“DOUBLE DIGITS!” Two-Fingers yelled.

Green ducked just in time.

The silver blades sliced through the air where their face had just been. Two-Fingers grinned, his eyes full of bloodlust. Without a moment’s hesitation, he swung the switchblades again. Green danced backward, bobbing and weaving through the knives’ silver trails. Their eyes narrowed. No matter how hard they looked, they couldn’t find an opening. The switchblades swirled through the air in front of Two-Fingers like a whirlwind.

It’s those gloves, Green thought. I just have to find a way to get those gloves off of him. But how?!

“You should have stayed in your cage, huh?” Two-Fingers said. “You got no chance against me!” He stopped his assault for a moment, twirling a switchblade in one hand and raising the other before his face. “You wanna know why they call me Two-Fingers, huh?”

“Because of your stupid knives?” Green said.

“Watch your mouth, huh? It’s because of these gloves!” He clenched the leather-clad fist in front of his face. “These aren’t just any old leather gloves. They’re Clothiers-made! Know what they do, huh?”

“Yeah, I know it’s the gloves. I really don’t care-”

“They double the dexterity of my fingers!” Two-Fingers cried, completely ignoring Green. “Watch and see!” The mobster began to demonstrate by twirling the switchblades in an intricate pattern. His fingers moved with such speed that it was hard to keep track of them. They darted and dashed with the dexterous deftness of a concert pianist.

“I’m invincible with these gloves, huh?” he said. He stopped spinning the switchblades and crossed them into an X in front of himself, peering at Green through them like crosshairs. “Give up. There’s no way you can defeat me! You should just surrender, huh?”

Green cracked their knuckles. “You talk too much.” They stepped back into a fighting stance, cocking their right fist behind them and holding out their left hand.

“It’s your funeral, huh?” said Two-Fingers.

Green didn’t reply. They just beckoned in a come on gesture with the fingers of their extended left hand.

***

SWOP!

Nico’s fist bounced back from Fat Bob’s stomach. The big man chuckled in his gruff dog-like voice.

Dammit! Nico thought. He couldn’t gain any ground in the fight. Fat Bob and Mongoose kept switching off, throwing him off balance.

The two mafiosos’ fighting styles were wildly different. Mongoose’s spindly limbs whipped at Nico, their speed increased by the striped vest he wore. He darted in and out of combat like the animal that was his namesake. For all his strength, Nico just couldn’t get a hit on him.

But Fat Bob was even tougher. His bulk made him a slow and easy target, but no matter how hard Nico punched him, the mafioso didn’t even flinch. Whether because of his naturally hefty build or because of some form of durability power granted him by the too-small belt that was stretched around his middle, Fat Bob was seemingly invincible.

Come on, there’s gotta be a way! Nico thought. He punched Fat Bob’s stomach again. His arm sprang back, deflected once more by the mobster’s bulk.

“Dammit!” Nico hissed. Well… maybe if punching him doesn’t work, punching him really fast will!

“STRIPE RIOT!” Nico cried.

He dashed at Fat Bob again, swinging both fists over and over as fast as he could. Left, right, left, right, his punches slammed into the fat gangster’s bulk again and again, but his fists were immediately repelled. Suddenly, Fat Bob took in a quick puff of air, swung his body back, and SLAMMED his huge belly into Nico, sending him staggering back.

“Heh. No dice,” Fat Bob said.

Nico winced. Well, it was worth a try… He looked up at the sound of fast movement. Dammit! No time to think…

Mongoose was moving again. Thinking fast, Nico tried to guess where the spindly man would strike next. Mongoose’s head darted from left to right. He gripped the corners of the vest that hung from his shoulders.

There! Nico thought. Any second now, Mongoose would…

“RIKKI-TIKKI-TAICHI!” Mongoose sprang past Fat Bob toward Nico, his arms pulled back to strike.

Nico spun on his heel, his fist flying toward the spot where he was sure Mongoose would land…

WHOOSH!

Nico gasped in furious shock. His fist sailed harmlessly through the air, missing Mongoose completely. The mafioso had outmaneuvered him, and had somehow - how?! - landed at Nico’s side. Before Nico could register what was happening, Mongoose’s arms launched forward, his fingers pointed together like spears, and hit Nico full-force.

