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>You slam the door to the truck, again finding it echoing off the buildings of downtown New Apple.

>You weren't expecting to be here; you were in the mood for some food from Sal's. With all the bullshit going on, you figured you'd earned a nice, juicy turkey sub. It was going to be your one appearance out in public for the day, since there wasn't much else for you to do.

>Plans changed in that bistro when someone else came in for their lunchbreak, getting strong french-vanillla coffee along with their club.

>Jennifer walked up to your table with a smile and a wave, and asked if you were taking lunch as well.

>You told her that you were-- that you had the day off, in fact. It was Friday, after all, and you felt like a long weekend.

>Better than telling her the truth, you figured.

>The two of you talked a bit more, going from small talk to museum talk pretty quick, until she offered you a quick tour of the museum.

>The way she said 'behind the scenes, too' made you think it might be an impromptu interview; you said yes right away.

>And now you're here, in a tiny, tucked-away parking lot of the museum near some large loading-bay doors, your Hilux sitting in the numbered spot she told you to park in.

>"Just so you know, guest spots aren't easy to come by back here."

>The vixen leans up against her SUV, shiny and new. You're not sure if it's the museum's or not, but you saw a few related stickers in the rear window.

>"Oh. Well, thanks, I guess."

>"I'm afraid I can't promise you as good of a spot if you were to be hired here," she smiles, "but I hope that won't deter you."

>"No! Not really, I saw a garage just a little bit away. And there's always public transit."

>She chuckles, as if reading your mind; you riding public transit would be asking for something bad to happen. But at least if some huge yeen tries to kidnap you there, others will at least see.

>Unlike with any of those modern taxi services.

>"Well, come along, then," she says, getting up and walking towards the doors, "I promised you a tour, after all."

>Her bushy tail sways as she walks ahead of you, the orange a bright contrast to the darker slacks and the... sweater-thing she's got on.

>She's got an actual shirt on up there too, it's just something you've noticed. A bit more casual then you expected, given her range attire.

>"We'll start with a quick tour of the exhibits we currently have on display," she says, walking you through through the loading bay, swiping a keycard against a sensor before pushing through into the museum itself.

>You've been here more than a few times, but it's been a month or two. You've no doubt a lot of the larger displays won't be new to you, but all that means is you'll be better able to focus on nailing the interview that's totally not happening.

>"So, Anon, is history a hobby to you?" Jennifer asks, leading you towards the escalators, "We'll start at the top and work our way down, if you don't mind."

>"Of course. I suppose history is just a hobby for me... for now."

>You pause, trying to find the right words as she looks at you, eyes half-lidded.

>Why do foxes always look like they're giving everyone 'fuck me' eyes?

>"It was my major in college," you continue, "Did a bit of work here during it, actually, but I never quite got a job out of it."

>"Oh, what did you do here?" the vixen asks, her tail rising slightly.

>"Research on some of the older artifacts in storage, mainly."

>Your mind goes back to the internship, how the liaison with the university had been relatively distant.

>"They were going through downsizing the collection, and needed extra help trying to determine what to keep and what to try and donate to a different museum."

>"We still are, actually," the fox says, stopping at the top of the escalator, the two of you at the top floor now. "Sounds like you've got some experience."

>"Well, they didn't let me touch any of the weapons collection," you say, putting a hand behind your head. "It wasn't just me helping out, they got a bunch of university students to do it. Carted over loads of artifacts to campus, and can't really have weapons there."

>"Of course," Jennifer says. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you around the local history exhibits."

>You do, though as you predicted, you're more focused on her than them. Half of the displays and the information they've got are altered or false, bent to suit the state's narratives about anthro integration.

>Bringing it up with your potential future boss might not be the best idea right now; you've known a few anthro professors and professionals that dislike it, but you haven't gotten a good read on her yet.

>Her being a fox aside, you hardly know her.

>As she goes through the different exhibits, you get the sense that this tour may be as much for you as it is her. The way she talks about them feels like she's quizzing herself rather than talking about topics she's familiar with.

>It does make sense, though. She did say she moved here and it sounds like she's fairly new to the job, and there's quite a lot in the museum to memorize.

>"So tell me, Anon," she says as the two of you start the tour of the second floor, "Why history?"

