“Tiff! Are you okay?!” Nick shouted in a panic, sliding over beside her. He stared in disbelief—her curbstomped face looked almost as good as new (aside from being coated in blood).

  He checked her pulse—steady. He shook her gently.

  Nothing.

  He shook her harder.

  Still nothing.

  *Snort! Zzzzzzz......* Nick sat back, looking at his partner taking a nap. He put a hand to his face and slowly shook it.

  *Boy, I'm glad you're okay, but you're really gonna power nap here? Now? Ugghhh—*

  “Hey, Moyra! Got a sec!?” he hollered toward the monstrous river noodle.

  “Aye?” she replied, voice a bit more high-pitched than in her human form.

  She stopped patting down Francis after fishing out a fob-like device, wiggling her body in a comedic celebratory dance as she pocketed the fob. It kinda reminded him of one of those crazy waving inflatable arm men you'd see at a used car lot or a Memorial Day sale. She then wandered over to Nick and his napping partner.

  “Yes, dearie?” she asked, craning her body into an almost pretzel-like bend to face Nick eye to eye as she sat down. She leaned in closer, her whiskers close enough to tickle his face. Her breath smelled like fresh salmon and lemon.

  “First off, thanks for the help. It was really—appreciated...”

  “Ah sure, think nothin’ of it, lad. That fecker of a Pherose was a stain on my people. Got wha’ was comin’ to ’im, so he did. Sellin’ out his own? Feck me... makes me stomach turn, it does.”

  "Look, I hate to pry... you seem like a nice lady... why are you hanging with these assholes?" Nick asked as he pulled two guns from his back pockets, laying them across his lap. He sat in a pile of leaves beside his slumbering partner, admiring his new toys. Spotting his 1911 to the side, he reached over, picked it up, and re-holstered it.

  She began to speak—explaining her *very* brief history with the family, the falling out with Francis. What she'd uncovered about his operations only came too late, through a small, private investigation. (She wasn't an investigator, but something... well, everything about the job didn't sit right with her.)

  The deeper she dug, the more it unsettled her: most of the people she’d been working with were rats, and that never sat right.

  She hadn’t met Francis right away. She walked through the transport gate a couple of weeks ago, so she just recently met him about a week after arrival—the moment she noticed he had no tail, she knew something was off. But it was his log reports that confirmed it. What she saw in them was worse.

  Her eyes misted over at the memory—manifest logs and payment receipts, each signed by Francis McConnell. Every manifest sheet tracked Pharoses being transported for sale. And the receipts… they broke her heart. Francis listed as the main payment recipient. Paid for every soul shipped out like freight.

  Her dark eyes shimmered. Now Nick got a proper look at them: they weren’t just empty pits—they were warm, round wells of chocolate, her irises glowing faintly with the prettiest lava-red he'd ever seen. Wet from tears, nearly luminous.

  Nick just stares at her eyes, lost in the colors, his brain scattered with thoughts as he listened and watched her. *You know when I imagined aliens... I would've never guessed that they'd be an emotional... mess... I think Tiff was right about her, she seems like a good person.* He thought as she finished up with her explanation.

  "What'd you rip out of him? You ripped open his neck and spit out a piece of metal."

  "Aye, good eye ya’ve got there, dearie," she said with a wink, a tear trickled down her white-furred cheek. "Ah, sure that was just a holo-collar, so it was. Sorry ’bout that—I’ll admit Ey got a bit carried away back there. That’s why his form went changin’ when Ey broke it, y’see. It was nothin’ more than a disguise… not like the implant E’ve got meself." She said, tapping the back of her neck with her large, meaty, webbed paw.

  "Wait—is that common with you creatures? The chips... or... implants you called them?" he asked as his eyes drifted towards her large, heaving chest.

  She looked at him, following his gaze, then gave a mischievous smile, showing her many small, sharp teeth as she leaned down a little lower, subtly inhaling a deep breath. She watched him as his eyes grew about as steady as her chest, which was already bulging around the confines of her flannel top. She couldn't take it anymore watching the poor fellow.

  *Sniker—ahaaaha*

  "See somethin’ ye like, Mr. DICKSON?"

  Her playful laugh snapped him out of his daydream.

  "Um... What? Ye— I mean no, eh... sorry, I zoned out..."

  "Aye—Ey could tell..." she purred coyly, cupping a melon sized breast.

  *Shrrrp!*

  Moyra's eyes shrunk slightly, her black lips pulled into a tight, straight line as she froze as the stitches on the side of her shirt started to give way.

