Tux licked her lips contentedly. The chunks of meat that Monroe had just fed her had been delicious, indeed. Now the tabby cat was turning her gaze this way and that from her perch in Monroe’s arms. Piper and the elder were surely nearby. Tux could smell their scents on the air. Yes. They had been here recently.

Monroe had carried Tux up several more stories, talking to the cat all the while. While Tux considered most of Monroe’s talk to be inane babble, one statement caught her attention.

“…and Spats wanted to talk to Patchwork in person, so I bet he’ll be there too. We might have to wait a minute to find Toothpick, Switchblade. Okay?”

Tux blinked in assent, distracted by the scent of her friends. Her whiskers twitched. Now this is odd. There was another scent on the air. It was familiar, yet alien. It smelled very much like Piper.

Her sister Moxie, Tux decided. She well remembered Piper’s concern that she would run into her big sister during the rendezvous, and it seemed that her concern had been well-founded.

Monroe carried Tux around a corner, into a new, grander hallway. There was no sign of mice, no trace of decay. This area of the building was well-maintained. Tux’s large eyes fixed on the three men who stood guard before a large door.

“Here we are,” Monroe murmured to the cat.

The mafia girl walked toward the guards. One of them sighed audibly. “Hi, Monroe. Spats don’t want to be disturbed, okay?”

“But I’m so bored!” Monroe whined. “Have you seen Toothpick anywhere?”

The thug exchanged a glance with the other two guards, who showed no signs of coming to his aid. “Uh, he’s with Spats right now.”

“Oh, dammit!” said Monroe. “I was really hoping I could show him my new kitty-cat.”

The guard looked at Tux with obvious indifference. “Yeah, that’s great. Cute.”

“Isn’t she?!” Monroe practically squeaked with excitement. “So cute! So kawaii! That’s my lil’ Switchblade!”

Tux sniffed the air. The old man’s scent was stronger here near the door. It seemed Monroe had been correct - he was with Spats. This only left Piper unaccounted for, and this, Tux realized, was a problem. The longer she was here in this hallway, the more directions the scent of Piper, or more likely, Piper’s sister, seemed to come from. The similarities in the two sisters’ scents was confusing Tux’s hunting instincts. The tabby hissed quietly in frustration.

“Great. Well, like I said… Spats don’t want to be disturbed, so…”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Monroe sniffed. “You don’t want me around? That’s fine. I don’t know why you wouldn’t want an adorable girl like me keeping you company, or a cute little kitty like Switchblade, but have it your way.”

Monroe flounced away. The guard breathed a sigh of relief.

“Guess we’ll have to wait, Switchblade. I told you we’d probably have to wait a minute to mess with Toothpick.”

“Meow.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Mrrrow.”

Monroe set Tux down so that she could light a cigarette. She leaned sulkily against the wall, crossing one booted foot in front of the other. Tux weighed their options and decided to remain with Monroe for the moment. She was good cover, and the fact that she was hunting for Toothpick was promising. Tux licked her forepaws thoughtfully.

Piper was with Toothpick when I last saw her and the old man. Finding him is most likely the best chance of locating her, the tabby decided.

Then her ears perked up. There was a new sound nearby: a click and clatter, like the unlocking of a door. Tux looked toward the source of the sound.

A door was opening near the end of the hallway, and a huge figure was stepping out of it. “Ah, shit,” Monroe whispered. “Tiny.”

The giant gangster stepped out into the hallway. He noticed Monroe immediately, and rolled his piggish eyes. Shaking his head, he stooped down locked the door once more with a small silver key which he dropped into his coat pocket. Then Tiny turned and approached Monroe and Tux. He looked down on the pair of them with an expression of mild irritation.

“Thought I told ya to toss the cat,” said Tiny.

“Uh, you actually said it was my ass on the line, and it is. So I’m keeping Switchblade.”

“Right.”

Monroe took a long drag from the cigarette and intentionally blew the smoke toward Tiny. “So what were you doin’ in there?”

“Dealing with the prisoner.”

Tux’s tail flicked. The prisoner? Could Piper be locked in the room the giant had just exited? The tabby sniffed the air. There were traces of the confused scent in that direction, but whether it was Piper or her big sister that Tux was smelling, she was no longer sure.

“Hm.” Monroe took another drag. The glow from the cigarette’s end sparkled in her mischievous eyes. “What are my chances of getting to deal with that other prisoner?”

“Other prisoner?” Tiny asked, though, from the look on his face, it seemed he knew exactly what Monroe was talking about.

“You know, the new guy. The cute one.”

“Didn’t know you were into old men, Monroe.”

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny. You know what I mean. You were carrying him, where’d you hide him? ‘Cause, you know, in case anybody needs to ask him some questions, I could volunteer.”

“I bet,” said Tiny. He snuffled and glared down at Tux. “God, I hate cats.” Without another word, he lumbered away.

