THE ROAD TO 7/11 Have you ever wanted to take back what time stole from you? A thousand golden suns and a thousand pale moons, shining upon a thousand days. Of all those days, how many do you actually remember? How often did the sun shine on a day you can recall? You don’t realize it until you’re older. Those dull days that quickly fade out of memory - your life is made up of thousands of them. Thousands of days so terribly mundane that you can’t recall a single detail. Your brain has a memory capacity equivalent to over a thousand terabytes of data. Everything you learn or experience is just a new pattern of connections between your neurons. But the more you recall a certain experience, the stronger the connection becomes - and in turn, the easier it is to recall. Most days vanish into the abyss, unremembered after less than a week. The ones you remember most vividly are the ones you think about so often that they have been etched into your matter. Those are the memories you cling to. But they too will be erased, given enough time. ====================================== A young dog with big, pointed ears sits on the couch on a dull summer morning. He’s barely out of bed and his attention is already drawn to the television. Sugary cereal and Saturday morning cartoons are an essential part of an American kid’s weekend. This little canine is no exception, though he eats his Dyno-Bites a bit faster than he should. He flips through the channels with a deep sigh. Summer’s gonna feel like it lasted a week. Though August is more than a few months away, it looms over his head like a book-slinging giant. Waiting to trap him and make him suffer through the worst torture imagineable: The seventh grade. It’s only a matter of time before he’s back in the fucking building again. Taking notes, doing math, and getting sent to the office for talking in class. At the very least, he’s going to catch up on all his favorite shows while he can. He spends some time scrolling through channels, looking for something he’s in the mood to watch. His cereal’s already starting to get soggy - he needs to find something to watch quickly. And then, it happens. Out of nowhere, there’s a blinding flash, and fire bursts from the television screen. Heavy metal blasts from the television speakers, followed by a roar that shakes the walls of the house. The boy coughs up a cloud of smoke. He’s covered from head to paw in soot. A strand of his fur is still burning from the blast; he extinguishes it with a pinch of his fingers. [ An EVIL DARKNESS has fallen upon PIZZA LAIR once again! The fire dragon, RIPPER, has taken the princess hostage, and she needs YOUR help! ] A cut to a beautiful, older white feline: she clings to the bars of an iron prison. [ Save me! Oh, someone save me! ] She reaches into her dress and pulls out a seemingly endless chain of paper arcade tickets. [ Save me and I shall grant you my fortune: One MILLION tickets! ] The boy’s jaw drops, his eyes popping wide open. Could it…could it be? [ Now YOU have a chance to win ONE MILLION tickets in RIPPERQUEST! The new INTERACTIVE EXPERIENCE only at PIZZA LAIR in DOWNTOWN DEEPTAIL! ] The boy leaps from the couch and beats his chest like a fucking gorilla. “RIPPERQUEST!!!!” the boy howls. [ Brave the BURNING FOREST! ] [ Cross the LAKE OF LAVA! ] [ And defeat the EVIL RIPPER to save the princess! ] “YEEEEEAAAAH!!!!” In his excitement, he flips the coffee table, knocking milk and cereal onto the hardwood floor. [ Come to PIZZA LAIR today, and take on Ripper - IF YOU DARE! ] [ Pizza Lair is not responsible for damages to persons or property on the premises. All parties younger than 16 must be accompanied by a parent or guardian. ] The boy’s chest heaves as his excitement spills over - much like the cereal he just dumped on the floor. Ripperquest, the legendary challenge, has finally returned after four long years! The young dog doesn’t let another second go to waste; he’s got his shoes on before the commercial is even over. But just as he’s about to charge out the door, he hears a grating voice call his name. “DAVID!!!” The boy freezes in his tracks and sheepishly turns around. “Yes ma’am?” Standing before him, with her arms folded tight, is the boy’s mother - and she is pissed. She JUST woke up and there’s already milk on the goddamn floor. She doesn’t have to say a word. She just shoots him a murderous look and points at the mess he made. And so, growling under his breath, David starts his day by mopping milk and cereal off the floor. ====================================== Just two doors down from David’s house, there comes a rapid and impatient knocking. Inside the house, fuzzy orange paws bounce down carpeted stairs on their way to the front door. The door swings open, and out steps an orange rabbit - the kind with the ears that stick straight up. She’s got a cropped yellow sweater and a pair of black leggings - the kind that make her tail end hard to ignore. She peers at her visitor through big round glasses, her eyes weary with boredom. “David,” she sighs. “What’s up?” The young dog points his thumb back towards the street. “Get your shoes on, Hazel, we’ve got a dragon to kill.” She raises an eyebrow at David. “I don’t follow.” “Come ON, rabbit! You haven’t seen the commercial?” “Uh, no? I’ve been busy studying for next semester, dude… “Next semester???” “...My parents want me to get into AP