>If she'd have asked you near the beginning of college, you probably wouldn't have given the right answer. But you learned the hard way what the correct thing to say is.

>"I think that the past is just as important as the future. Without acknowledging one, the other doesn't go so well."

>It's not quite a lie, but there's nothing wrong with leaving out the details.

>The vixen seems to buy it anyway, nodding as she starts to talk about the industrial exhibits you're walking through.

>"What about you, Jennifer?"

>She pauses, and you realize your mistake.

>"I-I'm sorry, I don't think I ever got your last name."

>"Ms. Sterling," she says, "but Jennifer is fine. I'd say our reasons for getting into this field are pretty similar, actually."

>You wait for her to say something else, to let you know if she's on the side of the state or not, but instead she turns and begins talking about some of the old paper-making machinery.

>You turn the words over in your head as you keep eye contact, trying to figure out if she's lying or if she's holding out on more, but it's no use.

>Damn her purple eyes! Her wry, vulpine grin! Damn the shapely curves that fill out her--

>"Damnit, Cupid..."

>"What was that?" Jennifer asks, turning to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

>"Oh, nothing!" you say hastily, "Just going 'damn, stupid' about this display-- letting stuff runoff right into the river that feeds the lake wasn't a good idea!"

>The fox, searches you a moment with her purple eyes, then continues on.

>"They didn't exactly know better, Anon. You've got to keep that in mind when you're considering the actions people of the past take."

>You cringe slightly; that damn cherub should butt out, you're trying to land a job here.

>Talking with her about a few of the displays seems to improve your standing; the wartime production stuff wasn't your specialty, but you know enough to impress Jennifer.

>Which only deepens your suspicion that she really is new.

>"Back at the range, you said you'd moved here," you say when the two of you return to the ground floor, "Where did you work before?"

>"I'm originally from Sector MIN," she says, not skipping a beat, "so I worked at a bunch of the different, smaller museums around there. You know, the older, local-history focused ones that you see a lot of."

>She skips the food court and ticket stand, heading back to one of the doors that says 'Staff Only'.

>"To tell you the truth, this is the biggest place I've ever been asked to manage."

>The hallways here are bare concrete, but there's still plenty of life. Posters line the walls, old pieces of display stand with stickers and dollarstore jewelry and sunglasses on them, funny nametags somehow still sticking even though they're old enough to be on display. Jennifer takes you to an elevator, going down to a similar looking hallway, though its mess is more utilitarian.

>"And now, for behind the scenes..."

>As the tour goes on, you can see how this'd be different from where the fox has been; aside from the odd bathroom, maintenance and equipment room, and lab space, the only rooms are vast vaults, shelving of huge, wooden drawers stretching up to ceilings that even Rebecca probably couldn't reach.

>Jennifer takes you through the few sections that are actually organized, opening drawers and showing you old ceramics and pottery, metal tools and machine parts, items imported from collections all over the world.

>Those are make up most of the unsorted sections, along with arms and armor. Not just modern stuff, either-- you note a few suits of chain and plate, the occasional saber and spear.

>But eventually, something more your speed appears; a Savage Navy Revolver.

>At least, that's what the box says... but not what else could 'Savage Navy R.' mean?

>"Want to take a look?" the fox asks, coming up next to you. "I can't promise what will actually be in there.

>"If you wouldn't mind, I--"

>"I gave you those cotton gloves for a reason, didn't I?"

>The vixen continues to chuckle as you eagerly lift the box from the shelving, setting it on one of the many empty rolling carts.

>You don't know how long it's been since the old gunmetal and wood saw light-- but the state capture markings on it give you an idea.

>You cringe as you run your finger over them, feeling the pain through your cotton gloves, but you try not to let it show too much to your tour guide.

>"That's an odd looking gun," Jennifer says, looking over your shoulder, "What is it?"

>"A Savage Navy Revolver," you say, turning it over-- aside from the capture marks, the bluing and wood seem to be in good shape.

>"That's a... unique way of putting it."

>"It's the company name," you clarify, checking the cylinders you can see, finding them thankfully clear. "Dates back to around two centuries ago-- it's one of those stepping-stones to the modern double-action systems you'll find today. This trigger down here actuates the cylinder and cocks the hammer, and this one actually fires it."