  "E'll, feck... Ey guess flennel int to fergivin in this form... sorry about that, Ey was just havin’ a bit o' fun..."

  The red and flustered Nick shook his head in agreement as he turned to look over at his still-unconscious partner sawing logs, a small snot bubble slowly growing with every exhale.

  "Hold yer Caballas's, let meh change back—avert yer eys, please..." That coy smile crept back across her furry white, blunt snout.

  "Thet is... unless ye wanna watch?"

  She taunted with a wink.

  The still flustered Dixion kept his head turned away toward the all-but-comatose wolf.

  "Ey, yer no fen then..." Moyra chided playfully with a pout before shifting back to her less-than-amusing/intimidating, *ahem* (smaller, among other things), human form.

  *snep-snep-pop-crack-thamp*

  Nick heard the rumpling of clothing, cutting a peek at her just enough to notice she was tying her shirt to re-adjust it.

  "Aaaannnn, decent I am! Ye ken look now... prude..."

  Nick turned to face Moyra, who slickly moved in closer as he turned. He was greeted with her flannel-encased melons; she cradled her breasts gently in the crook of her arms, elbows drawn inward as if framing them.

  *All these years of regular women and I couldn't get a date if I tried. Now I'm trying to help save the city, if not more, and apparently out-of-towners don't have men where they come from,* Nick thought as he started to rub his eyes and temples.

  "Look, Ma'am—" Nick said, trying to steer things in a more productive direction.

  "Moyra... but—ye ken call meh... fer dinner if ye'd... prefer," she crooned, leaning forward.

  He just stared at her with his usual tired, unamused expression as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

  "Melon... I mean, Moyra, look, we're trying to get inside the shielded area over there," he said, pointing a cigarette toward the dense forest past Moyras side. "Can you help us?"

  That coy smile pulled across her face as she leaned back, propping herself back with both arms, giving Nick a full display of her toned stomach and re-adjusted chest on display.

  "Mayhaps. What's innit fer meh?"

  "Well, for starters—even though I'm grateful for your help—I'm not sure of the rules of the GSA, but by my laws you'd be arrested for bare minimum being a suspect, maybe an accomplice, Aiding and abetting. I'm sure we could think of something else, given the company you kept.... Besides, the headless one over there said they hired you for security or whatever, so that matches up with your story earlier. Then you mentioned you looked at trafficking manifests. You can't claim to be ignorant with that little bit of given info."

  “Ahh, ye’ve got a fair point there, so ye do... but truth be told, ye ken say Ey was a Privateer. That’s best Ey can offer, if I’m bein’ honest with ye. It was meant to be a proper security job when I took it—legit, y’know? But when I got here... found out who I was really workin’ for... well, at that stage, it was too late.”

  Nick nodded, cigarette hanging from his mouth as he slowly puffed and enjoyed the feeling of the cool, soft ground. His gaze drifted off to the treetops, watching the sun that could no longer be seen from his position—its fading light casting shadows from the canopy onto the forested ground below, letting him know they needed to wrap things up soon.

  "Why didn't you just turn down the job when you found out who it was, or what it detailed?" he asked inquisitively.

  An unusually grim frown creased her freckled face.

  "Ye don’t just walk away from the Fratelli lot, y’know? Either ye keep yer head doon and stay quiet, or ye disappear off the map—and that’s if ye’re lucky. But if they’ve marked ye as a problem, ye won’t just vanish. They’ll put ye front and center, make an example of ye—right where everyone ken see." she said as her body shuddered at the thought, her blue eyes squinched tight as she tried to physically shake the thought away.

  "I'm going to be blunt—how do we get past the camo-field?" he asked her with a serious look on his face.

  She contemplated his question as she scooted closer to sit beside him, placing a large slender hand on his upper thigh.

  "Seeew, beck to mah original question—what do Ey get if Ey agree to help the handsome and brave Mr. Dixion?" she crooned, drifting her fingers up higher.

  He grabbed her hand, but not in the way she was hoping, pinching between her thumb and index finger—hard.

  "Aye! Yeeoow! Fine, ya stick'en da mud, E'll 'elp! Geeeez, that's a heckova grip ya got!" she cried, yanking her hand back and shaking it.

  "It's called pressure points. It has nothing to do with grip or strength. Now, we're losing daylight—can you give us access? Maybe help do something with the humans over there?"

  She pulled the fob out of her jeans pocket, dangling it in front of Nick.