courses? I already told you this.” “I don’t even - look, screw your homework!” The young dog throws his paws up in the air. “You remember that super cool thing they had at Pizza Lair that got shut down the day that we went to go do it? The one that gives you ONE MILLION TICKETS if you win?” “Uhh…yeah! I remember that. I really wanted to try that!” “Well, it’s back.” David grabs the rabbit by the shoulders and shakes her back and forth. “Ripperquest is BACK!” It takes a moment for this new information to sink into Hazel’s brain. But once it does, her eyes shoot open and she grabs his shoulders, shaking him right back. “Ripperquest is BACK?!” “Ripperquest is BACK!!!” the boy confirms. She leaps into David’s arms, nearly knocking him over, and wraps her arms and legs around his torso. Luckily, she’s pretty small - even for a bunny her age. “ONE MILLION TICKETS!!!” squeaks Hazel. “WE’RE GONNA BE RICH!!!” The boy grins like an idiot, his tail wagging so hard that his hips are shaking. He sets the rabbit down and looks into her eyes with the most serious face he can manage. “Tomorrow, we become gods.” “Tomorrow?!” shrieks the bunny. “What if it shuts down tomorrow? Or even today?” “Naaaaah, not this time,” assures David. “I’m sure they fixed it this time around. And besides! We gotta come up with a plan first. Map the place out, create a team strategy. You know?” He pokes Hazel’s rather generous forehead, right above her enormous glasses. “Listen. You’re the smartest person I know. And right now I need you to put down the homework and put that giant brain towards something important for a change.” Hazel tilts her head and raises an eyebrow at him. “Arcade tickets?” “I got big plans, rabbit,” chuckles David. He turns to the road and raises a paw to the heavens, as if to outline his lofty ambitions. “You know what we could do with one MILLION tickets? The possibilities are freaking endless. You help me get ahold of that prize, and we’re all gonna be set for life.” He turns back to her and grips her paw tight, looking her directly in her big, brown eyes. “Listen. We’re gonna get the crew together TONIGHT. You know what that means?” The girl’s long ears wiggle excitedly. “7/11?” “7/11, bitch,” answers the canine. “We’re gonna get all the snacks, the sodas, and everything. But I need you to get your shoes on and hop on your scooter right now.” She gives him a big, excited grin, showing off all of her shiny pink braces. “Alright, fine. Studying can wait! Let me get my shoes on.” ====================================== Kids sitting on porches and playing in their yards hear the rattle of wheels rolling over the concrete sidewalk. A beat-up, rusty old Razor scooter and a skateboard that has definitely seen better days. David’s old shoes scrape the board as he rides, pushing off on the pock-marked path. He turns to see Hazel cruising beside him, gripping the handle of the scooter as she rides. “How many people are allowed per game?” she asks him. “They dropped the limit from eight to four,” he answers. “Either way, that’s enough for us.” Hazel grins and leans casually on the handlebar as the sidewalk slopes downward, taking them downhill. “Then I take it we’re headed to the Sheriff’s office?” The boy gives her a thumbs-up. “That’s our first stop.” The Sheriff’s office is a five-minute ride from Hazel’s house. On the way, they ride past packs of kids that are trying to beat the oppressive summer heat. Some of them recognize Hazel and David, and wave to them as they ride by. But many of them are only vague acquaintances, and the majority of them don’t know them at all. The two of them don’t really have much of a reputation - at least, not one that a kid would want. A few nasty rumors have been going around about Hazel, and David has always been seen as a weirdo spaz. But there’s one kid in Deeptail whose reputation precedes her. A cat so wealthy that her legendary birthday parties can be heard from a mile away. Angela DuFrain. They’ve crossed into the rich side of town now, and the biggest, most fabulous house on the block is the DuFrain estate. It’s a huge mansion with a fountain out front and a yard so perfect that it looks like someone cut it with scissors. You can see it looming in the distance no matter where in the neighborhood you are. Seated in that enormous house is the notorious high-maintenance feline, Angela. Everybody in Deeptail knows her, which makes her kind of a celebrity. Hazel and David pass by the estate on their way to the Sheriff’s Office. And every time, they turn their heads to stare in awe at the enormous house. Daydreaming about what it’d be like to live in a house so outrageously fucking big. This often causes David to crash into things. And this time around, while David is staring at the fountain in the driveway, he fails to see the bike parked on the sidewalk ahead of him. Hazel does, but by the time she manages to shout “David, watch out!”, he’s already tumbling to the ground. The young dog growls as he drags himself to his feet, clambering over the bike he just wiped out on. “Who the hell leaves their bike on the sidewalk???” “I do. Asshole.” David’s ears raise slightly at the unseen voice. Hoarse and loud, like a kid that yells too much - he’s heard it before. Standing up, he confirms his suspicion, his eyes narrowing at an unfriendly face. “Max Wicker,” growls the young dog. “Well, now I don’t feel