FOR reasons that I cannot comprehend, Big Al's Car Wash possesses a permanent signature scent of soapy lemon. It smells this way everywhere on the property, even though the owner—Big Al himself—smells the complete opposite.

Rather, Big Al (or Big Ass-Al, as I like to call him) adorns an unchanging perfume of cheese. While my sense of smell is generally a blessing, in the moments that I catch a whiff of Big Ass-Al, I wish more than anything that my nose is no better equipped than a human.

However, despite Big-Al's odd cheese fragrance, it seems that most other people who inhabit the city of Fairbanks keep a woodland scent: something that I take relief in. It is a nice change from the usual booming quick-paced cities I venture through.

Fairbanks is the largest city in the interior region of Alaska and the third overall for the entire state. This little city has a population of just over 32,000, a number that brings a sense of satisfaction as well as longing.

Small cities like Fairbanks were fun for only a short while—until the inevitable thirst for travel hits me once again.

I had been living in Fairbanks for just over three weeks now, and I worked for Big Al's Car Wash for two. It was nearly amusing at first, a big bad black panther such as myself working at this shabby car wash, but now the boredom was beginning to set in.

As nice as this simple way of living proved, I already yearned for the feeling of constant travel and playing the role of Robin Hood to strangers around the world. Steal from the rich only to give to the poor, wander from place-to-place. It was a way of life that I along with the two other members of my crew (A.K.A pack... or was it called pride? Who knows, who cares?) followed.

A tight feeling settled in my chest at the thought of my two best and only friends. No, they were more than friends, family.

Bexley and Tiberius, I missed them more than words could describe
—this was the longest time we had ever spent apart, after all. Yet, I had to remind myself of the very reason they were currently not with me, the same reason I was stuck in this podunk city.

Almost two months ago, the three of us were running through the Indonesian rainforest. How odd it must have looked for a Siberian tiger and cheetah to be flanking the sides of a black jaguar.

Bexley, of course, with her usual reckless nature veered off and nearly fell into an open hole in the jungle grounds. Thankfully, I noticed it and managed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, I was unable to stop myself from falling inside of the hole instead.

Interestingly, the hole had not been that deep, but it was full of a funky-smelling purple flower that quite literally glowed. At the time, I did not think anything about the flower as Bexley and Tiberius quickly helped me out of the hole.

It was not until a few nights later when I truly began to feel the effects. At first, I was unable to control my shifting—an occurrence that had not been an issue since I was young. However, it eventually turned from uncontrollable shifting to not being able to shift at all.

While the heightened senses remained, I am now stuck as a human for an indefinite amount of time.

I say indefinitely because the three of us came across a contact that could potentially lead to an antidote. This contact is in Mexico City and as we are still not fully confident in this person, it was thought best that I lay low while Bexley and Tiberius figure this out in Mexico.

We had quite a few enemies, many of which who would not hesitate in taking advantage of my current inability to shift.

As much as I hated the thought of them going without me, I knew if the situation arose where we had to shift and fight then I would be rendered a distraction and ultimate weakness. That left me to lay low in a place of Tiberius's choice—the very same city I currently reside in.

Fairbanks.

Therefore, despite being "captain" of our three-person crew, I was here in Fairbanks working for cheese-smelling Big Al while they were off tracking down an antidote in Mexico City. I only hoped that they were able to find an antidote without any trouble.

My thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing against my thigh. Patting the colorful blue and yellow tracksuit, my fingers grasped the edge of the cellphone.

It was currently a breezy seventy-three degrees, an average temperature for mid-July in Alaska. Based on the fact that it was only seventy degrees outside and it was July, I knew the rumors about Alaska having a terrifyingly cold winter season were true. It was a chilling thought, no pun intended, especially as I was a native to Miami—a city that never slept and was known for bringing the heat.

Yes, I had no plans of staying longer than the summer months in Alaska, no matter how pretty I think the scenery to be.

Answering the cellphone, I brought it up to my ear—subconsciously fixing the blue Big Al's cap on my head. The thicket of colorful dreadlocks that I had the honor of calling my hair was drawn into a tight ponytail that was held together by an immense rubberband (anything else would snap).

My dreadlocks were rarely placed into a ponytail (actually my dreadlocks were rarely placed into any hairstyle other than loose) but Big Ass-Al had a strict policy of keeping hair longer than chin-length pulled back.

As much as I detested the rule, I also needed this job to keep money flowing. As cheap as the motel I am staying at is, I did not want to chance running out of funds to pay for the shoddy bed.

"Hello?" My voice came out strong, per usual, an underlying sense of certainty that often intimidated people.

"Celéstia..." Bexley practically sang through the phone, her voice high-pitched with a sense of rambunctiousness that was anything but becoming, "guess who just ported?"

Bexley was a small woman of Japanese-decent made up of trickery and impulse, not to mention she was anything but quiet. It was almost amazing the noise such a small and petite individual could create, it would put a megaphone to shame.

