FSE

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The cool wind ruffled my fur as the dark shapes all around me slowly formed into a city. From my position on the roof three stories up, most of New St. Louis was blocked from sight by buildings taller than Mr. Hattori's small apartment complex. The establishment was of solid concrete and stood on the outskirts of the inner city. From between taller buildings I could just make out the lights of The Boss' casino, the 40-story structure I had fallen from a year ago to the day. My feline heritage helped me (barely) survive the fall, and adrenaline and Mr. Hattori helped me escape. I was ever grateful to that old fox, for letting me stay at his place for so long without having to pay, for feeding me, for tending to my wounds, and of course, for teaching me the ninja arts.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a copy of an old family photo of Mr. Hattori and his wife and son, both of whom were dead at the paws of gang violence. The old fox looked so happy back when this picture was taken, back when he had a family. I guess I was his only family now--his foster child, in a way. I promised him before I left that I would be coming back in one piece. I promised I'd take down The Pack one day and make him smile again.

I scrounged around in my pocket again and pulled out the other picture of someone I was fighting for. Brad, my Black Lab friend I grew up with at the orphanage. He looked just as happy as Mr. Hattori had, with an arm around my shoulder and his paw in a thumbs-up. It had been a year since I lost him, too. The damn Pack. They had literally taken everything from me. All I had left was my clothes, the hanbo cane strapped to my back, and a thirst for revenge.

But I knew I couldn't take down an entire criminal gang in a single night. Tonight was like a trial run to test what I had learned from Mr. Hattori. He told me that tonight I was only to stay out of sight, and to not engage The Pack at all. As much as I wanted to test my combat skills and beat the shit out of some thugs, I understood the importance of not fighting them directly. At least until I had a little more experience in this new art, which I knew would come quickly.

I pulled the dark-blue hood up over my ears, letting it rest low over my forehead. I hadn't noticed it when Mr. Hattori first gave it to me, but a section of the cloth on each side of the hood had been cut out and replaced with a dark cloth thin enough for me to see through. This increased my peripheral vision significantly, which I knew would come in handy. The long dark-blue pants I wore were made out of a non-denim material that didn't make a sound when rubbed against itself, even if I was running. I was armed with everything I needed to survive the streets once more. I was finally ready.

I softly padded my way down the steps of the fire escape and swung myself down into the dark alleyway beside the apartment complex. With a quick look around, I came out from between the two buildings and crossed the street, slowly making my way toward the heart of the city, into the belly of the beast.

...

It was worse than I imagined.

Areas that were once familiar to me were now covered in Pack-related graffiti. There were more broken windows on the decrepit buildings than intact ones, if they weren't boarded up completely. It seemed that every block or two there were firearms shells scattered across the sidewalk, sometimes even accompanied with nearby rusty brown spots of dried blood. I knew that other, smaller gangs had once occupied these areas, but it looked like The Pack was really cracking down on these and asserting their control over the city. I walked over a mile without seeing anybody on the streets.

The buildings grew taller as I approached the center of the city. I was now deep inside Pack territory. I started seeing beefy-looking thugs sitting on the steps leading up to some of the buildings, and small groups hanging out in alleyways. They barked challenges at me as I walked by, but they didn't seem too interested in fighting.

I wasn't sure where I was headed. I didn't have any real objective other than walking the streets and staying out of sight when needed, but I didn't have any destination. As I walked silently, I realized my feet were carrying me toward the old "hideout" where Brad and I lived after we left the orphanage. Soon enough the old building was before me: four stories of weathered brick, rotting timber, and memories. I wondered if anyone had taken up residence on the third floor where we once lived. I looked around to make sure I wasn't being watched, and quietly pushed open the door and slipped inside.

After listening for a few seconds to make sure nobody was there, I made my way up the rickety staircase as quietly as possible. I didn't dare turn on any lights for fear of someone noticing my presence from outside. Not like I needed the light anyway--I knew this place like the back of my paw. As I climbed the steps two at a time, I considered making this place into a base of operations for my campaign against The Pack, if nobody else was living here, of course.