bad.” “You’re fucking about to.” Stepping towards David is a filthy young buck with three-pronged antlers. His shitty t-shirt and baggy jeans have more holes in them than your average rodent snack. He’s also covered in various bruises, scratches and bites - all the mementos of his violent lifestyle. “You gonna pay for the scratches on my bike?” chuckles Max. He gives the dog a ruthless shove with both hands, causing the boy to stumble back a little. Hazel glares at him from the road. “If you wouldn’t leave your bike on the sidewalk, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Back off!” “Maybe you should pay attention when you ride then, huh?” He points a finger at the rabbit without looking at her. “And maybe you should shut up when men are talking.” Immediately, the bunny throws her scooter aside and sprints towards the buck like she’s been infected with rabies. But it isn’t saliva pouring from her open mouth - no, she’s frothing with smoke and fire. Her paws scorch the grass with every step, and swathes of flame burst from her eyes. Max doesn’t seem to notice her approaching him until she leaps in the air and drop-kicks him into the wall of the nearby house. He hits the brick with a loud crack, and when the dust clears, he’s covered in rubble and soot. The buck’s face curls into a wicked snarl, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. He’s trembling visibly - though not from fear. He’s just so pissed off that he can barely contain it. “MOCHA!!!! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!!!!” Max Wicker is not the only one of his kin - not by a long shot. In fact there are four Wicker children, known throughout Deeptail as the notorious Wicker Brothers. The youngest of them, Mocha Wicker, leaps from the roof of the building and lands with a roll. This little deer is covered head to toe in pastel goth attire: the big black boots with the striped socks underneath, and the baggy black sweater that’s cropped at the waist. It’s way too hot to be wearing shit like that, but Mocha takes pride in being sweaty as hell. The young deer rises, skirt swaying, and pointing a finger at David and Hazel. “You faggots are gonna die today!” David tilts his head and scratches at his chin. “Why are they called the Wicker Brothers if one of them’s a girl?” Hazel pauses and raises an eyebrow at him. “D…David? Mocha’s…Mocha’s not a girl.” Without moving a single limb, the young dog turns to face the rabbit, his heels making a noise akin to a brick being dragged across concrete. “Run that back?” “The antlers???” Hazel waves a paw over her head. “Does don’t…they don’t have antlers, David. Did you…did you not know that?” David turns to stare at Mocha, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you serious?” The fawn puts his hands on his hips and yells at David from across the yard. “I’m not a fucking girl, idiot!” “Doesn’t help that you got an ass like a girl, dude.” Max reaches over and gives Mocha a swift slap on the ass. “Ow! Maaaaaax…” “Shut up. I’m gonna do the thing now.” The young deer sighs and raises his arms slightly. “Ready when you are.” And then, out of nowhere, Max grabs the fawn and swings him around like a fucking medieval flail. One, two, three spins, and then he lets him go, sending him screaming towards Hazel. He crashes into the rabbit with a mighty thud, and as they tumble to the ground they immediately start mauling each other, tossing dirt, fur, and spit in every direction. Before David can even try to come to Hazel’s aid, Max Wicker charges him, his jagged teeth bared. The young dog has precious few seconds to react. So, he whips out the NERF Marauder. He stops Max’s jaws with the blade of the longsword. And then, with a shove, he sends the buck stumbling backwards. The two boys stare at each other for a long, tense moment, with nothing but a few feet of yard standing between them. “So you’ve studied the blade,” observes Max with a shrug. “Big deal! Behold: my fucking AXE.” The buck grunts as he reaches over his shoulder and produces a NERF Warlock from out of nowhere. As he lets it hit the ground, the yard cracks under its tremendous weight, flinging grass and dirt in the air. David’s eyes linger on the head of the axe. It’s been an age since he’s faced the oppressive might of the N-Force Warlock. Deceptively fast in spite of its weight, it’s a monster in the paws of an experienced wielder. Fortunately for David, Max Wicker has all the grace of a bull in a china shop. Predictably, the buck makes the first move. He swings wide with the axe, and David takes a step back to avoid it. As Max is recovering from the momentum of his attack, the young dog strikes hard and fast with the Marauder. On the other side of the yard, Hazel and Mocha are rolling around in the grass like a pair of brawling cats. You would never expect that two feminine herbivores could get into such a violent wrestling match. Hazel is on the verge of bursting into flames; there’s a trail of scorched earth in the wake of their scuffle. Each time she hits Mocha, the fawn just hits her back, unfazed by neither heat nor muscle. Where Max and David fight with weapons, Hazel and Mocha don’t even bother. They’re both covered in scratches and bite marks, and it’s impossible to know who even has the upper hand. But then, somehow, Mocha manages to pin Hazel to the grass and push her legs all the way back. The young deer