemptuous glare stopped one or two of their antics, and set her mind to whirl with solutions for the rest. She ran a respectable brothel; even judges and lawmen frequented it here. She would not suffer cheaters, or liars.

Anyone willing to steal from their friends with a grin on their face was simply... Madame Sybil fought for just the right word, but settled for inferior. While she never prided herself on having close enough relationships to call 'friends', the panther had grown around a strict sense of honor.

Madame Sybil picked a spot near the base of the stairs, posing regally as she overlooked the fascinating display of the fundamental components of men. Widely ignoring the cat calls, the Madame strode around the row of stools in front of the bar. They stood vacant for now while the lone waitress, pulling twice the duty as the barmaid as well struggled against the tide of customers.

"Patricia, is it?" Madame Sybil asked quietly.

The leopard behind the bar jumped in surprise, jarred from her concentration by Madame Sybil's remark. She immediately set about, straightening up and trying to turn around at the same time, then juggled the glass she was holding from paw to paw before managing to firmly grab it without actually dropping it altogether. Patricia nodded, frowning as she placed the glass back onto the shelf.

"Yes ma'am. Susan is with child, and Adrella is at the constable's offices."

"At the constable's, Patricia?" Patricia looked down, grabbed an empty mug and began cleaning it fiercely. Madame Sybil's back straightened authoritatively. "If something is amiss, I need to know it, Patricia. Please, speak of this to me."

The other feline paused, and then looked up at her mistress pensively for a moment before giving a sigh and visibly deflating. "Her mate is abusive, m'lady." she muttered with venom in her voice, just above a whisper. Madame Sybil's eyes narrowed, but said nothing as she watched the leopardess stack some glasses atop a small waitress' plank, and rush them out into the crowd at the request of a rowdy group of customers.

She remained in place - outwardly calm and unruffled - until Patricia returned; a load of empty glasses on the plank now. The leopardess' face was a mask of concentration- an invaluable trait that Madame Sybil regretted the need to interrupt; she firmly believed in letting employees that were working hard do their job without having to look over their shoulders.

"Is the bastard here?"

"Yes."

Madame Sybil nodded, then leaned forward. Her head hovered closely to Patricia's, who glanced warily in the panther's direction. Madame Sybil reached into the folds of her lace dress, producing a small, gold coin. "Give him this." She said simply. The feline's mouth fell agape in surprise as she stared at the heavy coin in her paw.

"A Queen? Madame, surely you don't mean to-"

Madame Sybil raised her paw to silence the waitress, her mouth twitching upwards into a smile as the gesture worked. "Tell him that we wish Adrella a most speedy recovery, and that this is on the house."

"Ma'am, this is a salary for a month." Patricia looked down at the coin. The panther could see she had set the server's heart racing simply by watching the cat's breathing. "I can't give this to an abuser."

"Dear child" Madame Sybil cooed, placing the coin in the leopardess's paw before lifting the cat's chin to look her in the eyes. "You're not giving this to an abuser" The panther smiled carnivorously, a smile full of teeth, but devoid of humor; turning her head so the patrons of the bar didn't see. Her eyes traced along the lines of mugs, ales and whiskeys that faced the rowdy bunch, only to look back to Patricia. "You're showing his friends just how much of a cheat he is."

"A cheat?"

"I believe you know what happens to players who cheat at cards." Madame Sybil reminded her carefully. The cat wet her lips pensively, then nodded. "The cops don't often listen to whores or waitresses, Patricia." Madame Sybil whispered. "We must dispense justice on our own terms."

"By convincing a man's friends that he is cheating them in poker? I thought we were trying to gift this to him!"

Madame Sybil nodded. "Two things can be true at once, Patricia. Tell him privately that we wish for Adrella's speedy recovery; that will ensure he isn't surprised by the Queen sitting next to him. The rest of the gentlebeasts sitting at his table will undoubtedly notice that a Queen is far more than the combination of his earnings and winnings."

"What does that do, Madame Sybil?"

The panther smiled carnivorously. "I am only telling you to replace this Queen with his winnings. Just a simple, direct switch should be fine. It is far more than anything he's made on his own, and enough to convince others that something is amiss. That much opens a backdoor to vigilante justice." Sybil replied, her tone glassy smooth.

