The journey back to Derrick's tree house feels longer than it should, with Jayson lagging behind Lexia, who storms ahead with determined strides despite her recent brush with death. The drizzle has finally stopped, leaving behind a heavy mist that clings to their fur and clothes. But the wetness in the air coupled with the heavy storm has left the ground nearly gooey, sucking their feet into the earth with every step.

  When they reach the base of Derrick's tree, Lexia shoves her umbrella into Jayson's chest and starts climbing, her movements quick and agitated.

  "Slow down," calls Jayson. "You're still recovering."

  "I'm fine!" snaps Lexia, not slowing her pace.

  Jayson sighs and starts climbing after her. By the time he reaches the top, Lexia is already swinging her legs over the porch railing, panting and wheezing, and she flops over, faceplanting the wet wood. Jayson comes up behind her a moment later, perfectly fine and just in time to see Lexia push herself up, her eyes narrowed and focused on the sliding glass door, where soft lamplight glows from inside.

  Lexia marches to the door and yanks it open with enough force to make the glass rattle. Inside, Derrick sits across from Dixie at his kitchen table, a pot of tea between them and miniatures lined up.

  "I knew it!" Lexia shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Derrick. "You flew off so you could come back here and hit on my mom!"

  Derrick stares at Lexia with a quirked brow, and Dixie nearly spills her tea.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" asks Derrick flatly.

  "Don't play dumb!" Lexia marches forward. "You left us in the rain so you could come back here and get all cozy with my mother!"

  Jayson closes the door behind him and wrings out his scarf over the sink.

  "We were just having tea," says Dixie softly.

  "Tea?" Lexia's eyes narrow further. "That's the oldest trick in the book! First, it's tea, then it's… babies!"

  Derrick and Dixie stare at her in silence, and Jayson pours himself a cup of hot tea. Finally, Derrick frowns and simply says, “If I wanted to hit on your mom I would do it in front of you.”

  Lexia’s expression pales and her brain cracks, all while Jayson calmly sips his tea, his lips twitching to contain his grin and urge to laugh.

  “I’m surprised you made tea instead of coffee,” says Jayson.

  “Dixie ain’t a coffee person, so I was being a gentleman,” says Derrick.

  Lexia snaps back into focus. “More proof that you’re trying to hit on my mom to make babies!”

  A snort of laughter draws everyone's attention to the living room. Jayson and Lexia turn to see Owen Owenheim's obese frame shaking with amusement from the couch, his patchy brown and black fur catching the lamplight.

  Next to him sits Chipper Chapel, legs crossed and sporting an amused grin that makes his salt-and-pepper fur bristle.

  Peter Piper sits at the end of the couch, arms folded across his chest and legs stretched out, his scarred face betraying a hint of enjoyment at the scene unfolding before him.

  North Nermal is limp in the armchair, his head tilted back and drool leaking from his open mouth as soft snore escape his lips.

  "Oh," says Jayson, blinking in surprise. "I didn't realize we had company. How’s it going Owen?"

  “I’m still mad at you for what happened to my arcade.”

  “Why? I wasn’t the one that threw a car through it.”

  “If you weren’t there, a car wouldn’t have gone through it in the first place.”

  Jayson grumbles under his breath, sipping his drink, and Lexia looks at Derrick, jabbing her thumb at the group, her accusing tone replaced with embarrassment.

  “How long have they been here?” asks Lexia.

  "Long enough to hear your fascinating theories about tea and babies," says Chipper.

  Derrick stands, straightening his feathers. "They got here about twenty minutes ago. Nermal's been running on fumes for days, so he conked out as soon as he sat down. But they’re going to help us take out the safehouse."

  "Nermal got some intel from one of her goons who flipped," says Peter.

  “Who flipped?” asks Jayson.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “And now that we’re all here, we need to rest up. Lexia and Jayson, you two shower first. I don’t want you two getting sick.”

  “Says the guy who left us in the rain so he could hit on my mom,” says Lexia.

