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As I stood by the counter listening to Katie and Scott talk, my smart phone started buzzing. Casually I picked it up off the counter and answered, "Hello?"

"What the...Kyle?" came a familiar voice.

"John?"

"What the hell are you doing answering Katie's phone?"

"KYLE! That's my phone!" Katie yelled at me in a panic as she noticed I'd picked it up.

"Oh...well shit."

Five Minutes Earlier at John Blackmon's office in Alpharetta - 4:10 P.M.

It had been a long day for John, partially because instead of working he'd been playing Elder Scrolls VI: Hammerfell on his computer half the time. You see, being a database analyst came with the perk that only he really understood how to do his job, and with that he could lie about how long a project would take. Today had been no different; he'd told his boss Richard Nicklas that updating the company's employee database would take at least two full workdays, maybe three. It had actually taken about six hours, leaving John with most of today (Tuesday in case you forgot) to goof off. However, things would take an unexpected turn.

"God damn cave trolls!" John said as he closed his gaming laptop in anger. "Ugh, I need a drink..."

The door to his office slammed open and a brawny grizzly bear with a thick Texas accent marched into his office.

"Blackmon, where's that updated employee payroll database I asked for?" he growled.

"Already done sir! Just finished it," John croaked as he checked to make sure his laptop had powered down, thus hiding his lollygagging.

"Excellent, that's another job well done. Now, on to more important business. Chuck over in accounting tells me your boy just got back from the war."

"Yes sir, he got back yesterday morning," John said nervously, his mind beginning to brew a sense of dread.

"You know it's been what, four years since I last saw him at the company picnic? It's definitely time I get reacquainted with him," Nicklas said while rubbing his paw under his chin.

"Oh, certainly. We'll have to plan an evening where we can all meet for dinner..."

"Screw that, we'll do it tonight!" Nicklas gleefully retorted. "I've already set up dinner reservations at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse for me, the missus and your folks."

"W-what? Sir this is a little short notice..."

"Which is why it's all on me. You've earned this little bonus since the last three assignments I gave you were completed a day ahead of schedule," Nicklas elaborated. "Now, take the rest of the day off and go get your family ready. And don't be afraid to bring your appetites, ever since the war ended the bottom fell out from under the beef market and everything's dirt cheap now."

"Umm...right...sir this is very generous of you, but we kind of already had plans for tonight."

"Cancel'em!" Nicklas said with a grin. "That's an order Blackmon. You either let me buy your war hero son a steak dinner, or your ass is getting the graveyard shift next time the servers go down and we need someone to help Bucky in IT reboot the damn things."

With that, Nicklas left as John began to sweat bullets. Oh...well shit. How'm I gonna convince Kyle to show up at this thing after I kicked him out last night? Wait! I'll call Katie and get her to convince him. But how? Ugh...I can't let them be together...or can I? No! It's not right, at least not yet. ...then again I was doing the same thing at his age...just not to my step sister. Fuck it, I'm over a barrel here, I'll give him whatever he wants.

John quickly packed up his things and rushed out of the office, dialing Katie's cellphone as he stepped into his Honda Accord. He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the telltale "click" of the call connecting.

"Hello?"

That wasn't Katie. "What the...Kyle?" John asked in confusion?"

"John?"

"What the hell are you doing answering Katie's phone?"

"Kyle! That's my phone!" came a voice in the background. Oh sweet merciful hell, John mentally groaned.

"Oh...well shit."

"Kyle where the fuck are you?!"

"Earth."

"I'm not playing with you Kyle, I need your help, big time!"

Kyle paused as he heard this. "What do you mean you need my help?"

"I mean I need you to quit fornicating with your sister and get back home," he angrily replied.

"Why do you suddenly want me back?"

"I just do, what's it matter?"

"You obviously need me to come back, so spill it. Or else, no dice."

John sighed and relented. "My boss wants to meet you again and buy you dinner after he found out about your service in the war. If you don't show up, he'll know something's wrong."

"By that, you mean he'll find out you threw me out because I'm boning your daughter?" Kyle smugly corrected him.

"Yes! Now you and I both DO NOT FUCKING WANT THAT TO HAPPEN!"

"Calm down dad, I get it," Kyle replied while changing the phone to his other ear. "I'll do it, just give me an hour to get back home."

"Why?"

"I'm stuck in downtown Atlanta at a...umm...hotel with Katie, and the traffic's kind of rough this time of day."

"Gotcha, just please for the love of God get yourselves back here by 5:30," John pleaded.

"Will do," Kyle replied before looking at Scott and Trea. "Oh, and one other thing...mind if I bring a couple of guests?"

"What? Hell no, my boss is paying for this meal. You can't just bring extra..."

"Either they tag along, or I'm staying here."

"FUUHHHHH..." John roared as he punched his car's dashboard, "FINE! I'll pay for their meals, just get home already!"

"You got it daddio," Kyle smoothly replied before hanging up. "Scott, Trea, get your nicest outfits on. We're eating good tonight."

Blackmon Residence - 5:45 P.M.

"Kyle what the hell took you so long?" John yelled at me as I stepped out of Scott's car and onto my driveway.

