*tuk-tuk* Tiffany landed smoothly, crouching low to let her passenger disembark.

  Still wearing her helmet, she spoke into her mic, her voice thick with static and a bit nasally, sounding like a fast food drive-thru speaker. Nick was still clinging to her mane of hair.

  *kush-bzrh* "Uh, this is your captain speaking. We've arrived at our destination. Please watch your arms and legs as you disembark. As always, thank you for flying the friendly skies with Raforus Airlines." *kush-bzrh*

  At that, Nick slid off with a *ta-thump*, while Tiffany straightened up, tapping her collar to retract her helmet.

  "Well—I'm glad you're finally starting to grasp the concept of humor," Nick quipped, flashing a smug smile. "But I think I'd rate the flight a solid four out of ten."

  Her smile faltered—just slightly.

  "But you didn't die. That alone should bump it up to a seven out of ten," she countered, her grin widening.

  "Not dying shouldn’t even factor into the rating!" he shot back. "But, I will say—ten out of ten for customer service and...company."

  His voice softened as he scratched the side of his head, glancing down. The pale flush of his skin darkened to a shade of red.

  Nick looked up at Tiffany, a serious expression shifting on his face. "Okay, so they have a field that we can't get into at the moment. Now what?"

  "Let's head towards the field. We'll stay at ground level—maybe we'll run into someone making rounds," Tiffany said, motioning with her head in the direction she had chucked the rock.

  "*Phew—* Thank God, I think that was enough adventure for one day on the flying roller coaster," Nick expressed with a sigh of relief.

  Tiffany let out a low, gruff chuckle at this. "From what I've read about you, you've served your time honorably in the Air Force...which is pretty funny in itself, considering the way you were screaming earlier," she said, gently nudging with a fist, pushing him slightly off balance.

  Nick regained his composure without issue as they both steadily slowed their walk toward their destination. "*Phfff—* Honorably? Is that what your sources told you? Also... I wasn't screaming.... loudly." He mumbled the last part.

  She nodded, her face blank, enjoying the small talk.

  "So—you're saying you're dishonorable?" she asked, looking down at him with a cocked eyebrow, her head tilted sideways with her ears at full attention towards Nick.

  "No, I guess not—it's just not the way I'd choose to end my contract. Why do you ask? Did they omit my life story from your files? What else did they tell you about me?" Nick asked, his inquisitive side starting to surface.

  "Honestly, not much, other than when, where, and how long you served... Not to mention—you also have no close family," she replied with a shrug, her face a little saddened by this.

  *Sigh—* "Fine, I guess we'd talk about it eventually. What do you want to know specifically?" Nick asked, slightly caving.

  She shrugged, her expression neutral, just enjoying the moment.

  "I'll leave that up to you—no pressure. I'm all ears if you need them," she spoke quietly, not trying to force the issue.

  "Yeah, I agree... you are mostly ears," he teased with a lighthearted smirk.

  She looked at him as her left ear started to spasm and twitch, eye cocked in an unamused manner.

  "Oh, har har, funny man. Laugh at my huge ears all you want—but they're extremely helpful... and... sometimes a curse... Mr. Flashbang," she replied, slightly exasperated as her tail swished over, smacking him in the side of the head with a *thwap*.

  "Hey—I was only Mr. Flashbang because you wanted to be Ms. Psycho Furry," he shot back in defense.

  "Fair," she replied with a shrug, "but... it was something I had to do. Besides, I already apologized for it."

  She rubbed her forearm as she glanced off to the side, her furry cheeks discoloring slightly with the admission.

  There was a quiet moment between them as Nick drifted into thought.

  *Well, maybe this is long overdue... I can't remember the last time I opened up to someone who was actually interested, not just interviewing my personal life as a box to check to make sure I wasn't a disgruntled ex-federal employee,* he thought, slightly bitter.

  "So, how much do you know about Earth?"

  "I know a little—pretty much just the basics to get by: language, social customs. Why do you ask?" She looked down at him, quizzical, as they continued to stroll through the woods.

  "Guess I'll start at the beginning then. I was born and raised here. My dad worked in law enforcement, climbing the ranks. My mom watched over me and the farm. My dad inherited the land from his grandad, and even though we didn’t use the farm itself, we kept it in the family."

  Tiffany stayed silent, listening and nodding.