"Ma'am, you're nearly doubling the amount of his earnings in a single gift." Patricia spared the table a glance. "Do you even know how much he's made?"

"Four crests, two Barons and a Duke." Madame Sybil's voice drew the leopardess' attention once more. "And, following the Rule of Ten inside of the currency, he'd need six more crests to make a Baron, seven more Barons beyond that to make a Duke, and yes, eight more Dukes to a Queen."

"There is no way I can convince them he's stolen that much from them!" Patricia protested. The barmaid leaned around to the group of men, all of whom were now casting wary, if not slightly disgusted looks at Madame Sybil for stopping their drinks. Each of them grumbled their own string of curses about Patricia, but fell silent immediately as Madame Sybil merely turned her head to listen.

"You are overthinking this, child." Madame Sybil replied smoothly. "He doesn't need to understand where the gift comes from, only why. When he accepts the gift, it will force his hand; either he admits he is a cheat at cards, or he admits that he is an abuser. Whatever he chooses, a very violent lesson will be taught afterwards; we are simply going to tip the scales of karma against him." The panther muttered carefully. "But no matter what he does, this action ensures his gaming mates to fly into a rage."

"Isn't that playing with fire?" Patricia asked, keeping her voice low as she readied a round of drinks, setting the Queen on the board next to one of the beers.

"You show me a man that is willing to admit a pair of whores set him up for a fall, and I shall dismiss you for being a liar." The panther replied, her tone sickly sweet before she shooed the waitress away.

Patricia stepped around Madame Sybil, a controlled, graceful smile parting her statuesque features. A small bit of pride welled in Sybil's chest; she knew Patricia would take this lesson to heart, as well as pass excellent news to her bloodied friend.

She savored the moment, only to relax, casting her gaze over the empty glasses on the bar once more. Were she anyone else, the white and black tiger who stepped behind her would have been something of a surprise. In her many years of whoring, Madame Sybil had learned to use reflections on all things- glasses, plates, and others to maintain acute awareness of her surroundings.

"Mikhail Vladislav." Madame Sybil's back straightened regally, turning her head first, then squaring her shoulders to the tiger.

The arctic tiger was, in simplest of terms, a mountain of meat. His reputation preceded him; an assassin of highest caliber, and a soldier of fortune. The type of beast who would sell the world on a whim, only to betray the man to whom he sold it for the reward thereafter.

Mikhail looked down at the panther with a knowing smile, cocking his head gently to the side as he purred. "Madame Sybil, I presume." The panther looked the tiger in the eye; they exchanged controlled, professional nods to one another.

"But of course." Madame Sybil brushed creases from her dress before locking her gaze with the tigers.

"You've heard of me, obviously" Mikhail's tail twitched- the panther could sense the irritation coming off of him in waves. "I should like to know how."

"Information is powerful, and I'll not divulge my sources." Madame Sybil responded bluntly. Mikhail nodded contemplatively, maintaining an otherwise pleasant demeanor.

"Then no doubt you know I've been paid to be here." The tiger responded smoothly.

"I've half a dozen gentlebeasts who could claim the same." Madame Sybil kept her tone equally pleasant. "Though I doubt you are here to raise your tail for anyone in particular."

"I'll not be insulted, Madame." Mikhail couldn't keep a boiling growl from his voice.

"Nor I intimidated." Sybil laced her fingers in front of her. "But I should like to know for whom you've been paid."

"Does it matter?"

"Coy doesn't suit you." the panther shot as the tiger gave his most convincing of grins. "Speak your piece or be done."

"Kendall Whitaker." Mikhail said quietly, his grin transforming into a toothy, carnivorous snarl.

Theodore tasted the air around the question, regarding the professor suspiciously before nodding. "Go ahead."

"Would it satisfy you to know these are for military research?" The otter indicated the notes, waving them softly through the air. Theodore shook his head. "In that case, are you daft or desperate?"

"If you must know, desperate." Theodore shrugged. "Not too many exciting things happen in my life, and this is one of them. Explain in twenty words or less, please. I believe we can decide on whether or not you need my help from there." Theodore's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, bracing his open paws against his thighs. The professor clicked his tongue dryly at Theodore's feeble attempt at wit, only to scowl. "After all, you said it yourself; As a whore, I may be the last person you can trust."