grins and presses his pelvis down against Hazel’s crotch, using his weight to basically fold the rabbit in half. The bunny struggles angrily against Mocha’s weight, her orange fur growing hot and flickering like flames. In fact, it’s so hot that it’s difficult for Mocha to keep her there. He winces slightly as the rabbit’s fur starts to combust, striking back with furious licks of flame. Yet in spite of how badly it burns his fingers, Mocha continues to push down on the backside of Hazel’s knees. “Mmm, that burns good,” snickers the buck. “Got any more for me, bunny?” Hazel answers with a vicious growl. She lost her glasses in the scuffle, and now Mocha’s just a blurry silhouette. She’s too disoriented to know exactly what’s happening; all she knows is that she can feel the deer's little bulge pressing against her crotch. Her leggings are starting to ride, too, and it doesn’t take long for Mocha to notice that. “Heheheh! Nice cameltoe. Feels good…mmm, take it, bitch…” That proves to be the final straw. The rabbit reaches up suddenly with both paws, grabbing hold of Mocha’s throat. With all of her might, she squeezes his windpipe, and fire begins to snake its way up her arms. Each burst of heat sears the fur of the fawn, and soon there are two paw-shaped marks burned into his neck. “GGHKK! W-Weak! My brother…gghkk…chokes me harder…” “I’ll kill your brother,” snarls Hazel. “And you’re gonna watch.” “Let…let go! Ffffuckin…bitch!” Mocha’s grip starts to falter as his head gets fuzzy. Between that and the inferno burning beneath him, it isn’t long before Mocha loses control of the rabbit, and that cute little bunny face contorts into a twisted grin. And with all of the strength stored in her legs, Hazel unleashes one of the most destructive Flame Arts of the Old Rabbots: The Magnum Spring. With both legs primed for the perfect angle, she releases the potential energy stored in her leg muscles, and her whole body unloads like a spring. She delivers an explosive kick to Mocha’s shoulders, setting the deer ablaze and sending him hurtling into the wall of the house. Hazel stands up to tug her leggings out of her crotch while she tries to make sense of her immediate surroundings. Everything is incredibly blurry, and she hasn’t the foggiest idea where her glasses went. “David!” calls Hazel. “Find my glasses before one of these idiots steps on them!” The young dog is busy fending off Max, who is getting more pissed off by the second. He doesn’t have much time to search for Hazel’s glasses between vicious, angry swings of the Warlock. He decides to disengage, leaping backwards in the hopes that he’ll create enough space for him to locate the glasses. Sure enough, after a brief look around, he spots a shimmering light in the grass, not far away from where Mocha first collided with Hazel. When he dashes to retrieve them, he expects to be followed by Max. But the bloodthirsty, axe-swinging sociopath has turned his attention to Mocha, who is crawling towards him on all fours. The young dog takes the opportunity to toss Hazel her glasses. “Catch!” Predictably, Hazel doesn’t react in time, and they bounce off of her enormous forehead. “Gee, thanks.” She picks them up and pushes them back onto the bridge of her nose. Her vision clears just in time to watch Max grab Mocha by the leg and hoist him upside-down in the air. The fawn’s skirt falls down, exposing his striped black panties. Curiously, there are three different names sharpie’d onto the fabric. Two of them are just out of view, but one can be seen written across the crotch: MAX WICKER “Little brother, become my blade…strike these bitches down NOW!!!” He sinks the NERF Warlock into the dirt, abandoning it in favor of a deadlier weapon: His little brother. He slings Mocha over his right shoulder, and the fawn reaches across Max’s shoulder blades to grip the other. Mocha’s laughter is maniacal, delighted even. Like a little boy being tossed in the air by his dad. A primal growl rumbles in Max’s throat as he steps casually towards David, taking a leisurely stroll across the yard. And before the young canine can make a move, the buck swings Mocha at him. The little fawn shrieks like a kid on a roller coaster as his antlers collide with the side of David’s head. The dog goes hurtling face-down into the grass, and he doesn’t get back up. “DAVID!” Hazel shouts at the top of her lungs, her heart sinking as she watches her best friend eat the dirt. In that moment, she feels a shift in the air - the tables have turned, and suddenly she’s in danger. This is the power of the Wicker Weapon. An obnoxious, giggling deer turned into a terrifying tool of violence. A single swing has David out cold. Now, there isn’t much standing in the way between Hazel and Mocha’s business end. She takes a step back, and Max responds by stepping towards her, swinging his brother wildly through the air. The rabbit can hear Mocha taunting her, but the doppler effect distorts his voice, making it hard to tell what he’s even saying. Still, the air he displaces with every swing is enough to keep Hazel from thinking straight. For a brief moment, the rabbit considers retreat - maybe she should just grab David and run back home. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to. Six fat gunshots burst from behind her, and six orange darts hit Max in the abdomen, staggering him backwards onto his ass. The momentum sends Mocha’s antlers directly into the dirt, and he growls as he struggles to yank them out. The rabbit turns to see the figure of a boy in the sunlight - a young otter with a cowboy hat and a pair of fancy boots. He clutches a six-shooter in one of his paws - a NERF Maverick with a western-style paint job. “Here come a couple a’ degenerate antlerheads,” chuckles the otter. He blows the smoke from the barrel of his gun and swings the cylinder out to reload it. Hazel breathes a sigh of relief. “Sheriff! Thank freaking GOD.” Sheriff turns his head to survey the scene, his whiskers twitching in the breeze. His confident grin turns into a frown when he sees David lying motionless in the dirt. “The hell happened to him?” “THAT happened,” answers Hazel, pointing at the two Wicker brothers. Mocha grunts as his antlers are yanked out of the ground, and soon he is slung over Max’s shoulder once again. He wraps his little arms around his brother’s neck and laughs as they start to move forward to attack. “We were doing okay for a while!” huffs the rabbit. “But I wasn’t aware that a couple of stupid ungulates could turn into a freaking Megazord.” The Sheriff laughs and spits in the dirt. “A Megazord? Hell, I got somethin’ for that.” The otter holsters his Maverick and then proceeds to whip out a gun with a little more punch: The N-Strike Titan ASV-1. A massive launcher designed to fire a foot-long mega missile at high velocity. Normally, it’s severely limited by how long it takes to pump full of air. But Sheriff would never be caught dead with a Titan that isn’t already pumped to the fucking max. With one eye shut tight, he aims the weapon directly at Max’s sternum. By the time the Wicker brothers have recognized the threat, the Sheriff has already pulled the trigger. The mega missile glows like a shooting star as it rips through the summer air. At such a short range, there's no avoiding it; it slams into the buck’s body and violently explodes. The resulting boom knocks Hazel onto her butt, and it sets off car alarms all the way down the block. It’s enough force to send the Wicker brothers flying well over the roof of the house. Sheriff puts a paw to his ear, and he smiles when he hears them hit the ground with a distant thud. “So long, boys! Don’t come back.” Hazel runs up to the otter and hops right into his open arms. She giggles as he swings her around bridal-style, wrapping her little arms around his neck. “Sheriff O’Reilly, the long arm of the law! You should’ve seen how hard I kicked those Wicker Brothers.” The Sheriff turns to chuckle at the Wicker-shaped craters cracked into the side of the nearby house. “The ol’ Magnum Spring. Wish I coulda seen that.” “You wouldn’t happen to have an ice pack for David, would you?” “Shit, in this weather?” The otter lifts his hat to reveal a fresh, juicy ice pack seated atop his messy-haired head. “I don’t leave the house without it. Keeps my head cool.” He walks over to the defeated dog and drops the ice pack onto his head. Immediately, the boy starts to stir, lazily dragging himself from the dirt. His head is fucking killing him, but the ice makes the throbbing a lot more manageable. “Kill those filthy antlerheads immediately,” he grumbles, his voice muffled by the soil. “Already did that,” chuckles the otter. He gives David a light smack on the bottom. “Come on, boy, get up.” David picks his head up off the dirt, and his tail starts to wag when he sees the shadow of a cowboy hat cast across the yard. “Sheriff! Great timing, man, we were just about to knock on your door.” “What’s the occasion?” inquires the otter. He helps the young dog to his feet and starts to brush the dirt off his pants. “I’ll explain on the way - we gotta go to 7/11. Did you bring your bike?” “Sure did.” The Sheriff turns to gesture towards his steed - a rusty old bike with a wagon attached to the back. David grins from ear to ear, showing off all his pearly white canines. “Then let’s freaking ride.” ====================================== “7/11, bitch!” exclaims David. He stands before the front door with outspread arms as he beholds the classic convenience store. “Good thing we made it, too. If I don’t get a slurpee immediately, I’m gonna freakin’...EAT the nearest rabbit.” Hazel backs away from David a little. “I know I look tasty, but don’t eat me.” “No promises,” chuckles the dog as he holds the door open for the rest of his crew. In Deeptail, the 7/11 is a common site of pilgrimage for kids with voracious junk food cravings. Naturally, there’s quite a few kids walking around, perusing the shelves and lingering near the soda fountain. David happens to spot one such child - a young black cat slinking around the back of the store. She’s hard to spot from behind the shelves, but the boy needs only a glimpse of her to know exactly who she is. She’s wearing a huge beret and an oversized black coat that drapes all the way down to her ankles. There’s only one kid in Deeptail that dresses like that. So he puts his paws up to his mouth and shouts at her from across the 7/11. “JUNE! COME HERE, KITTY!” There’s a squeak and a violent thud as the feline bumps her head on the shelf above her. She peers over the aisle, utterly confused, until she happens to spot a familiar face. “Oh! David!” The young dog makes his way over to her and greets her with a thorough scratching behind the ears. The girl starts purring almost