Monica hated being in the not-sleep. A blackness that was like being asleep, void where she could not feel her paws, her fur, her body, or anything at all. It was a fake sleep that left her anxious and tense. Every time she was in the not-sleep, she would come out and be attacked. No matter how much she prepared to pounce, the hurters would be a step ahead.

And this time it was especially bad. Rick had been there, Rick was in danger, and they had put her into the not-sleep before she could save him. Anger boiled inside her. She tried to move, to fight, to tear at the not-sleep. But she did not have arms or claws or paws or tail.

She would wait until she was out of it to fight.

So she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was light, and she did not wait any more. Her feet had not come back to her completely, but she was already jumping backwards. The hurt-man had always been behind her when she’d appeared. This time she would hurt him back, she-

“MONICA!”

Her name rattled inside her head. Monica froze. The voice was familiar. Her eyes looked around as her ears rotated in every direction. Two soft ones nearby, no tough ones? No hurt-man? Confusion, one of them-. “Rick!”

She’d been just about ready to jump at him when she stopped. The not-sleep! She whirled around, meeting the familiar face with pretty yellow hair, Kat. Monica’s eyes locked onto the red and white not-sleep, her claws yanked it out of the soft-ones’ grip and crushed it without missing a single second. Never again.

“Wow, careful there, didn’t plan to use it.” Kat made noises, raising her arms.

“As harebrained as the plan was, I have to congratulate you on it.” Rick let out a dry cough that raised alarms in Monica’s mind.

“No one expects getting pick-pocketed in a torture dungeon. Doubt it’ll take him long to notice she’s missing.”

Monica snorted, dropping the pieces of the not-sleep stone and crushing it under her paw. Her focus quickly turned to Rick in full. He was hurt, his body smelt hurt, and it smelt of green hurter too, and Monica was hurt too. Her body ached, but that didn’t matter right now.

She closed the distance, carefully kneeling in front of him, pulling him into her arms and pressing her face against his chest. “Rick.” She spoke his name, breathing in his nice not-smoke and broken-tree scent, her whole body warming to his presence. Monica would not lose him ever again. She tightened her hold further, feeling him gasp and groan, his hand caressing her head and ears in all the right ways that made her want to purr and sleep.

“We need to get out.”

Rick spoke sounds Monica did not care about. She could smell his fear and apprehension, she could smell his hurt. Her nose sought out the spots that had blood or that had dark-hurt-skin. Her soft-one complained, but Monica would not let him go on like this. Finding the cuts and bruises, she slowly began licking at the wounds. Rick winced and complained more loudly, but Monica knew that it was better to hurt a bit now than to stay hurt.

She also couldn’t let him smell of the green hurter any longer. She would make sure the green hurter would never touch Rick again.

“She’s trying to help.”

“I’d-agh, Monica!”

“Rick,” she answered in turn, frowning at him and holding him in place, licking at his shoulder. Why couldn’t he understand he needed this? Monica felt frustration. Rick was no better than a cub. She’d have to teach him the important things when they were safe, later.

That was a strange thought. Later. She’d never thought of it before, during the days before Rick, but now it felt like a new space she could look into that always drew her attention. A place that was not there, but that they would be at later.

As she kept licking and tending to his hurts, Monica’s eyes flickered towards the hard gray shiny thing that made the hole they were in impossible to get out of. She’d seen the shiny thing being moved, pulled out of the way and then back. She’d have to get it out of the way to take Rick someplace safe.

Someplace away from the hurters. A safe warm cave, with no one to catch them ever again. If she could hurt the hurters while doing so, that would be even better. Make sure the hurters never hurt again. Dead.

The two soft-ones kept making those noises at each other. Monica noticed a particular sound that made Rick angry each time he made it. “Baron.” She growled as Rick spoke it. If Rick was angry, then it was bad. Maybe it was the noise they made for the hurters? That made sense. If Rick was angry to it, Monica would be angry too.

“Baron bad.” Kat proclaimed, snarling and moving her head up and down.

“Baron bad.” Rick replied, making the up and down gesture, flinching as Monica found a cut on his right arm to lick.

“Bar-ohn.” Monica mimicked, growling, letting the rumble through her chest.

She would hurt the Barons, all of them.

Satisfied with having cleaned and helped Rick’s hurts, she turned the focus to herself. Monica would have to fight very hard. She could hear the sounds outside, she could pick up on the smells. There were two Barons outside, and Rick and Kat had the scent of many stronger Barons they’d been near of recently. Very hard fight.

Looking over at herself, Monica found the cuts. They’d stopped bleeding, but she cleaned them anyway, starting with her wrists. Better now before the fight started. The bad part was the hurts that didn’t bleed, the spots on her body that felt soft and hurt to move or touch. It didn’t take her long to clean and be ready. Unlike Rick, her hurts went away faster.