WHAM! WHIZZZ…CRAAAASH!

It all happened in an instant - one second Nico felt the pain of Mongoose’s attack hitting him, and the next he was SLAMMING into the opposite wall several feet away.

“AGH!” Nico cried. The air was almost completely knocked out of him. He dropped to the floor, dazed, leaving a massive dent in the wall behind him.

Mongoose laughed. His nasal voice was really starting to get on Nico’s nerves. “What’s the matter, kid? I thought youse was gonna save your friends! What happened to that?”

Nico spat blood onto the carpeted floor. For the moment he couldn’t speak, but his mind was racing. Come on, come on, think! He looked down at his right arm, where the new pinstripe had appeared. Had that really just been last night? It felt like weeks ago. There’s got to be a way…

“How do I figure it out, then?” Nico asked.

Gramps shook his head. “Just have to keep experimenting, I guess. Keep training. Remember, you learn more from your failures than from your successes.”

You learn more from your failures than from your successes… What am I failing at right now? What do I need to learn from it?

“He didn’t know what he was getting into,” Fat Bob chuckled to Mongoose. “Just another amateur.” He let out a harsh, barking cough.

“Yeah, maybe he didn’t know, Bob,” said Mongoose. “Whatcha think, kid? You think youse can take us on and get away with it? We’re the Colombo Mafia! We rule this city, see? Youse think some nobody dipshit kid can beat us?”

Nico was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. Just gotta figure it out on the fly, he decided. He pulled himself to his feet again, shaking himself off. “We’re gonna save our friends,” he said. “Last chance. Get out of our way, or else…”

DA-DOOM!

“I’m gonna kick your asses!”

Fat Bob coughed out another barking laugh, but Mongoose wasn’t laughing anymore. The mobster’s eyes suddenly became very dark. His voice was low, angry, deadly serious. “Ya got a death wish, kid? Alright, fine. I’ll kill ya right now.”

Nico’s eyes darted back and forth between the two mobsters. I hope Green’s okay. Nothing I can do for them right now, though. Can’t lose focus. If I make one mistake, I’m dead. But what do I do? Mongoose is too fast, and Fat Bob is too… uh, fat. I gotta figure out a way to take them both down. But how?

Mongoose and Fat Bob stalked forward, pushing Nico slowly back toward a dead end at the end of the hallway. He would be cornered at any moment. Fat Bob’s heavy footsteps made the floor tremble beneath Nico’s feet.

Shit, what do I do? Think, Nico! You learn more from your failures than your successes… You learn more from your failures than your successes… You learn more—

Suddenly, Nico smiled. His eyes sparkled with determination.

He had an idea.

***

“Meow.”

Monroe gave Tux’s head another scratch, smiling contentedly down at the tabby cat in her arms. Tux purred. Yes, this was very nice. The human girl would give her transport to the upper levels, where Piper and the others were surely being held prisoner. In the meantime, what was wrong with enjoying the ride? Monroe’s scratches felt wonderful.

They had climbed several stories. Tux was confident in her mental map of the building so far. As much as she resented the limitations of her species, being a cat had certain advantages when it came to awareness of her surroundings. Her heightened senses turned the building into a map made of stimuli. A musky scent of molding carpet here, the subtle whine of an electrical box there, tell-tale signs of mice in the lower, less-inhabited levels; they all combined into an instinctive sense of direction. When she rescued her friends, Tux felt sure that she would be able to guide them out.

The only question now was, where were they?

She had caught a whiff of Nico’s scent earlier as they ascended a stairwell. It was faint and tinged with adrenaline, but was coming from far below. She was sure that he would be fine. He was still wearing the pinstripe shirt. It was the old man, and especially Piper, that Tux was worried about.

“Here we go, Switchblade!” Monroe said. “Welcome home!”

Tux meowed in response.