“Hey- Wow, rude!”

Tux watched the giant intently. She looked back and forth from Tiny to the locked door. If there is even a chance that Piper is locked in there…

She made her decision. As soon as she could manage to slip away from Monroe, she would go after Tiny to swipe the key.

Piper… I am coming to your rescue!

***

“Alright, Patchwork,” Spats said. “Tell me the true story. Think of me like a news reporter, right? I’m a news reporter, and you’re the man of the hour.”

The Don crouched down, staring Gramps in the eye. “All eyes are on you, my friend. So spit it out. What’s the truth? Who’s the rat? And…” He retrieved the license tracer from his breast pocket, holding it out in front of Gramps’ face. “Why do you really want this license tracer so bad, hm?”

Gramps fought against the power of the silver-striped tie. Whatever I do, I can’t tell him about the pinstripe shirt, he thought. If I let that slip, Nico’s dead!

But the crawling sensation in his brain was only intensifying. It was a horribly creepy feeling, like termites were nesting inside his head. It wasn’t painful, exactly; more like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. The worst itch he had ever felt.

“There’s no rat,” the old man said again. “It was a lucky break. That’s all. I swear.”

Spats nodded slowly, looking satisfied. “Good, that’s good. But tell me somethin’, Patchwork. What’s so important about this thing, huh? Why did you want it so bad that you’d risk insulting me over it?”

Gramps’ jaw tightened. This was exactly the question he most feared. What could he say that wouldn’t put Nico in danger? Nico was in no position to defend himself. He was unconscious, locked up somewhere by Tiny. Gramps had heard a thing or two about the mafia giant, and that knowledge only made his fears more acute.

Gotta come up with something, he thought. But what? He knew, deep down, that there was no way he would be able to tell a lie while under the influence of the tie. But maybe, just maybe…

“Those kids, the ones I brought with me… They’re not my grandkids. They’re my business partners.” That was true enough.

Toothpick nodded. “That’s what he told me too, Spats.”

Gramps continued, “The girl - Piper-” Shit. He’d said her real name. Guess there was no avoiding that. “…Her blazer’s license tracer is busted.”

Spats’ brow furrowed. That name… Piper. Where had he heard it before? He shook it off and looked to Toothpick for confirmation. Toothpick nodded again. Gramps felt a wave of relief. Technically, he hadn’t lied about anything so far. If only Spats wouldn’t press the issue any further, he might stand a chance of keeping the secret.

Come on, he thought, next question, Spats. Leave well enough alone.

“Thought her name was Halfpint,” Toothpick said. Something was bothering him about what Patchwork had said, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Code name,” said Gramps.

Spats rolled his shoulders back, staring down at Gramps. “Hey, Toothpick. That the blazer he’s talking about?”

Toothpick held up Piper’s blazer, which was still draped over his left arm. He offered it to Spats, who inspected it closely.

“Pretty shitty coat to blow three hundred grand on, old man,” he said, looking at a spot on the sleeve that was nearly worn through.

Gramps’ heart sank. “Sentimental value,” he said weakly.

“Sentimental value.” Spats’ eyes didn’t leave the blazer. “So let me get this straight, Patchwork. You risked pissing me off, and three hundred grand, on this coat. This one right here. And the best part is, you were doing it for a kid you’ve brought on as your business partner.” He shook his head, and made as though to toss the blazer away. Then he froze. An odd light appeared in his eyes.

He crouched down in front of Gramps once again, holding the blazer up to the old man in one fist. “So you wanted the license tracer for this, right, Patchwork? Tell me the truth.”

Gramps’ head slumped. He was beaten. Spats had seen through his ruse. “No.”

“So what did you really want it for? No tricks this time, old man.”

Gramps’ heart raced. Oh, Nico… I’m so sorry, kid. I let you both down. I never should have let you come here. I’m so sorry.

“It’s for a bootleg shirt. For Nico.”

Toothpick’s head snapped toward Gramps. Spats’ eyes widened. The room was very still, as though the walls themselves were frozen in shock.

Spats’ mouth worked wordlessly. A bootleg shirt?!

Toothpick bit the toothpick in his mouth in half. For Nico… Wait. Code names? Oh, shit…

A tear rolled down Gramps’ cheek. “I’m sorry, Nico,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Piper. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe it,” Spats murmured. “This bootleg shirt… does it work?”

Gramps nodded.

“Holy hell,” said Spats. “Where did you get it?”

“I… I made it.”

The Don’s jaw dropped. “Where is it now?”

“I don’t know,” said Gramps. He was deeply thankful that this was the truth. He had no idea where Nico was, or where Tiny might have put the shirt.

Spats raised a hand to punch Gramps, but stopped himself. He touched the silver-striped tie on his chest. It was true, it had to be true. The power of the tie wouldn’t allow Patchwork to lie. The old man really didn’t know. But if he had unlocked the Clothiers’ secrets once, then maybe…

The Don stood and started to pace back and forth, his mind racing.

