A single beam of light cuts through the dark, ashy air beneath the Dream Boulevard subdivision. The light illuminates floating dust particles and broken concrete and machinery. Small pockets of flame flicker in piles of rubble, and the stench of burnt chemicals mix with burnt wires, charred metal, and cooked flesh.

  Mortimer and Jayson travel through the wreckage of the Reel Sight factory, their steps careful, and Mortimer holding the only flashlight.

  Their steps kick up swirling dust particles and they climb over chunks of fallen concrete. They carefully step over a twisted metal beam. Mortimer's tail twitches nervously from the silence between him and Jayson, and he fights the urge to fill it with pointless chatter. But soon the urge becomes too great, and the words blurt out of Mortimer’s mouth like an exploding zit.

  “So, Jayson, bro to bro, what’s up with you and Lexia?” asks Mortimer.

  “Nothing,” says Jayson simply.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Jayson’s ears flatten as he climbs over a slab of scorched cement. He keeps moving, eyes locked on the patches of illumination from Mortimer’s flashlight, and Mortimer stays close by him, moving his flashlight in lazy circles as he carefully travels through the rubble.

  “I’m not trying to be intrusive or anything, but I think you and Lexia have a weird relationship, and she’s tried snatching me a time or two already. So, if you have an official thing going on, you should really tell her to cut it out before Claribel bites her in the neck,” says Mortimer.

  “There’s nothing between us. Lexia is just weird and gets randomly clingy,” says Jayson.

  “Why?”

  Jayson pauses to look at Mortimer critically, and Mortimer stops and shrugs innocently.

  “What? We’re allies now. I’m just curious how a weirdo like you and a weirdo like Lexia are not a thing and why you’re both weirdos. Well, mostly her, because you haven’t drooled over me, yet,” says Mortimer.

  “Yet?” repeats Jayson.

  “Foxes have been named the Sexiest Species of the Year four times by Global Times Magazine,” says Mortimer proudly.

  Jayson rolls his eyes, and the two continue walking through the burnt factory, their steps echoing in the darkness, footprints left in soot, and mangled machinery and computers barely seen as black blobs in the dark.

  “You know, now that I think about it, you’re the only fox I have ever seen. Like, ever. Claribel is the only snake I’ve ever seen, too,” says Jayson.

  “What can I say? Foxes aren’t really big on the whole interacting with other people thing, and the snake population hasn’t recovered after the Toxic War,” says Mortimer.

  “Where do foxes mostly live?”

  “Oh, we live…” Mortimer pauses in voice and movement. “Wait a minute.”

  Jayson stops and looks at Mortimer. “What?”

  Mortimer points accusingly at Jayson. “You’re trying to change the subject! What’s the deal with you and Lexia, and why are you both weird?”

  Jayson sighs heavily and rubs his eyes. “There’s nothing going on between us. She’s just a brutish flirter. I’m weird because my wife was murdered by Mama Bear and I refuse to die until she’s dead. Lexia is weird because her father was murdered by the Mama Bear Syndicate when she was in high school, and it messed her up bad.” Jayson lowers his hand, staring at Mortimer harshly. “The end. Let’s find Claribel’s hat before Lexia has another manic episode.”

  They resume walking and Mortimer snorts, a harsh, dismissive laugh that echoes in the dark ruins.

  “I’m not buying it. There’s definitely something going on between you two. When you whacked Claribel across the street and then knocked Ramsey into the atmosphere, that was wrath. That only happened when Lexia got hurt badly,” says Mortimer.

  He shines his flashlight right into Jayson’s face, catching the twitch in Jayson's jaw and the way his nose wrinkles at the glare.

  “You lover boy, you,” teases Mortimer.

  Jayson snaps around and looks Mortimer right in the eyes, meeting his teasing grin with an annoyed frown. “There’s nothing, okay? We are not compatible.”

  His breathing goes ragged, his whiskers twitching and hand gripping his cosmic weapon’s hilt tightly.

  Mortimer’s smile remains, all sharp teeth and shadows enhancing the crevices of his burnt scar. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But now I’m curious about your stick?”

  “My cosmic wood sword? Yeah, I used to work real estate. That’s how I got it,” says Jayson.

  Now Mortimer’s smile disappears. “What? … Dude, that’s not a sword. That’s a fighting stick-”

  “Cosmic fighting wood stick is too many syllables,” says Jayson defensively.

  “And secondly, how does your real estate explain the thingy your stick does-?” adds Mortimer.

  “It doesn’t, but I don’t even know how or why it does the time warping thing. But it’s cool.”

  “Thirdly, real estate? Seriously? That is stupid boring.”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

  “My disappointment in everything about your old career is, like, twelve degrees Kelvin.”

  Jayson sneers. “What?”

  “That’s negative four hundred and thirty-eight point oh seven degrees Fahrenheit.”

  Jayson’s sneer remains, his eyes slightly closed, and Mortimer shrugs again.

  “It’s chemistry, Jayson. You know, the thing we all take in high school,” says Mortimer.

  “What’s eighty-nine degrees Kelvin?” asks Jayson.