They had reached a door that stood in sharp contrast to its surroundings. While the walls surrounding it were drab and graffiti-covered, this door was decorated with a flair that was almost manic in its enthusiasm. Someone - probably Monroe herself - had painted the door and its frame with bright colors. Geometric designs and floral patterns danced across the door’s expanse. Stick-on plastic jewels gleamed dully in the low light. Several strings of beads and tinsel hung across the upper door frame, clustered together so thickly that they almost formed a curtain.

With a sigh of contentment, Monroe pushed the door open. The hanging decorations rustled and tinkled against each other. The inside of Monroe’s room was decorated as eclectically as its door. Posters of boy bands and models festooned the walls. The young men on the posters sported unbuttoned shirts and wild hairstyles, with band names like Unzipped. More tinsel and plastic jewels adorned the furniture. Nearly every surface was covered in clutter. Tux felt her fur stand on end when she noticed guns sprinkled here and there among the mess.

Still smiling, Monroe set Tux down on her bed. The tabby quickly pounced down from it, as she didn’t much like the overpowering scent of perfume and smoke that wheezed out of it.

“You’re going to love it, here, Switchblade!” Monroe said delightedly. She bustled about the room, which had probably been an executive office back when this was still an office building. Tux followed her, cautious not to get hit by flying debris as Monroe started pulling her clothes off and tossing them every which way.

Why are we in her room? Tux wondered. Hadn’t Monroe said she was going to find Toothpick?

Monroe held up two shirts, deciding between them. Tux noticed that while Monroe had removed the rest of her outer wear, she was still wearing the thigh-highs. Those must be her Powerful Fashion Statement, the tabby decided.

I should hurry this along, she thought. She meowed loudly to get the mafia girl’s attention.

“Aw, are you hungry, kitty?” Monroe asked. She tossed one shirt aside and started pulling on the other. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some tasty food! Yum!” She winked at Tux, then pulled open a drawer and began to take out various skirts. “Don’t worry, I’ll be real quick. I just want to put on something clean... In case we see Spats.”

Tux blinked. When Monroe had mentioned Spats, there had been an odd hard note in her voice.

The cat mewed again, satisfied. She found the ways of humans amusing at times, and this was no exception. The idea of replacing one’s clothing multiple times in the same day was bizarre. After a moment’s thought, Tux concluded that humans might do this in order to change the impression they gave to others. So inefficient. They possess the power of speech, yet they resort to any means possible to avoid using it.

By appearances alone, Monroe didn’t seem to be a particularly dangerous human. However, Tux had paid close attention to the battle between her and Piper. Despite how she looked, the mafia girl was a fierce fighter.

I must be vigilant, Tux thought. The Colombo Mafia have already proved themselves to be capable of all manner of mischief and skulduggery. I need to escape this human as soon as possible and set my friends free. For now, the only thing to do was to find a way to take advantage of Monroe’s enthusiasm, and hope for the best.

For her part, Monroe had finished changing clothes. She was wearing essentially the same outfit as before, but this time her shirt was a tight black cropped tee, and her short skirt had a black-and-red plaid design. She brushed her hair back and smiled down at Tux. “Ready for some food? Huh, Switchbladey-wadey? Ready for some nom-noms?”

Tux sprang up into Monroe’s waiting arms with a jubilant meow. The mafia girl’s motorbike boots thudded on the carpet as she carried Tux out of her room and closed the door.

***

“Again.”

Blue didn’t speak. They couldn’t speak. This was insane. He couldn’t be serious, could he? No, no way. He had to be joking. Right?

Tiny’s small eyes narrowed. “Again,” he repeated. The threat in his voice was unmistakable.

Blue looked up at the mafioso. Their mouth worked automatically. “First thing tomorrow morning, before the start of training, I tell Toshinori that I need to use the bathroom.”

Tiny nodded. “Keep going.”

“When I’m in the bathroom, I pull the pen apart and… And…” Blue was suddenly aware that they were trembling. They shook their head, standing up. “No, no, I can’t. I can’t do it! This is too soon, let me do it in a few weeks, why do I have to do it tomorrow? It’s my first day, I can’t!”