Toothpick was silent. His stomach was twisting in horror. Nico… He has to be that kid who fought me. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Was that shirt… Yeah, that has to be it. That shirt… it has to be the bootleg.

His eyes darted to Spats, who was still lost in his own thoughts. Calm down, Charlie. It’s a bootleg, right? Even if I’d scanned him, it wouldn’t have picked up anything. Still… If Spats finds out I let a bootleg fashion statement slip away, I’m dead. Gotta find a way to make sure.

“Toothpick!” Spats said suddenly.

Toothpick’s heart panged in surprise. “Yeah, boss?”

“Bring me those kids.”

It took all of Toothpick’s concentration not to sigh with relief. This was perfect. He’d be able to take the shirt from the boy, just in case. His tracks would be covered, and there would be nothing to worry about. “You got it,” he said, and strode toward the door.

Then it hit him. Babydoll.

“Uh, actually boss…”

“What is it?”

“The thing is… Tiny locked up the boy. But, uh, the girl, see…”

“Spit it out, Toothpick!”

“Babydoll took her.”

Spats blinked. He shook his head. “Nah, I told her to take the Doc home. What do you mean she took the kid?”

“She told one of the boys to take the Doc home, and she took the girl with her,” said Toothpick. “Oh yeah, she…” Then, all at once, comprehension dawned on him. He had been going to say, “she called her Piper.” Piper. That was the same name Patchwork had given her. Could it be… Was it possible that Babydoll was the rat?

“Fickle bitch,” Spats growled. A wild fury was building in the Don that both Toothpick and Gramps could almost sense, like the scent of an approaching storm. For a moment, Gramps feared that Spats might completely lose his head and simply kill them both. But the storm subsided. Spats regained his composure.

“Bring me the boy,” he said in a clipped tone. “Then, go find Babydoll.”

The Don stared down at Gramps. Now that he thought of it, truth was a fickle thing. Fickle like that bitch. The silver-striped tie could make someone tell their truth, but truth changed from person to person. Clearly, as far as Patchwork knew, there was no rat. But that was just what Patchwork knew. Piper… Where, where had he heard that name before? A dim memory was stirring, a memory from years ago.

He looked up. Toothpick was still standing there. “GO, DAMMIT!” Spats roared.

Toothpick jerked into motion, almost running to the office door. He slammed it shut behind him, ignoring the confused looks the guards were giving him.

“Toothpick!”

It was Monroe. She was leaning against a nearby wall, smoking, eyes sparkling with impudent glee. Had she been waiting for him?

“Leave me alone, Monroe,” said Toothpick.

“Aw, come on! Where are ya going, let me-”

“SHUT UP!” Toothpick screamed, and there was so much fear and rage in his voice that Monroe’s mouth immediately closed. She looked a little hurt.

Toothpick picked up the pace, turning the corner and heading for the stairs. There was no time to look for Tiny. He had to find the boy, Nico, before he came to. If he really was wearing a bootleg, he might be dangerous when he woke up. Tiny had probably locked him in a cage down on the lower level.

He popped a new toothpick out of the little silver case and stuck it in his mouth. Now that he thought about it, if Babydoll was a rat, everything added up. I don’t believe it. Babydoll is a rat. Holy shit.

Whoever this girl Piper was, she must be Babydoll’s contact with the underground. How long had Babydoll been selling Piper information? How had Patchwork gotten mixed up with her? What’s more, if that girl Piper really is a professional, it explains how she withstood the sensor machine. Toothpick had been a bit disappointed that he hadn’t been able to make her scream, but now, maybe he’d get another chance.

He turned left. The southern staircase might be closer, but he could get down to the cages faster by taking the northern route. He took the stairs two at a time. There was no time to lose. Nico could wake up at any minute…

***

“Are you okay?” Nico asked.

Green glanced down at their arms and shrugged. The cuts from Two-Fingers’ blades still hurt, but they had stopped bleeding for the most part. “Yeah, I’m fine,” they said. “You?”

Nico nodded. He was smiling, but his eyes looked sad.

“You beat those guys? Both of them?”

“Yeah… Barely. I thought I was dead for a minute there.”

“Wow,” Green said. “So you really are strong. It’s not just talk.”

“Not strong enough,” Nico muttered.

“What do you mean? You kicked their asses, right?”

“Yeah. I dunno. It’s stupid. We should get moving.”

Green knelt down next to Two-Fingers’ unconscious body and pulled his right glove off. “You sound just like Blue,” they said, sticking their right hand into the glove.

They flexed their fingers, admiring how the leather gloves looked on their hands. “What happened to that can of whoop-ass you were gonna unload on Spats?” Their eyes met Nico’s. He held their gaze for a moment, then looked away.