"I said no such thing." Whitaker spat, taking a small, offended step backwards.

"You implied it." Theodore shrugged, turning on the bed, and scooting until he could rest his back against the headboard.

"I daresay I didn't."

"You dare lie, then." Theodore added with a knowing cock of his head.

Whitaker's teeth bared, the otter even going so far as to remove his glasses, as if to prepare for a brawl. "You dare accuse me of lying?"

Theodore nodded, crossing his legs comfortably on the bed. "A man in such fine clothes as yours has his pick of everything. If Madame Sybil was right, you're a military man, as well as a physician. You could drop a week's worth of my earnings on that vanity and not even notice a dime gone."

Whitaker replaced the papers in his satchel, slapping the clasp shut irritatedly. He glowered in Theodore's direction, but the wolf only continued. "Military research doesn't leave bases. Medical documents are strange to see in general." Theodore grinned immediately as the professor crossed his arms. "To make a long rant short I'm going to call you a whistleblower."

Kendall's eyebrow arched, the otter grunting darkly in Theodore's direction as he pushed his glasses back over his face. "A whistleblower indeed."

"For what, may I ask?"

"A group of scholars that faked their deaths in order to play God."

Theodore's eyes widened, his jaw slacking some. "Pardon?"

"I do not believe I could have been more concise." Whitaker couldn't keep the mild disgust from his tone as adjusted his glasses once more before leaving them be.

"But--"

"Shush." The professor ordered, moving back to the door. He leaned against it, then carefully moved his head down the wall, pressing his ear against it. The otter straightened his back, and Theodore heard it too.

There was a scuffle just down the hallway.

"Do you have a firearm?" Whitaker asked quickly, looking to the wolf. Theodore blinked, then nodded, standing up. "Quickly now damnit!" The otter insisted.

The lupine strode across the room to the mantle, carefully reaching near the flickering embers. He tugged, and worked a brick free, setting it down quickly near the hearth.

Whitaker followed Theodore closely, snatching the brick without caring to let it cool completely in his paws. Theodore opened his mouth to speak, but the professor raised a single paw to silence him.

The otter mulled the brick over in his paws, his face a mask of concentration as he heard the small rattling from inside of the object. Theodore had purchased the hollow brick some time ago to store a firearm he bought from one of the dockmen. The wolf crossed his arms, smirking some at the professor as the otter rattled and shook the red object.

"Would you like some help?" Theodore offered. The otter snorted distastefully at the lupine, handing the compartment back to Theodore grudgingly. "For all that college level intellect-" The wolf grinned savagely. "You can't find a lever."

The lupine reached to the side of the brick, his claw searching for just a moment for a carefully hidden lever arm. Theodore pressed his nail beneath it, lifting to reveal a lever. Whitaker's scowl deepened; Theodore could see the embarrassment flash across the otter's features.

"Ammunition?" The professor asked, reaching uncertainly into the now-opened secret compartment to retrieve the six-shooter.

"It's a .32 caliber--"

"Do you have the bullets?" The otter snarled--Theodore yelped as the mustelid's paw clamped atop his shoulder and squeezed.

"No. Madame Sybil keeps them behind the bar." Theodore forced his shoulder forward, glowering down at the otter and snatching the pistol back.

"Then what precisely is the point of keeping the gun hidden, or even at all!?" Whitaker hissed.

"Because no one else knows it's not loaded, you sea rat!" Theodore shot back, keeping his tone hushed. "And what, pray tell, gives you the right to be such a bastard?"

The otter matched the wolf's icy glare, then bent forward slowly, speaking quickly. "Are you familiar with the Arligent Experiment?" The professor asked bluntly.

Theodore nodded. "I read it in the papers once Something about the first foray into widespread electricity. It failed, then ended up killing a bunch of people."

"It was designed to."

The wolf's eyebrow arched. "Excuse me? I thought it was a medical experiment that you were on the run for. How the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"The Arligent Experiment was designed from the ground up to fail." The otter repeated himself. "I have the documents to prove it, and can help bring the entire conspiracy to its knees. It was to cover for a series of absolutely unethical experiments."

Theodore blinked again, standing slowly. He didn't even realize he was clutching his pistol until he heard the dry click of the hammer, bouncing against the chamber.