Tiny slowly stood. He loomed over Blue, his head almost scraping the ceiling of the small room. His bulk eclipsed the light, plunging Blue into shadow. Blue stared up at the giant, their voice shaking with panicked defiance. “No! I said no! I can’t do it tomorrow. I won’t!”

The giant didn’t speak. His pig-like eyes glittered in the darkness.

“They just hired me, okay? I don’t even know where to go! Why does it have to be tomorrow? I’m gonna do it, I promise I will, but I can’t-”

Tiny moved so fast that Blue almost didn’t see it happen. One second they were staring up at the giant, and the next the world flipped over. Blue’s leg flared with crushing pain as Tiny’s massive hand squeezed it. The hulking gangster held Blue out at arm’s length, dangling them upside down several feet off the floor.

“Shut. Up,” said Tiny, and squeezed Blue’s leg even tighter.

Blue swooned with pain. They couldn’t catch their breath to scream, even though the pain was tremendous. “P-Please!” Blue wheezed. “Please!” It was all they could think of to say.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Tiny growled. “You’re gonna follow the plan, or else I’m gonna break Green in half. Understand? I’m gonna grab their head in one hand, and their feet in the other, and I’m gonna tear. Green. Apart.” He squeezed Blue’s leg with each word for emphasis.

“Okay, okay, okay…” Blue gasped. “P-P-Please!”

The giant grunted and released Blue’s leg. They crashed to the floor, knocking over the chair by the drawing desk. Tiny didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stared down at Blue as they lay there panting. Blue’s leg was screaming with pain. They felt dizzy. A headache crashed against their temples as the blood that had rushed into their head started to return to the rest of their body.

“No more bullshit,” Tiny said.

Blue nodded. They stared at the floor, still unable to stand. Tiny looked satisfied. He sat back down in his chair, which squeaked in protest against his weight. He watched dispassionately as Blue slowly recovered. At last, the artist looked up at the mafioso with eyes full of hate and despair.

“Again,” said Tiny.

***

Wherever Moxie was taking Piper, it seemed that they had arrived. Piper’s big sister glanced furtively in each direction before opening a nondescript door about halfway down a hallway two stories below Spats’ office. She ushered Piper inside before entering herself, pulling the door closed behind her and locking it. Without a word, Moxie flipped a light switch. Piper blinked against the sudden brightness as a lonely hanging light bulb buzzed to life.

They were in some sort of utility closet. At least, that’s what it must have once been. It was a tiny space, made smaller by the shelves mounted on the back wall. The shelves still bore their burdens loyally after untold years of neglect. Dusty bottles of chemical cleaners rested there, along with a polishing brush, a few coiled electrical cords, and a blue substance that was caked on one shelf - probably a decades-old spill that had never been cleaned up.

Piper looked around the tiny closet and eyed her big sister quizzically.

“I come here to be alone,” Moxie said. “We won’t be interrupted.”

Piper nodded. She chewed on the side of her lower lip. She was feeling too many emotions to express, many of which she couldn’t even identify. But there was one single question around which all those emotions revolved, and while it was the only question she could clearly define, it was also the one question she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

At last, Moxie broke the silence. “Okay, Piper. What the hell are you doing here?” her expression was cold. She looked almost offended by her little sister’s presence.

Piper let out a shaky sigh. “I… I don’t really know,” she said. And she realized that this was true. Whatever her motivations might have been before, they all seemed insignificant now.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“I know.”

“So? Why are you here?”

Piper winced at the question. “Moxie, it’s been-”

“My name is Babydoll.”

“Okay. It’s been six years. Six years, Mox- uh, Babydoll.” She waited for Babydoll to respond, but she said nothing.

The silence stretched on. The two sisters stood only a few feet apart in the tiny closet, but it seemed to Piper that they were staring at one another from either side of a vast, bottomless ravine.

“What do you want from me?” Babydoll said at last. Her voice was distant, quiet.

“I just… I wanted to see you.”

Babydoll’s jaw tightened. “Well, I don’t want to see you.”

“You don’t want to see me…”

“No. I told you. Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you, and… And I don’t want you!”

Piper blinked against the tears that were springing to her eyes.