Green sighed. “You’re right. We need to get moving. But let me just tell you one thing. I don’t really know you, and I’m not gonna be your therapist or whatever, but I know what you’re feeling. I could see it in your eyes. It’s the same look Blue gets when they’re... When…” Their voice trailed off.

Nico felt the void twisting and coiling within him like a python. It hissed and whispered. The void didn’t need fangs to inject its venom; its words were far more potent. Failure. Worthless. Weak. Give up. You can’t save them. And even if you can, they won’t want you anymore. The moment she sees how pathetic you are, she’ll abandon you. Just end this. End it all. Just give up. They’ll all leave you, because you deserve to be alone. Yes, they’ll all leave you. Gramps. Piper. Even Tux. They will all abandon you, because you’re not worth all this sacrifice. You don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve to live. They’ll leave you, just like your mom, just like—

TAP!

Green’s hands clapped onto Nico’s shoulders. He looked up, right into their blazing eyes. Green took a deep breath and shouted, “You are a badass! You kicked ass back there, and you’re gonna kick ass again, okay?! Don’t you dare give up! Because there are people who need you, who want you, who love you! You understand me, Blue-!? Er… Nico…?”

Nico blinked, stunned. He felt winded. “I… Uh, I…” Then he stopped. To his surprise, tears were pouring down Green’s face.

“Dammit. Dammit.” They shook their head. “Just don’t give up, Nico. Please. Your friends need you. And so do I. I can’t save Blue alone. And you’re the only one who’s strong enough to bring Spats down.”

“Tell me a story, Nico! Tell me a story about the Business King!”

The void hissed like a cobra. Something was shifting. Nico’s eyes hardened.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to give up, Green.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah. Promise.”

Green sniffed, wiping away the last of their tears. “Good. ‘Cause if you do, I’ll kick your ass. Deal?”

Nico smiled. “Deal.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Nico felt wrung out, hollow, and yet hopeful. The void was slithering away, but it would be back. It always came back. He felt more like himself again, though. So that was something.

This isn’t like a movie, he thought. In a movie, they just get shit done. They don’t freeze up every five seconds to deal with their emotional drama. He sighed. Business King. Yeah, right. What’s wrong with me? How the hell am I supposed to pull that off when I’m… When I’m like this?

“How did you beat them? Your shirt?” Green asked. They had regained their composure, and were now holding a silver switchblade in each hand as though deciding between them.

Nico sighed, still half-lost in thought. “Nah. I wasn’t fast enough to beat the little guy, and the big guy was too tough. I had to trick them into hitting each other.”

Green perked up, smiling enthusiastically. “No way. Seriously? That is so badass.”

Nico frowned. “It is?”

“Hell yeah,” said Green. They seemed to have made up their mind about the knives, because they tossed one of them back over their shoulder, keeping only one of them. The discarded knife bounced off of the edge of the table and clattered to the floor, coming dangerously close to Two-Fingers’ head in the process. Green swiped the remaining switchblade through the air a few times, testing how it felt.

At last, they returned their attention to Nico. “You outsmarted them. The power of your shirt wasn’t a good match-up against them, right? But you found a way to make it work anyway. That’s pretty damn badass.”

Nico nodded, feeling bolstered. “Thanks,” he said. He looked down at the unconscious mobster. “What about you? How did you take him down?” he asked, pointing at Two-Fingers.

Green chuckled. “Uh, I hit him with a water bottle.”

Nico snorted with laugher. “Wait, what?”

Green mimed swinging the large water bottle and clicked their tongue - Tlok! - as a sound effect.

Laughing as loudly as they dared, the two of them left the meeting room and made their way toward the nearest staircase they could find. They listened closely for more mafia as they climbed, and took care to avoid areas where they heard voices. It was a slow climb.

Several floors up, they found themselves in a drab hallway. Graffiti covered the walls. A single door stood out from the rest. It was painted in bright colors and decorated with an eclectic assortment of designs and trappings.

“Hey, Nico,” Green whispered as they passed the door.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve gotta know. How’d you smuggle that shirt in here?”

“Hm. I got lucky, I guess. They didn’t know it was a Powerful Fashion Statement. My friend - he’s an old guy, we call him Gramps - he made this shirt. He told me to hide its power when we were getting captured so the mafia wouldn’t find out about it. So I did.”

Green’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you said he made that shirt? So… it’s a bootleg?”

“Yeah.”

“Wicked,” Green breathed. “I’ve never heard of a working bootleg like that before. I didn’t think they even existed. So what does it do? Like, how strong is it? I need details, details, man!”

Nico touched the stripe on the right sleeve. “Honestly, I don’t know yet. I haven’t figured it out.”

They crept on in silence for a while as Green processed what Nico had just said. Then Green smiled. “Huh. Well, I’ll tell ya one thing.”

“What?”