Caring for a soft one was so troublesome sometimes.

But right now was not the time to think about that. Her gaze focused on the gray shiny thing that was in their way.

“Monica, you need to wait.”

Turning to Rick as he called out to her, Monica halted. Her soft-one moved to the shiny thing and hit it hard with his soft fist.

“Hey! We need to use the-.”

Monica nodded. Rick had the right idea, but he wasn’t strong enough. She would help him, show him how it was done. Monica pulled him away from the shiny thing and balled her fist tightly.

“Wait, Monica, d-.”

BLAM

The first strike shook the air. Monica’s ears curled backwards from the sharp annoying sound, frustrated she’d not knocked it over. She’d hit it hard enough it would have killed a soft one. This was clearly tough rock. Definitely something Rick would not be able to open. Monica would have to hit harder.

Balling her fist, she struck again.

BLAM

Not even a twitch. Was she weaker because of the hurts? Or was the tough rock too tough? Why wasn’t it opening? How hard would she have to hit? Monica’s chest rumbled. She could hear the voices outside. She was angry she wouldn’t be able to catch them by surprise.

BLAM

Her fist hurt, but she was not going to let some weird rock stop her from getting Rick out of this weird hole and to a safe place. She could not stay and wait for the hurters to come back.

BLAM BLAM

Bits of dust and dirt fell down on them. Monica’s jaw clenched. She needed to hit harder. How much harder? As hard as she could hit. Tough rock was only rock. She would break it no matter what.

BLAM BLAM

Not hard enough, she focused, thinking. She’d seen the green tough Baron doing it with her whole body… Monica felt warmth spreading through her. Was she doing it right? She’d have to hit and find out.

BLAM BLAM

Still not hard enough, but closer. Something was close. She had almost found a way to hit harder, she was sure of it.

“Rick, she’s… stripes!?”

“I see it. Is… she’s changing?”

“What the fuck?”

BLAM BLAM

Monica felt her body tense and coil within itself. Snarling, clenching, she took half a step back. Harder, she had to hit harder. With her whole body, with everything she had. She thrust her body a step forward, foot first, then tail, then hip, then shoulder, then arm, then claw.

BLAM

The strong shiny rock bent. Weird, it should have cracked, but Monica didn’t care, she’d figured it out, she was hitting harder. She took another half-step back.

BLAM

Was the ceiling slightly lower? Not important, too many weird new things. She had to focus.

Monica growled. The gray rock had nearly fallen, just once more. She knew it would be one more. This time, she took several steps back until she reached the opposite wall. She could feel the power as she focused it on her paws and claws. One more and the fight would start. She could smell the fear. She could hear the muffled voices outside, the tough ones shouted things. One Baron, two Barons, three, four, many. Many, many Barons.

It would be a fight, it would be a hunt. Her claws withdrew, sinking into the stone.

This one would have to be with everything. Using the wall for support, she imagined she was in the forest, jumping from one tree to the next, bouncing to keep the tough ones from being able to hurt her.

Monica clenched her jaw, snarling, growling. Rick and the other soft one moved out of her way. Good. She didn’t wait to launch herself towards the door, paws glowing and throwing one more attack onto the infuriating tough rock.

BOOM

It flew off, almost broken. The stone hit the far wall of the hole that connected to the hole they’d been trapped in. Monica hadn’t stopped herself, following behind and landing against the wall. Her eyes coursed through the tunnel while her claws grabbed the bent shiny stone. There were three tough-ones.

The smell of fear was thick.

Not missing an instant, Monica spun, throwing the broken shiny stone towards two of them while she pounced at the third. The tough-one was weak, slow, dull. She tried to hurt Monica, but Monica hurt her first. Claws pierced flesh, a clean, quick kill. There was no time to play. But she’d seen tough ones using funny smelling things to take hurts away, so me made extra sure it was a kill by using her fangs and ripping the hard-one’s throat out. There was something off in how easily her fangs had pierced through the flesh, of how much easier it felt to bite through.

Nothing she should focus on right now. She turned towards the other two. One had broken her arms trying to stop the thrown tough-rock. Slow, they were slow. Monica tossed the bloody body of her first prey at the faster tough-one. They screamed, trying to move, but Monica pounced to take advantage of their distraction.

Another clean kill.

Monica turned towards the third one. She’d fallen crying, making the noises they always made when Monica hunted.

She would have considered leaving whimpering the tough-one live, perhaps to play later, but she had to protect Rick. She made extra sure the tough-one was dead, much like the other two.

The taste of blood and fear made Monica feel good. She breathed in the scent. This was how it was supposed to be. Monica let loose a roar, loud and powerful, shaking the very smooth stones all around her. They should know to fear her, they should know to run.

She would be the hurter now.