The otter grabbed his wrist immediately, raising a paw to the wolf's throat. The professor drove a single finger into the top of Theodore's collar bone, and pushed the wolf brutally against the wall, holding his arm away from his side.

Theodore had once been taught about leverage--how he would have the advantage in this situation; despite his best efforts, the wolf was pinned simply by merit of the otter's strength.

"You keep your finger out of that damn trigger well unless you are ready to fire." the otter spat. "I do not have time for this." The mustelid threw his paws down, disarming the wolf in a single motion as he stepped away, only to toss the gun back to the hearth.

Theodore blinked down at his paws. He'd thought he'd had a good grip on the firearm, but He shook his head clear of the shock, looking back up to the otter.

Professor Whitaker adjusted the satchel on his shoulder, and replaced the papers neatly. The wolf arched an eyebrow at the suddenly controlled demeanor of the otter, particularly since the scuffle in the hallway had subsided.

Theodore froze as he heard someone begin checking the doors, and making quite the ass of themselves. More than one scream of protest, mostly accusations of perversions as someone barged into occupied rooms only to leave.

Theodore stood in awe of the professor as he moved. Each step was deliberate--the otter crossing the room and locking the door, only to move to the vanity with grace that Theodore hadn't thought the otter could possess.

Whitaker began to throw the drawers open, not seeming to give a damn for their contents before sliding them shut. He made his way down one of the three columns of drawers in the vanity before the professor beckoned the wolf over quickly.

Theodore leapt over the bed, not matching the otter's grace in the slightest as he slid next to the professor. "Do you have chains?" Whitaker asked.

"For the love of God man, what would--"

"Chains, Locke. Do you have them?" The otter spat. The wolf splayed his ears then nodded. Theodore ducked to the base drawer, opening the deep compartment quickly. The otter's brow arched in surprise at the disorganized horde of items, and took a small, but disdainful whiff.

"For the love of God, when was the last time you cleaned your equipment?" Whitaker grimaced at the scent.

"I believe we've already discussed about you not being a bastard?" Theodore rolled his eyes..

"It's unsanitary." The otter groused as Theodore handed him a length of sturdy, steel chain. The otter wound it around his fist, then furrowed his brow, depositing it on the bed behind him.

The door was tested, and the pair froze. The door groaned slowly beneath the pressure of someone pushing on it Someone strong.

"Professor Whitaker Are you in there?" a voice came. The wolf's ears perked. There was just enough of an accent Theodore couldn't make out where it was from.

"Who is it?" The otter demanded, sounding quite annoyed. Whitaker pushed one of the leather straps he dared touch against the wolf's thigh in an untidy bundle. The otter ran a single finger over the bridge of Theodore's nose with his free paw, using the vanity to steady himself as he rose to his feet.

Theodore accepted the leather, and began to wrap it about his muzzle firmly, only assuming that is what the professor had intended for him to do.

"Open up, Professor" The voice from the other side of the door came. The lack of argument or correction from the soldier was validation enough as he pulled the leather taut.

"I am indisposed at the moment." Professor Whitaker spat back, turning Theodore around. The wolf's arms were pulled behind him, and the satchel was placed firmly in his paws. A bit of work later, the satchel sling was looped across his chest, creating the illusion that Theodore was firmly bound.

Theodore gave a small nod of praise to the otter as he was pushed against the wall beneath the window to hide the satchel. "Just a moment, the door is jammed." Professor Whitaker snarled, opening the wolf's vest and shirt, and untucking them to expose his chest and stomach.

The otter stood and strode to the door, glowering as he kicked the wedge toward the fireplace. The solid oak door was thrown open--and a white tiger with inky black stripes pushed his way into the room. Whitaker deposited the chains on the foot of the bed with a dark grunt while the tiger glanced around.

The guest noticed Theodore immediately, his tail flicking as he drank in the scenery of the bound wolf.

"My my, Professor I never figured you the sort." The tiger mused as Professor Whitaker moved toward the hearth. The otter disappeared from Theodore's obstructed view--the wolf sandwiched between the large bed and the wall, before Whitaker appeared again.