“I bet Spats doesn’t have a badass bootleg like that.” Green clenched their fists, feeling the power of the leather gloves course through their fingers. “You’re gonna wipe the floor with him. And then… we’re gonna save our friends.”

Nico nodded, ignoring the tense feeling in his gut. It was as though he had heard a sudden sound in a dark night forest - the distant roll of slithering scales and chuckling shadows.

They left the decorated door far behind. The hallway ended, leading to yet another staircase.

Suddenly, a small group of mobsters, drunk and laughing loudly, stumbled out of a doorway nearby. Nico and Green dashed up the stairs, hoping desperately that they hadn’t been spotted. They exchanged a look.

Just go away, Green willed. Just go. Just leave. Come on.

The mobsters’ voices slowly grew more distant - they were headed the opposite direction.

Nico breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

“I think we’re getting close to the top,” Green whispered. Their body tingled with fear and anticipation.

Nico nodded. “Right. You ready?”

Green gave a thumbs-up. Nico returned it. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Hang in there just a little longer, Piper. Gramps. I’m coming!

***

Sweat beaded on Toothpick’s forehead. A dreadful feeling of foreboding was creeping over his mind with every flight of stairs he descended. Something was very wrong.

Gotta hurry, he thought.

“It’s for a bootleg shirt. For Nico.”

Terrifying possibilities whirled in his mind. If his hunch was right, and the boy he’d fought was Nico, then he might still be wearing the very bootleg shirt Patchwork had made. Toothpick had told Tiny not to bother with scanning the boy. He’d been sure that the boy wasn’t Dressed. And, to be fair, if Nico really was wearing a bootleg, it wasn’t like the scanner would have pinged the shirt anyway. But that excuse wouldn’t fly with Spats. No chance in hell. The fact that Toothpick had blown off the scan on an arrogant whim would be a death sentence, and the gangster had a funny feeling that Tiny wouldn’t hesitate to drop that particular dime.

Toothpick hesitated as he reached the top of a new flight of stairs. A series of light switches was mounted on the wall, powering the flickering lights that illuminated the staircase.

Ah, hell with it, he thought, and flipped the switches down. The lights flickered, darkened, went out.

Toothpick took a deep breath, summoning the power of his Fashion Statement. He didn’t relish using that power now, not when he was already fatigued from a long day, not when he had used the power just hours ago in his fight with the boy. But he had no choice. There was no time to spare.

He felt waves of energy washing over his chest and back as the double-breasted jacket he wore obeyed his summons. With a sneer, he jumped off of the top stair. He flew down the stairs, gravity claiming him, and he instinctively winced in anticipation of the sprained or broken ankles that his body expected to suffer when he landed.

But he never landed.

As his body passed fully into the darkness of the stairwell, it became one with the shadows. He was formless, shapeless.

“Shadow Walk.”

Only a second after he had joined the shadows, he emerged from the darkness at the bottom of the staircase eighteen stories below. The lights were on down here, chasing the darkness away. Panting, Toothpick ran at top speed. His lungs burned and his head swam with overwhelming fatigue. He felt a migraine beginning to blossom in the back of his head. Pushing all these feelings to the side, he rushed toward the door that led into the dungeon’s side entrance.

WHAM!

Toothpick burst through the door. It swung wildly and slammed into the wall, rebounding with a rattle. But this wasn’t the door that suddenly gripped Toothpick’s attention. The mafioso’s eyes widened in horror. The toothpick in his mouth fell out, bouncing off of his chest and landing on the floor.

He stood before the enormous furnace that dominated the center of the utility room that the Colombo Mafia had converted into a prison. From here, Toothpick had a clear view directly into the cell where, until recently, Green had been locked in a cage. His view should have been blocked by the cell door, but it stood wide open, knocked nearly off its hinges. On the floor of the room beyond lay the battered ruin of metal that had once been the door to Green’s cage.

“No,” Toothpick gasped.

The prisoner had escaped. Green was loose. But even worse, this confirmed Toothpick’s worst fears. Green didn’t have a Powerful Fashion Statement. Toothpick had scanned them himself. Escape should have been impossible.

It’s him. That Nico kid. Him and that bootleg shirt. He did this. He must have!

His eyes traced a path from the open cell door to the staircase that began at the opposite end of the room. It was the staircase that led up the southern side of the building. Wheezing, Toothpick doubled over and planted his hands on his knees. The thought of using his Shadow Walk again entered his mind, but his body was in no condition for it at the moment.

There was only one thing to do now.

Toothpick’s hands trembled as he raised his phone to his ear.

***

“Switchblade? Where aaaare you?” Monroe called playfully.

Tux sighed. I am sorry, Monroe. Truly, I am. I will miss your delightful scratches. Perhaps we shall meet again someday. But for now…

The tabby cat slinked beneath furniture and darted between pools of shadow. She moved with the quick and silent grace of her people. Her prey lay just ahead.