  “Negative two hundred ninety-nine point forty-seven degrees Fahrenheit,” says Mortimer calmly

  “One hundred Kelvin?”

  “Negative two seventy-nine point sixty-seven degrees Fahrenheit.”

  “Two hundred and sixty-two Kelvin?”

  “Eleven point nine three degrees Fahrenheit.” Mortimer holds up a finger, grinning. “Buuut~ If you want to round it up to twelve degrees Fahrenheit then it needs to be two sixty-two point oh three eight-eight-eight-nine degrees Kelvin.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Jayson stares at Mortimer. His brain jams for several seconds, then resets with a violent twitch of his left eyelid. “That’s the most autistic thing you’ve ever said.”

  Mortimer’s tail flicks, his smile smug. “You’re just jealous that I can calculate Kelvin conversions on the fly.”

  Suddenly, the floor shatters beneath Mortimer and he drops with a loud shriek into the dark pit below. There is a thud, and concrete crashes and metal clangs. Bits of broken concrete drop from the edges of the new hole and Jayson drops to his knees, peering over, seeing Mortimer lying on his back, flashlight a few feet away from him and a ring of rubble surrounding him.

  “Mortimer!” calls Jayson, his voice echoing in the dark.

  “Ow…” groans Mortimer.

  “Is anything broken? Can you move? Can you feel your legs? How's your vision?” says Jayson rapidly.

  “I'm fine,” says Mortimer, his hand waving loosely in the air. His hand drops on his face, covering his eyes. “I got a headache, though. And I'm pretty sure my soul was shoved back in my body.”

  Jayson sighs, a brief smile flickering on his face. “Hang on. I'm climbing down.”

  “I'd rather you not. If you hurt yourself, Lexia might break my leg,” says Mortimer.

  “Nah. She'd laugh at me.”

  Jayson tests the edges of the hole and the rebar poking through. He squints his eyes to analyze the dark shapes in the shadows, and after a couple of deep breaths, he begins his careful climb down, grabbing rebar, wires, and openings in the concrete. When he reaches the bottom, Mortimer is still on his back, staring at the hole.

  Jayson goes to him and gently puts him in the sitting position, with his hand cupping the back of Mortimer's head. After he is sitting up, Jayson holds up three fingers.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” asks Jayson.

  “Three.” Mortimer stands up, dust rolling off his fur and clothes, then he grabs his flashing and sweeps the area flashlight. “Why isn’t anything ever easy?”

  Jayson doesn’t answer. His eyes follow the light, seeing that they are in a corridor doubled over by the weight of all the wrecked junk above them. The ceiling’s caved, and broken rails and pipe conduits snake along the walls.

  Mortimer limps forward, cursing under his breath and rubbing his head.

  “I love Claribel to death, but when we find her hat, she's going to owe me big time,” says Mortimer.

  “Well, I got bad news. We're farther away from where her hat fell off,” says Jayson.

  Mortimer groans. “Of course we are. Stupid floor… I don't even know what this place is.”

  Jayson looks at the concrete walls and floor, noticing nothing special about it, other than asphalt. “Maybe it was one of the factory exportation areas.”

  “Could be. I didn't get a chance to explore this place much before you and your merry band of rejects torched it.”

  They walk for another couple of minutes, but come to a stop when they hear shuffling, and see a dark blob move behind a pile of destroyed crates. Mortimer snarls and his free hand tenses, creating a brief aura of unstable electricity.

  “If it's another tentacle monster I'm going to be pissed,” says Mortimer.

  Jayson draws his cosmic wood sword and holds it tight with one hand. “Same. By the way, that was cool what you did with your hand.”

  “Thanks. It just kinda happened, but it made me feel awesome.”

  Jayson smiles for a brief moment again but turns his focus back to where the blob was, his blue eyes hardening and his grip tightening. Mortimer’s nose and ears twitch, and he keeps his light on the stack of crates.

  Then a lanky figure leaps on top of the crates with a loud thud, back arched, finger digging into the wood, and their bright white eyes glowing in the dark. Their smile spreads into a white void, and strips of blackness break away.

  “Hello, Jayson. Did you miss me?” says Lexanne, her voice echoing in Jayson’s ears.

  Jayson makes a short, sharp scream and jumps back, as does Mortimer. Lexanne jumps down, crouching into a near ball. Then she stands up, bones cracking as she rolls her shoulders and neck, and Jayson’s vision blurs as his wide eyes tear up. When he blinks, he sees a male coyote standing where Lexanne was, his clothes and vest singed, his eyes glowing red, and his gray and brown fur thinned around his eyes. On top of his head is Claribel’s hat.

  “Hell-Oh! Guizz!” says the coyote. The coyote giggles, eyelid twitching and lips trembling for his toothy smile. “It’s been… Looo-hh-ng. Loh-ng time since I saw someone.”

  “What in the world,” says Mortimer.

  “I legit thought he was a demon for a moment,” says Jayson.

  “No, this guy is a demon.”

  “You have never seen a demon before.”

  “But I-hhh… Have!” says the coyote. He stalks closer, making Mortimer and Jayson step back. He circles his eyes with his fingers. “C-oh-me… See with me… They said… The shahh-dows… See.”