"Hey I got in the car at 4:15, you try getting out of downtown Atlanta during rush hour in less than sixty minutes," I replied as we all stepped out of the car. "By the way, John, Eliza, Shelly, this is Scott and Trea,"

Shelly and Eliza offered courteous greetings and pawshakes, but John was still a little tense and kept his eyes on me the whole time.

"Alright, you all can come inside and wait in the living room while Kyle and Katie get changed," he said while ushering us all inside before whispering to me, "And Kyle, we need to talk in private when you're done."

"No you don't, we already know about them," Trea said, having overheard John's comment.

I stifled a chuckle as John wheeled around to face her. "Know what?"

"That they're grillin' onions behind your back," she replied with a grin. "It's okay, we know it's a secret, too."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," John said as he pushed us inside and closed the garage door behind us.

"Sure you do, that's why Kyle got thrown out last night for doing Katie on the count-

SMACK

"Ow! Katie, c'mon!" Trea said as my sister slapped her behind the head.

"Daddy's doesn't need to be reminded of the details, that just makes his blood pressure go up," Katie calmly stated. "How nice do I need to dress anyway?"

"My boss is gonna be there, sooooo...let's go with business formal...ish," he replied.

Katie and I hurried upstairs and began to change clothes while Scott and John exchanged small talk in the kitchen. Hopefully John would calm down a bit once he got to know Scott, the last thing I need is my frickin' stepdad in the hospital. Once I got to my room I looked through the few clothes I had chosen to leave behind, aka...all of my dress ones. I didn't trust Scott's closet to keep them safe from dust, moths, or bodily fluids--and after today I still stand by that decision. Fortunately, I knew just what to wear. While I'm normally a slob, I also like to think I have a good taste in clothing. I grabbed a pair black dress pants that were pleated at the front (everyone loves pleates, they make your pants look crisp all the time) along with a white undershirt and a long sleeved French blue dress shirt (French blue is the best kind of blue). Lastly, I grabbed a red silver striped tie and my black leather dress shoes. I decided against wearing a jacket, since once again summer had come early and it was already pretty warm despite being the middle of March.

It'd been a while since I'd gotten to dress up, so I was pretty excited about getting to out. Plus, Ruth's Chris Steakhouse is pretty darn good, if not pricey. Ironically though, I'm not much of a meat eater. Heck, I even tried to be a vegetarian for a week, although after almost passing out from not getting enough protein I had to put that idea on hold. But just because I'm not the red blooded carnivore my brother is doesn't mean I don't like steak, I just don't drool when I hear the word. As for their chocolate mousse pie, that's another story. Ahem, moving on...

One thing I've always envied about guys is that they can get ready a lot faster than girls can. Fortunately I had already showered, although I didn't get to use the fur conditioner I like, and so all that was left was getting my makeup on and picking out a dress. Since this was a pretty formal dinner, I decided to go with my favorite black knee length one, along with a matching jacket and heels. As for makeup, I rarely wear any (I'm quite fortunate in that I don't need to in order to be presentable in the light of day), but for tonight I decided some mascara and a little eye shadow wouldn't hurt. Once that was done, I headed downstairs to find that John and Kyle weren't there.

"Alright, I just got off the phone with my boss, and he says it's okay that you're brining a couple of friends," John said while pacing around my room as I did my tie in front of the bathroom mirror.

"You tell him Scott was a Marine like me?" I asked while I frustratingly tried to get this damn Windsor knot to look triangular instead of like a cow tumor jutting from my neck. "Fuck!"

"Watch your language Kyle, I'm still you're father and we don't say that in this house."

"Tarsy fuzjiek!"

"...you just said 'fuck you in Farsi' didn't you?" he asked.

"More or less...the less being that I just made those words up," I grinned back.  "So why's your boss inviting me to this thing anyway?"

"I don't know," John moaned while pulling on his headfur. "Someone told him you served in the war and the next thing I know he thinks you're Audie Murphy."

"Why? The only medal I got was a purple heart for getting shot," I replied as I restarted my tie.

"No idea, just be prepared to share some war stories or something," John said as he anxiously looked at the time on his phone.

I stopped. War stories? At first I thought of the good times, like where I was manning a M-249 (back before we phased them out completely for the M-27 IAR), or chucking a grenade down a foxhole. But those memories faded to black as I recalled the many times I watched my unfortunate squadmates catch a bullet or chew on a piece of shrapnel. My palms began to sweat, and my tongue felt like sandpaper. Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus and pushed the thoughts of the past out of my mind. Wiping my paws off on a nearby towel, I finished my tying my tie. I took a quick swig of water before leaving, just so my tongue wouldn't irritate me the whole ride over.

"Great, I can tell him about that time I blew some guy's foot off with an AA-12," I remarked as I led the way downstairs.

John pushed past me and led us back into the garage, his brow glistening with beads of sweat. Taking a look at all of us, he realized we wouldn't all fit in the Accord, leaving only the Ford Windstar. I chuckled as I saw the despair sweep over him as he realized that we were gonna be crammed into one car.

"Right! Let's go people, into the van," he ordered.

"Uhhh...Mr. Blackmon I can take a separate car if you need me to," Scott offered.

"Do you know how to get to the restaurant from here?"