No such luck. As I reached the third-floor landing I could hear a news anchor giving an evening report from either a TV or radio within the room where we once lived. I couldn't quite make out the muffled words through the door, but I could hear heavy footsteps and a refrigerator being closed inside. Someone was definitely living here. My curiosity would have to be satisfied another time.

I started carefully making my way back down the stairs, letting the memories flow back through me. Ah yes, there was the the torn wallpaper, and there the banister which someone had whittled "Bubba waz here" long ago. There was carpet on the next landing singed with countless cigarette burns, and there was the squeaky step... Wait.

It was too late. My foot was already in motion, and my center of mass was already too far forward. I flailed my arms and tried to step over it, but ended up hitting it with my heel and landing clumsily on the next step. The loud squeak and the thud echoed throughout the stairway, amplified by the emptiness of the place.

The footsteps stopped. I held my breath. After a moment, I heard them again, much quieter this time, as if their owner was trying not to be heard. They were getting closer. I heard the click of the door above unlocking.

I hopped down to the next landing, sacrificing silence for speed. Whoever was up there already knew I was here. I had to get out, fast. I could hear the footsteps pounding down the stairs above me as I jumped down three steps at a time. The ripped and mildewey wallpaper flew by as I flung myself around each corner so fast I started getting dizzy. I burst out the front door and ran for the alleyway to my left. I knew I could lose him in the tangle of shadows. With any luck he'd never even see me.

But luck was not on my side that night. I ran around the corner of the alleyway and right into two Pack thugs.

I practically bounced right off the one I collided with, he was so burly. I landed unceremoniously on my tail and yelped in surprise and pain. The two thugs stared angrily down at me.

"Whatchu think you doing, bitch??" the one I had hit demanded. He was a big grey mutt of some sort, who clearly spent more time at the gym than sleeping.

"Sorry, I, uh, didn't see you there." I tried to stand back up but was shoved back down by the other, an equally muscular German Shepherd with a wolfish grin on his face.

"I oughtta smack yo pussy ass face," the grey one said, balling his paw in a fist for emphasis.

The footsteps from before finally caught up from behind me. Shit. "Who this?", their owner asked in a low, gruff voice.

"This pussy almost ran me over runnin' down the alley so fast. You know this guy?"

"I know I heard someone sneakin' around my house and come this way."

"You little pussy ass cunt!" the grey one said, giving me a sharp kick to the ribcage. "Tryin' ta steal my brutha's shit, huh?"

This was obviously not turning out as planned. I doubted I'd be able to break away from these three. I was surrounded. They were backing me up against the wall as I tried to crawl away from the repeated kicks. There was no way I'd be getting out of this one without a fight. I didn't want to reveal my ninja skills to the Pack yet, but I knew that traditional street fighting techniques would not be effective against these guys. It would only anger them more, and I'd probably end up shot or killed in the end. Of course, that was also looking more likely each second I did nothing. It was either fight or die.

By now they were all taking turns kicking me while I was down and stomping on my tail. I winced and bared my teeth as I waited for the opportune moment.

They had thoroughly tenderized my body by the time the grey one motioned for the others to back up. I managed to pull my aching frame into a crouching position by the time he pulled out his gun, a small semiautomatic pistol.

"You know what this is, punk?" he said, holding it unnecessarily high. "Yeah, this'll teach you some respect, kitty."

"I don't think so," I said, licking the blood from my lips. This one was for New Lou. This was for Mr. Hattori's family. This was for my family. This was for Brad.

"Whatchu say, bitch??"

"I said..." My body sprung forward like a striking snake and I smacked the gun aside. His reflexes were just a little too slow; the bullet sailed through the air just inches from my head. My ears were ringing from the gunshot, making me more dizzy than I already was from taking such a beating, but I still managed to land a solid punch to his windpipe with my other paw. He staggered back a step in surprise, giving me an opening. I stepped to his side and landed a series of blows using the boshi-ken fist to strike at pressure points on his side and arm with my thumbs. His arm went limp and he dropped the pistol, which I quickly kicked out of the way of the other two thugs, now advancing on me.