  Derrick points down the hallway. “Now, young lady.”

  Lexia groans and shuffles away, and Owen and Chipper snicker again while Jayson casually sips his tea. Peter remains unamused.

  “Takes just after her dad. Artemis was the same way. Got something in his head, and it was a pain in the ass to get him to let go of it,” says Chipper.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll avenge him one way or the other,” says Peter, his eyes on Derrick.

  Derrick goes to the back corner of the kitchen, setting his coffee machine to brew, keeping his eyes on the group from his isolated vantage point. He sees Peter staring at him but says nothing while the others casually talk.

  Inside Derrick's bathroom, Lexia turns the lock with a decisive click. The walls are adorned with colorful fish decorations – ceramic fish hanging from hooks, fish-shaped soap dishes, and even the shower curtain features cartoon fish swimming through blue waters. The bright overhead lights bounce off the polished surfaces, making the small space almost painfully illuminating.

  Lexia catches her haggard reflection in the mirror and grimaces. Her fur is matted with rain and mud, her clothes heavy with water weight. With a tired sigh, she begins to peel off her soaked outfit layer by layer.

  First off is her drenched raincoat. She shimmies out of it, and lets it fall with a wet slap against the tile floor. Her fingers work at the buckles of her homemade armor, each piece coming away with a short click. The cuirass falls heavily, followed by her gauntlets and boots, metal clinking against the ceramic tiles.

  Next, she loosens her battle skirt, and when the leather and metal plated clothing drops around her feet she feels like she can float away.

  After that, she peels off her tank top, the fabric clinging to her fur for a moment before finally surrendering with a soft, wet sound, revealing the toned muscles of her abdomen and the brown fur on her ribs and back. Her sports bra, underwear, and drenched socks follow next.

  Steam begins to billow as she cranks the shower dial to its maximum heat. Her reflection in the mirror grows hazier with each passing second, but not before she catches a glimpse of her bicolored body; muscular yet feminine, powerful yet graceful. The white fur of her left side contrasts starkly with the rich brown of her right, meeting in a perfect line down her face and neck fluff’s center. The brown fur covers her right foot and hand, and her shoulders and thighs and traces her ribs. Looking at herself as her reflection is slowly consumed with fog, she can’t help but think her patterns give her an hourglass look.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Brushing that thought aside, Lexia steps into the scalding spray with a sharp intake of breath, her ears flattening against her head as the water cascades down her curves, taking the grime away and drumming against the bruises hidden beneath her fur.

  The heat works its way into her muscles, unknotting the tension that's built up from the snake bite and extensive fights. Her bicolored fur darkens as it soaks through, water tracing rivulets down her body and highlighting the bumps and curves of her arms and thighs.

  Lexia tilts her head back, letting the water run through her thick neck fur. Water streams down the curves of her body, following the contours of her breasts and the defined lines of her abdomen before disappearing into the white and brown fur of her thighs.

  Her paws slid over her body, working some soap she squirted from a tuna shaped dispenser into a lather against her fur, tracing the contours of her muscular form and assets. The sting of the snake bite has faded to a dull throb, and she gingerly cleans around the wound.

  The heat of the water makes her head swim pleasantly, the steam clouding her thoughts until nothing exists but sensation – the pounding of water against her skin, the slick glide of soap between her fingers, the gradual relaxation of muscles that have been tense for too long.

  As she rinses, watching the suds swirl down the drain, her eyes close, and she presses her head against the tile, squeezing her eyes tighter and gripping her hair. A whimper leaves her throat, and tears roll down her cheeks.

  (((((O)))))

  The Bliss County Cemetery was silent except for the steady patter of rain on black umbrellas. The sky was a dark gray canvas, the cracks more pronounced than usual, as if the heavens themselves were fracturing from grief. Rows of uniformed officers stood at attention, their faces solemn beneath the brims of their hats.

  Seventeen-year-old Lexia stood beside the closed casket, her white and brown fur was matted from the rain she had refused to shield herself from. Her black dress clung to her body, and her red-rimmed eyes stared vacantly at the polished wood that held her father's body.