"No, but I can always just follow you," Scott replied.

"HA! In the traffic we're about to be facing? Good luck. Besides, gas is four bucks a gallon, I don't want to make you waste any more fuel then you have to," John replied.

I was surprised, John was rarely this generous. Then again, he had a lot riding on this meal so I guess he figured it'd be easier if everyone was in one spot where he could keep an eye on them.

"Okay, now...Eliza...since I can't drive your van to save my life, you take the keys. Shelly you ride shotgun, Katie and Trea take the middle seats. Scott, Kyle and I will sit crammed in the back."

No one questioned the seating arrangement, so we all piled in, buckled up and prepared for forty minutes of vehicular hell that is Atlanta rush hour. Scott had parked far enough back in the driveway so that he didn't block us in, and after a tense wait for a break in traffic so we could at least get out of the neighborhood we were finally on the road. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable riding in the very back of this van could be, partially because you swayed with every turn, and the AC didn't quite work back here so it got a tad warm, especially when you're pressed up next to someone. Add the fact that I get a little motion sick when I'm hot and you've got a recipe for disaster.

"Okay, now I think we all know how important this dinner is. My boss needs to continue thinking we're the perfect nuclear family, and that Scott and Trea are Kyle's classy liberal arts major friends who aren't complete and utter failures in the eyes of their parents," John began.

"Hey!"

"Put a sock in it Scott, there's no stopping him," I groaned.

Ignoring me, John continued. "This means, ONE: We do not talk about Kyle and Katie's shenanigans at all. We do not allude to it, and above all else, DON'T accidently say something that would tip him off to it."

"I think that's a pretty obvious dad," I replied.

"TWO: Keep the conversation away from any type of sexual deviancy you might partake in. Wait, scratch that...ANY sex. AT ALL. Keep it G rated. I want the dialogue from tonight's dinner to be so clean Pixar wouldn't think twice about slappin' in a movie with talking humans or something."

"I thought humans could already talk?" I asked.

".......shut up. THREE: Do not say anything negative about my company, even though there's a congressional indictment pending an investigation into our use of government funding to channel weapons into the hands of those pro-American guerillas in Mexico during the war that happened to be drug kingpins."

"Wait, you work for Sobchak Security International?" Scott asked in amazement.

"Just as an analyst, I'm not a mercenary," John regretfully replied.

"Oh, that's cool. I guess. I mean it's not like you personally gave the money to those guys that ended up burning down that bra factory in Juarez while there were a bunch of school children touring it, right?"

"Shut up Scott," John said while facepalming. "We don't know how they got the money. Chances are it was those bastards in accounting are buying drugs with company funds again! God knows they need all the help they can get for that line of work."

"John! Language," Eliza yelled back at us.

"Sorry dear."

 Earlier That Day

It was early afternoon, and traffic in the town of Sandy Springs was slightly increasing as people hurried off on their lunch hours, some leaving for their midday meal while others returned from it. Many people often took this time to run an errand or two, such as a quick bout of clothes shopping or making a deposit at the bank. For a troupe of four furs in a black Chevrolet Suburban, their errand involved making a rather large withdrawal from the Bank of America at the center of town.

"Safety off?" the driver, a canine whose features were masked by his sunglasses and upturned polo shirt collar.

"Yeah, it's off," replied his cohort in the passenger seat, a coyote who held a Colt 9mm SMG in his lap.

"Right. Mr. Blue, Mr. Red, you know your positions?" the driver continued.

The two furs in the back both looked into the rearview mirror upon hearing their codenames uttered.  They were mountain lions, and also brothers, although due to their age difference one might not immediately guess that.

"Sweep the left side of the lobby, organize the hostages on the floor, keep 'em pacified while you guys hit the vault," Mr. Blue replied.   

Mr. Red, the younger of the two, answered in turn. "Take out the door guard, then the two by the vault. Keep the hostages on the floor and watch for any signs of police arriving."

"Good, good," the driver responded as he took the exit off I-285 and drove into town. "Mr. Green, I trust you have our emergency C-4 ready?"

The coyote nodded. "Yeah man, I got it. I don't think it'll be enough to blow open the vault though."

"It's not for the vault, stupid, it's in case we need to lose the cops in a hurry."

"Oh. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Just shut up and focus, we're here," the driver, Mr. White, replied gruffly as he pulled into the parking lot.  

In unison they all donned ski masks and sunglasses followed by collecting their weapons. Mr. Green picked up his Colt 9mm along with a Ruger SR9 handgun stuffed into the back of his pants. Mr. Red pulled a Remington 870 shotgun from under the seat loaded with 12 gauge 00 buckshot, along with a pair of Glock 19 handguns, one of which he passed to his brother. Mr. Blue accepted his Glock, and pulled a Sig551 carbine out, along with a bandolier loaded with a dozen spare magazines. Finally, Mr. White stepped out, a Springfield M1911 model 9mm handgun in jacket pocket, and an AR-15 equipped with a Slide-Fire stock that allowed him to fire the weapon fully automatically.

"Let's go," Mr. White said as he led the way up the front steps.