immediately, and she presses her head right into his paw. “Jesus, David, do you have to yell?” groans Hazel. She pauses when she spots June. “June! What a coincidence, we were just about to head to your house!” The feline’s ears twitch, her head cocked to one side. “What for?” “For RIPPERQUEST,” answers David. He puts a paw on the cat’s shoulder and speaks directly to her as he walks her down the snack aisle. “Junie. Junie-Z. Do you know about Ripperquest?” June shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of it!” “Well, it’s, uh…it’s a thing they had at Pizza Lair for a while. ‘Till it got shut down for some stupid reason.” The feline’s tail-tip flickers curiously. “Okay…” “But now, it’s back. And - Listen carefully, June.” He grabs her by the cheeks and tilts her whole head to look him in the eye. “One. Million. Tickets.” “One MILLION tickets?” she gasps between squished cheeks. “That’s right, kitty. One MILLION freaking tickets, for anyone who can take down Ripper. You know how I feel about that dragon, June. We’re gonna kill him TOMORROW.” June starts to hop up and down on her heels, her tail waving excitedly in the air. “Am I coming with you? Oh, please, David, I can help you guys!!” “Of course you’re coming with us,” assures the canine. He holds her by one cheek while he lightly slaps the other. “I need your little thieving paws and your inventory space.” The cat lets out a joyful mewl and wraps her arms around David. “YES!!! Oh my God, I’m gonna get so many freaking bouncy balls…” David laughs and gives her another scratch behind the ears. They’ve reached the end of the snack aisle now, and the Sheriff is standing before them, sipping on an ice cold bottle of IBC root beer. “Sheriff! June’s here.” The Sheriff laughs and takes off his hat, taking a moment to fix his messy brown hair. “Yeah, I knew that already.” June looks up at the otter with big, sad eyes. “And you didn’t say hi to me?” “Nope.” The Sheriff folds his arms. “I was waiting to see if you’d pocket those canned sardines.” There is a moment of awkward silence. All three kids stare at June expectantly. The cat folds her arms and flashes her most disarming smile. “Come on, Sheriff. I’m not a thief anymore! I’ve changed, honestly.” Sheriff folds his arms as well, and returns her smile with a smug, knowing grin. “You won’t mind if I check your coat, then?” “Not without a warrant,” giggles the feline. She waves her sleeves in his face - they’re too long for her little arms. “Well, technically, Sheriff doesn’t need a warrant,” interrupts Hazel. “Under the Plain View doctrine, he can search you if he saw you pocket something.” “She’s right,” barks Sheriff. He extends a paw towards June. “Now hand over the coat.” The cat huffs and turns away from him. “No!” “Alright.” Sheriff sighs and takes a step towards her. “I’ma just have to pat you down, then.” Before she can react, the otter pulls her wrists behind her back and locks them up in handcuffs. Real, genuine handcuffs. “What? H-Hey, wait!” The Sheriff slips his paws into June’s oversized coat, and the girl shudders a little as she feels his fingers slide over her slender little frame. But he isn’t after her shirt or her pants pockets - he’s after the coat. Lining the inside of the girl’s oversized black coat are pockets numbering in the hundreds, all haphazardly stitched into the fabric. They’re all of varying shapes and sizes, some much deeper than others. Some are secured with buttons or velcro, while others have zippers…sometimes even padlocks. Some of them are labeled, but most are not, leaving Sheriff with no choice but to check them all. Only June knows which pocket contains what, despite the fact that the contents seem to shift every day. This is the boundless, wild magic of the fabled Coat of Larceny. The otter sighs and starts to rummage through the pockets. David and Hazel hear the sound of velcro ripping and buttons popping as Sheriff begins his investigation, pulling out items one by one as he finds them. “Kit Kat bar…” “Bag of Skittles…” “Box of Mike n’ Ikes…” “Triple-A batteries…” “One, two, three, four, five…June, do you have every kind of soda in here?” “Um, I think so!” she answers. David busts out laughing. “All of them???” “I, uh…couldn’t decide.” June laughs nervously. “So I just took…all of them?” She scratches absent-mindedly at her left ear. “Ocean whitefish and tuna paté.” The sheriff chuckles and licks his chops. “I’m partial to catfish myself, but this looks pretty damn good…” “Ew,” scoffs Hazel. “I can smell that stuff from here…” “Plastic slinky...” “Hey, I just had that untangled!” squeaks the young feline. “Pool cue…” Hazel’s eyes widen as the wooden stick clatters to the floor. “Where…where the heck was she keeping that?” “Perplexus…3D maze?” David’s ears perk up.