  Dixie stood beside her, clutching an umbrella with trembling paws, her fur and hair disheveled and her bloodshot eyes hollow. She kept reaching for Lexia's hand, but Lexia would pull away, unable to accept comfort that couldn't bring her father back.

  Detective Artemis Hartwick. Bliss Town Police Department. Killed in the line of duty. Ambushed and shot enough to where they had to keep the casket closed. His body was found in a ditch, his personal police car shot up, his blood all over the windows and interior. Evidence showed he tried to crawl out, and he never fired a shot. The final shot was an execution round through his head before his body was shoved in a ditch.

  "He was a good cop. Whoever did this deserve death," said Peter Piper, standing behind them in uniform.

  "Knowing Artemis, he’s in Heaven now,” said Owen Owenheim, his skinny body barely fitting his uniform.

  “Mama Bear's people didn’t have to do him like this,” said Chipper Chaple.

  North Nermal was silent, his lips sealed tight and his eyes downcast. Bridgette Bags was also there, but she was whimpering and having trouble remaining in position. As for Lexia, she kept her teary eyes on the casket, hoping she was in a nightmare and that she would wake up soon. The priest kept talking, but Lexia couldn’t hear the words. It was just a blur of noise. It all meant nothing.

  Lexia’s fists clenched at her sides. The memory was still burning in her mind of when the police came by to tell Dixie the news; her mother was high on Reel Sight at the time, but it was enough to snap her out of it. The wail and sobs shook the whole house, and Lexia couldn’t do anything. Not even scream or cry. Even now she can only muster a small stream of tears.

  Artemis Hartwick had been investigating Mama Bear's drug operations when he was ambushed. She was a growing power who was wiping out rival syndicates at rapid speed, and she was making her move in Bliss Town. Artemis never spoke about his job in front of Lexia, but she knew he must have gotten close to something that led to such a horrible death.

  The ceremony proceeded with military precision. The folding of the flag. The gun salute that made Lexia flinch with each crack. The solemn words spoken by the police chief about duty and sacrifice.

  After the casket was lowered into the ground, the mourners began to disperse, seeking shelter from the relentless rain. Lexia remained rooted to the spot, now watching as dirt was shoveled onto her father's casket, each thud of soil against wood reverberating through her hollow chest.

  "Lexia," came a deep voice from behind her.

  She turned to see Derrick in a police uniform, younger but still stern, his feathers sleek with rain despite the umbrella he held. His eyes were dead, but there was a flame smoldering in the back, giving his pupils a slight glow.

  "Officer Marlow," she acknowledged, her voice flat.

  "Your father was a good man. I’m sorry about what happened to him. He didn’t deserve this," said Derrick, moving to stand beside her at the grave's edge. "But I promise you, Mama Bear will pay for this.”

  “How?” asked Lexia.

  “I’ll find a way.”

  Derrick rubbed Lexia’s hair. “Take care, kid.”

  One week later, Lexia stood on the Bliss Town Memorial Bridge, her fur soaked through from the perpetual rain. The storm had never truly stopped since the funeral. The sky was still covered by its dark clouds and the rumbles still shook the earth.

  Below, the river churned angrily. The water slammed against the concrete pillars, creating white caps that disappeared into the darkness.

  Lexia's toes curled over the edge of the railing. She had climbed up carefully, methodically, her movements automatic. Her ears hung limp against her skull, dripping water down her neck and back. The note she'd left on her bed would be found eventually. It was short, to the point. No blame assigned. Just an apology to her mother for not being strong enough.

  Lexia closed her eyes and leaned forward, feeling the momentary weightlessness as gravity claimed her. The wind rushed past her ears, a deafening howl as her body plummeted toward the churning water.

  The impact knocked the air out of her lungs. Cold enveloped her instantly, shocking her system. Water rushed into her nose and mouth as the current dragged her under, tumbling her like a rag doll in a washing machine. Her limbs flailed uselessly against the force of the river, her lungs burning as they filled with water instead of air.

  Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision as her consciousness began to slip away. Weightlessness engulfed her, and all thoughts and emotions faded. She was at peace, and soon she’ll see her father again.

  Then Lexia opened her eyes in a gray tinted world, her face pressed against the dirt. She pushed herself up, very clean and looked around at the forest and river. It was peaceful and quiet. Even though the river moved, there was hardly a sound from it.

  She turned around again and saw a pink door, decorated with balloons and microphones, and studded with glittery orbs.

  Lexia stared at it, and her feet moved on their own, gradually taking her to it.

  “It’s not your time,” said a voice.

  Lexia froze, her hand outstretched. She looked to the side and saw a being of light with fiery wings, holding a book in its hand.

  “You need to wake up,” said the being.

  Lexia blinked and-

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Lexia found herself looking at a tiled ceiling, her body aching and bones broken all over. From her skull to her ribs, her arm and leg, her hands, and her foot. Surprisingly her neck and spine were fine. The antiseptic smell was strong in her nose and the scratchy sheets felt good against her fur after being plunged in cold water and bashed through rocks, but her chest ached with every breath and the IV strapped to her arm made her body feel like it was being torn and restitched from the inside out. Yet she was too numb to cry about it. In a twisted way, the pain felt good.

  "She's awake," came Dixie's voice, thick with tears.

  Lexia turned her head slightly, wincing at the pain that shot through her neck. Her mother sat beside the bed, her fur disheveled, but her smile was bright. Dixie hugged Lexia tight, making her wince, and she muttered apologies while stroking her daughter’s ruined hair.

  Derrick was standing in the corner, watching Lexia, and the two locked eyes. He stepped forward, and stopped by her side, looking down on her.

  “Please don’t do that again,” said Derrick.

  Lexia was silent, and Derrick sighed heavily and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I know your father’s death has been hard on you, but I know a way to make you feel better,” said Derrick.

  “How?” croaked Lexia.

  “We’re going to kill Mama Bear together.”

  (((((O)))))

  Lexia's bloodshot eyes snap open, and tears roll down her cheeks as the hot water pours down her back and drips off her hair in thick ropes. Her eyes narrow a moment later, and her fingers claw against the tile. Then a wicked smile stretches on her face.

  Lexia is coming for Mama Bear, and she will tear apart everything she built before she grants her the privilege of death.

  *****

  Trafford Augustine sits in a dark room, his eyes heavy, the spark of life replaced with a darkness that is as heavy as black matter. His fingers twirl the ram priestess figurine, yet his attention is focused on a large monitor displaying streams of data ranging from DNA structures to notes on experiments. Currently, Ramsey Prosper’s data is the focus, and he is labeled as Experiment 252011681195-RP-B1.

  The information shows him as the lead for Project PLOT ARMOR, and his mutations from the serum are quite intense, but Trafford isn’t afraid of him. He’s not even afraid for the safety of the other experiments: Jayson, Lexia, and Derrick. Sure, it would be tragic if they die at Ramsey’s hands, but that is the nature of his and Mr. Exe’s work.

  Experiments rise and die all the time. All that matters is the data, and making sure Ramsey is permanently removed. But in the grand scheme of things, the data is far more important than Ramsey’s fate, he’s just annoying and threw in a variable that Society 318 didn’t anticipate when he went turncoat to team up with a syndicate lord.

  Going to another nation? Accounted for.

  Going to another society? Planned for.

  Joining a bunch of drug dealers for far less pay and turbulent job security? Not anticipated.

  Trafford stops twirling the figurine and focuses on Ramsey’s smiling picture, thinking about the future to come. Sure, this Bliss Town debacle was a hiccup, but the unintended consequence of Ramsey’s stupidity is the fresh data Society 318 has been getting. And as grateful as Trafford is to have all the new data for Mr. Exe, it is now time to tie the loose end and move their grand experiment forward.