A female husky in her early twenties was just stepping out the front door when the four masked men approached her. One leveled a shotgun to her face and gestured for her to get back inside. Her screams promptly alerted the rest of the bank, but not in time to stop Mr. White from whipping her with the butt of his rifle while Mr. Green rapidly fired three shots into the chest of the closest security guard.  Mr. Red noticed his colleague had taken out the doorman, and quickly turned his attention to the two vault guards who had just drawn their sidearms.

BLAM! Shack-shack! BLAM! Shack-shack!

Two blasts from his shotgun quickly put both men down, although the buckshot had dispersed widely enough to not deliver instant killing blows. The two guards moaned in pain as began to bleed from a half-dozen holes in each of their torsos. They'd be dead in a few minutes, Mr. Red noted, and quickly turned his attention to subduing the nearby patrons.

"EVERYBODY DOWN! NOW!" Mr. Blue shouted while firing six rounds into the ceiling.

The two dozen or so patrons and clerks screamed in panic as the robbers made their way forward into the lobby, punching and kicking anyone they passed as they went. Mr. Blue and Red took their positions by the door and kept an eye on the hostages while Mr. Green and White proceeded to the front counter where one of the clerks had just pressed a panic button triggering a silent alarm.

"You! Get me the keys to the vault, now!" Mr. White yelled while pointing his rifle at the teller.

"Y-you got it!" the middle-aged vixen shakily replied as she produced a set of keys.

"Open the vault, and make it fast or I'll fucking kill you right here, I swear to almighty God!" Mr. White continued to shout as he yanked the woman by the collar and dragged her over to the vault door.

Quickly the teller selected the proper key, and then punched in a six digit PIN code on a nearby touchpad, causing the vault to unlock and open. Pushing the woman back into the middle of the lobby where Mr. Blue had begun herding the hostages, Mr. Green made his way inside and pulled a gym bag out of his backpack. Together he and Mr. White began piling stacks of $100 and $20 dollar bills into the bag and backpack, filling both to the brim in ninety seconds. After zipping up the containers they each shouldered a bag and made their way out.

"Mr. White, we got a pair of police cruisers parked outside. Lights are on," Mr. Red said as he looked out one of the windows.

"Damn!" Mr. Green swore. "Which one of you bitches called the cops on us?"

The vixen froze in place as she lied on the floor, her heart thumping as she felt Mr. Green's eyes staring at her from behind his glasses. His feet stomped over to her and he yanked her up by her hair.

"It was you wasn't it you ugly slut?!"    

"I-I didn't do anything I swear!" she yelped.

"Bullshit! You don't think I know about the silent alarm you assholes put in banks these days? On your feet, move it!" he growled while forcing her to stand.

Wrapping an arm around her throat, he forced her to walk outside in front of him as the police officers drew their weapons and took cover behind their cruisers.

"You make one fuckin' move and she's dead!" Mr. Green warned while pointing his Colt 9mm at them from over the vixen's shoulder.

The officers hesitated, as there were only two of them to the four heavily armed robbers. Mr. Blue didn't wait for them to make a decision and broke ranks from his compatriots and cut loose on the two police cars. One officer was struck in the shoulder and knocked on his back, while the other caught a round in his throat and started bleeding profusely from his neck, gurgling in pain each time he huffed a breath. Mr. Green tossed his hostage aside and followed Mr. White to their car. They wasted no time piling in and driving off, making it out of the bank before any more cops could arrive.

"Well, that went surprisingly smoothly," Mr. White commented as he pulled off his mask and laid his gun in the backseat with Mr. Red and Blue.

"I'd have liked it better if we didn't have to shoot at the police. Makes for a messy getaway," Mr. Green replied.

Mr. White shrugged. "Who cares, Green? We made out of there with a good half a million dollars. Mr. Black will be pleased."

"True, it's always good when the boss is happy," Green concurred. "So, what's our next job going to be?"

"Not sure, but Mr. Black hinted it had something to do with the Center for Disease Control. Apparently they got something there worth our time."

"Everything in there is worth our time," Mr. Blue responded. "Smallpox, Ebola, German Measles, Spanish Flu, Marburg Virus, you name it. There's plenty of things in there we could use to cause havoc in the U.S."

Mr. White nodded but said nothing. He didn't exactly like the idea of using bioterrorism to achieve his group's goals, but their numbers were few and the lack of viable alternatives left them with utterly no other option. A good thirty minutes later the group arrived at a small house in Kennesaw. They waited till the garage door closed behind them before exiting their vehicle with the guns and sacks of money. Inside the house they found a lion in his late thirties reclining on a sofa in the living room watching TV.

"You guys made the news about ten minutes ago," the lion said without looking at them as they set their gear on the kitchen counter.

"Do they know what car to look for?" Mr. Red asked nervously.

"No, you parked correctly out of the bank's cameras' line of sight. The two police officers you shot are both still alive, but they wouldn't have known which car you used. Besides, I doubt they'll remember anything after all the blood they've lost," the lion replied as he got up and walked into the kitchen wearing sweat pants and a bathrobe.

"It's funny Mr. Black, we do all the work and you get to lounge around all day drinking my beer," Mr. White callously observed.

"Oh come now, my part of the job involves the intelligence. Hell, without me you'd have half the police force still chasing you. But that's irrelevant. All you need to worry about is helping us bring down the U.S., one city at a time."