  "So, why'd you join?" she asked softly, not wanting to interrupt.

  Nick paused, looking up at her with a solemn expression before looking down, nodding—he knew he was about to trudge into an area of conversation he’d been avoiding for a while. She gently placed her large, heavy hand on his shoulder, pulling his attention.

  "You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to," she growled softly, her tone gentle—almost soothing—as she looked him in the eyes.

  He patted her hand and nodded, then reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. Thumbing the side of the pack, he fished out a single cigarette, lit it, and took a hearty drag before continuing.

  *Phhhhhf.* He exhaled a long breath.

  "No, it's fine—the year was 2001. My dad got called into the office on September 7th, a Friday. He had to bring in some evidence reports and show up in person at the New York branch. I don’t know the specifics, but he had training at the World Trade Center on Tuesday, the 11th. He was supposed to return the following Friday—but he never came home."

  "I stood in the middle of the hallway at school, watching the second plane crash into the building he was in... It all felt like a dream, like this couldn’t possibly be real."

  Nick paused, a grim smile flickering across his face as a memory surfaced.

  "I do know this—he had every opportunity *not* to be there. He went out before the meeting started, stopping by one of the local bodegas to get coffee and donuts for the group. As the plane crashed, he was walking toward the door of the building.

  “He didn’t run. He went back in. Got most of his team out, along with people from the offices. The ones who stayed—his team, his friends—they kept helping him, searching floor to floor. They were still inside when the building came down.”

  Nick paused, wiping his eyes—sadness and pride briefly shown across his face. He shook his head as the events played out in his mind, then took another slow puff of his cigarette.

  "He went back in to get more, finding more people to evacuate. He managed to get a good number of them out. From what I understand, he kept going back until the building finally collapsed. They; recovered him a few weeks later."

  "His friends and coworkers came to his funeral, saying how grateful they were for him. His teammates made comments wishing they could've traded places. It... was a very emotional day."

  Nick took another slow drag, letting the weight of his words settle.

  The day after the event—weeks before they recovered my dad—the hallways and cafeteria at school were filled with military recruiters from every branch. My friends and I were graduating that year. We signed up and were shipped out right after graduation. My friend Charles and I joined the Air Force."

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  Tiffany watched as he told his story, her face full of sadness, mirroring his own. She stayed quiet, wanting him to get it out of his system—to tell her only what he was willing to share.

  "Mom took it really hard. I didn’t realize just how much until it was too late. She told me her biggest fear was that I wouldn’t come home—just like my dad."

  "After I finished my first tour, I was stationed at Bagram Air Base. I worked my way up, passed my tests and acceptance exams with flying colors, and became an MP. I’d write and call my mom whenever I could, just to check in."

  He stopped walking, leaning against a tree to take a moment. Tiffany remained close, hanging on his every word but careful not to smother him as he puffed his cigarette, trying to steady himself.

  "Three years, six months… My friend and I were on patrol, making our rounds. I was driving the Humvee. We hit an IED—an improvised explosive device. Even with the armor, it blew the front passenger corner of the vehicle apart—he didn’t make it."

  He paused, lifting his lit cigarette and motioning to the crescent moon shaped scar that etched along the edge of his right eye. "That’s where I got this beauty mark."

  He took a deep breath and another drag. "I woke up in the hospital two weeks later. My mom must’ve found out, or maybe it was just some strange coincidence, because not long after I woke up, I was told she had passed away from a stroke… I guess she couldn’t take any more loss."

  Tiffany’s face fell, her eyes widening at the news of Nick’s mother. She remained silent, absorbing the weight of his words as he continued his story.

  "They shipped me back home for Mom’s funeral. I ended up making my friends funeral while I was back. It was anywhere from *‘It’s not your fault’* to *‘How could you let this happen to him?’* I tried not to let it bother me. I knew there was nothing I could’ve done, but part of me still felt responsible for his death."

  "Shortly after the funerals, I reported back in and was put on light duty for a brief period—then finished the few weeks before my contract ended."

  Nick straightened up, looking at the somber wolf, then gave her a brief smile. "So— I guess, in a way, it wasn’t how I wanted things to finish, but I did finish. So, maybe it was honorable… even though I didn’t feel very honorable."