For now… I must rescue my friends.

The giant’s heavy footsteps made the floor tremble beneath her paws. Tux’s tail bristled. What is his destination? She wondered.

Tiny lumbered along at a steady pace. It seemed, for now, that he was unaware of his stalker.

He placed the key within his coat pocket. I simply must retrieve it without him noticing. This should be simple enough. Such a task is, frankly, far beneath my abilities. Alright, now. He is slowing. Time to spring into action. Simply cause a diversion, a distraction, and pilfer the key. And… now!

But Tux’s body didn’t move.

Ah, well, simply a warm up, the cat reasoned. It was wise, actually, not to spring into action without further careful observation of my target. Of course. He is moving at a steady pace. He shows no sign of slowing. Hmm. I will strike… right… NOW!

Still, Tux didn’t move. She licked her forepaws, simmering with frustration.

Surely I am not afraid? No! Of course not. I, Tux of Piper’s Hat, would fail to come to the aid of my friends because of such trivial instincts? Unthinkable! …Wait. Where did he go?

The tabby cat’s large eyes turned this way and that, but somehow the giant had disappeared. She sniffed the air. His scent was still strong on the air. It was, surprisingly, not an unpleasant scent. The big man was well groomed. While Tux found the idea of humans changing their clothing to be baffling, their grooming habits were another matter altogether. It was her private belief that humans had originally adopted such practices by imitating the grooming habits of her people.

There. The mafia giant’s scent was issuing from an open doorway nearby, mingled with the sweaty and somewhat sour scent of other human men. Tux’s nose wrinkled. Voices and laughter floated to her ears from the doorway.

Once more into the breach, Tux sighed.

The tabby cat stole up to the door’s edge, peering inside carefully so as to avoid detection. Her sense of smell had not lied to her. The giant was here. He was removing his coat and hanging it on the back of a large chair, which he then sank into. The chair groaned against his immense bulk, but it held. Several other mafia men sat around the table before Tiny. One of them was dealing cards. A thick cloud of cigar smoke swirled above the table in lazy curls.

Tux crept around the corner, staying low. Her paws were soundless against the mildewed carpet. The room was dimly lit; all the better for her purposes. Slipping behind an old wooden desk that the mobsters were now using as a bar, the tabby cat slowly stalked around the circumference of the room.

If I can just reach the pocket of his coat…

Tiny grunted. His eyes were fixed on the hand of cards he’d just been dealt. They were mostly useless, with the exception of a Jack of Spades. There was an obnoxious tickle in his nose. He sniffed. Monroe and that damn cat. His allergies must have been set off by the cat in the bow tie when he passed it in the hallway. Next time I see that hairball, I’m gonna pitch it off the roof myself, he fumed.

The first mobster to the left of the dealer took a deep draw on his cigar and tossed down a card. “Nine.”

The next three men tossed down their own cards in order.

“Eight.”

“Two Kings.”

“Shit, seriously? Uh, one Ten, I guess.”

It was Tiny’s turn now. He didn’t have anything to beat the two Kings. He popped the lid off a beer bottle and took a swig before tossing down his Jack of Spades. “One Jack,” he rumbled.

There were only two players left. They tossed down their cards, but neither was able to beat the man with two Kings, so he won the round. The men joked and smoked and drank while the dealer shuffled the deck and passed each of them a new hand. Unseen by all of them, Tux darted from the bottle-covered desk to an old broken television, and then beneath the chair of the mobster directly to Tiny’s left. Her tail twitched, but she was otherwise motionless. Tiny’s boat-like shoes were less than two feet from her.

A new round began.

“A Jack and a Queen.”

“Two Nines.”

“Man, screw this. One four, dammit,” said the man sitting in the chair Tux was hiding under. He stomped a foot in irritation.

The heel of the mobster’s shoe landed a hair’s breadth from Tux. The cat repressed the urge to hiss. She sneaked across the final stretch of distance between her and Tiny, slipping beneath his chair. The wood of the chair creaked agonizingly every time the giant moved in his seat. The corner of Tiny’s coat scraped the floor just ahead. Tux lowered into a predatory crouch, waiting for the perfect moment.

Tiny’s pig-like eyes glittered with triumph. He took another long swig from the beer bottle and slammed it down onto the table.

“Bow before the three Kings, boys,” Tiny chuckled, tossing down the three Kings he’d been holding. A chorus of groans and curses from the other men made it clear that he was the winner of this round. The giant laughed heartily, lighting a cigar of his own. Then his laugh stopped abruptly as the tickle in his nose returned, this time far worse than before. He sniffed, but that only made the irritation worse.

Now!

Tux crawled out from under the chair and sank her claws into Tiny’s coat, springing into the pocket that held the cell key. The key jingled alarmingly against the other contents of the pocket. Tux’s heart panged. Her fur bristled, anticipating the worse.