Mr. White nodded, although he still resented the fact that Mr. Black wasn't pulling his fair share of the group's weight. No matter, soon the people of the United States would learn that the glory that was the People's Republic of America still shone in the hearts of her patriots; the patriots of the Crimson Scythe.  He sighed blissfully as he imagined the day the bright red and yellow flag of the PRA waved above every building in Washington D.C. and every other government building across the continent.

Despite the fact that the PRA had been dissolved after the war, many of her former citizens still believed in the strong socialist principles that bound her people together under the union of labor and nationalism.  These people were usually just shunned and ignored by the rest of the country, but a few of these ex-patriots were radical enough to actually stand up and fight. The Crimson Scythe was made up of those very people. Starting out as a simple smalltime domestic terror organization, its ranks had risen to over two-hundred members spread across the country. The five man cell they had in Atlanta was merely part of a larger plan to destabilize the country and return America to its communist nirvana by any means necessary.

"So Mr. Black, what's our next object?" Mr. White asked.

"As I told you before the CDC has something interesting that arrived a few months ago. Our inside contact tells me that they're planning on moving a dozen samples of a certain virus by covert means to Ft. Benning where it will be flown to Washington and then to Brussels where a collection of doctors from the World Health Organization are meeting to discuss its potential," Mr. Black elaborated.

"Which virus is that? Ebola? Smallpox?"

Mr. Black cracked a grin and said, "Do you remember the Hellfire virus and what it did to Denver?"

BACK TO THE FUTURE: Ruth's Chris Steakhouse - 6:50 P.M.

"Oh thank you God, we're actually on time!" John happily exhaled as we pulled up to the front door and piled out while the valet drove the car back to the lot.

Just then Scott's phone rang. "I JUST HAAAAAD SEEEEXXXX! AND IT FELT SO GOOD!"

"Gotdang it Scott! Change that ringtone, I can't have that goin' off while we're at dinner!" John said as we walked up to the front desk.

"Good evening sir," the maître'd said as we approached. "Wow, you've got quite a crowd with you tonight."

"Yes, although I'm meeting my boss and his wife here as well."

"Ah, would you be the Nicklas party of nine then?" the waiter asked.

"Yes, that's us."

"Great, then if y'all will please follow me," the fox said as he led the way downstairs to the tables.

"God, does everyone talk like country music star down here?" Scott whispered to me.

"We're in the heart of the South, Boston, get used to it," I replied while noticing him pick at his left hand. "What's wrong with your paw?"

"My damn prosthetic's itchin' again. I forgot to put some more Vaseline on my stub after we got back from your place," he replied while continuing to fiddle with his hand.

Just then we reached Nicklas' table. The bear wasn't that tall, only about five foot ten, but he was still imposing nevertheless with his broad shoulders and unusually firm beer gut.

"Blackmon, you're early!" he said with a grin as he and his wife stood up to greet us.

"I make it a point to be that, sir," John said with a nervous laugh.

"This your boy?" he asked while offering his paw to me.

"That'd be me sir," I politely replied while shaking his paw.

He moved on and greeted Eliza, Katie, and Shelly in turn before moving on to Scott. "Now who's this fella?"

"This is Scott," I answered, "He served with me during the war."

"Well heck yeah man," he said, "I'll drink to that."

At this point things got a tad chaotic. You see, when Nicklas said he'd drink to that he meant it literally and grabbed his glass of wine from the table with his right paw...leaving his left paw to shake Scott's hand...the very hand he'd been fussing with two minutes earlier. You can probably guess what happens next...

"AAAIIIIIIEEE! OH MY GOD!" Shelly shrieked as Scott's prosthetic accidently popped off thanks to Nicklas' exceptionally strong handshake.

Nicklas dropped it in surprise while Eliza and Shelly both continued freaking out, as neither of them knew about Scott's little problem. A nearby waiter looked over to see what all the fuss was about and tripped over a table leg, spilling the tray of drinks he was carrying. Other diners choked on the food they had been eating while one poor girl had her date spit his drink over her dress. As for me, I just turned to a nearby table and bawled out laughing so hard my ribs hurt as I beat me hands on the table, trying to regain my composure.

"Oops, sorry! I forgot to mention I picked that up in Utah," Scott said apologetically as he rushed to pick up and reattach his hand.

Nicklas put on a confused grin and just laughed while pointing at Scott. "John your family's got a helluva taste in friends!"

"I-I'm terribly sorry sir, Kyle didn't tell me about Scott's...disability," John said while trying not to faint.

Just then an aging lion in his late sixties with a similar build to Nicklas, except with a groomed mane and rose colored aviator sunglasses, walked up to our table and asked, "Richard what in the fuck is goin' on over here? I got a business meeting with the guys from Raytheon over there, talkin' about our lawsuits and the next thing I know I'm back in city of Hue in '68 watching naked Vietnamese prostitutes get napalmed by mistake! You want to tell me what's all the fuss is over here?"

"Oh god," John said as he slapped paw to his forehead.