A burst of gunfire. A hulking silhouette looming over her. A pair of white spats glowing out of the darkness. A look in Moxie’s eyes that Piper had never seen before; a look of desperation, determination, and desolation.

Moxie…

Piper shook her head again. “I don’t believe you.”

Moxie’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I said, I don’t believe-”

SWACK!

Piper’s head rocked back from the force of Babydoll’s slap. She clapped a hand to her cheek, staring at her big sister in shock. Babydoll - No. Moxie, Piper thought angrily - was breathing hard, looking as stunned by what she had just done as Piper felt.

“Do you believe me now?” Babydoll breathed.

“No!” Piper snapped. “No, I don’t! I’m never gonna believe that! Never!” Her voice was shaking now, her chest was heaving, the tears were streaming angrily down her face. “I didn’t believe you that night, and I still don’t believe you! Damn it, Moxie!”

Babydoll’s face twisted with anguished fury. Blinking back tears of her own, she snarled and slapped Piper again, harder this time, drawing on the power of her gloves. Piper staggered back and crashed into the shelves, disturbing their contents for the first time in decades. One of the dusty bottles scraped a line in the caked blue substance as it fell.

Babydoll’s hands were shaking. Piper glared up at her sister, ignoring the pain. “I don’t believe you,” she said again. “You can leave for another six years, you can hit me as much as you want, you… you can say you don’t want me… But… I’m never going to believe you, Moxie!”

DA-DOOM!

Babydoll blinked, stunned. “Just leave me alone!” she said. “Why the hell did you come here?! And don’t you dare call me that name again! I’m not Moxie. I’m… I’m…” Her shoulders were shaking now. Her words came out in choked sobs. “I’m Babydoll now. I’m the… the First Lady of the Colombo… Mafia.”

Babydoll clenched her fists. A single, large tear rolled down her face. “I’m… I’m Spats’… I’m Spats’…”

“Moxie…”

“I’M SPATS’ GIRL!” Moxie cried. She broke down sobbing. She wiped angrily at the tears with her gloved hands, but they just kept coming.

Piper stared at her big sister, heart aching. The one question she couldn’t bring herself to ask, the question that terrified her, that had haunted her for six years, hung over her like a storm cloud. She couldn’t bear it anymore. She had to know, even if knowing would be the end of her.

Slowly, trembling, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, battered cell phone. She held it up, showing it to Babydoll.

“Remember this?” said Piper. “It’s the magic phone you gave me. You… You made me a promise when you gave me this phone, Moxie. You promised that no matter what, if I called you, you would come help me. No matter what.”

Babydoll’s teary eyes were fixed on the phone. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

Piper continued, “You promised, Moxie. You promised! So… So why… Why did you break your promise? Why didn’t you answer when I called for you?”

“That’s the special power big sisters are given, Piper. No matter where you are, if you call me, I’ll hear you. Because I’m your big sis, and you’re my little sis. Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”

Babydoll’s tears had stopped. She was looking at Piper with eyes full of pain and remorse. Piper was the one shaking with sobs now.

“I tried to call you. I tried over and over again. Six years, Moxie. Six years. Why? W-Why? I know I said I don’t believe you… And I don’t, but… But why… Why didn’t…”

Piper pulled the over-sized hat off her head. She dropped to her knees.

“Piper…” Babydoll gasped.

Piper stared at the hat in her hands. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Why didn’t you want me anymore?”

The stuffy silence of the utility closet closed in on the sisters. Outside, the hallway was dark and empty.

***

“RIKKI-TIKKI-TAICHI!”

Mongoose’s arms speared past Nico’s head, missing him by a hair’s breadth. Nico’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Just a little farther, he thought.

The gangsters’ assault was relentless. Fat Bob blocked the only escape route, and his punches, though slow, WHOOSHED through the air like sledgehammers. Mongoose cackled as he launched one attack after another, keeping Nico on his toes. Nico glanced back over his shoulder. The wall was just feet away now. At any moment now, they would have him cornered.

“Come on, new stripe!” he muttered. He closed his eyes, willing the new pinstripe on his right sleeve to awaken its unknown power. “Give me something here!”