But Tiny didn’t notice the sound. His eyes were starting to water, and the tickling in his nose was mounting. Any moment now, it would turn into a sneeze. The giant coughed. It don’t make sense, he thought. I thought the cat was with Monroe. The only time my allergies get this bad are when… When…

The giant looked around the room, his face turning red. If Monroe had slipped her cat into the room as a prank, he’d throw her off the roof too.

Exchanging a wary look with the other men at the table, the dealer said, “Tiny? Everything okay, boss?”

“Fi-hi-hine,” Tiny growled, stifling the urge to sneeze mid-word.

A rage that seldom awoke in the giant was stirring. Normally, he maintained stoic control, keeping his emotions separate from his job. Even when he got irritated, like that time three months back when Bonaparte had tried to boss him around, he handled it professionally. But right now, he was rapidly approaching the edge of his control. And when Tiny lost control, blood was always spilled.

“Is there… A damn cat… in here?” Tiny said.

The other men shook their heads, looking confused and a little frightened. “No, boss, no cats in here.”

Tux took great care not to disturb the contents of the pocket again. The small, silver key was pressed between her body, a glass flask, and a huge switchblade. Alright, Tux of Piper’s Hat. You have made it this far. Do it for Piper.

With a quick twist, Tux snapped the key into her mouth. The key’s teeth stuck out of her mouth like a metal flag. Using her claws, she began to climb up and out of the coat pocket again. Her furry head peeked out of the pocket.

Suddenly, Tiny stood, sending the large chair sliding backward. Tux lost her balance and tumbled back into the massive pocket, nearly swallowing the key in the process. The giant’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he fought off the sneeze that threatened to strike at any moment.

“I hate… I hate…” Tiny snarled, his eyes wild.

Looks of fear and alarm painted the faces of the other men at the table, and they all started talking at once, trying to calm Tiny down.

“Hey, boss, it’s all good, alright?”

“Yeah! You beat our asses, great work, Tiny!”

“Uh, uh, why don’t I getcha something new to drink?”

Tiny tottered on the tightrope’s edge of a terrible tantrum. The tickling sensation in his nose flared and receded, flared and receded. The sneeze would erupt at any moment, and when it did, his self-control would burst along with it. The other mobsters, realizing the peril they were in, started to scramble. They knocked over their chairs and tripped over their own feet in a frantic effort to reach the exit.

Tux sprang from the coat pocket in a single bound. If there was ever going to be a moment to take advantage of to make her escape, it was now. She sprinted back around the circumference of the room the way she had come, hoping to avoid Tiny’s notice in the pandemonium.

“I… AH… HA-ATE…” Tiny stormed, his head tilting back, his nose burning with intolerable irritation.

The cat and the mobsters raced for the doorway. They all knew instinctively that anyone left behind in the room would be dead in mere moments.

“HATE… I HA-A-ATE… CAAATS-CHOOOOAAGGHHHH!” Tiny sneezed explosively. The sound and thunder of his outburst shook the bottles on the desk that was the mobsters’ makeshift bar. One beer bottle fell off of the desk and shattered on the floor.

All but two of the men had managed to stumble out of the door into the hall, and were making a run for it. The two remaining gangsters slammed into opposite sides of the door frame at once and got jammed together, trapped and unable to escape. Tux sprinted between their legs and streaked away in a blur of orange fur.

Tiny swayed, lightheaded from the force of the sneeze. The storm broke within him. All control was gone. He saw the world through a red haze of livid rage. His fists clenched as he instinctively drew on the power of his Powerful Fashion Statement - the button-down that strained against his massive chest. Unfathomable brute strength coursed through his body.

The two men stuck in the doorway strained and fought against each other, but couldn’t gain any ground. Then the terrifying sound of Tiny’s heavy breathing, like the snorting of a bull, could be heard right behind them. The mobsters craned their necks around cheek-to-cheek, looking back at the giant in horror. Tiny towered over them, his face dark, his eyes red with livid, uncontrollable bloodlust and fury.

Screaming, crying, the two men pleaded for their lives, but the giant was no longer a man to be reasoned with. It was like begging for mercy from an earthquake.

“NO! TINY, PLEASE! BOSS! PLEA—”

CRUNCH!

The giant’s immense hands closed on the two men, ripping them out from the doorway and crushing them together like wads of paper. Bones snapped, blood flew, screams wailed.

Tux, still sprinting, darted between the fleeing men. Her fur bristled. Following her nose, the tabby cat flashed through the corridors at top speed. The confused half-Piper scent grew stronger as she approached the cell Tiny had exited.

She stopped just short of the door, looking and sniffing for pursuers, but there was no one nearby. It seemed the raging giant had attracted the attention of even the thugs who stood guard before Spats’ office. The hall was utterly deserted.

“Here I come, Piper!” Tux said.