At that point I realized this lion was indeed the Walter Sobchak, founder of Sobchak Security. It had certainly come a long way since its early days in East Los Angeles (before moving to Atlanta to avoid the PRA), and during the war the company's profits had grown exponentially. But none of that really mattered at the moment. The real issue was that my dad's boss's boss was chewing us both out in a fancy restaurant, and we'd yet to even sit down.  Just then one of the guests at Walter's table ran up and addressed Sobchak.

"Walter! They just posted the first court hearing for witnesses," the ferret said.

"What? When?"

"This Saturday," he replied.

"No, no they can't do that. That's Shabbos, I don't roll on Shabbos," Walter replied.

"But they already posted it..."

"WELL THEY CAN FUCKIN' UNPOST IT!" Walter screamed. "I didn't watch my buddies die facedown in the muck for four years in 'Nam just to have anti-Semite court jockey tell me I have to drive downtown on a Saturday!"

And by this point the manager had arrived with a couple of cops he'd flagged down from up the road.

"Alright Mr. Sobchak, we're going to have to ask you to leave," the manager said. "You've caused three disturbances tonight, and all my guests are getting rattled."

"What? I only caused two, that's bullshit!" Walter protested. "And how'd the fuzz get here so fast?"

"Bank robbery happened just up the street earlier today," one of the officers replied. "Now sir, please don't make me pull out my taser."

"Fine! Donny," he said turning to his compatriot, "round up the guys and tell'em we're moving over to the Cheetah Lounge instead."

"Is that the one at the zoo or something?"

"Shut the fuck up Donny! The CHEE-TAH Lounge. It's a strip club you jackass!"

"Oh...you it Walter," Donny replied before hastily retreating to the table.

Walter turned to us and jokingly said, "You know the last guy I was friends with named Donny died of a heart attack in the parking lot of my favorite bowling alley after we got attacked by some Austrian Nihilists. It'll be interesting to see how this one goes."

"Alright let's go already," one of the cops ordered.

With that, the police escorted Walter out of the restaurant as we...and the rest of the restaurant...watched in silent amusement. Well, all of us except John.

"Look at it this way John, it can't get any worse," I said trying to console him.

"I JUST HAAAADDD SEEEEEXXX! AND IT FELT SOOOOO GOOOOOOOD!"

Scott rushed to shut off his phone while John just cringed and said, "Somebody please kill me."

Blackmon Residence - 9:00 P.M.

The rest of the evening was rather dull by comparison to the part Kyle just told you about. Other than the waiters giving us odd looks from time to time, nothing special happened. The food was good, and daddy managed to not get himself fired thanks to his boss having a good sense of humor. On the trip home he slept for most of the ride, not surprising since he'd been running on pure adrenaline for the last two hours before dinner. After getting home Kyle headed back with Scott and Trea to the apartment, leaving me home alone with Shelly on a school night. It'd been a long day, so after changing out of my dress and taking off my makeup I went straight to sleep.

...dang it Kyle, I barely got to talk in this chapter!

Sorry, I needed to weave in the bank robbery plot which is totally not important to the overall story arc and will not in any way come back to haunt the main characters whom it does not effect.

That's really subtle, you know.

I know. ^^

This is practically the same as when you told everyone you were going to die at the end of Chapter 3 in MGBB. You keep using cliffhangers as a cheap method of garnering watchers and encouraging people to read the next chapter.

So?

So it was cool the first time you did it, but this is like the fifth or sixth time you've done this. Can't you find a more original way to build the tension?

You mean like right now where we're breaking the fourth wall as narrators and telling people our thoughts in real time rather than in past tense?

.......

Boob poke.

Stop it! They're watching us.

That hasn't stopped you before...

It's different when we're talking about the past, not when they're watching it happen live!

Huh, good point. Okay kiddies, I'm about to go get a blow job, so in the meantime here's another flashback scene to my days in Arizona that got left out of the last chapter since I broke 10,000 words and didn't want to make you guys read a flippin' novel just to get to a sex scene.  

Kyle.... 

Hey, I'm just being honest with the readers.

September 12th

It was well after dark when the group arrived at the town of Dustbowl Haven, or what was left of it. Dozens of dead bodies littered the streets, and several of the buildings were ablaze, lighting up the night with orange radiance.  Jake was the first to step out of the car and slowly made his way to the front of the town's central street.

"All clear, for now at least," he waved.

"What happened here?" Elsie asked as she and the other Marines moved up to Jake's position.

"Don't know, but be on your guard," Tariq warned.

Carefully they made their way into the town, which was really two dozen shanty houses/stores built along the main road that ran through town. Robert and Edgar made their way down the street, while Tariq and Jake waited by the car to discuss what to do next. Kyle and Elsie decided to head into one of the few unburned structures, a former general store with a variety of goods still stocked on its shelves. Kyle and Elsie both drew their M9 sidearms, seeing as how their rifles were a bit clumsy indoors. Leading the way, Kyle stepped through the open front doors and inspected the area.

"No signs of looting, weird. It's like this town tore itself apart for no reason," he observed.