  “Yeah… okay,” says Mortimer. He shines the light on Claribel’s hat. “Bud, can we have that hat, please? We’ll get out of your hair, and you can continue hanging out with the shadows without us.”

  “No,” says the coyote.

  “Oh, sure. He says that normally,” sneers Mortimer. “Look, guy, just give us the hat.”

  “No.”

  “Give us the hat! It’s not yours! It belongs to my girlfriend!”

  “Nhhh-oh!”

  Mortimer growls. “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

  “I-hh’d like toseeyoutryfluffpoople!”

  Mortimer and Jayson lock up. Both of their brows and muzzles scrunched in confusion.

  “Is fluff poople derogatory?” asks Jayson out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been called a fluff poople before,” replies Mortimer. Then to the coyote. “Alright, weirdo. Last chance. Hat, or your face in concrete. Which is it going to be?”

  “I-hhh’m Carlos Guac, and if you whh-ant my hat, you’ll have to claim it!” says the coyote.

  The coyote, Carlos, then braces himself and extends his finger claws to the length of a forearm, screaming and cackling in pain as he does so. Both Jayson and Mortimer’s eyes bulge at this, and Jayson is sure he heard Mortimer’s heart stop with his.

  “Oh, hell no,” says Mortimer.

  Jayson readies his weapon. “This is gonna suck.”

  Carlos snickers, scratches the asphalt beneath his hands, and charges them, releasing a high-pitched shriek with a raspy scream beneath it. Mortimer and Jayson scream in fright, and when Carlos’s claws go for the kill, Jayson blocks it with his wooden weapon, legs buckling on impact and his teeth gritted. He shoves Carlos back, and the coyote scampers across the floor and climbs on the wall.

  “Mortimer, keep the light on him!” yells Jayson.

  Mortimer’s flashlight beam locks on Carlos as the coyote skitters up the wall like a bug, claws scraping the busted concrete. Carlos’s red eyes pulse in the dark, his grin splitting wider, bones popping as his arms reach out and flex longer, and the claws from his fingers grow, digging deeper into the concrete, leaving thick gouges.

  Jayson’s eye twitches, his cosmic wood sword up, and Mortimer stumbles back, flashlight jittering but never leaving Carlos.

  Carlos leaps off the wall, screaming as he torpedoes himself towards Jayson. Jayson blocks, the cosmic wood smacking against Carlos’s claws with a loud crack. Electricity arcs off Mortimer’s hand as he zaps off a spark instinctively and Carlos yelps, twisting his whole body and flopping on the ground. But Carlos quickly recovers, and right as he rolls to his feet, Jayson swings at him.

  Carlos ducks, the cosmic wood sword slamming into a chunk of broken pipe instead. The impact breaks the pipe, and Carlos kicks Jayson away and lunges towards Mortimer, his grin wide, red eyes blazing, and his sharp teeth gleaming from drool.

  Mortimer’s fur stands up, and he flashes out his palm. A burst of electric bolts shoots from his palm, striking Carlos in the face, sending him flying and crashing into a stack of damaged crates that shatter upon impact, revealing tins of Reel Sight.

  Mortimer takes a heavy breath, and then runs towards Carlos, who is laying on the splintered wood and hay, twitching and eyes rolling with smoke rising from him.

  “Give me that,” says Mortimer, snatching the hat off Carlos’s head. He brushes off the dust and ash, and inspects it with his flashlight, finding some fire damage, but all things considered, not in awful condition. He secures the hat around his neck, so it hangs against his back, and waves Jayson to follow him. “Come on, Hobo. Let’s get out of here.”

  Jayson stares at Carlos, waiting for his stiff form to move beyond twitches. When that doesn’t happen, he nods and follows Mortimer. The fox has already gotten a few paces, his flashlight leading the way in the tunnel, so Jayson jogs after him. Then they freeze, and their fur stands up.

  A wet, gurgling laughter echoes in the damaged tunnel behind them. The pair slowly turn around, Mortimer’s light on Carlos once more. Carlos plants his feet on the pavement and pushes himself like a puppet being tugged upright from rafters.

  Carlos giggles again, arms swaying as he walks in a circle, stopping when his back is to Jayson and Mortimer. The two watch him, hearts erratic, lungs strained, and eyes drying from the fear of blinking.

  "I want to show you a trick," says Carlos.

  The coyote's right arm rotates at the shoulder, making wet, popping noises as it goes a full three hundred and sixty degrees until the elbow is the opposite direction it’s supposed to be. Then he does the same for his left arm. Followed by his right leg. Then his left. And lastly, his head turns fully around, his eyes and teeth glowing in the flashlight’s illumination, and he flexes, pushing his spine to the opposite direction.

  Jayson and Mortimer’s jaws are wide open, skin pale beneath their fur, and Carlos’s grin widens, his lips stretching all the way to his pointed ears.

  “I’mgoingtokillyounow,” says Carlos.

  Then he releases a two-toned shriek, drops to his hands and feet, limbs bent like an arachnid, and he ruses towards them with jittery movements, his claws making clickity clacks on the asphalt.

  Jayson and Mortimer’s scream echoes in the tunnel, and Carlos jumps.