"And it's about time," I could hear Tiberius's British accent in the background followed by a groan, "stowing away on this stupid boat for the past three weeks has been anything but easy!"

Bexley snickered, "He's been seasick basically the whole time," she informed causing me to frown, feeling bad for poor Tiberius.

Tiberius, the freckled-face redhead who was a mountain of a man. Despite his bulging muscle and slightly intimidating appearance, I have never met anyone who was more of a teddy bear on the inside. Even with how fierce he was as a tiger, Tiberius truly was a gentle giant.

"I'm sorry, Tiberius," I said, knowing he could hear me.

I only received a groan in response.

"Bah, who cares? We're here now, the cargo ship is being unloaded at Lazaro Cardenas now. It should only be a few days travel from here to Mexico City," Bexley explained and I could imagine her bouncing on her toes as she often did.

I continued walking, grasping the strap to my red backpack a little tighter. Big Al's Car Wash was now within my sights, the building itself not more than a mile walk from the old motel I was at.

"Okay, but remember," I started only for Bexley to cut me off.

"We know, we'll be careful, don't worry. On a more positive note, how are you liking Fairbanks?"

Before I could answer there was shuffling before Tiberius was speaking.

"Yes, do tell me about how marvelous it is!" His British accent was strong with pride. "Oh, it must be so great!"

"Yeah," I smiled tightly, "Big Al's is a real kicker!"

Tiberius was unable to respond before he grunted as the spitfire took the phone back.

"Give me that back!"

I cringed hearing the tiger-man yelp. "Anyway, we're about to sneak off this damn ship, I'll call you later,"

"Alright, I'm almost to work anyway," I sighed, mentally reminding myself that in just a month or so we would hopefully all be back to normal and traveling the world together as our own band of Robin Hood misfits.

"You call me if anything goes wrong, and I mean anything," I said almost sternly.

I was the brains of the operation, the strategic one who planned things. Not to mention I was also the leader, it made me anxious when I was not with them, just the knowledge of those two on their own sent shivers spiraling down my spine.

But again, without being able to shift then I would only be a distraction.

"Of course," Bexley cheered, myself biting my lip and praying to God for them.

A few more words of farewell were spoken before we had hung up and I was walking in through the glass doors of the car wash store.

As far as I was concerned, shifters were not necessarily uncommon throughout the world, but at the same time, they also tended to stay in groups or packs. While myself, Bexley, and Tiberius were our own pack, we were tiny compared to every other pack in the world.

Of course, we had come across our fair share of packs, but none were bigger than fifteen. These groups were not so much as packs—rather we mostly happened upon lion prides who resided in the grasslands of the African savanna.

There was also the fox hole of seven who we came across not more than a year ago. They remained on the Kuril Islands, a place that Japan considered their northern territories but was legally owned by Russia.

Wolf packs were civilizations that we had come across once or twice, but they tended to be protective of their territories and would run us off their lands the second we got too close. It was a well-known fact that wolves were the most common form of shifter world-wide, despite this—wolves were also the form of shifters we took the most caution against.

Wolves thrive off their packs and were known for having a temper, it was a characteristic that we did not want to be around.

The usual smell of soapy lemon met my nose, my rubber boots squeaking as they made contact with the shiny tile floor. It was the crack of dawn and the car wash was meant to open in the next ten minutes.

While it had been barely over two weeks, the car wash was something I had grown accustomed to and would likely never forget. Despite its simplistic nature, from its setting to the very people who worked here were unforgettable.

"Yo, Angie!"

The girl in question was leaned over the front counter, furiously texting on her cellphone.

Her hair was drawn in a low ponytail, the blue and yellow jumpsuit that was slightly too big for her matching my own.

Like most seventeen-year-olds, the doe-eyed blonde was addicted to her phone. However, unlike most of these crunchy-granola-people (as I had taken to calling the good people of Fairbanks) Angie had a serious attitude issue that amused me.

Angie consisted of snarky comments, eye-rolls, and a vibe that screamed she would rather be anywhere but here.

Angie slowly drew her eyes away from her cellphone. She said nothing to me, instead opting to give a chillingly blank stare before looking back at her phone.

I scoffed in reply, passing by her and the front counter to get to the back.

"Good morning to you too," I yelled only to get no reply other than a snort as though what I said was hilarious.

My lips quirked up against my will; I understood where Angie was coming from. I was once a teenager as well, I realize that mornings were definitely not the prime time for teens. Then again, I truly was not much older than a teenager myself—actually was twenty considered a teen still?

I have no clue, but I am considering myself a full-fledged adult with the empowerment to look down my nose at those younger than me. It was something that nearly all adults did to me when I was younger and I now plan to take full advantage of this authority.