The wolf shrank down, trying to make himself rather inconspicuous as he glanced beneath the bed. When the otter had reached to pick up the door wedge, he had also snagged the gun from the hearth. The wolf squirmed back up to a more comfortable position, his own mind whirling with the possibilities of what Whitaker could be planning.

The mustelid held the door wedge in his paws, but from where Theodore sat, he could see the firearm tucked into the otter's trousers next to his rudder. It kept the firearm easy to grab, but just out of sight of the tiger.

"Usually they have a more sultry companion." The otter explained quietly. "But tonight, Mr Shepard pissed me off something royal. I decided to punish a look-alike on his behalf."

The tiger tutted his tongue softly, regarding Theodore evenly before sneering. "If he were so morbidly obese as Mr. Shepard, I could certainly see the resemblance." Theodore grunted into the leather. He wasn't sure what was going on, but something hard in the bag was prodding his kidneys uncomfortably.

"Yes, yes." Whitaker waved his paw dismissively of Theodore's movements. "I'll pay you extra for having more than one of us here."

"I am not staying, Professor Whitaker." The tiger replied smoothly. "I'm only here to ensure that certain properties are safe."

Professor Whitaker seemed so calm, but Theodore's heart was racing. What the hell could the otter be planning with an unloaded firearm anyways? What the hell were these two playing at?

"You're not staying?" Whitaker clarified, almost sounding disappointed. "Why the devil would properties be missing?" The otter glanced down to Theodore, and asked. "Or are you using it as a sort of excuse to come visit a brothel with me?"

The tiger bared his teeth, a growl boiling in his thick throat. "I do not visit whore houses."

"Ah, how could I forget." Whitaker responded immediately. "But alas I do, Mr. Vladislav. And I would appreciate to be left in peace."

The tiger breathed in slowly, then began circling. "You seem eager to be rid of me." The tiger said, taking steady, deliberate steps about the room. Theodore shifted, trying to ensure the bag behind him was as hidden as it was able.

"Certainly you understand, but these rooms are rented by the hour." The professor replied stubbornly. The tiger continued breathing in slowly through his nose--the wolf felt his heart skip a beat. He knew the expression.

The tiger was sniffing for something.

Theodore glanced warily between the otter and the tiger, his view still widely obstructed by the bed. Vladislav, Whitaker had called him, knelt down low, and looked beneath the bed, sniffing once more.

"I am just being thorough." Vladislav said quietly. "After all A few of the properties taken were quite valuable."

The otter straightened his back, closed his eyes for only a moment, then wet his lips thoughtfully. "You'll not find any documents here." He said quietly.

The tiger's expression changed to a small bemused smirk, but he didn't turn to face Whitaker just yet. His eyes centered on Theodore, as if the tiger had rooted out where the documents were hidden.

Theodore adjusted himself uncomfortably beneath the unwelcome guests' gaze. Theodore did his damnedest to not betray Whitaker's tactics- he thought he could see the otter reaching for the pistol in his waistband.

"Who said anything about documents?" Mikhail asked softly.

The tension in the room erupted with such fury, Theodore was on his feet and untangled from everything but the makeshift muzzle before his mind had a chance to catch up with the situation at hand.

Mikhail confirmed the suspicions Theodore had, and was moving toward the wolf when Whitaker pulled the gun. The tiger must have seen it, or felt the threat of it, and jumped to the otter in a flash of white fur.

The otter was thrown against the wall, held there only for a moment by the tiger. Whitaker didn't have time to bare his teeth before Mikhail twisted, and threw him against the hearth.

The professor dropped the gun upon the impact, landing with a heavy thud against the ground. The tiger was upon him in the same instant, grabbing the gun from the floor.

Mikhail shoved the barrel of the firearm into Whitaker's mouth, his teeth bared in a sick, dominant grin as he readied the hammer on the revolver. "Do say hel-" The tiger started, only for Whitaker to heft the hollow brick from the hearth and reduce it to pebbles and dust against the side of Mikhail's head.

The gun was knocked from Mikhail's paw from the force of the blow, the tiger clearly stunned. Theodore found the will to move restored, scrambling forward for the gun as Whitaker shoved the dazed tiger off of himself.

"Downstairs, now!" Whitaker yelled as the tiger crumpled to the ground. Theodore was halfway out the open door, the otter right on his heels. Whitaker snagged the chains from the foot of the bed, looping them several times around the door handle as he slammed it shut.