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  "Fine, ya cockbite—take it," she said, deflated, being blocked by every pass she attempted.

  "Ah, don't be like that, I've got a job to do... Why do you like me so much anyway?"

  The question seemed to catch her off guard. She folded her long legs into herself, wrapping her arms around them, rocking back and forth, thinking about what happened that evening.

  “Eh, if Ey 'ad a guess... seemed like you stood up for meh. A gentleman is hard to find these days, especially in meh line of work. Not to mention meh own people—don’t find me attractive. The Pharose males dent tek interest in larger... companions, and E'm about as large es they come.”

  Nick chuckled, earning a sour expression from Moyra.

  “Whet's so fenny?” she asked, cutting a glare at him.

  “Well yeah, you certainly are a big woman,” he said, laughing.

  She closed her eyes and sighed.

  *Sigh* “Aye, that Ey em.” She replied with that still sour face, sulking. Nick just smiled at her.

  “I can't speak for your people, but plenty of men on this planet love tall women. I've got a friend I know does.” He said with a chuckle, trying to cheer her up a smidge

  She smiled back at him, still, slowly rocking back and forth.

  “One more thing—ye seem nice. Ye can also say Ey have eh thing for Skinz,” she added with a grin and a wink.

  “Skinz?” Nick asked, inhaling his cigarette, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Aye, that's whatcha bald monkeys have been known as to us,” she said matter-of-factly, her chipper self slowly restoring.

  "How about a date?" she asked point blank, still hugging her legs, rocking slowly as she gazed off into the distance.

  He was somewhat surprised at her bluntness but halfheartedly expected nothing less from the fast-moving river noodle.

  "Okay, get the humans to safety and give us access, and I promise you a date."

  *This all seems too good to be true as for what I'm asking in exchange... sigh, whatever. I'll just roll with it.*

  She stopped rocking, craning her head towards him.

  "Wha? Ey wasn't expecting ye to actually agree... Aight then, Ey'll be yer errand lass. That fob I gave ye's an access key. All ya have to do is walk through the field and it'll recognize ye and give ye access."

  She rocked forward, getting up and doing a full-length body stretch, showing off her amazingly toned yet unusually long and narrow midsection as her shirt rode up high—slightly hefting her breasts—as her spine and shoulders went

  *pop—pop—pop—craaaack—.*

  After stretching her thick, muscular legs and arms, she went and gently picked up the two Skinz, hefting one over each shoulder.

  "Aight, eym genna run these two to the outskirts and drop 'em off. Ey'll meetcha at the facility when Ey get back. If ye make it in without me, ey'll just... keep maiself bezzy."

  "Sounds good... "Nick replied getting up. "Here, take this." He said pulling a card out of his pocket handing it too her.

  "Eh? Whas this?" she asked, taking the card, looking over the front and flipping it over to inspect. It only had text and a magnifying glass on the front:

  Detective Division: Adam McFarlane & Nick Dickson. 225-773-2554 or 225-773-2555.

  "That's my local friend and partner. If anything happens, contact him. Or, if you need a place to hide out, call Adam—tell him *Dick* sent you. He'll know what to do." She nods and pockets the card, disappearing into the now-closing evening as she heads off in the direction of town at a very speedy but smooth gait, Skinz held tight upon her protective shoulders.

  With Moyra gone, that just left Nick alone with the sleeping wolf, the unconscious Danny, and the recently deceased, headless Francis. Nick walked over to the slumbering Tiffany, kneeling beside her head—the poor thing was snoring so loudly as she slept.

  Nick leaned in, gently grasping her ear, his lips brushing against the fluffy white tuft poking out of her inner ear as he whispered:

  “Netflix and grill. All-you-can-eat meat buffet.”

  Her eyes shot open.

  She sat up with such violent speed, it was like watching a spring-loaded toy go off—her forehead meeting Nick’s in a spectacular headbutt that sent him flying backward into a pile of leaves.

  Her eyes were wide and dilated, her head whipping around in rapid movements, tongue lolling from bad joke. After quickly inspecting the area, she calmed down, though slightly disappointed at the absence of any meat buffet or grilling.

  *grrrrrrllluurrggl—*

  Her stomach protested the false promises gently whispered to her.

  She stood up, brushed herself off, looked around, and spotted Nick. Then she squatted down next to him—unamused—while begrudgingly extending a clawed hand to lift him out of the pile of fall foliage, her eyes narrowing as Nick lifted his head and saw her hand.