Shoving my way into the back room that was also considered the "breakroom", I made my way to a small familiar locker that did not actually have a lock. Big Al's office was in the back of the breakroom, a large window giving a clear view of the messy office and Big Al himself screaming into the desk phone.

"No, no, no! I don't give a flying fuck, motherfucker! I need them damn tires here by tomorrow—!" I ignored the usual slurs which came from Big Al's mouth, his voice radiating through the entire backroom.

Big Al could not go more than one sentence without some type of curse word falling from his lips. From what I understood, Big Al was born and bred in Philly. He apparently moved here just under ten years ago for a "change of people".

He was a short and stocky man, myself nearly two inches taller than him. Along with his cheese-smelling self, Big Al always wore the same khakis with a blue polo and red tie which was never completely tied.

He did not bother to wear loafers either, opting for a bland pair of running shoes that made me want to hurl everytime I looked at them. I was not the most fashionable myself, and yet this man's clothing style had me gagging.

Big Al was rude, period. Nothing more, nothing less, he was a complete ass. Even if he was an asshole of a guy, I found an odd sort of amusement in the way he dealt with things. Besides, he was never really an ass to me because I never gave him any problems, unlike some workers here (A̶n̶g̶i̶e̶).

Shoving my red backpack into the rusty graffiti-covered locker that was 'mine', I slammed the door shut and walked toward Big Al's office. I knocked on the doorframe as the door was already open, popping my head inside.

Big Al flashed me an irritated look, not stopping his screaming match with the stocking department.

"I'm clockin' in," I informed him.

Big Al for whatever reason preferred everyone to clock in with him physically.

"You're five minutes late! But whatever, go do what I'm paying ya' to do," He waved me off before suddenly screaming into the phone. "No fuck you! Where my damn tires at?"

In Big Al time: 5 minutes late was the equivalent to 10 minutes early. He always wanted people arriving fifteen minutes before they were scheduled.

Why? I never bothered to ask.

I rolled my eyes but left, walking out of the breakroom back into the store.

"It's opening time, Angie," I said to the teenager, switching the sign from closed to open. "Don't ignore the customers today or Big Ass-Al will have your tits," I told her.

Angie rolled her eyes and ignored me, now standing at the register—her eyes not straying from her phone.

Shaking my head, I walked toward the glass door, pushing it open as I started my shift outside.

Great... time to wash some cars...

The day went by as it normally did for the past two weeks, a little busier than usual if anything. Myself along with the other workers kissed Big Al's ass, there was a small competition between us all to see who could name the song playing on the radio quicker, and we dealt with idiot customers who swore that we put scratches on their car.

Oh yeah, and no one tipped.

The cars seemed to never stop coming, and as Rose Royce once said: we made sure to keep the line moving and the machines humming.

Rags remained soaked and the bubbly soapy waters of the bucket were changed every few minutes.

Gerald, a young teen who was about two years younger than Angie stood at the very front of the car wash waving a sign wildly while dancing in his own spunky manner. I quirked a brow from inside a Honda when Gerald attempted a backflip only to fall straight on his face.

The younger teen stood quickly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and gazing around to see if anyone saw that fail. I snickered, looking away from him and finishing up the dashboard of the Honda.

Exiting the car, I swung the rag over my shoulder waving my hand for whoever the owner was. A middle-aged man walked up, nodding his head at me before quickly getting in the driver's seat and pulling away.

No tip yet again—I love this job.

The heavy feel of my dreads caught my attention for the umpteenth time that day. Seeing as it was impossible to avoid getting wet on the job, my dreadlocks had unfortunately suffered the consequences.

Generally speaking, it was not that smart of an idea to get your dreads wet as it took forever for them to dry. Like I'm talking almost three to four days.

Since I had worked here, my dreads were continuously damp which made them heavier on my head. It was an irritating feeling that put thoughts of cutting the dreadlocks and brushing out my natural hair in my mind.

However, that would also take forever. I had my dreads installed just under two years ago, in that time they had grown quite a bit.

It was far easier to maintain dreads than my natural jungle of curly hair, especially as I was always on the move, rarely having time to settle. Along with that, I more than loved the color—blue and purple sang to me.

All in all, as irritating as it was having dreads with working at the car wash, it would be even more difficult to part with them.

Glancing toward the outdoor clock, I smiled seeing as it was time for my shift to switch. No longer would I be stuck on machine and wash duty outside, but rather I had the liberty of working the cash register inside.

Another thought struck me at that moment, it was the realization that I would need to take that post from Angie. Cringing at the thought, I quickly start making my way to the glass doors.

As I walked, waving to a few fellow employees, I could not stop the odd tugging in my chest. It was the weirdest of sensations, one that seemed to come from the animal within.

Even if I was currently having issues with shifting and I was slightly weaker than normal, I could still feel my own inner-animal that was always lurking in the shadows of my mind. Currently, the inner-animal was sending unease through my body.