Theodore helped pull the chains taunt, wrapping them on the door knob across the hallway, yanking both doors closed. Theodore was grateful to not have seen any of the other escort's work; slightly moreso for the inward-opening doors that allowed a tactic such as this possible. "Use the rafter passage milord and lady, I do apologize for the inconvenience!" Whitaker shouted through the door to a pair of surprised gasps.

Theodore fought to close his own shirt and vest--yanking the leather off his muzzle as well. He quickly spun the satchel around, moving to wear it properly even as Whitaker attempted to shove him down the hallway toward the stairs.

"Don't be so damned modest, how many of these people haven't seen you naked!?" Whitaker snapped as he continued to rush Theodore down the stairs.

"Never learned many fancy words, but that's rather ironic!" Theodore shot back as the pair cascaded down the stairs to the bar below.

This time of night, it wasn't uncommon for the drinks to have stopped, and the scene to be winding down. Theodore couldn't help but feel disgusted by the normality of the scene.

Patricia continued to wait the steadily emptying tables, men were still gambling away, several of them marvelling over the fistful of copper, silver and golden coins a particularly lucky patron had won.

"Bullets." Whitaker hissed at Theodore before finding a way to melt into the thinning crowd.

Theodore ducked quickly behind the bar, grinning nervously to Patricia, who kept the bar. She nodded uncomfortably at the sight of seeing the wolf with his gun.

"Rough John?" The leopardess asked softly, turning with little sense of urgency to retrieve the small, burlap sack that held what little belongings Theodore claimed.

"Very important, please move quickly." Theodore spat, his ears perking as he heard the doors above him yank open. Patricia gave a loud yelp of surprise, and Theodore lunged forward.

He threw open the burlap sack, opening the cylinder of the revolver. With shaking paws he retrieved the bullets from the depths of the bag. He could only find three on such short notice--but it would have to do.

The footsteps were coming down the stairs.

Theodore ducked behind the bar--he didn't give a damn where Whitaker had ended up. His paws were shaking too badly to put the bullets in any sort of real order.

There was now nothing between him and the tiger--the bar little more than a table draped in weighted burlap. Theodore cursed himself for leaving a gap between the shots. He emptied the cylinder to get it right a second time.

He cursed himself again for his poor choice of hiding.

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs.

Theodore felt his body quaking. He could feel Patricia's gaze on him. It was giving him away.

The footfalls moved around the bar, and centered behind him. He slapped the cylinder shut, and scooted back beneath the bar.

"Tell me kitten" The buttery smooth voice sent chills down Theodore's spine. Patricia's face was a mask of terror as he watched her meet the tiger's gaze. "An otter and a wolf just moved by I believe the wolf had a satchel"

"You Your head, sir"

"The otter will answer to that, yes."

"That." Patricia squeaked, her paws covering her face. "That is so much blood. Would you like a rag?"

"There is antiseptic in the wolf's satchel, I am certain of it." The tiger purred. Theodore could hear the feline's claws curling--forcing the cloth against the wood just over his head him. He felt his heart pounding in his ears as his mind raced with the possibilities.

Theodore wasn't proud, necessarily, of cowering in fear underneath the bar. The structure was little more than a table, draped in burlap cloth. The cloth was anchored here and there, and it was mostly intended just to keep paws and other appendages from ducking beneath the not-at-all deep alcove to harass the barmaid on the other side. Theodore knew he could easily have flipped the bar if he wanted, but this Mikhail? Hell, the tiger was muscular enough to swing the table like it was some sort of weapon.

Silence consumed Theodore--the din of the bar sounding distant as his ears perked, dilating for the voice of the tiger. Something behind him shifted, and Theodore froze. "Dare you run, wolf?"

Theodore threw himself forward and twisted. The tiger's claws shredded the fabric, and the wolf pulled the trigger again, and again, and again.

The rounds exploded from the barrel until there was nothing but a series of dry clicks. He didn't even realize he had screamed as the bar exploded to life with the gunshots.

The tiger lay there, motionless. Theodore couldn't take his eyes off until he was dragged to his feet and shoved, satchel and all toward the staircase. The wolf was guided by Whitaker, who must have found a place to materialize somewhere in the establishment.