She sprang up and balanced on the locked door’s handle. It was a precarious perch. Some distant part of her mind found it odd that her agility and prowess were so heightened right now, but that was a thought for later. For now, she needed to focus on her rescue mission.

The tabby cat carefully inserted the key into the lock, pressing it inward with her right forepaw. Then, clamping the key’s handle between her teeth, she swung down from the handle, using her momentum to turn the key in the lock. With a click and a creak, the door unlocked and cracked open.

Tux landed lightly on her feet. She sniffed the air. The half-Piper scent was still noticeable inside. She nudged the door open and slipped into the room. It was dimly lit, but Tux’s feline eyes had no trouble adjusting.

The cell was small and cramped. There was an empty folding chair in the corner to Tux’s right. Just across from the doorway, a drawing desk covered in papers and art supplies stood against the wall. More papers were pinned to the walls surrounding the desk, and even more lay in disordered piles on the floor. A rumpled pile of blankets lay in the corner next to the desk.

Tux sniffed the air. She couldn’t see anyone in the room, but she could smell someone. It didn’t smell like Piper, but the presence of the confused scent in the air was at its strongest here.

“Piper?” Tux said.

The pile of blankets next to the drawing desk shifted. A small person sat up and looked for the source of the voice. When their eyes finally settled on the orange cat, they blinked in surprise. “Uh, hi kitty,” the person said. “Did you make that noise?”

Tux sighed. It wasn’t Piper. All of her effort had been for nothing. She looked closer at the person. The person slipped out from the blankets and sat on their knees, looking at Tux curiously. Their hair was a vibrant blue color. Small tattoos sprinkled their face and neck. They had large, kind eyes. The person’s clothes were somewhat ragged. They wore a simple black tank top and a pair of denim shorts that had seen better days. Tux’s gaze lingered on the person’s bare legs; they were covered in ugly, painful-looking bruises. Some of them looked fresh.

“I did,” Tux said. “Who are you?”

The person’s jaw dropped. Their already large eyes widened in surprise. “Did… Did you just talk?”

Tux blinked. They had just talked to this blue-haired person, hadn’t they? It was a risky thing to do, but there was something about this person that felt safe. They felt the same way about talking in front of this blue-haired person as they had when they first met Piper.

“I did,” said Tux. “And I apologize - it was improper of me not to introduce myself first. I am called Tux, Tux of Piper’s Hat. I have the power of human speech thanks to this.” She lifted her head, showing off the black bow tie on her neck.

“Oh my god,” the person said. “But wait… how did you get in here? Tiny locked the door.” They suddenly folded their arms, looking defensive. “Are you with them?”

“If by them you mean the Colombo Mafia, then no, I am not. I came here to rescue my friends. They have been taken captive by these ruffians.”

“Who are your friends?”

“Piper, whose hat is my namesake, Nico, who will be Business King, and an old one, Wyatt Coller. I thought that Piper might have been imprisoned here.”

The person shook their head, seeming to relax. “Nope. Just me. I’m Blue, by the way.”

“So named for your hair?”

Blue smiled sadly. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well met, Blue,” said Tux. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must resume the search for my friends.”

The cat turned to leave.

“Wait!” Blue said. Tux turned back curiously.

“Take me with you,” said Blue. “Please. You said your friends have been captured by these bastards? Well so was I. Me and my… my special friend. They’re called Green. I’ve been here for three months, Tux. I just want to get out of here. Please.”

Tux mewed. “I believe that I like you, Blue. I sense that you are a trustworthy human. Very well.”

Blue’s heart raced. The utter bizarreness of the situation barely registered compared to the wild hope and excitement that was bursting like fireworks in their chest. I don’t know who you are, Piper, Nico, and Wyatt Coller, but thank you for this chance.

They stood, ignoring the pain that flared from the bruises that covered their legs, and snatched the only thing in this cell that mattered to them off of the drawing desk: the folded paper that contained Green’s hair. The cat and the human exchanged a quick nod, then moved to the door.

They peeked out into the hallway, Blue’s head far above Tux’s. It was still deserted. The tabby cat listened intently for any sign of the giant’s rampage, but she couldn’t hear anything. Either he had stopped raging, or his warpath had led him far away from here.

“Tux,” Blue whispered.

“Yes, Blue?”

“I want to save someone, too. If I help you save your friends, will you help me save Green?”

The cat blinked slowly. “Of course.”

Blue nodded, their eyes blazing with the first flames of real hope they had felt in a long time. “I’m coming, Green,” they whispered.

Together, Blue and Tux slipped out of the cell, closed the door behind them, and began their escape.

***

Outside, the former office building that was now the Colombo Mafia HQ was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning. The storm was distant, so distant that the sound of its thunder was not yet audible. High above Central City, the Needle emblazoned with the Clothiers logo hovered like a carrion bird waiting for the dust to settle so that it could feed.