>Fortunately, it doesn't look like anyone left any caps on the cylinder nipples.

>"How rare is it?"

>"Pretty," you say, putting light pressure on the hammer; it's stiff, but the action doesn't appear to be broken.

>"They weren't exactly common when they were first introduced-- this was back in the American Civil-- I mean, the Primordial Civil Conflict of the NA Region."

>God, the words feel wrong in your mouth. Ordinarily, having to use the state's revisionist terms for events would kill your mood, but you're handling a piece of history right now.

>In fact, you're so focused on it that you don't notice that Jennifer has laid her hands on your shoulders and pressed her snout close to your ear until you feel her breath, warm against your skin.

>"You don't have to call it that," she whispers.

>You pull the secondary trigger hard-- harder than you intended to, you're so distracted. The paw and secondary cylinder components clink with a slight scraping noise, but they work.

>"...Sounds like it could use a bit of work..." you say, gingerly putting the gun back down in the box.

>"Sounds like it," the fox says, now not pressed up against you. She opens her mouth to say more, but a chirp cuts her off, and she looks at her wrist.

>"Ahh, that's my reminder. I've got a meeting fairly soon-- I apologize, but we'll have to cut this a bit short."

>"No problem at all! I enjoyed it," you say. You're not lying, either, even if you would've liked more time.

>The fox leads you back through the concrete maze towards the elevator she took you here in, stopping right before it.

>"So, Anon," she says, turning around to you and putting hands to hips, "Would you be interested in an assistant conservator position?"

>Your whole body feels like it's glowing.

>"Yes! Yes I would."

>"Excellent," the fox smiles. She pulls out a small notepad, flipping through the pages.

>"We still need to go through a formal interview and training, but I'm sure that they'll go just fine. Now, when would you be able to work?"

>Your heart sinks, all that joy you felt seconds earlier going with it.

>"I understand you're working another job at the moment?" she says before looking up at you, her expression shifting to one of concern. "Anon, is something wrong?"

>You take a breath.

>There's no other way around it, it's gotta come out.

>"I am working another job, yes, but... that's not the problem. You know when we met last weekend, on the range?"

>The vixen nods, her expression still one of concern.

>"Well, one of my guns... malfunctioned, and now I'm under investigation. There's this officer that's been after me and my partner for a while, and--"

>"Partner?"

>The surprise on her face almost seems fake.

>"--Yes, Talia, the RSO. Anyway, this officer used it as an excuse to get us both put under investigation, so... I'm not sure what my life will be like in a week."

>The vixen frowns, crossing her arms.

>"...When's your trial?"

>"Two days. Sunday."

>"Then-- call me in two days," the vixen sighs. "I'd love to have you on, but--"

>She shuts her eyes, her snout wrinkling and her ears flattening slightly as she bares her teeth.

>"Damn it all..." she mutters, before lunging.

>You barely have time to put up your hands before Jennifer has you by the lapels and is dragging you rather fast into the stairwell.

>She adjusts her grip to your shoulders, not quite pressing you to her, but not letting you go very far either.

>"Look," she says, her voice low, different, "I shouldn't be telling you this, but-- god, something's telling me to."

>You've got no doubt who that is...

>She looks in your eyes, and you get the feeling that this is the real Jennifer, whoever that is.

>"I can help you. More than being on the witness stand, but I'm going to do that too."

>She lets you go, pulling away.

>"How?" you breathe.

>"I can't tell you, it'd make things... complicated."

>She sighs, starting up the stairs.

>"I'll be taking my lunch at Sal's tomorrow, same time. Feel free to explore the museum-- and go up by elevator."

>You're not sure what to think as you watch her climb the stairs, bushy orange tail bobbing. But you don't think you want to disobey her.

>What you're sure you don't want to do is hang around here, looking at displays you've seen countless times before: when you exit the elevator, you head straight around to the truck.

>You're going to find out who exactly 'Jennifer Sterling' is, starting right--

>Your phone begins spamming notifications, hundreds of enblock 'ping's echoing slightly off the buildings.

>By the time you're in the cab they've stopped, and you take a look; the only one that displays is from Aki, the message a simple, sad emoji.

>Oh, shit.

>You completely bailed on her.