Elsie just stared, aghast and nauseated by the site of the former storeowner's corpse lying in a pool of blood, a trio of exit wounds on his back revealing the cause of his demise. Kyle continued to search the front of the store for clues, while Elsie wandered into a darkened back storeroom. There, she found another dead body, this one of a female Dalmatian with cropped blond hair. Her body was naked from the waist down, and her face was still wearing the twisted grin that comes from getting your throat slit. It looked like it'd taken her a while to die; her paws were covered in blood as if she'd tried desperately to close the wound herself. Elsie stifled tears as she slowly tried to back out of the room, when she heard a gunshot.

BLAM!

She wheeled around to find Kyle holding his M9, a puff of smoke still freshly rising from out of the barrel. A groan broke the awkward silence and out of the dark corner of the room fell a jackal in a dirtied work shirt and boot cut jeans. Elsie yiped in surprise and fell on her butt, scrambling away as she noticed a blood covered knife still clutched in the jackal's left paw.

"Holy shit! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...he...he's the one that did this!"

"One of the ones, at least," Kyle said while helping her up.

Elsie tearfully embraced Kyle, her eyes transfixed on the man who would have surely cut her throat like the Dalmatian girl's.

"How'd you even see him?" she asked.

"I caught the glint off his knife. Even when coated in blood it's still shiny, apparently," he replied.

"He...he killed that woman...and God knows what else he did."

"Let's not dwell on the things we can't fix," Kyle replied. "You alright?"

"Y-yeah, just a little shaken.  I'll be fine. Where's Tariq and the others? They find anyone yet?"

Stepping back outside, they found Tariq and Jake with their weapons ready as they ran up to the store.

"What happened? I heard a gunshot," Jake asked.

"Just a lone dude with a knife," Kyle answered. "Looks like he raped and killed one of the townspeople before we got here."

"Jesus," Jake exhaled.

Just then Robert and Edgar returned, along with a shaken fox with several bandages on his arms and legs.

"Guys we found someone!" Edgar shouted as they ran up to the group. "This is David; poor bastard was hiding under a car on the edge of town."

David waved politely while eyeing his rescuers suspiciously. "W-who are you guys?"

"Marines, U.S. ones at that," Tariq replied. "We're tracking a fuel truck the PRA stole from a nearby town and all clues led us here."

"Fuel truck? You mean like a big rig with a fuel tank trailer?"

"Yeah! Did it come through here?" Jake asked excitedly.

"Damn right it did, along with a whole bunch of fuckin' PRA goons. We found out from a captured bandit that those bastards had been hiring the local bandit clans around here to attack our fuel convoys, and when they showed up about an hour ago we tried to arrest them," David explained.

"Arrest them? How? They clearly outnumbered you," Kyle observed.

"Not at first. All we saw originally was the fuel tanker and a cargo truck with about four guys in it. We had the sheriff and ten deputies armed with AR-15s and shotguns, we figured it'd be no problem. But we were wrong, they had at least another forty men waiting nearby, and when their boss called in for help they hit us like a swarm of locusts."

"My god..." Elsie whispered.

David nodded as he continued elaborating. "They killed as many of us as they could. Even worse, they had a pack of bandits with them, and after the PRA left the bandits swooped in to finish us off and..."

"Bandits?" Kyle interrupted. "How many?"

"I don't know, at least seven or eight," David replied. "I think I saw a couple of them run off a few minutes ago."

"Right when we showed up..." Kyle said.

As if on cue, a gunshot rang out from within one of the nearby shanty houses. Everyone quickly gathered behind the Explorer and watched as a lone raccoon wandered out of a house.  

"Yo! Guys? Where the hell'd you all go?" he shouted while looking around clueless. 

"Freeze motherfucker!" Kyle yelled as he rose from behind the truck and aimed his M-416 at the man.

"What the! Oh fuck me..." the raccoon said as he reached for the pistol tucked into his belt.

BLAM!

Kyle fired a single warning shot next to the racoon's foot. The man dropped his gun and raised his paws in surrender as he desperately looked around for any signs of his friends. The others quickly followed Kyle and helped subdue the raccoon, with Jake tying the man's paws behind his back and carrying him over to the car.

"Alright asshole, I don't have a lot of time or patience to deal with bandits, so I'm gonna make this quick," Jake said as he set the raccoon down in front of the Explorer. "How many men are in your group?"

"Fuck you," the raccoon spat.

Jake kicked him in the gut, twice. "Wrong answer dickwad."

"Gahd! Seven, there were seven of us," he coughed.

"Sounds about right," David whispered to Tariq.

"Where's your hideout?" Jake asked next.

"We don't have one, we just rove about," the raccoon wearily replied.

Jake turned and asked Tariq, "Anything you want to ask him, or can we just waste this piece of shit?"

Tariq stepped up and asked, "We know you were working with the PRA, where were they hiding before they attacked the town."

"I don't know, they picked us up along the way and paid us to tag along. Don't know why, but we got to fuck up the bitch cops that shot Danny two weeks ago," the raccoon grunted.

"Paid you? With what?"

"With what?" the raccoon repeated back. "What do you think? Money!"

"Bullshit, money isn't worth the paper it's printed on out here," Jake replied.

"That's what you think," the raccoon scoffed.

"That's it, we're just wasting time and letting the PRA get away with our fuel truck," Jake said as he pulled out a .38 caliber revolver and placed the barrel between the racoon's eyes.

"NO!" Kyle suddenly said as he pushed the gun aside. "Let me talk to him."

