Jett's heart slammed into her mouth as she hurled herself from the window, reaching out with both paws to catch the top of the metal perimeter fence as it came rushing up to meet her. She screamed as the barbs gashed her paws, but she clung on in desperation, ignoring the warm trickles of blood that spilled over her wrists. With a throat-rending shriek of exertion, she heaved herself up and over the top of the fence.

An arm bow bolt snapped off the metal just as she plummeted to the street. Despite the pain and the panic, she kept her senses, letting her legs fold beneath her to absorb the impact and tumbling into a roll.

She let out a yelp as her ankle twisted, but she surged upright nonetheless, sheer desperation helping her power through the pain. Startled citykin parted around her as she exploded to her feet and darted across the road, plunging into the refuge of a narrow side alley.

Stumbling along and gasping for breath, Jett didn't stop moving for several minutes, twisting and turning through every back street she could think of to make sure neither the wolfkin enforcers nor vulkin guards would be able to easily trace her steps. Eventually, she had to catch her breath, slumping against the nearest building wall and digging her paws into her hair as she tried to think.

The authorities couldn't help here—she knew that much. Fangs only knew what mess she might just have landed Bronco in with her escape, but she couldn't worry about that now. Whatever she would be doing, she would be colouring well outside the lines. Jett steadied her breathing, clenching her paws into tight fists to try and staunch the bleeding as she thought of her next move.

With unease twisting in her stomach, she realised there was only one person that could realistically help her now. Wincing, she set off in the direction of the nearest entertainment hub. Her ankle screamed in protest with every step, and her paws ached, slashed up by the upper section of the fence, but she did her best to look calm as she traversed the back alleys. She zig-zagged diagonally away from the lawhouse to the north.

Casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure none of the wolfkin or vulkin had tailed her, Jett forced herself to walk at an even pace, bringing her breathing back to normal levels and falling into step with the other citykin as she stepped out onto another street, a broader one thronging with citykin in the daylight hours. Lowering her head, she trudged on, bloody paws in her pockets and fury beginning to simmer in her heart.

Passing three spiralling clumps of residential dens, she emerged into a more open bowl-like clearing in the district, its rim studded with bars, restaurants, and a variety of shops selling expensive delicacies, clothes, and a much more legal array of tech gear.

At the far side of the bowl, nestled amid a cluster of other squat semi-underground buildings, stood a bar with a wonky sign over its door. Crimson letters laid down in thick paint spelled out the name: Tall Tails. A place where Jett had spent a lot of her leisure time, it stood there like a beacon, calling her back to normality.

But normal was long gone. The wolfkin had seen to that. She visited this establishment for a lot more than a stiff drink, and now it was time to cash in the favours she'd built up over the years. Rubbing her eyes and smoothing down the tangled mass of her headfur, Jett took a deep breath and shoved the heavy iron door open.

The noise of the bar came tumbling out over Jett as though she'd just opened a cupboard with too many things stacked inside it. Aromatic smoke engulfed her as she stepped across the threshold, thick coils of it winding through the air, caught by lurid prisms of red, green, and gold light. The sharp scent of citrus beer filled her aching chest with nostalgia—she and Tyr had enjoyed plenty of wild nights in this establishment.

Not anymore, though. The rage snarled in her chest at the thought. Steadying herself, Jett put on a facade of easy calm, not wanting to draw too much undue attention to the regular clientele. Most of them were borderline criminals like her; no need to set them all on edge.

She moved through the packed tables, forcing smiles, exchanging nods and greetings with some of the foxkin she knew. Music clanged away from some awkwardly installed speakers above the bar itself, the steel drum melodies blending with the buzz of conversation.

Behind the bar, a brawny deerkin poured the drinks, his broad, heavily muscled frame barely contained within a white silk body wrap and a dark blue jacket with sleeves rolled up the elbows. His neck was a thick trunk of muscle, supporting a large head and a pair of impressive antlers rearing up out of his thick, brown headfur.

"Hey, Iburr," Jett shouted above the music as she sidled up to the bar between the bodies currently clogging up the space. "How's business?"

"Sweet and smooth," he replied, smiling even though he didn't look at her, busy doling out a series of thick, dark beers to a trio of otterkin at the far end of the bar. He tossed their barkstamps into the till and straightened up, loping over to her. "Usual?"

She shook her head. "Not here for recreation. Rapid in today?"

"One of those days, eh?" Iburr rumbled before jerking his head towards a door labelled NO CUSTOMERS BEYOND THIS POINT. "Yeah, he's got some contracts booked later. You can catch him if you head in now."

"Thanks." Winking at the big deerkin, Jett swivelled away from the bar and slipped over to the door. With a deft motion, she slithered her nimble frame through the door and gently closed it behind her.

The music and voices of the bar faded into a dull throb against the back of her head, and a narrow, well-lit passage stretched away into the back rooms. She could hear a low chatter of voices coming from up ahead.

Rolling her neck from side to side and trying to project an appearance of calm, she walked down the passage and through the door at the far end, emerging into a large cube of a room brightly lit by several big ceiling-mounted bulbs. A host of heads turned towards her, and she stopped a step over the threshold, letting them get a good look. Several grizzled foxkin, both male and female, looked her up and down before their postures relaxed. Knives and armbows dropped, and they looked expectantly at their leader.

"Now, ain't this an unexpected pleasure?"

Jett smirked as she looked at the speaker. "Hey, Rapid."

He sat behind a broad metal desk, lounging casually in a truly ridiculous chair, its high back rising well above the top of his head, papered with lush silk cushions and blankets. The foxkin himself was even more eye-catching than his throne.