But nothing happened. As hard as he concentrated, he simply couldn’t summon the power of the second stripe. Some far away part of himself was starting to fear that the pinstripe shirt wouldn’t actually gain any more power. Maybe the new stripe appearing had been a fluke after all.

TAP!

His back touched the wall. There was nowhere else to go. Nico was cornered. The mobsters laughed.

“You’re dead,” Fat Bob barked.

“Let me kill him, Bob!” said Mongoose. He raised his spindly arms, preparing to strike.

Nico’s eyes flashed. It was time to try out his idea. It was now or never.

Here goes nothing.

Mongoose leapt at Nico, spinning in the air with his arms slashing down like helicopter blades. Nico waited until the last moment, then he dropped to the floor, barely dodging the attack. He felt the ends of his hair ruffle from the wind of Mongoose’s assault. There was a terrible SCRAPING sound as Mongoose’s power-infused hands carved a path through the wall, leaving three deep gashes.

Mongoose prepared for another strike, but Nico was ready. Staying low, he pushed off against the wall’s base, charging straight at Fat Bob. He raised his fists. If he was right, Fat Bob would be expecting Nico to attack his vast belly again, just as he had repeatedly done before. Nico cocked an arm back, aiming for the fat gangster.

“More punches? Not gonna work!” Fat Bob chuckled. He expanded his vast belly, prepared to deflect Nico’s punches yet again.

Nico smiled. Mongoose was right on his tail, winding up for a final attack.

“RIKKI-TIKKI-TAICHI!” shouted Mongoose.

“PILLOW FORT!” barked Fat Bob.

Now! Nico thought. He jumped.

RRRIIIIIIP!

Fat Bob gasped. Mongoose’s face was a mask of shock. Nico’s foot hit the floor, skidding against the mildewed carpet. He landed behind Fat Bob, putting the massive mobster directly in the path of Mongoose’s attack.

“No! Mongoose, stop!” Fat Bob screamed in horror.

Mongoose grimaced. It was too late to stop. He had been trying to attack Nico, but he hadn’t been expecting the kid to pull something like this. His speared arms were flying directly at Fat Bob’s massive belly like a missile.

“NO!”

“I told you. Get out of the way, or I’ll kick your ass,” said Nico, smiling ferociously. He held out his hand and dropped something to the floor.

“Damn you-”

SLAM!

Mongoose’s attack plowed into Fat Bob with the force of a freight train. Fat Bob’s belly rippled from the impact. For a moment, time seemed to stop. Mongoose’s arms plunged deeper and deeper into Fat Bob’s belly, and Fat Bob’s feet slid back from the force of the attack.

Nico swiped at the object he had dropped on the floor with his foot, kicking it away. It was a leather belt with a broken silver buckle. Until just a moment ago, it had been straining against Fat Bob’s bulk. The mobster had been expecting a punch, but Nico snatched the belt, using the power of the pinstripe shirt to rip it off of Fat Bob. The buckle shattered instantly.

Nico’s eyes shone. He stepped to the side, pressing himself against the wall. The two gangsters blasted apart. Fat Bob’s massive belly bounced Mongoose back, while the force of Mongoose’s Rikki-Tikki-Taichi launched Fat Bob into the air.

CRASH! WHOOM!

Mongoose crashed into the wall behind him with so much force that he nearly burst through it entirely. Fat Bob tumbled backward, nearly smashing into Nico, and landed flat on his back, unconscious. The impact was so strong that Nico could hear the beams and steel splinter and groan beneath the hefty man’s body. A hole had been blasted in Fat Bob’s shirt by Mongoose’s attack, through which a nasty bruise could already be seen blossoming on his belly.

Mongoose, hanging half out of the wall, stirred weakly. He stared at Nico with eyes full of hate. “Damn… you…” he groaned. Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward, knocked out.

Nico stood there for a long moment, looking back and forth between the two mobsters. His mind was racing. His heart pounded with adrenaline and triumph. I did it! I did it, Gramps! I learned from my mistakes. I did it!