The raccoon had nearly pissed himself, and quickly spoke up, "Yeah! Let him talk to me! You guys are all fuckin' assholes!"

"Shut up!" Jake yelled as he pistol whipped the raccoon across the cheek.

"Stop it," Kyle said, "Just give me two minutes alone with him. That's all I ask."

"Why? What's he gonna tell you that he hasn't already told us?" Robert inquired.

"Let him talk," Elise said. "C'mon, don't be a prick."

Robert grumbled but didn't resist further as he and the others stepped away to the porch of what had been the town bar. Kyle turned his attention to the raccoon and looked him in the eyes, checking to see how dilated his pupils were and judging just how much stress the man was under.

"Alright buddy, you've done some awful things here, but you got one shot at redemption and that's to answer every question I give you, understand?"

The raccoon nodded hesitantly.

"First, I know you worked with the PRA before today's events. You've been hijacking fuel trucks for them. Why? The PRA already gets fuel from the refinery, why steal the fuel from the civilian colonies?"

"Before I say anything, how do I know you're not just gonna blow my head off after I'm done talking?" he asked. "Or that you won't stop that crazy fuck with the steel toed boots put a bullet in my face?"

"You don't. But I'm you're only hope, and so far I'm the only one here who doesn't want to put a bullet in your brain, so it's not entirely illogical to trust me, get it?" Kyle answered.

"Fine. Yes, you're right. They contacted us about two weeks ago. A platoon of their guys randomly showed up at the town one day asking if they could buy some fuel. The amount they needed was so great that the people here told them it would take about three to four months to acquire that much gas.  They were in a hurry, so they paid us to start hijacking the tankers so they could siphon the fuel into fuel drums they were carrying."

Kyle nodded. "Do you know why they were in a hurry?"

"No," the raccoon said while shaking his head. "No clue."

Kyle pulled out his knife and smiled, "No clue, really?"

"I swear I don't know why!"

"What did they pay you with? Food, water...and what?"

The raccoon realized what Kyle was hinting at and said, "You already know don't you?"

"Maybe. Gold, am I right?"

"Yes. They gave us each a gold bar like it was nothing. I couldn't believe it, but we tested it and it's legitimate gold."

"Do you know why it's in bar form?" Kyle asked.

"Not really," the raccoon replied.

"It's because it's straight from the PRA's mint. This came straight from their government treasury, meaning that the PRA guys you helped stole that gold and are making a break to Mexico with it," Kyle explained. "And me and my friends there, we aim to steal it back from them. So, if you don't want us to kill you, simply tell me where their camp is located and I swear to God I'll let you leave here alive. Okay?"

The raccoon's eyes widened a bit as he listened, his mind hesitating to make a decision. "Swear to God?"

Kyle nodded.

"They're holed up at an abandoned industrial farm twenty miles east of here. The place is a mess since the irrigation system is shot and the land dried up into a desert," the raccoon began. "But you'll never make it in there. There's too many of them for your little band to handle."

"Why don't you leave the finer points of ripping off a band of thieves to me, and I'll leave you to try and survive walking through the desert," Kyle replied.

With that, he hoisted the raccoon up and cut his bindings off before giving him a shove and pointing into the desert. "There's a town about fifteen miles that way. If you start walking now you might make it before the sun comes up."

"Hey wait, I need some water or food or something if I'm goin' that far."

"Not my problem. I just promised to let you go. How you survive is up to you from here on out. Now start walkin' before I change my mind," Kyle answered as he leveled his M9 at the raccoon's chest.

The man turned and began jogging into the desert while Kyle watched in smug satisfaction. Turning about he waved his companions over and told them what he'd learned.

"That's not too far, if we leave now we can set up camp nearby and hit them before they leave," Jake said.

"What if they've left already?" Tariq asked.

"Doubt it," Jake replied, "It's dangerous to travel at night. Plus they'll probably want to use the sun for navigation. They can't use their GPS devices without getting tracked, and the last thing they want is their bosses coming after them."

"Alright then let's move out," Tariq said. "Jake, you know where this place is?"

"Not really, but a large scale farm is likely to be listed on one of the maps I keep in the car. Shouldn't be too hard to find."

And so the gang piled into the car, although everyone but Tariq and Jake slept in the back. It had been a long day, and the effects of battle had certainly left them feeling fatigued. Kyle had an especially hard time falling asleep, and for a while he simply dozed in a half conscious state until he felt something press against him. Looking to his side, he found Elsie had collapsed on his shoulder as she slept. He smiled at first, thinking she was just tired, when he felt her rest a paw on top of his, giving him a light squeeze.  He noticed a smile come over her muzzle as she slithered up closer to him and continued to rest her head on his shoulder. Unsure of what to do, simply rested his other paw on her hand gave a squeeze in return.

She's just still freaked out from earlier, it's not like she actually likes me,he rationalized while trying to avoid thinking about Katie way back home. For some reason, he felt a twinge of guilt when he did.  

More to come soon, hopefully. Also, check out my drunken podcast if you haven't already because I ain't posting more here till I get some comments on it, because I wasted a lot of Khalua making it damn it!

http://www.sofurry.com/view/357319