  "That was wrong on so many... platforms," she grumbled gruffly, still offering her hand.

  "Ugh, it's levels. That's wrong on so many levels..." he replied, rubbing his head.

  She grabbed his arm and *gently* yanked him to his feet.

  *Phhff—* "Whatever it was, it's still wrong—and you know it." She huffed in protest.

  "I already told you—we could Netflix and grill when we got home... Also, are there any tricks I should know about this?" he asked, handing her one of the Cicadas.

  Tiffany, now calm, took the small gun and sat down, patting the grassy ground beside her. He sat close, watching her.

  *FUMP!* She shifted into her small human size, leaning against his shoulder. The gun now required both hands to hold as she started explaining its functions. Nick pulled out his second Cicada, mirroring what she pointed out.

  "So, if you press this button here—between the trigger and the handle—it ejects the plasma cartridge, see?"

  She demonstrated, pressing the button. A small glass-like cartridge, inlaid and framed in shiny silver metal, popped out. She gave it a gentle shake, watching the sparkly blue fluid swirl inside before handing it to Nick.

  "It's got about seventy-five percent left." She mumbled looking at it as the cold, blue fluid sloshed around as she looked at it.

  He took the cartridge, tilting it this way and that, entranced by the motion.

  "It feels... cold," he blurted out.

  "It is—very cold. It’s like that to keep the fluid compact," she said, holding the gun sideways to point out more buttons. "This one here—on the main body above the trigger—is the charge. Press it, and it injects a bit of plasma into the chamber. Then it superheats. When it’s ready, the light turns green. That’s your single charged shot. Hold the button too long, and it flashes red. That means it’s overcharged. When that happens, you get an auto purge."

  She took the cartridge back, inserted it into the grip, then gave the base a light slap to secure it. Her thumb slid to the charge button.

  *Whiiiiiiiiirrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeee-------Ooossssssshhhhhh*

  She held the charge until the barrel began to glow, the light shifting from green to an angry, blinking red before powering down. A burst of steam hissed from vents near the barrel’s tip, and the metal returned to its usual dull silver.

  "This is currently in charge-shot mode," she said, flipping the gun over to show a small toggle lever.

  "Flip this, and it locks the trigger. Flip it again, and you get rapid burst mode—not much damage, but no charge time. It uses less plasma, and only needs a quick trigger pull. Flip it once more, and you're back to the charged blast. Careful—that mode is quite lethal."

  She handed the gun back to him, safety on. He took it and set both weapons to the side, then leaned back against her. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a keychain fob— with a small, rubbery, wedge of Swiss cheese, dangling gently from the small balled chain.

  "I think this might be useful," Nick said, smiling as he held it up. The dangling fob in front of Tiffany’s nose.

  Her eyes widened.

  *FUMP*! Wolf shift.

  "Where did you get this?!" she yipped, now in her wolf form—ears perked, tail swishing back and forth rapidly.

  "Oh, Moyra pawed it off the headless asshole over there," Nick grinned, pointing at Francis.

  Tiffany looked from Nick, to the fob, to Francis, then back to Nick again. Her eyes narrowed as she huffed a sigh.

  "What did I miss?" she asked, slightly annoyed.

  Nick filled her in—starting with the face stomp she endured, Moyra shifting into a giant river noodle and taking on Francis, Nick blasting him to death, Moyra’s morally gray dealings, the fob, and escorting the humans back to town. All of this delivered smoothly... while omitting Moyra’s *flirtatious bits and wanting a date in exchange for the favors.*

  She snatched the fob, examining it closer.

  “This is a master key... Why’d that lackey have it?”

  Nick just shrugged, setting the guns aside. He glanced up at her, still studying the fob.

  “Hey, question—what’s the deal with him not having a tail?” Nick asked, pointing to the headless corpse.

  Tiffany frowned slightly, got up, and tossed him the fob. She walked over to the body, rolled the bottom half over, and squatted to inspect it. Nick joined her briefly.

  “So whatcha got, Sherlock?” Tiffany squinted over at her partner.

  “No, it’s Rafuros—we’ve been over this,” she said, shaking her head.

  Nick grinned, enjoying having her to goad again.

  “As for this guy... good shot, by the way... he looks to be a traitor to his people,” she said, pointing to his missing, cauterized tail. “He probably did something bad enough to get exiled from his planet. That lines up with what Moyra told you—him selling out his own kind and working with the rats. Which raises even more questions—why would they trust an exile and outsider with a master key?”