“Real shit? Which version? Let me see that.” He swipes the elaborate plastic ball maze from Sheriff and immediately starts to toy with it, hastily rolling the ball bearing into the ‘start’ position. “Wizardology.” Sheriff raises an eyebrow at the library sticker behind the cover of the ornate magic book. “How long has this been overdue, June?” “O-Overdue? I thought we could just take them?” The otter rolls his eyes and sets the book aside. Then he reaches back into her coat and continues to rummage around. His whiskers twitch when he pulls out a pair of panties sporting the Thunderclan logo. “Uh…are these your drawers?” “Uh, duhhhh,” scoffs June. “Put ‘em back!” Hazel squints at June. “I thought you were Shadowclan? You’ve…you’ve always been Shadowclan. We even took that quiz online to prove it.” The young feline avoids Hazel’s gaze, looking instead at the ceiling. “They didn’t have any Shadowclan panties at Wal-Mart.” The rabbit peers at June with a suspicious frown. Then she snatches the panties from Sheriff and examines the waistband. “These are mine!!!” Hazel gasps. Smoke billows from her nose as she glares at the cat, her face red with fiery anger and embarrassment. “Why do you have my panties, June???” “They’re cute, okay! I’m sorry!” The feline looks up at Hazel with big, guilty eyes. “I was serious about Wal-Mart; there really weren’t any!” “What’s the point of Warrior Cats panties if no one’s gonna see them?” wonders David. “It’s the principle, David! You wouldn’t understand!” The rabbit groans and stuffs the underwear into her leggings. “Ugh! June, I love you, but sometimes…” “Are y’all done bickering?” the Sheriff growls. “Let me continue my investigation.” With that, he continues to rummage through June’s enormous coat. “An entire XBOX.” “Another XBOX.” “Bouncy ball…” “Bouncy ball…” “Bouncy ball…” “Bouncy ball…good lord, June, how many of these damn things do you need?” “I lose them a lot,” sighs the feline. “Ahuh.” The Sheriff rolls his eyes as he reaches back into the coat. “I feel plastic…that’s a nerf gun.” “I have a concealed carry permit somewhere in there.” “Hang on…” The otter grasps at the grip of the gun, feeling it over with his paw. “This is a Hornet. June, I swear to god, if this is the Hornet I lost in February…” June gulps audibly and looks away from him. “It, uh…it is.” “Yeah, sure enough,” sighs the otter as he pulls it out. He rubs his thumb over a mark etched into the plastic - his initials, S.O.R. “Wait, wait, wait,” David interrupts, his hands raised in a ‘stop’ motion. “Sheriff kept that under his pillow. How the hell did you steal that?” June giggles nervously and shrugs her shoulders. Sheriff checks the barrels - all six of them are loaded. He scowls when he takes out one of the rounds. “Stole my ammunition, too.” “How do you know?” Hazel raises an eyebrow at the otter. “Do you initial your nerf darts too?” Sheriff holds up a round so that Hazel can see the S.O.R. sharpie’d into the foam. The bunny sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know what I expected.” The otter stuffs the nerf gun into his pants and continues to search through June’s coat. Until he feels something…warm. Two things, both warm and squishy. He gives them both a squeeze; they feel like a pair of warm water balloons. “What…what the hell?” “Those are my boobs!” yowls June. The otter snatches his hands away from June’s chest and slooooowly backs away. “I’m sorry, I uh…Didn’t realize what they were. On account of their size n’ all.” The young feline looks up with hurt in her eyes. “Are you saying my boobs are small? I know Hazel’s are bigger, but I’m only eleven…” “Look, we’re just about done here,” he says, changing the subject. The Sheriff hooks his thumbs under his belt and turns to face the others. “Never found them canned sardines, but I believe the evidence speaks for itself. What do y’all think?” “I think she’s guilty,” growls the indignant rabbit. “And I don’t care.” David taps his foot impatiently. “We got bigger fish to fry! Get it over with.” “Fair enough. June Zion, I find you guilty of second-degree petty theft and unlawful possession of a deadly weapon.” He leans in close, close enough that her face is cast in the shadow of his hat. “You know what I gotta do next.” June stares at him in silence for a few seconds. She glances at Hazel and David behind him, and then past them, at the front door. And then, with a growl, she bolts past the three of them and makes a break for the door. But she doesn’t make it very far before a lasso flies over her head and secures around her torso, sending her tumbling down. David and Hazel watch in awkward silence as the Sheriff scoops up the kitty and hoists her over his shoulder. “Waah! That’s not faaaair!” whines June. She kicks her legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “I want a lawyer!” “Ain't no lawyers in my town,” chuckles Sheriff. He reaches up and gives her a pat on the bottom, hauling her right out the front door of the 7/11. “It’s just me, my six-shooter, and my right paw.” ====================================== A loud slap echoes from behind the 7/11, followed by a cry of feline anguish. The Sheriff sits on an air conditioner unit with an unruly cat laid over his lap. Her jeans are pulled down just enough to expose her little ass to his ruthless right paw. “Do we have to do this here?” whispers Hazel. She looks around anxiously, “Can’t we do this at June’s house? What if someone sees us?” “Never you mind that,” answers the Sheriff. He raises the base of June’s long, restless tail, keeping it out of the way while he spanks her. “Am I still allowed to come with you guys?” mewls June. “I’ve never even been to Pizza Lair…” “Yes, dude,” sighs David. He takes a big sip of his cherry slurpee. “Why wouldn’t we include you?” The cat shrugs. “Because I stole from the gas station again - OW!!” Sheriff smacks her across the ass again, forcing a cry from her throat - and a few loose dominoes from her coat pockets. “Dude, I don’t care