Rapid was an albino, his fur a startling white from nose to tail. Baggy factory overalls had been rolled down and tied at the waist, his legs covered by the thick fabric. On his upper body, he wore just a single crimson sleeve wrap across his right arm, leaving the fur of his chest deliberately exposed. Upon the white canvas, the foxkin had liberally tattooed himself, with looping, tangled swirls of black ink and blossoming flames forming a tapestry that wrapped around his back.

He grinned, revealing a missing tooth, and beckoned her forward. "What's the occasion?"

"Got a favour to ask," she told him, stepping forward under the watchful stare of the other foxkin in the room.

"What kinda favour?"

"Need some gear—up front. I'll have to pay you later."

Rapid's pink eyes narrowed. "What kinda gear?"

"Got to get out of the district for a while," Jett continued, trying to keep her voice as calm and nonchalant as she could under the circumstances. "An ID cloner, change of clothes—a couple of weapons if you can spare them."

"Oh-oh, you finally hacked the wrong system, did ya?" Rapid chuckled, lounging back in his chair, idly tracing one of the patterns on his chest with one claw. "I dunno, Jetts. I can't be handing out freebies just cos you ain't bein' careful. Sends the wrong message."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious."

He shrugged. "I'm serious as well."

"C'mon, Rapid. How many times have I bailed you and your cubs out of trouble? Without me covering your tracks, you'd be sitting in a lawhouse by now."

"And that's why you get a good discount on my gear," he said quickly, tone hardening. "Don't be flinging that at me—you cashed out good on those jobs."

She tensed. "You'll get the money, Rapid. I just have a ...liquidity problem right now. I'm not asking for the world. You know you can spare it."

"And how do you know what I can spare?" He smirked. "I like you, bright-eyes, but I got a business to keep running here. Nobody gets handouts—not even someone with your...talents." As he spoke, his eyes shamelessly roved up and down her body, a lecherous glint in his eyes.

And Jett finally lost control.

She just couldn't do this dance—not today. The rage and grief came boiling over, and in the blink of an eye, she vaulted the desk and pounced on Rapid, digging both claws into his neckfur and heaving him clean out of his chair. A snarl tore from her throat as she lifted him and slammed his slender frame hard into the wall.

"Listen to me, you little snake," she growled. "I have had a very bad day, and I am not in the mood to be screwed with. You know I'm good for the stamps, so stop putting on this stupid show for your boys and get me what I need before I rip your eyes out of your snivelling skull!"

Rapid's eyes bulged with fear as he froze in her grip. A couple of the other foxkin moved forward, but he waved them away urgently.

"You really need that gear, eh?" he chuckled nervously.

"Just give me what I need, and I'll be out of your way."

"Alright, alright, alright. Fangs, girl, put me down!"

With a snort of anger, she let go, letting the albino drop abruptly, where he almost fell over. Managing to steady himself at the last moment, Rapid shot her a petulant glare before nodding at one of the other foxkin.

"Get her the stuff," he snapped, dusting himself down and checking the overalls were still cinched tight at the waist. As his associate disappeared from the room, he turned his glare back on Jett. "This wouldn't happen to have anythin' to do with all the vulkin scrapin' around your district? You finally push Bronco too far, eh?"

It took everything she had not to smash his teeth out right there. Feeling her hackles rise, Jett stepped in close.

"Somebody murdered my family, Rapid," she said, fighting to keep her voice level.

He recoiled, brows shooting up in surprise. "You...what?"

"All of them. My parents, Tyr—all of them are dead. That's why I can't go home."

"Fire'n'Peace...what happened?!"

"Believe me, you don't want to know." She turned away, paws on her hips as her gaze bored into the floor of Rapid's room. "Looks like I stepped on the claws of some very powerful people. They must've killed my family looking for me."

"Damn, ain't that a claw in the balls?" Rapid shook his head.

"Tell me about it." Jett rubbed her paws over her eyes, fighting back the weariness that was beginning to creep through her frame. "Bronco and the rest of those idiots are off looking for some felkin gang, but I know what happened. They can't help me, so I'm going to help myself. I just need some gear to get me started."

"Sounds like you're fixin' for a fight."

"Maybe."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Jett turned back to face him. "Probably not."

"You've got smarts, bright-eyes. You know better than to go pokin' that kinda trouble."

"I used to."

Rapid blinked, his mouth opening for a moment before he snapped it shut again, thinking better of whatever he was about to say. The return of his minion forestalled further conversation as the foxkin entered the room carrying a couple of black bags that clanked with promise as they were set down on the broad metal table. At a nod from Rapid, the guard unzipped the bags to reveal the bounty within.

Jett took a steadying breath and moved over to examine the offerings. It wasn't the most impressive arsenal in the world, but it would serve her purposes. A couple of changes of clothes sat in a neat pile alongside a tightly wrapped toolkit; next to them lay a wickedly curved longclaw dagger, its black blade glinting in the light.

There was an ID print cloner—a six-inch rectangular block with a screen and fold-out keypad—that would help her forge an alias far from the dangers of home. Last but not least, a short, lightweight flash gun. A paw-sized grip and trigger was mounted to the base of a hemispherical "barrel," within which nestled a flare bulb. The white reflective glass of the barrel section served to concentrate the surging light from the bulb into a focused beam that would dazzle and disorient anyone unfortunate enough to be looking at it when it fired. Jett placed her paws on the table, looking the equipment over with a critical eye before eventually nodding her satisfaction.

Rapid moved across the room, standing opposite her on the other side of the table. She raised her head to see the albino foxkin with his arms folded, his face earnest as he looked her in the eye.

"Jetts, I'm sorry 'bout your folks, but you're right," he said, a twinge of guilt in his voice. "I don't wanna know what it is you stepped in, and I don't want no part of this. You take this gear on the house, for old times' sake. Then I never wanna see you again."

Jett smiled sadly. "Somehow, I don't think you will."