  He shrugged, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. Lighting another cigarette, he continued. "After my federal paperwork was complete, I went back home to an empty house and a empty life. Found myself running into an old friend at Frank’s—Adam. I believe you’ve already met him," he said with a smile and a playful shove to lighten the mood.

  She returned the gesture, lightly bumping him with her hip—accidentally knocking him over. She panicked slightly, squatting down to help, but Nick just laughed it off while rescuing his cigarette from the ground. As he got back up, dusting himself off, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  "It’s okay, I’m not that fragile," he said, giving her a thumbs-up. His reassurance made her smile as he resumed his story.

  "Adam and I caught up after years apart. He stayed home and became a detective. I told him I became an MP while I was off *saving the world.*

  "He told me they had an opening, that they were expanding the police station. I put in my résumé—and we’ve worked together ever since.

  "A few years after I started, one of my dad’s old coworkers made a formal request for me to speak at the memorial dedication. Dad’s name was etched into it—along with everyone else who didn’t make it that day or during the rescue... I just wish my mom had lived long enough to be there for that."

  Tiffany turned to Nick, beaming. She gave him a toothy smile and nudged him again with her hip—this time, though, he held steady.

  "See? They invited you to speak at the dedication. You really are an honorable person—I’m sure your parents would be proud," Tiffany said, her tone growing more solemn toward the end.

  "Yeah... well, my dad was the real hero. I just managed to stay alive..." Nick replied, cutting off as he wiped his face with his sleeve.

  They continued walking at a steady pace, halfway to the camouflaged field. Making small talk, they kept their eyes and ears alert for any patrols. It was strangely quiet—not the usual rustling of wildlife they had heard when they first landed.

  "Hey, Tiff? Why’d you join?" Nick asked, matching the curious tone she had used earlier.

  She stopped, clicking an index claw against one of her larger protruding fangs that slightly stuck out. *Tak-tak-tak.*

  "Hmm... I suppose—the short version—is that I wanted to be a hero, to save people from bad guys.

  "When I was a pup, my family was running from dangerous people. My parents didn’t make it. My grandfather—dispatched the men. He freed me from the cage they had locked me in before their buyer could shuttle me away."

  "They did things... things I don’t really want to think about right now."

  At those words, her ears flattened against her head, her tail drooping limp behind her as her eyes misted over.

  Nick reached up, placing a hand on the small of her back. He felt her muscles spasm uncontrollably for a moment at his touch.

  "I'm—sorry. I didn't mean for you to bring up something painful."

  She looked down, placing a hand on his head, gently ruffling his hair. His touch had stirred something deep—a nightmare from years past, forever etched into the back of her mind.

  She exhaled slowly, wiping her eyes and face, collecting herself before continuing.

  "When I got older, he trained me in claw-to-claw combat. Taught me how to hunt and track. And when I came of age, he introduced me to an old comrade of his—Miss Dorris. That’s where I received my formal training after enlisting."

  "I’ve been with the GSA ever since."

  "That's odd..." Nick said as he stopped, looking around, listening as best he could.

  He watched as Tiffany’s expression shifted—her sadness and reminiscence fading into sharp focus. Her ears, once flat, snapped to full attention. Her tail, which had been drooping, curled upward and bristled.

  "What? Did you see something?" she asked, scanning their surroundings.

  "No, that's the issue. It seems dead here—ever since we landed. I don’t hear any wildlife. No birds, no squirrels, nothing."

  Her ears swiveled, checking the area.

  "It’s the rats."

  "What do you mean, the rats? Do they scare the wildlife away or something?" Nick asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

  She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Rats have to eat too—I just hope it’s only the wildlife they’re eating."

  Her body hair bristled, followed by random, uncontrollable muscle spasms. Her ears stood straight up, her head following suit. Eyes narrowed, lips curling as she bared her fangs in a low, guttural growl.

  Nick picked up on her sudden shift immediately. He left his cigarette between his lips, unholstering his 1911, holding it low but ready.

  Then came the smell—old, crusted blood drifting toward them.

  The mumbling of voices grew closer to their vicinity.

  "Are you sure they're not human?" Nick asked, turning to face the same direction as Tiffany.

  "I’m positive."

  *Shliiiink.* Her claws slowly unsheathed.

  "Be ready..."

  He nodded without looking at her, gun at the ready.