"You missed entirely!" The otter berated him. Theodore hadn't even noticed.

"T.. The blood." Theodore stammered, visibly shaken as Whitaker dragged him upstairs, taking the gun easily. The professor pulled the remaining bullets out of the burlap sack, also removing Theodore's coin pouch. He discarded the rest as they moved back to the ruined door.

The wolf's eyes went wide. The door knob had been yanked free completely. "You said this window takes you through a labyrinth Correct?" The professor demanded, throwing open the window.

Theodore's head bobbed, and he swallowed mightily. "Y-yes sir."

"I will need you to be my guide." Whitaker stated, straddling the window ledge and beckoning the wolf forward. "Gather whatever you can grab and run with. We need to leave before Vladislav has to stop feigning his own death."

Theodore nodded, climbing out of the window with ease. The wolf blinked, his gaze narrowing in the moonless night.

The corridor outside was damp with dew created by the ivy--lattice and stone created a path for patrons to sprint through the streets unseen. It was a narrow hallway, and from the outside of the building, appeared to be nothing but decorative foliage.

In truth it allowed the wealthy patrons of Madame Sybil's establishment to arrive anywhere in the Southern District, and, if one were creative enough, even into the Western District within minutes. Many a powerful figure were grateful for such a network; The rooftop roadway allowed judges to escape into the night, only to reemerge several blocks away during raids of the establishments from jealous spouses or worse. It created an unconquerable alibi for the judges, lest their trips to the whore houses damage their livelihoods.

"Would you like to end at the Fishmonger's, or closer to the heart of the city?" Theodore asked, his jaw tensed as he realized the man behind him was now effectively kidnapping him at gunpoint. He was nearly thirty years old, but the prospect felt daunting.

"As close to the Northern District as you are capable. I have enough coin to arrive at my estate in Northern Charinthosse by taxi, provided we arrive within a reasonable distance." Theodore nodded, then began to lead the otter through the winding overworld--the sky tunnels atop Charinthosse's poor districts.

"These had once been used by drug smugglers, you know" The wolf tried to keep his mind off of the events that had transpired. His paws were still shaking, but Whitaker gave no response to him.

The otter instructed after nearly a quarter hour of walking. "Mr Locke, stop here." Theodore's ears perked, and he heard the cylinder turn over, the hammer of the gun priming. He didn't need to turn around to know the gun was pointed at him now.

Theodore raised his paws slowly. "What would you like?" Theodore asked as the otter removed the satchel. Theodore raised his paws as the leather bag was lifted from his shoulders, still staring down at the barrel of his own firearm. The wolf's back straightened. Fear began to scratch at the back of his mind as Whitaker continued.

"I want you to answer me truthfully, Mr. Locke." The otter said. "Because, you must understand now the situation that you are in."

Theodore nodded, his toes curling against the rooftop as the wolf braced himself in case the otter decided to fire.

"Mikhail Vladislav knows your face now. He knows your scent. He knows where you work, and will find where you live. There are two options before you." Whitaker explained. "You may live the rest of your life, on the run, and fighting to bring down those who have committed crimes too egregious for a simple label, or I can give you a quick death here."

"Doesn't sound like much of a choice." Theodore spat. "I won't grovel for my own life! Besides, what the hell could they actually want with me? It's you that stole from them!"

"They will do things to you that even your proclivities couldn't prepare you for, trying to track where I may have gone." The otter pressed the barrel of the gun into the back of Theodore's head. The wolf closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "I do not want to kill you."

Theodore said nothing, if only for the sake of sparing his own bravado. He had left his faith behind in his youth. He hadn't even considered church in nearly a decade. But here he stood, praying to whomever was listening for his own life.

The otter gave an approving grunt behind the wolf. Theodore's pride was all that stopped him from melting, hearing the hammer on the revolver release slowly, the otter decocking the firearm. "Then, for your safety, please Follow me." the professor said, stepping around the wolf.

Theodore bit his lip for a moment. He'd nearly pissed himself. The otter had reduced him to praying for his own life. The wolf hung his head for a moment, then looked up to find the professor looking back at him.

"Are you coming?" The professor asked.

Theodore hesitated, then stepped forward.