He laughed, breathing hard. Punches hadn’t worked on the big guy, and the little guy had been too fast to hit. So, he had gotten creative. He had tricked them into hitting each other. That, Nico realized, was exactly what Gramps had been trying to tell him.

Don’t stop. Keep learning. I can do this.

Then the feeling of victory suddenly evaporated as a familiar voice spoke inside him.

You didn’t really beat them, the void whispered. You got lucky. That was a stupid idea, and you just got lucky that it worked. You had to trick them to win. You couldn’t win on your own merits. You’re a failure.

Nico shook his head violently, trying to ignore the voice. “Gotta find Green,” he said out loud, and began to run down the hallway back toward where he had left Green fighting Two-Fingers.

The void hissed and growled. Failure. Weakling. Pathetic.

Shut up, dammit, just shut up, Nico thought.

He could hear Green’s voice ahead. Oddly enough, he thought he heard them yell the word coffee, which didn’t make sense. He must not have heard correctly. Gritting his teeth, he put on another burst of speed.

Despite his victory, he felt more like he was running away from something than running to the rescue.

***

Hissing with pain, Green sidestepped another swipe from the switchblades in Two-Fingers’ hands. Their left arm had been sliced twice so far. One cut was only slight, but the other felt deep. Blood streamed down Green’s forearm in a thin sheet.

“Take this! And this! And this and this andthisandthisandTHIS!” Two Fingers shrieked.

His fingers moved so quickly that they blurred. The switchblades flashed with lethal speed. Green was cut twice more, once on their shoulder, then on their hip. Just gotta find an opening, they thought. Come on, Green. Blue needs you.

The thought was bracing, but the situation was starting to look desperate. Two-Fingers showed no sign of slowing. The Clothiers power he wielded gave him an edge that no amount of training Green had done could match. With a snarl of frustration, Green made a split-second decision. They turned and charged toward a nearby doorway in the hall. Gotta find something to fight with, they thought.

“Running away, huh?” Two-Fingers called after them. “No problem! I’ll cut you to pieces no matter where you go, huh!”

The door was unlocked. Green burst through it and found themself in an abandoned corporate board room. An expansive wooden table filled the room’s center. It was dusty and cobwebbed now, but it had once been luxurious. A number of office chairs were scattered around it, some lying on their sides. A coffee machine and a water cooler stood side-by-side on the far side of the room, between two huge windows. Shafts of moonlight shone in through the windows, illuminating motes of floating dust.

“Ready or not, here I come, huh?!” Two-Fingers called. He peered through the door and walked into the room behind Green, blades still spinning.

Shit! Green jumped and skidded across the table, disturbing thick curls of dust and leaving a smear of blood behind. The deep cut on their forearm stung from the dust that had been rubbed into it in the process.

Green winced and looked around, feeling increasingly desperate. They seized the mold-blackened coffee pot from the coffee machine and whirled around to face Two-Fingers. The coffee pot rattled in their trembling hands. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, wasn’t it? Sure, okay. Fine. Now what?

Two-Fingers stopped spinning the switchblades, crossing them in front of himself in an X once again. The two of them faced one another across the table.

“This is it, kid,” said Two-Fingers. “End of the line. Any last words?”

“How do you like your COFFEE?” Green cried, pitching the coffee pot as hard as they could at the gangster’s head.

The coffee pot whizzed through the air at Two-Fingers. The mobster didn’t move, and for a moment, Green dared to hope that by some stupid chance this was going to work. But then, at the last second, Two-Fingers twitched his hand into the path of the coffee pot. It shattered harmlessly against the back of his glove.

Two-Fingers looked down at the shards of glass, then back up at Green.

Green pursed their lips and shrugged. “Figured that was worth a try,” they said. Two-Fingers’ eyebrows rose in acknowledgment.

They both moved at once. Two-Fingers stepped up onto the table, advancing fast towards Green. Green turned and grabbed the only other object in reach: the large water bottle attached to the water cooler. It was mostly empty, but it was big. Without looking, they swung it as hard as they could, twisting like a baseball batter.

CLONK!

The water bottle jolted from the impact. Green blinked in surprise. There’s no way that worked…

Then there was a rattling metal sound… The sound of a knife falling onto a wooden table.