if you steal. I’m not your dad.” He glances up at the vengeful young otter. “Or the Sheriff.” June frowns and stares dejectedly at the concrete. “But I don’t have any money…” “Relax, I’ve got you covered,” assures the dog. “I can ask my mom to buy two tickets.” The girl’s ears perk up and swivel towards him; she looks up at him with a hopeful smile. “Really?” “Yeah, really.” “Oh my god, you’re the best!” the feline mewls. Then she cries out in pain as Sheriff leaves another pawprint on her asscheek. David scratches himself under the chin. “I hope you guys can cover your own tickets, cuz my mom’s probably only gonna pay for two…” “I ain’t worried about it,” answers Sheriff. “My sister’s always got my expenses covered. Hell, she’s the one that pays for all my guns.” David turns to look at Hazel, taking another sip of his slurpee. “What about you?” “Uh…I don’t know.” The bunny shrugs her little shoulders. “It depends on if they’re still thirty dollars a ticket…” “Thirty dollars???” growls Sheriff. “Since when???” David shakes his head. “No, the regular ticket’s still only, like… ten dollars. But they made it so that you have to get the thirty dollar ticket if you wanna do Ripperquest.” “Thaaaat’s stupid.” He raises his paw and spanks June again, causing her to squeal and kick her legs. “Owwwwww!” She looks up at Hazel with shaky, wet eyes. “I’ve been spanked enough, okay? I’m sorry for stealing!” Hazel smirks and shakes her head. “You know, if the police catch you stealing, it goes on your record, and then you’ll never get a job. And then your parents will kick you out, and then you’ll be homeless, and then you’ll become a crack whore.” David raises an eyebrow. “The heck is a crack whore?” “It’s, uh…” She scratches her soft, fuzzy cheek as she tries to remember. “I dunno, my dad never told me. Look, let’s just wrap this up before someone catches us…” “I hope someone catches you,” hisses June. She sticks out her little pink tongue at her friends. “Why’d you have to pull my pants down, Sheriff? Everyone can see my - OW!!!” Another vicious slap stings her ass - a couple of bouncy balls roll out of her sleeves. The Sheriff tugs on the waistband of June’s bright green panties and then lets them snap back onto her waist. “Wouldn’t hurt otherwise. If you keep bitchin’ I’m gonna pull your drawers off, too.” June twists her body around - shockingly flexible, even for a cat - and shoots Sheriff a wild, murderous look. Her pupils narrow into ferocious, hungry slits; she looks like she might try to maul him to death. “If you freaking do that then you guys aren’t allowed to come to my house.” Sheriff chuckles and shakes his head. “I ain’t gonna do that! I was just messin’ with you.” He reaches over and scratches June behind the ears. “You get three more.” The young feline sighs and leans into the otter’s petting, purring in spite of her stinging rear end. “What about two? Pleeeeease, Sheriff?” “Nope.” He smacks her abruptly across the ass, and David and Hazel struggle not to laugh at the noise she makes. “So, Hazel,” the young dog starts again. “I looked it up. The tickets are the same price as last time.” “Oh. Really? Then it probably won’t be an issue.” The rabbit folds her arms and watches as June takes another slap to the ass. Her cute green panties are starting to ride, though not enough to reveal anything…yet. If it were anyone else, she’d surely be looking away, but at this point she and the boys have seen June’s underwear dozens of times. “Is your mom gonna give us a ride?” she asks David. “SHIT,” he barks. “She’s gonna be at work. I didn’t think about that. God, we’ll have to take the FREAKIN’ bus.” Hazel punches him in the shoulder. “Don’t cuss so loud! I can ask my sister to take us.” “Alright then, damn.” David rubs his shoulder and waves to the otter, who is raising his paw to spank June one last time. “Sheriff! Let’s blow this scene. We’re going to June’s house.” “Heard that. We’ll be done here shortly...” The Sheriff brings his paw down across the kitty’s ass, spanking her one last time. Hard enough that she’ll hopefully remember not to steal shit in the future. June throws her head back and cries out in anguish. She kicks her little legs as the pain swells over her whole ass. And then, the Sheriff unlocks her handcuffs and gives her an affectionate pat on the head. “A-Are we done?” the cat whimpers. “Yep, that’s it.” The otter hooks a finger under one of her belt loops and pulls her pants back up to her hips. “Now saddle up -we’re heading to your house.” In spite of the pawprints that sting her asscheeks, June leaps to her feet as though nothing has happened. She tries her best to play off her pain as she settles down into the makeshift bike wagon. Thus the kids mount up one by one, hauling a bounty of snacks and soda. And then, they take off, bidding farewell to the 7/11. They cruise along on the long, winding road, riding on beat-up old steeds. Cruising past dozens and dozens of houses, including the massive DuFrain estate. Onwards and into the rough side of town, where the homes are worn-out and often abandoned. June’s house is hidden away at the outskirts, and in spite of the neighborhood, it’s where the four of them always convene. A place made into the perfect home after years of construction and careful design. One built from chairs, blankets, pillows, and box fans. The vast and illustrious Fortress of Zion.