The German Shepherd came at me from behind and put me in a Full Nelson hold. I instinctively reared my head back right into his muzzle, rewarding me with a satisfying crunch and cry of pain. I put my arms straight up and dropped down into a crouch, sliding right out of the hold. I gave him two solid punches to the inside of his right knee, making him stagger. I slid my black hanbo cane out from its place on my back as the third goon came at me.

This one, a fast-looking black dog (apparently the one I had been running from), had a much more straightforward approach. Before I could get out of my crouched position or get my cane up to block he gave me a soccer player kick right to the chin. Stars exploded across my vision as I was knocked backwards, and I hit my head on the concrete, hard. My vision blacked out for a second, but I fought for consciousness as the attacker, blending in with the night sky, loomed over me and prepared to stomp me in the face. I snapped my leg up to give him a kick right to the pup-makers. He made a sound like a deflating balloon and leaned down over me. I grabbed his shoulders and pushed off the ground with my other leg, sending us tumbling head-over-heels. I ended up on top and punched him square in the muzzle a few times before the grey mutt reached me.

He swung savagely with his good arm, but I was able to roll out of the way just in time. Through all this I had somehow managed to hold on to my hanbo cane, and I let him know it, swinging it like a baseball bat. It collided with his stomach with a fleshy thunk, and he doubled over. I brought the short end of it up to his face, making him straighten up again as I brought the other end of the cane down on his foot. He howled in a mixture of surprise and pain. I stepped down hard on the same foot and pushed the cane forward like a lever, forcing his leg back and the rest of his body to follow. My foot held his flat to the ground until he hit the asphalt, and I felt the sickening crack of his ankle breaking under the strain. He wouldn't be bothering me anytime soon.

The brown Shepherd charged, making as if to tackle me. I waited for him to get close, and then crouched down and spun, extending my leg for a sweeping kick. He expected that. He jumped in the air and gave me a punch to the head, nearly making me lose my balance. He landed behind me, and I followed through with my spin to face him directly. His fighting stance was rather sloppy, but his unpredictable feints and swings kept me guessing and backing up.

Right into the grasp of the black dog. He put one beefy arm around my throat and grabbed my arm that held the cane with the other, twisting it behind my back and making me drop my weapon. I grimaced in pain and struggled to breathe as he arched his back to lift me off the ground. The Shepherd grinned and pulled a fist back, aiming right at my face. My abs strained as I pulled my legs up to my chest and gave him a double kick that would make a kangaroo proud. My shoes collided with his muzzle, and he fell backwards to the ground limply like a ragdoll. Knockout.

The kick's force sent the black dog stumbling back a step, making him loosen his grip slightly. Seeing my opportunity, I twisted down and out of his grip. My shoulder was practically screaming in pain and my arm felt like it was on fire, but the adrenaline surging through my veins helped me ignore it.

I quickly analyzed the situation, and realized that with just one thug left, I could probably get away without any further engagement. I turned to run, but my attacker lunged forward and grabbed my tail. I yelped in pain as he pulled back hard and sent me sprawling to the ground. In the blink of an eye he was on top of me, straddling my frame and pinning me to the ground. He put his two large paws on my throat and squeezed. My eyes bulged as I sunk my claws into his arms to rip them off my throat. He growled in pain but still held on. There was no getting out of this one. I knew that with all the head trauma I had sustained, I had only seconds of consciousness left.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my salvation: the grip of a gun sticking out of his pocket. I hesitated for a moment, even though I knew there was no time for that luxury. I did not want to take a life tonight, for both strategic and moral reasons. But right now, it was his life or mine. I took my bloody claws out of his flesh and snaked a paw toward the butt of the pistol as I pleadingly looked into the eyes of my attacker. Into rich brown eyes surrounded by a bloodied and rage-filled face... With familiar brown markings.

My eyes widened. No. It can't be. That's impossible. With the last of my breath I managed to squeak out one final syllable:

"Brad?"

"...T-Tyrus?"