Green looked up. Two-Fingers looked as surprised as they felt. He was staring at his right hand, which, while still gloved, was now empty. Green’s eyes met the gangster’s, then the two looked down at the table in unison. The silver switchblade with a handle carved to look like a gnarled finger was resting on the table’s far edge. Green and the gangster looked from the switchblade back up to each other’s eyes, then back again.

At once, they both scrambled to retrieve the switchblade. Green hit Two-Fingers on the back of the knee, knocking the mobster over. It seemed, for the moment, that he had completely forgotten the fact that he was carrying a second knife, which was fine by Green. Green dashed along the table, stretching their right hand out toward the switchblade.

SMACK!

Two-Fingers’ gloved hand tried to bat Green away. They scuffled, their scrabbling fingers knocking the switchblade closer to the edge of the table.

“Screw this!” Green growled, and to Two-Fingers’ surprise, their fingers closed not on the switchblade, but on the gangster’s leather glove.

Too late, Two-Fingers comprehended what Green was doing. “No! Stop it, huh!”

The glove slid from Two-Fingers’ hand with unexpected ease. The moment it was off, Green clenched their left hand into a fist and punched Two-Fingers in the temple. The gangster paused, dazed. Knowing their time was short, Green ducked under the table.

Two-Fingers snarled like a rabid animal. A furious scream tore from his throat, and he angrily stabbed his remaining switchblade deep into the table. Eyes wild, he turned his gaze onto Green… But Green wasn’t there anymore.

“Huh,” said Green, their voice now coming from behind Two-Fingers.

Two-Fingers looked up. His face twisted with ghoulish rage.

Green stood between Two-Fingers and the door, wearing the leather glove on their right hand. A whirl of silver danced between their fingers, then flew into the air and landed clenched in their fist. It was the switchblade.

“What the… How did you…” Two-Fingers stammered, too livid to speak coherently.

“Now we’re even,” Green said. They twirled the switchblade between their fingers once more, moving it in ways that even Two-Fingers hadn’t been able to. The switchblade flipped three times through the air, then Green caught it and pointed it at Two-Fingers. The blade gleamed in a ray of moonlight that shone in through the large windows.

“You damn… stupid… kid!” Two-Fingers growled. He tried to pull his switchblade out of the table, but it was deeply embedded in the dusty wood.

Green’s eyes flashed. “One-V-One me, bitch.”

DA-DOOM!

Two-Fingers wrenched the switchblade free from the wood with a tremendous tug and dropped down off the table, facing Green once more. He raised the switchblade. “Think you can win? Huh?!”

“I’m gonna save the one I love,” Green said. “And I’m not gonna let a loser like you stop me.”

With a strangled cry, Two-Fingers charged, swinging his blade wildly. Something seemed to have snapped in him. His cool-headed enthusiasm had been replaced by a feral drive to kill. Green glared at the gangster. Now that he had lost his composure, it was much easier to follow his movements.

“You! Are! NOTHING!” Two-Fingers shouted, swinging his switchblade toward Green’s face at top speed.

SHING!

The knives rang with the impact. Green had blocked the blow. Two-Fingers hissed in irritation, but Green paid him no mind. Now, it was their turn to attack

“Green?”

“Yeah?”

“What do we do now?”

Green laughed softly, wincing as they did so. “I guess, now… We survive… So that we can live the life we want to live. Together.”

Green’s next attack batted Two-Fingers’ knife away. The mobster stared at the gloves and knives, totally focused on the weapons that had begun the battle under his control. Green tensed. This was their chance. With all the strength they could muster, they launched their left fist at Two-Fingers’ face…

CRACK!

Two-Fingers had been so focused on Green’s gloved right hand that their left-handed punch caught him completely off guard. The gangster crumpled noiselessly, bumping his head on the edge of the meeting table as he went down. The switchblade fell from his hand and clattered to the floor.

Green had won. They stood frozen, breathing hard, sweat beaded on their forehead. I… I did it.

“Green!”

Green turned to see Nico. He was doubled over panting in the doorway.

Green smiled. “About time you got here!”